"For me, at its best, my work comes inexplicably and without method".

I have the hardest time defining my work, just as much coming up with tittles, and even more so working with the expectation that my work will be understood.  If, after having worked for 20 years, the creative act and process remain a mystery to me, then how else could it be?  To me the creative act is a thing of magic- of tapping the non-ordinary, sensing, absorbing, and working your way out scientifically...in end remaining with the impression.  To me Art is Alchemy.

When asked to describe, explain, or categorize my work I'm always puzzled.  I mean:  Is it painting, drawing, or sculpting on a 2D surface?  Is it abstract or representational; narrative or symbolic; visceral or conceptual?  Is it art about art or does it comment on social/political conditions...? 

To me this casual question is truly loaded and my unvoiced answer always feels the same:  Yes.  It's all these things wrapped up in one, all and yet none of the above.  It's reflective of every thing that passes and has passed through me, affects and has affected me...but yet it has nothing to do with me, it comes from outside of me.  It is an artifact of this obscure activity which I've chosen to give all my energy to - weather physical or mental, active or static - acquiescing to the risk involved when it comes to making it a livelihood, and hoping (with a shrug of the shoulders) that there is a reason for, that it's more than just picture making, and that in fact I'm contributing something.

My creative temperament is such that it thrives on change.  Consistent efforts to changing approach are essential to my continuance.  At times something clicks and I'm on a roll - something like falling, flowing, or slipping smoothly.  And for that period, long or short, the work just seems to pour out, as if something in me, or through me, knows exactly what it's doing, and, yet, I have no control.  Other times (which seem to last forever) familiarity has set in, and the elements of awe, surprise, and discovery have faded.  Then I feel I'm inching along, hitting wall after wall, a time when Sabotage and Monkey Wrenches become indispensable tools.  Sooner or later though, it all makes sense somehow and the cycle continues.  Sometimes I'm lucky enough to come upon a subject (person, place or thing) which inspires and spurs me along.  Sometimes I feel empty, void of source and direction.  Regardless, the creative impulse, and the need to be engaged and to work is always the great muse.  For me, at its best, my work comes inexplicably and without method

                                                                                 Sergio Rodriguez 2010