As I go about my normal day, I find myself attracted to anomalies: oddities of circumstance or material that snap me out of my “routine”.  For me, routine is complacent; a slow death. I think of art-making as cultivating a specialized anomaly. First, I rummage out objects that are part of my “routine”. They can be anything, really. I particularly revel in taking aim at things that are unquestioned fixtures, self-assured maybe, but mundane. Then, I zero in on a quality that might expose a “kink in the armor”.  With a playful attitude, I’ll add something to it, or take something away, in order to reveal its paradox. That object, which had previously affirmed the “routine”, might now divulge a transcendent irony.