I paint, I draw, I print. Sometimes together. All are in response to aspects of life observed or imagined.
It was a plein-air work of a alfalfa field and barn in my college town. I had painted it that day for an plein-air fundraising event the gallery I interned at was hosting.
The first day of teaching. I had more to learn than my students.
My parents. They have the epitome of determination and perseverance. They raised five rowdy kids to be decent, kind human beings and kept their sanity while doing so.
Sparkplug Christmas party at The Pines of Florence. Too much wine, a ton of laughs, a lot of funny looks and dinner with what feels like family.
When people think art is not for them and that they don't have a say in what they respond to.
It's kinds of not a secret. Paper.
My best fail was a body cast sculpture. The process was more the fail than anything in the finished installation. I lost half of my hair in the process.
Trying to develop light boxes out of 100 year old display windows with fishing line, mylar, rods, stick up lights, and a clip lamp. I haven't been able to re-engineer them with the same effects.
The dollar bill that my grandmother gave me before she died on my 8th birthday. It's still folded in the card.
Green chile chilaquiles.
Good conversation, smiles, good music, good food.
I stepped out of a part time job with a marketing firm for a full time job. I should have stayed at the part-time job and asked if I could take on more responsibility.
I can't remember. I make a terrible liar and try not to do so as a policy. As Mark Twain said, you don't have to remember anything if you don't lie.