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Silent Scream

When a creative dry-spell becomes a drought, I sometimes have to reach beyond the image to recover the fire. I sometimes have to delve into the clutter of a collective creative consciousness, into the minds of artists who inspire me, to find a flicker of my own creative light.

There, in uninhabited space, outside the boundaries of our supposed 10%, we are all relatives. And, as I navigate through clusters of coruscated thought, which appear like stars within a galaxy, it is often the whisper of a word, printed on quiet paper, that resonates. It is often a whisper… that rekindles the flame.

I hear you… You, whom I would also call myself. And I am moved.


ContinuumSometimes… I get lost in the tangle. I get lost in the confusion of space and time, which carries me through the quietude, an encompassing silence that shares its mass and weight with me until I am no longer discernible from the vastness I’m attempting to fill; not to substantiate it, but to mitigate my own burden, which is comprised entirely of gravity, evidence of the stillness that flourishes at the center of everything.

From the surface, the pattern may appear only to perpetuate the repetitions. But the extremes of that structure have become so abundant and so intricately woven that the accumulation now seems like ornament, from a distance, like a dense cluster of meticulously carved impressions that were purposefully arranged within the enormity, which has no rhyme or reason on its own or within the immediate. Though, we may find ourselves at any time within that same instance.

After a productive month that was spent building a foundation to enhance my Social Media engagement, it’s time to get back to the creative side of my work. It’s time to welcome Spring, and new life, a cycle that never ceases. Though the business may be my structure, Art is still the substance, and that too will never cease.

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Canvas Panels

I’ve challenged myself to produce at least 10 – 12 Plein-air pieces this year, along with creating a series of Block Prints and Monotypes, because I love the idea that Art belongs to everyone. But equally important, I’ve also discovered that it truly is the little things that matter, meaning, that it’s the smaller pieces that sustain my business, while the more substantial works help it grow. So as an integral part of Building a career around my skill-set as an Artist, I’ve made it my personal mission to always provide artwork that is affordable on any budget, while still expanding my own creative language, and this simply seemed like a fun and elegant solution, which I look forward to sharing as it progresses.

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Print Making Supplies

~ Stay tuned!

Happy Holidays Everyone!

To close out a successful year, I’ve decided to offer Holiday Pricing (for a limited time) on Nine Selected Works. (securely invoiced through PayPal)

From now until Dec. 12th all the pieces in this collection are 25 % off (shipping included) ~ Prices shown are the discounted prices (in captions underneath each image)

All Artwork is Framed and Ready To Hang, except “Work/Living Space, 2011”

For Inquiries: Please contact me directly ~


“So Much To Say…” Assembled Objects (3D) ~ $337.50


“Refuge” Oil and Dry Grass on canvas panel ~ $337.50


“Work/Living…” Watercolor Pencil on paper ~ $93.75

Catalog: 1992 - Mar, 2011

“Stream of Consciousness” Ballpoint Pen on paper ~ $93.75

Finding the Right Words

“Finding the Right Words” 3D Paper Construction ~ $900


“Transfixed…” Oil on canvas ~ $562.50


“Swimsuit Model” Mixed Media on paper ~ $168.75


“Red Sink…” Ballpoint Pen on paper ~ $93.75


“Restless Night” Oil and Yard Debris on canvas panel ~ $337.50

Holy goodness! I thought this week would never get here!

What began as my Fall Exhibition, where I planned to unveil a series of abstract and experimental pieces, quickly encountered obstacles that offered unexpected strategic insight, despite delaying the project. I was compelled to re-imagine the occasion (the date already set) into a Viewing Party, now determined to celebrate the event of Life itself, a vast body of work and the supporting cast (of believers) that has kept my dream alive.

The initial concept for the exhibition remains intact and in the works, and it promises to become bigger and better than originally imagined. But for now, final preparations for this Friday‘s festivities are underway, with all the hard work behind me. There will be no more blood, sweat, or tears… unless I hammer a finger while hanging the last few paintings on the wall. And even then… with a steady supply of wine and neglected sustenance to satiate my hunger, any pain encountered this week will taste like victory.

All that remains is my shopping list (of party supplies), which I will tackle with leisure, taking in the brisk fall air and the myriad bouquet of cinnamon and spice and everything nice that the fast approaching Holiday Season brings. I love this time of year, when the scorching Texas heat is reduced to the snap-crackle-pop of a cozy fire. The nostalgia that blossoms under that spell is often beyond words, though the experience is shared. And in that festive spirit, I am ready for a comfortable evening with friends, to cap off another busy (but fruitful) year.


One must emerge from the depths of one’s Self before emerging elsewhere. And I have been molting for 20 years, apparently stuck in reiteration – perhaps a reminder that the moment already exists, is always occurring, and only awaits our attention… now… emerging from depth, from obscurity, from anonymity.

The artist in me once fed on whatever life I provided. But, no more. I am now learning to feed on the artist who is able to see without eyes, he, whose purest expression rests in his labor, not his words; he, who knows how to love without a body and who understands without reasons or prejudice. He has been reborn from my termination, by the fateful plunge impetuously intended as a restoration that led to my demise, a cathartic release that my alter-ego knows all to well, with every stroke of his brush… expressing… purging… and tying knots where once were loose ends.

Over the last few months, I have slowly begun to realize that I am no longer the person I once was, or perhaps am no more. Remnants of the past that once tugged at heartstrings, lingering doubt that once subdued the fire, and even the uncertainty of a purely artistic endeavor, which conjured defenses in apprehension; all the heavy fixtures that once anchored me to the deepest part of the ocean’s floor have vanished. And what remains is this vessel, now floating, not quite weightlessly, though unencumbered by the bulk of yesterday.

