Some things are easy. Art is hard. I like things that are difficult, and I make things harder than they have to be. That said I like shiny things. I like finding things, arranging things. I never outgrew playing in my room with my collection of toys. Collecting is easy, narrative is easy, editing is hard. I'm drowning in ideas, in things. Things are ideas, and vice versa, except ideas only take up room in my head, unless my room is my head, in which case there is no way out.
Maybe it's too late. Maybe this is the way out. Some things are for sale, if I can figure out how to let them go. You can help, but you don't have to. More on this later.
Art caught me when I was young, photography being my first love. I designed my own major to study whatever I wanted, look where that has got me. Lately it seems like shopping has swamped the canoe, but maybe they are two sides to this fish. This is an attempt at swimming.
Joseph Cornell, Calder and his Circus. Irving Penn, but Robert Frank. Rauschenberg (mid-60's) with Basquiat (if only) but more likely Twombly. Smithson, some Heizer. Tarkovsky. Yeah, I wish, Tarkovsky. Under my pillow, next to Marker. Aim for Ansel, hit Sonny Boy Williamson.
There's more. More is More. I am a maximalist at heart.
It is an artist.
Seattle, for the most part. New York, Tampa, San Francisco, LA too.