Good morning, everyone! Long weekend ahead for many of us.
You know, I’ve always been obsessed with hard work, especially when it comes to things made by human hands. As a kid, I was captivated by buildings, cars, and tools — not just their function, but the meticulousness, intention, and care that gave them weight you couldn’t fake.
Creativity might spark an idea, but it’s labor that makes it real: steady, demanding, relentless, and in the long run, stronger than talent alone.
That belief runs deep in our studio, and in my own life.
Growing up, my mom instilled many principles in me and my siblings, but one has always stayed with me: Give it your all, or don’t start at all.
I’ve built my practice on those lessons.
Every piece, every project, no matter how big or small, starts with a commitment.
The “Morons” posters, which I shared more about last time, demanded sleepless nights of cutting paper, layering ink, and tossing aside rejects until only a small stack felt right.
One slip of the blade, one smear of ink, and the sheet was ruined.
Then came the plaques. I carried molds and cement around the world, turning borrowed apartments into makeshift studios. The work was brutal: hauling supplies up five flights of stairs, mixing, pouring, breaking, starting again.
I designed the plaques to chip away rather than peel or shatter, so when someone tried to pry one off, fragments would remain. Over time those fragments evolved, weathered by hands and seasons, leaving behind new layers for others to encounter.
Some stayed untouched, while others wore down unevenly, like scars – proof the work kept living long after I placed it. (More on this journey in an upcoming edition.)
With sculpture, the labor only deepened. “Love vs. Money” (CONTEXT Art Miami, 2017), my first monumental work, stood on a round cement base that I poured on site. We built the form from plywood, bending it with water and heat to shape two half-circles. Once the base was set, we broke more than 100 cinder blocks by hand with a hammer, arranging each piece one by one, and brought it to life with light.
Every block was chosen and positioned with intention. Even the cracks mattered, guiding how the light would fall.
And then came bronze.
Todd Kramer once asked me, “Have you made a bronze sculpture yet?” At the time I hadn’t, but the question stayed with me.
Bronze leaves no room for shortcuts. Every step—mold-making, wax, shell, casting, welding, chasing, patina—demanded more time, more expense, more scars. Where most bronzes hide behind rough textures or dark finishes, I fought for smooth surfaces and natural sheen.
That choice tripled the hours of metal chasing, but it revealed every detail, each flaw, nothing to hide behind. The result carried blisters, lessons, and extra minutes.
That same commitment carried into one of my favorite, but most demanding, solo shows,
“Before It’s Too Late” (Art Basel Miami 2021). The title was both a warning and a call to action: if we want to leave behind a better tomorrow, we must act today.
And the pieces, created amid lockdown, reflected how fragile and precious our earth is, and how much responsibility we hold to protect it. The collection was intentionally diverse—layered canvases, mosaics, bronze sculptures, and monuments—and each work carried its own complexity.
Works like “Endless Possibilities” (a parent passing the world to a child) and “Love Holds Us Together” (two figures straining yet bound by a single heart) combined symbolic storytelling with technical rigor: casting, patina, polishing — even the crates were hand-painted and designed to be part of the presentation rather than hidden away.
Those crates became more than just a feature of that exhibition.
Over the years, they’ve grown into their own ongoing project in the studio — intentional, designed, fitted, and painted by hand. They serve as both protection and pedestals, a traveling extension of the artwork itself.
What began as simple utility has evolved into a signature practice.
And it will continue with my upcoming “Double Take” show in Geneva. This collection expands on previous approach while leaning even further into process: hand-sketched drawings layered beneath painting after painting until the surface feels alive. It is relentless work. Sketch, paint, layer, repeat — a process that captures depth and expression.
The process is what sets this studio apart. Nothing comes easy, nothing is pre-packaged. The sweat, the trial and error, and the persistence gives the work its spirit. And years later, I’m still captivated. I love watching the hours take shape into something real.
By the way, I don’t do any of this alone.
My family and friends have hauled supplies, mixed cement, and problem-solved in and out of the studio. My team has pushed projects forward. Partners and collectors have believed in the work even when it was only an idea.
So, this Labor Day, I celebrate that collective spirit: the purpose, patience, and persistence that turn vision into reality, and the community that makes it meaningful.
Stay up out there, fellow laborers.
And, thank you.
