Notes on a Paper Universe

I remember once picking up some childlike miniature stars I noticed on the ground. At that moment for me the stars that hung above my head became as close as the plastic ones lying in my hand. In time both become the same; both are real and fictitious.

Wallace Stevens perfectly wrote, “The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.” My reality is relative; I constantly sketch it in my mind using my five limited senses. I draw my own fictions to expose that my human experience is a set of perceptions interpreted as facts. My work reflects the reality I construct and the truth the camera is perceived to capture. I create obvious fictions to reveal there is no absolute truth in the photograph or my perception of reality. I question that within the constructs of perception lies my verisimilitude of reality. I once trusted what I saw, just as I once trusted what a photograph showed me. A photograph is but an imperfect visual representation of a perception; all I am is perception, but that’s the only truth I will ever know