I'm not trying to spell out a story. I still think you feel the painting, and the reason you read the mark is because you also feel the mark.

That's what I'm interested in: the space in between, the moment of imagining what is possible and yet not knowing what that is.

I don't ever work in a way where something is an illustration of an event, but when something is occurring at the same time I see it as very informed by that.

You're not just this person who's from your own specific experiences, but the collective experience of what makes you who you are because of time.

People look at film in a gallery, and if they walk out after two minutes they know they haven't seen the whole work. But then people look at a painting for two minutes and think they've seen it. Certain paintings are made to be consumed fast. But some require a slowed-down time. You have to go back to them.

The earlier, more analytic impulse was to use very rational but kind of absurd techniques or tendencies—mapping, charting, and architecture—to try and make sense of who I was in my time and space and political environment. But there’s only so much truth to a theoretical understanding of something.

When you're not a mom, you can get up in the middle of the night, paint, sleep all morning... you can't do that when you have two children!

I'm really interested in the nondefinitive element of abstraction.

I always wanted to be an artist, but I didn't really know how someone could make a life out it.

Race always comes up in the conversation of Detroit.