I make paintings.
The jargon, performance art that is basically a cry for attention, and the feeling when you look at something that it's clear the work is only half baked.
Numerous misadventures with a ruler and road maps.
When I woke up, when I had breakfast, when I went to work, when I got to the studio, when I painted the latest painting, when I started the next painting, when I went home, when I ate dinner, when I fell asleep, when I get up and do it all over again everyday.
It has to by my Solo at DCAC in 2008. That show started what I like to think of as my professional beginning in art.
My crown of thorns.
Everything and nothing at all - a great party has to happen in a way that comes together without planning.
Cashier in a book store.
There are two - each very different.
First one: When I was very young, my father took us to the washington boat show to pass the time one evening. That was the evening that Martin Luther King was shot. I was about 7 years old and really knew nothing about what was going on, except at some point we just left the show - really abruptly. I remember sitting in the back of the station wagon that we had while I watched a building catch fire a block or so away. suddenly tons of people were out on the street
Second one: I was at the after hours club that used to be on 17th street in the eighties - it was probably about 4:30 in the morning and the place was just packed. I mean packed - no one could move and, of course everyone was trashed on just about everything at once. Of course that was the night it got raided. Suddenly it was like a scene out of a cartoon - people suddenly where going everywhere - in closets, under beds and behind sofas through a window - it was like watching a bugs bunny cartoon. the only thing you didn't see were the little puffs of smoke from where they were standing before. I drove by it the next day, you know, just to see, and it looked like every other house on the block. Like it never happened.