Identity Theft

Angel smiles abound around this town. She stands now and plans now. Brown eyes, loving eyes. Joyful eyes. Growing. Hunger. Fullness. She is everything to me, in me. Makes me. 19 pounds of heaven. I will look into her eyes and find myself one day. I will look into her eyes and find happiness one day. In her eyes I am laying concrete. Resting on couch, porch, swing, lemonade summers.

One week absence. Misses. Growth. System. Crawling. She will walk soon. She will talk soon. Missing growth. Missing laughter. Missing knowing that I am larger than me. Purpose to sustain not only my life, but her life. I am larger. Stronger. Part of something bigger than self.

Self is selfish. Self needs unit, pod, growth, construct system. System grows roots. Roots sink deep into soil. Grows foundation. Find self in soil. Find self in roots, construct on system. Find identity through growing unit. Unit grows self. Self grows identity.

Artist Statement

Option #1

I am interested in the connection between our own perceptions and the unknown. I am interested in trying to percieve the pattern of the golden mean and to try and draw from it's energy. I believe that as a visual artist there is a great responsibility to attempt to capture beauty and truth.

I believe that these qualities are natural and pure and live below the surface of our consciousness, even in the worst of us. The goal for me is to take a step back. To detach myself from the activity or process of making art. To allow it to have a voice of it's own. To allow it to draw it's connections. To work off of my own internal rhythms. To work off of my own childhood dreams. My own adult awakenings.

In order to find a sublime subconsciousness that shapes my identity. Through this detachment I attempt to achieve perfection. An inner reflection. An outer reflection. A mirror of myself. A mirror of us all.

Retired

Florida sun fun, one on one, by the pool, cool. Cocktail in hand man. Burgers for lunch. Sirlion for dinner. Gas grilled, drinks chilled. Screened in fenced in backed up to a six foot alligator's creek bed, he said.

Working on the yard all day. Retired factory worker. Organize size, eyes see nothing but blue skys, palm tree, sprinkler fed sand bed. Breeze blowing through suburban look alike prefabricated dry-wall heaven. I worked for this for thirty years man.

I remember when I was taking my apprentice training. I would sleep in the parking lot after work. And it was so cold. Philly is fucking cold man. I busted my ass to get this. Worked the night shift. Read chess books at night when it was slow. Shit. There was nothing else to do.

Now I have all the toys. A Harley in the garage. A Lincoln Navigator. A riding lawn tractor. Factor this in. This house could sell for 350 now and I bought it for 90. Extra side lot. All mine.

If I had enough money I'd get an R.V. and go to all the races. Shit man, maybe next year. We'll sell the house. Get the R.V. I'd follow NASCAR anywhere. Just party. Stay on the road.

And just party.