Redaction In A Minor

Completed April 2018

Start with a 1940s how-to manual. Erase every “A”—except one stubborn capital left as a witness. Text becomes constellations; meaning turns to pattern. Redaction In A Minor uses absence as ink: less headline noise, more quiet signal. No right-side-up; one redacted page becomes a repeating tile.

01 Variation I Part A
02 Variation I Part B
03 Variation II Part A
04 Variation II Part B
05 Variation I Part C
06 Variation I Part D
07 Variation II Part C
08 Variation II Part D
09 Variation III Part A
10 Variation III Part B
11 Variation IV Part A
12 Variation IV Part B
13 Variation III Part C
14 Variation III Part D
15 Variation IV Part C
16 Variation IV Part D
17 Variation V Part A
18 Variation V Part B
19 Variation VI Part A
20 Variation VI Part B
21 Variation V Part C
22 Variation V Part D
23 Variation VI Part C
24 Variation VI Part D
25 Variation VII Part A
26 Variation VII Part B
27 Variation VIII Part A
28 Variation VIII Part B
29 Variation VII Part C
30 Variation VII Part D
31 Variation VIII Part C
32 Variation VIII Part D
33 Variation IX Part A
34 Variation IX Part B
35 Variation X Part A
36 Variation X Part B
37 Variation IX Part C
38 Variation IX Part D
39 Variation X Part C
40 Variation X Part D
41 Variation XI Part A
42 Variation XI Part B
43 Variation XII Part A
44 Variation XII Part B
45 Variation XI Part C
46 Variation XI Part D
47 Variation XII Part C
48 Variation XII Part D

Lately the feed feels like a shouting match: takes on takes, bots posing as people, “breaking” that rarely breaks new ground. I needed subtraction. So I pulled a timeworn reference book—a 1940s tool manual with that library-stack perfume—and began removing every single “A.” Not black bars, but deliberate marks following aesthetic logic.

The pages shifted from language to star maps: dotted fields, small galaxies of redaction. It was oddly calming—less debate, more doing—and it kept going. The patterns started reading like textiles, which clicked. I began making paintings that harmonize without a fixed orientation; turn them any direction and they hold. One sheet composed only of redacted “A” marks became the seed tile for a repeat.

Why “A Minor”? Because the letter is (almost) gone, the mood sits in a lower key—and one capital “A” is intentionally left unredacted. That lone major note inside a minor field keeps the key signature honest.

The work asks what remains when you strip the loudest characters away: which structures persist, what new readings appear, and who decides what gets erased. In a culture hooked on hot takes and “fake news,” this series is my cool take: fewer exclamation points, more looking. And yes—many A’s were harmed in the making.