I think there is an intimacy in expression — a way pieces of us land on the canvas or through pen onto paper -

The intimacy ends. The painting becomes something I can look at instead of something I’m inside of. And I’m suddenly back in myself again — back in story, comparison, evaluation.

I couldn’t tell you what day it was, but I can tell you I couldn’t move. I couldn’t leave the bed as much as I wanted to. A kidney stone held me captive.

I don’t always remember to water the plants or feed the fish or turn the light off when I leave the room — but lately he has been forgetting time.

I remember carrying that backpack in case I was stranded and now I carry it so he won’t be.

I don't know how to love without disappearing, but i'm starting to wonder if the anger is the part of me that still remembers how to play.

The never- ending slice of pizza nod my head and stay

It was in my coffee so I drank it -and the pen started avoiding it. so I let it.

I don’t remember anything about that meal because there wasn’t one. I recently decided to listen to my body. It made a lot of sense — how we were designed to go through feast and famine — to eat and starve, kill an animal and eat again — I’d been slowing down on sugar and decided to take the leap and try only meat and a 36 hour fast. Quite a leap from the vegetarian tendencies I’d had my entire life. What I came to realize was how food was way more to me than sustenance. Ther

I pause the story and nothing tells me who I am.

there is a lump in my throat, my heart and a weight that flattens my spirit. On the hippity hop- waiting until dark. pillows to the window like stones in a river- dont make the floor board creek-but get to the window so you can watch for him.

Describing the underpainting of my latest piece.

I don't want to disapear anymore On a couch in the thunderstorm alone, bewildered, confused the deer frozen dust in the tail lights. Helpless. Be. Good. so they don't leave. Don't speak. so they stay kind. In the back studio. when the dragon broke through the veneer and rage wanted me like a dog devouring his toy. Freedom slipped into the night like a ghost without a candle. me-there- holding the echoes of who I once was. I hide in the underbrush of logic and reason. Its a ho

Click to View Full Image