For years I only painted on paper. I'm not even sure how that evolved. Maybe it started with the economy of it all. I could store paintings easily. I could carry a whole exhibition in my VW bug. I was using pure pigments with various binders. I used to love to go downtown in NYC and shop at the pigment dealer. Whole barrels of brilliant color blew my mind. Slowly it evolved from a convenience to a preference. I fell in love with the colors of the pigments. I loved the idea of working for so long on a painting that was so frail, that could be so easily ripped. I loved the fact that, if a painting wasn't going well, I could cut it up and save the parts I liked. (A friend who had studied at some fancy school in London told me that the best Rembrants were the ones he cut up himself.) 

At some point it just became the way I worked. It was the language in which I expressed myelf.

About ten years ago I began to use oil paint again. It seemed time for a change. Most of all I missed the blues. There just isn't a blue in oil paint that can match the brilliance of the pure pigment blue. Lately I feel an urge to return to paper paintings. Oil paintings take up too much space.