Why I'm An Artist.

I can't remember when I started making art. It was just always something I did. I did it when I got up in the morning, while I watched TV and ate breakfast, while I sat in the car on my way somewhere, and in the margins of every textbook I ever owned. When my grandma asked me, "Where do you get all your ideas?" I said, "The pictures are already on the paper, I just gotta let them out."

I tried a lot of other things, tried to let myself work "creative" jobs, but nothing cut it. I'd get creative ideas and write them down on the back of my hand between juggling coffee cups, saving them for later. I couldn't wait to get home and slap paint all over the nearest flat surface I could find. I had to face what I always knew but was too scared to admit:

I'm an artist.

This sort of inner dialogue is what fuels my work. The expressiveness of a human being. What goes on in this somewhat flawed but beautiful evolutionary work of art that we walk around in: the blood, the guts, and most importantly - the brain.

"Symbiosis" 12x12 in, oil on canvas.