New York, 
This has to be the most boring job on the earth. All I can do is stare at this guy’s tie. Listen to the hum of the fax machine. Gaze at the thousands of windows where other drones like me are punching key codes into machines, banging on typewriters. I keep doodling on my notepad and what comes out are squares and grids and intersecting stories all flooding one another. Information Paintings.
All I can think about is buying paint and masking tape and canvas at Pearl Paint on my way home. And wow, it was so much fun to say FUCK the other day. I mean like to no one in particular! And no one even cared.
I have to paint this mathematical drone that is everywhere, inside of us and outside of us. What is happening to my brush? It’s really gone bonkers— morphing into channels of information and yet I still just want to paint, from life, of life, living, heart felt. How do I do that with a grid? Need the grid. We are all locked into it, creating it . . . but also trying to escape.
A CHEMICAL BANK [1985, oil on canvas, 50"x38", INFORMATION PAINTINGS series ]