I was at the Colby College Museum of Art in Maine when I saw a John Chamberlain. I knew immediately what I was looking at. The compressed metal, the torque, the density—his vocabulary is unmistakable. I’ve carried a clear internal shorthand for years: crushed car parts, force, impact, a kind of sculptural aggression.

Yes, I really am painting garbage. I didn't set out to paint garbage. I didn't wake up one morning and say painting garbage would be a good thing to do. Instead, while walking near a friend's house in Sasebo, Japan, I passed the recycling center. In it they were moving bales of recycled paper to prepare them for transport. The image of their surface was striking to me, like a Harnett trompe l'oeil painting, and the structure of the bales made me think of Don Judd's boxes.