I call these paintings echos.
Their impressions of shape and color are vague, ghostly, and sometimes undistinguishable as a whole. They remind me of feelings and perceptions of experiences that dissolve by mere touch. When I look at them I see something but cannot name it. My childhood is echoed in the layering. The familiar sense of dress up and dolls. And yet, what I can decipher is either too foggy and delineated or so loud and pressing that the reverberation is a cacophony that could be anything, say anything, shout anything.
The red proclaims truth, the blue soothes fear, and the white offers hope of clarity?!