Peeling, flipping, and gashing are in the spectrum of actions I practice in an endless effort to digest my doubts about artmaking. In order to swallow the pleasure, I flip, tear, and dig. The deception of everyday objects having a particular function in the world calms my anxieties while I am out in the open, though it stirs them again when I am in the studio. I gouge, cut, and reorder; it grounds me, reminds me that objects are not sacred. Labor is. When it comes to color, my doubts seem to disappear. Above all else, I see myself as a colorist: I use color to trace the relations between painting and space, in a search for a material presence that can generate a vague memory. Color is both my servant and my master.