INK Nº 6, 7 x 9", 2012 - 2014

INK began accidentally. My son Jonah insisted on trying nocturnal squid fishing one summer in Maine. To my amazement he and his dad caught a small bucket of squid, pulling their translucent alien bodies out of the dark water. The next day we were cleaning them on sheets of old newspaper, and I found myself captivated by the interplay of abstraction and image. The squid’s black ink spread democratically across Prada ads, wedding announcements, and images of the bereaved after a shooting in a movie theater.