His questions are open ended, but his paintings are concrete and complete. His forms struggle with the truth of their existence without dissembling or asking for mercy. They are fully themselves on a surface that holds them with its gravity and tries to swallow them into the anticolor of its fibers. The forms, like their maker, resist their gravitational prison and assert themselves against the odds. The resulting dialectic will never be resolved. There will be no synthesis. Hegel will be denied his contrived due. Art triumphs over idealism and teleology. The painter smiles and continues the struggle. He knows it is absurd, but he will push the rock without self-pity or regret.