Of Studios and Their Intended Use

I haven’t painted, oil painted, in a couple years.  Even then it was a burst and a fade.
But lately I’ve been…bored…with photography.  Maybe “bored” isn’t the right word, overwhelmed more like.  Armed with a smart phone, I take photos constantly and I still haven’t reconciled what that means, whether a cell phone can be a tool for artistic means.  That’s a topic for another day.

For now, I just felt the need to feel like an artist again.  I’ve been struggling with identity, confidence, my scattered loves of many mediums, and lack of success lately and I felt like putting some paint to canvas.  It felt good.  Sure, it’s just a blended background, but it’s there and it felt like a relief.  I don’t know where it’s headed either, and that’s a big thing for me.  I’m a planner.  I’m a control freak.  I plan everything.  It tends to work out when I do, so I keep the reins tight.  I don’t know where this is going and it feels pretty good.  I may plan something out, I see some movement in my mind’s eye for sure, but there’s no end goal other than to get me painting again, focused.  Getting the apron on, my beautiful brushes out, my shitty easel, the room smelling of Turpenoid and Neo Meglip.  Soft, baby oil scented hands at the end, a reminder that yes, I did this once (and I was pretty good at it), I can do it again.  Here’s hoping I can maintain and progress…
Until then, here’s my cat.




We have six hundred rivers in China, four hundred of which have been killed by pollution,” said a Chinese scientist who asked not to be named. “We will have to send at least 300 million people to Africa before we begin to see the end to our problems.



The globe I have has an ugly, brown scar near the coast.  I’m pretty sure it knows things.

I was supposed to post this yesterday, but anniversaries be damned.

4/21/11.  The oil is still here, along with the dispersant, dying animals, sick people, and a threatened way of life and living.


She came with curves, and we gave her great, dark linear cuts.  No less beautiful in her morning dress.  The ragged, soggy, drowning edges of earth as seen from

New Orleans to Houston through a

Holga, in

December, 2010.