Monthly Archives › March 2015

Unplanned Adventure

Although I paint abstract for myself, I’ve been taking classes to learn how to draw and paint realistically. I’m doing it so I can apply these skills to the paintings I imagine. I don’t need lessons to paint what I see with my mind, but in these classes I’ve been trying very hard to paint

The Other Day Spoke To Me

Head full of why I want, completely awake the entire dream. Too many things have happened in pieces to keep it from overwhelming me. Over the years, this and that. A toaster. An ashtray. The miniscule ego in a file on the shelf in the office when I had needed to fill it and didn’t

The 3-D Printer Of The Mind.

I just attended an art show where all of the work was produced using 3-D printing. Picture indescribably intricate sculptures made from delicate layers of interlocking filigree, strands as narrow as a hair. Huge white polyamide shapes reaching into each other with hundreds of slender appendages, woven and entwined in ways that defied logic. Tiny

“I Am An Artist.”

Despite painting virtually every night for over a year, I never referred to myself as an artist. Rather, I phrased it as “I’ve been doing some painting.” Then I met a stranger, someone who knew nothing about me. The first thing they said, before they even asked my name, was “Are you an artist?” Without


the smell of the first 27 raindrops that land on the thin layer of dust on the hood of a red 1972 Eldorado with a white vinyl roof after a hot summer day parked on the side of the road by a thin stretch of beach where you got out just to look at the

Happy Accidents

This is an example of the paintings I make in between the paintings I feel like I want to show people. I typically do them fast, usually in a series of 6 or 8 or 10 at one sitting. Black acrylic on drawing paper. They’re not trying to be anything. They’re not trying to convey

Beyond Compare

There is no “better than” in art. It’s true that you can compare one piece to another along specific criteria; e.g., a Rembrandt is a more accurate reproduction of reality than, say, a Jean-Michel Basquiat. But to say one is better than the other is misguided. It’s like trying to compare an oak leaf to