Fractals were in the back of my mind as I photographed the river. I uploaded my pictures and opened the interesting ones. I used a raster image picker to choose colour areas. On a colour wheel, I saw where a particular hue was situated in the poles of colour. There were many dull colours, the browns and khakis of rivers, but on the opposite poles were bright pinks and greens. It was from these manipulations that I printed acetates. I had chosen different continents of colour and shape for an underpainting into which I would weave the lines of a water picture.

I intentionally left some areas in my work, the "windows", unpainted. These areas were caused by the presence of strong sunlight in my photographs. They were generated as I worked in the imaging program separating the pictures into sections of colour. I became sensitive to the same recursive patterns that I saw in the natural world. It was significant that through algorithms I could literally see shapes behave as in nature. Mathematics was generating self-similar, recursive shapes as nature does.

When I look at things, I am moved in such a way that I need to understand them through a medium, but paintings hold more meaning than a reflection. They are like arias that I cannot place. I see windows in the water. To me the river is like a place, like a house. When I look closely I remember something deeper than memories. My work is about these associations that I develop into meaning. My juxtapositions, however polemic, will be manifest in descriptions of inner existence that might resonate to others who have not developed a means to visibly express a specific experience.

Paint describes the way I see but I don't know everything about what I see. I don't see entropy, multiple dimensions or the invisible world that our intelligence cannot quite formulate. We know very little about the mind. That inspires me to have full consciousness of the world that I live in. When I find myself in a forest, I like to stop for a while.