The unfamiliarity of that feeling settled uneasily in me at first, I, having disposed of my comforts, the intricate network of feelings once recognized as myself. It made me feel like a stranger living another person’s life, like a visitor disappointed in his host. Yet, the private chambers, where the ghosts of yesterday dwelled, are now vacant. They are quiet spaces with unobstructed thresholds and unobstructed views, are cleaned and swept, and I am enormously grateful for the prospect of filling them once again, with only breath, to let them breathe and forever more remain free.

Yes. I have arrived, an infantile curiosity without limits; arrived in my own arms to nurture; arrived here, having surrendered my apprehension to the air as I fell. I descended. And with every gasp of breath, I became, having drowned my sorrows in a flood of sweat and tears, having propelled the solidity of this body, dissolving in the luminosity of my lust for life, I took one final breath, and having returned to the center of my being, from which all traces of me spring, I suddenly surfaced, as I once remembered myself from the bed of tomorrow, aroused from restful sleep.

My recent sojourn in west Texas, where I buried myself for 36 months, forced me to scan my own depths from the uppermost rim of an incomprehensible precipice. And somehow – inadvertently – I was absolved, no longer bound by the oppressive restraints of whatever held me down. I was no longer the time traveler visiting earlier days, earlier versions of myself in search of answers. I reverse metamorphosed into the construct of a new man, living purely for today. I became a person only aware of what he is to become; for it was always so, my choice to follow what I have foreseen in destiny, the conclusion that created me. And after all these years, there is nothing left to cover up or discard, and nothing to corrupt the voice of my expression. There is nothing but the next stroke in which I can lie down, one layer at a time until I am complete. I am the blank canvas now, a great depth realized and disambiguated. And from that surface, I am now ready to emerge.

When I first set up this WordPress account, I remember approaching it with such youthful bravado, telling myself (as if I had something to prove), this is going to be a breeze!  Yet, as I finally reach the milestone of Post #10, so many months later, I realize that I hardly knew (then) what I was really getting myself into.

Sure, I was brimming with ideas. But, having to tame and organize a collection of whimsical musings, intermingled with the perpetual grind of creativity and an evolving enterprise, was something I wasn’t quite prepared for.

Still, I am grateful for having started this blog, because it has helped me navigate through some of the tough decisions encountered during my transition back into the Event of Life, even if you don’t always see the fruit of that exhaustive labor here. This blog has been a huge part of my metamorphosis, from obscurity into realization, serving (almost) as my conscience, urging me to look more intently at the Big Picture of my life and not always at the moment, which is fleeting.

I understand the concept of “Now”, the only moment that is (in fact) REAL. I thrive in the presence of today, which is sufficient unto itself. However, infused and driven by a sense of destiny as well… tomorrow is also today, a single moment overlapped and simultaneous, though currently (within the scope of my awareness) not entirely in sync.

But I digress. I didn’t pursue this entry to tell you who or what I am, or how this all ends. I’m here to tell you to fasten your seat belts, because you are in for a ride! So, as I map out the next ten-or-so entries, I feel obligated to confess a few things that might help you weather the impending storm of my creative process, which is both visceral and cerebral.

First of all, life is full of surprises. So although I may announce what is coming up next… I follow no formula. Therefore, think of those announcements as “pending topics”, in progress but not necessarily next in line. I’m an artist, and I sway with the momentum of every experience (good or bad). But, I am also analytical by nature. Therefore, I must process that same experience before it is of any use to either of us (you or I). But I will attempt (at least) to write with more frequency.

Secondly, because no plan is entirely fool-proof, I can safely predict that a re-evaluation will take place (at some unspecified point in time), modifications will be made (at my convenience), and/or the strategy will be abandoned all together (just for spite). So don’t expect anything… and you won’t be disappointed. That is the best advice I can give you, if you want to get the most out of this lifetime or this blog.

But more important, in regards to this blog specifically, I feel I must explain, to some extent, my greatest flaw in matters of writing. So, before you delve to deeply into these eccentric displays of inspired rambling, which I embrace purely for lack of eloquence and brevity, please be warned that I am not a technical writer.

I have developed, perhaps by some defect of an over-active imagination, an insatiable appetite for words; not only for their ability to broaden the landscape of our imagination, but also, for their propensity to vivify (or embellish) the very expression of one’s Life experience, both encountered and perceived. However, much to my dismay, I’ve come to realize that I actually weave more so than I write. Each character then, and every subsequent word and sentence is but a thread from my relentless spool, which merely outlines the silhouette of my reflection. And ONLY in finale, as the thought reaches its fringe, is a declaration interwoven so as to complete the tapestry.

As a consequence, I am often curious whether substance is lost amid such obsessive weaving. Or, if like the impressionist, who meticulously (and paradoxically) only hints at what he wants to convey, my words are but wild (though calculated) strokes of paint from a literal palette that only introduce a subject for you to define.

But, even more dysfunctional… I sometimes wonder if I simply construct these sumptuous delicacies purely for my own amusement, to satisfy my own voracious appetite. (Hmmmm?)

So, be forewarned. At best, I can merely conclude (within myself) that the effectiveness of my delivery is inconclusive; though, perhaps, not entirely a fruitless endeavor. After all, everything is relative, and the merits of such uninhibited verbosity are ultimately determined by the translator, which in this case is you. So with any luck, you may be better endowed (than I am) with the faculties to extrapolate purpose and meaning from an otherwise exhausting method of writing something so simple.

I write because I derive great pleasure from it, whether I am long-winded or not. And I hope that my growing sense of liberty will provide, at very least, a brief moment of unexpected amusement (for you),  which is all one should truly hope for. And only if we are truly lucky… may we discover something more profound along the way.

Up next: A Barrier Breached

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