I unapologetically prize hard work, old skills, and bluntness. My people work, and so do I.


I am a small-town kid who drifted into city life for too long and is now finding his way back home. My restless journey spills out through brush and pen, and I am more grounded for it.

Truth be told, I am cataloging all the memories, all the words, all the lessons, all the laughter, all the doubts, and all the steps accumulated in my life. No useful blade was ever sharpened without the love of the stone. Now more than ever, I hold tighter the wisdom bequeathed to me by my parents. They taught me to get my ass out of bed, get to work, be a good person, do my best, forego excuses, and be grateful, even for simple things.


Begin with a plan. Quickly abandon the plan. Observe as my head, eyes, and hands wade into the fight. Step back and inhale the fury as each slug it out with the other. Stare. Wait. Invite the music and my memories to join the mayhem. The contest can rage on for days, even weeks. 

Nod quietly, spent, as an agitated, peaceful compromise is eventually negotiated. Celebrate the day with bourbon. Neat.

Rise before dawn to fight again.


I describe it as a structured abstraction, autobiographical, storytelling, emotive. There are suggested forms, shapes, and expressive movements. Canvas and paper are my workbenches and what I produce is not fussy or fragile or frail. It's pretty and it's ugly, like life.

Thanks for stopping by.