Baskin Robbins is infested with roaches. I know this because when I worked there I would sometimes catch a fleck of brown darting motion out the corner of my eye and have to stifle a scream in the face of an innocent customer. But there amidst the fluorescent saccharine fantasy was something deeply creepy and disturbing hidden right beneath the surface. I think that it was during the seminar on proper mopping techniques that I had my epiphany: Baskin Robbins survived on false facades. The average customer had no idea that the beautiful pink swirls in the ice cream turned tar black when left in a melted puddle on the floor for a day. This ugliness lurking under an exaggeratedly sweet surface has permeated my artwork and become the underlying theme within my paintings. My decisions are steered by my belief in art as a conglomeration of creativity, production, theory and contemporaneity.