My most recent series of drawings was done by scorching paper with a propane torch; every mark is unalterable from the moment the open flame burns the paper. The two figures locked in mortal combat are from my childhood memories. My grandfather and the blind, octogenarian rabbi of the synagogue down the block, which was housed in an old Chinese restaurant (with the Chinese murals still intact), used to argue endlessly over the finer points of the Talmud. These two debaters often came close to blows. These long-hidden memories, re-awakened by my unconscious, revealed themselves as I constructed the drawings. Crystallizing as dreams, the power of the unconscious propels my work in particular directions. This has always been an integral part of my practice, and the intuitive nature of this process imbues it with a visceral type of integrity, where the sum of all the marks I make is an undiluted reflection of the ideas and passions that occupy my mind.