As I am painting…


Coming from some deep place in the inner workings of my head. That place that hurts the most. The Pain is not physical, but mental. the kind of pain that makes you think too much, that twists around spinning, turning, scared. Earsplitting thoughts that make you uncomfortable. The blood is impelling my veins, throbbing through the lobes of my forehead. Its uncomfortable. Strange and appealing at the same time. This must be why at times I don’t remember creating. Maybe I don’t want to remember.


Looking beyond what society has taught us. At the very beginning of life, you must behave this way and that way. then you get rewarded. mash in with the sheep, conform to the norm and be rewarded. stay safe, don’t express yourself, get rewarded. Breaking from this has been difficult. Slowly and hidden it stays within the comforts of my own little box. Worried about the reaction and being accepted. it would seep out from time to time but with constraints.

Spent most of my life trying to figure out what people wanted to see, what would they buy. Always holding back some. Constraining the creative gods that battle to come out. Dark art has always come easy, too easy. I never watched horror movies. Not having nightmares, I will often wonder where it comes from.


Art was and always has been my escape from the problems of life. We all think at times that the world is against us. testing and punishing. when you take a step forward, you take 2 steps back. Art is always been my yoga, my meditation. Holding back my thoughts, chaining my brush. The standards that society has deemed “approved subject matter”.


Believing that most people have many personalities. People Act one way to impress someone to feed the ego. act another way to be accepted, yet most people only care about themselves. Never looking or listening to understand. but, only to interject themselves into the situation, to be the winner. Is it fear that makes people act so horrifying at times? often sensing monsters that hide inside people. look behind the faces that are hidden. They all walk among us, Hiding, judging, in fear playing the victim.

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The images that develop are disgusting, sick and beautiful. The yin and yang. They like it and feel uncomfortable at the same time. That’s sick, gross, I can’t even look at it. But yet the people who hated the art the most, would stare and stare. With my art, I would encourage you to look deeper, ponder what draws you in. Only then find your own meanings.


What is art, is it the feelings you have about society or family? Or is it the feeling that someone else may have? whatever the reason, that feeling needs to be confronted. That need to be accepted, is overpowering at times. Put down your phones, turn off your TV, stop judging. you never know the battles that people are facing. look inward, see beyond what you think to be true.


When you look at my art and something disturbs you. Is it a reflection of your own self that you see?

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