I have a different view of my surroundings than others. I find trees rotting on the forest floor as beautiful as flowers in spring. The color of rust and decay on an abandoned car interests me more than most friends. Dachshunds own my heart.
Graffiti excites me when others may find it offensive. Here I see tribal, or territorial markings of voices otherwise unheard. I liken it to Neanderthal leaving hand prints on cave walls. Such things influence my work, if nothing more than to express emotion through color, or escape.
Painting is a compulsion, an addiction from which I cannot break. With each work, I release my soul and no matter how much I feel I'm exposing my deepest vulnerability for the world to scrutinize, I must do this to feel whole. It defines me.
I wonder what the future generations will imagine when they evolve and look back at the markings of what we once were. Will they think of us as enlightened beings or lunatics on an endless search to cleanse their souls?