These  ink and charcoal drawings, and one pastel, were in "Competition / Fragmentation," an exhibit with Mary Spencer, in 2012. People wear trophies, and some surrealist people have morphed into their own trophies, their identities inseparable from their accomplishments.

Competition is in our faces wherever we look. The Olympics, the Oscars, the run-offs, the races. Then there's the internal dialogue we have even when we're not officially in contests–– a streaming game in our minds, asking, who is a contender? Who is the best in the room, the most successful? Conversely, who is the worst? Who is merely average, and if you're not number one, does that mean you're a loser? What trophy is deserved, coveted, held dear in the glass cabinet of the soul? Best actor, fastest runner, most righteous, most frugal, with the most stylish haircut, the biggest boat? How do we rank ourselves?

For more information: