Nostalgia and memory have a funny way of playing games with your head and heart when it comes to looking back on childhood. Or is it the other way around?

I have neither memory of, nor nostalgia for, my parents’ five-year marriage. But I do have a nice collection of hand-printed black and white photos taken by my father and bohemian friends in Paris who mostly played music, made art, wrote poetry, and rummaged in the fantastic French flea markets of the early sixties.

So I have created my own narratives of a time I cannot recall. As the source for my paintings, I have shuffled segments of the photographs to talk about the underlying tensions of that time, and the family dynamics I have interpreted over the years.

The result is an exploration in oil paint of narrative, tension, surface, absence, and my own emotional attachment or distance from a highly charged childhood.