Making art for 30 some years now, confronting, well, age and the frailty of life (it goes by in the blink of an eye) I wonder that I should try to set some works into the sifting machine that sorts and markets, weighing and gives value, this art crumboobelation that I’ve avoided all my life. Being a poetic sort and not very worldly I figure my work will find its own way in the world.
In this upside down period, we all live in I’ve always felt like a stranger, not really at home in the world, a hiker just passing through which makes it all that much easier to describe the scene and maybe add a few comments. I know it’s not what I can tell you that matters but what you can hear.
So, I’m left pitching a message in a bottle, tossing it, like a stray coconut into the currents. Maybe you’ll find it strolling on the sand out there. Happy trails, where ever you are.
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