TILT done


Hurt me, I bleed red. Now it’s done.

Debated about revising my LAST post, but bump that… art evolves, so why delete the contemplation of done just because you hit it with a couple more pencils?

Another quick cell snap, this time at night in a darker room… I just walked in from a night at Open M, as in Open Mind, Open Mic at the M Gallery in downtown Youngstown, Ohio, and knew at first glance that it needed some Pompeian Red tamped down by Rotviolett Purple and a little Delft Blue.

There is an energy shared by creative expression… artists, musicians, singers, poets, whatever feed off each other without consuming anything… all it does is heighten the vibe, expand the energy to spark more creative expressions. Sure, sometimes you need to isolate from the world to zone into what you are doing, but what good is a painting that is never shown or a poem that is never read?

Thanks for reading.

Here is the previous version (unfinished) in case you wish to compare without scrolling back.




TILT art WIP maybe done


This is the “Tilt” drawing started awhile back… taken to the emotion depths of grief. Faber Castell Polychromos on 140 lb. Canson paper, 9 x 12 inches.

It’s done… maybe… I had to walk away from it before dark pencils blackened the entire sky.

Photo is a quick cell phone snap… if you want to see it in person, odds are that I will take it to the SOAP Gallery’s First Friday Art Walk, 5 to 9 PM on Champion Street in downtown Youngstown on July 1, 2016.

Thanks for looking!


Emotional Storm

I woke up early yesterday, puttered around long enough for a pill to kick in, then laid back down to catch some more Z’s. Right before waking up again, I slipped into a dream.

There was a storm coming in the dream… the kind of storm where clouds gather dark and the wind kicks up a scent of rain long before the first drop falls. I was outside gathering things… art supplies and finished pieces, feeling a sense of urgency sparked by distant thunder. Then I was standing on a front porch, it felt like home, but my awake home does not have a porch.

Anyways, I was standing on this porch in my dream, studying cloud patterns in the sky above the tree line in the field across the street and here comes this wolf walking straight towards me.  It is huge… and absolutely beautiful. I am scared but mesmerized at the same time, so I’m frozen in place, just standing there, watching it watch me as it walks right up to me. I’m not scared anymore, okay just a little apprehensive, but the approach was casual with no snarling or anything.

Then the wolf embraced me by placed a paw on my right shoulder and its head on my left, nuzzling head to my head as if trying to hug me and that’s when I woke up. I recall the fur being oh so soft and plush and surprisingly sweet smelling, as if freshly bathed in scented waters.

Since it was one of those dreams that make me wonder (never dreamed of such a wolf before), I posted a brief thing about it on Facebook… curious as to what friends may think it means.


Emotional storm clouds broke a couple hours later, while I was sitting on a bench in the courtyard staring in disbelief at the message on my phone, so very much awake and hoping like hell that I was back in bed and this was all just a bad dream. My aunt Lynelle was too alive to die… too vibrant, too happy, too young, too free… She was only three years older than me, had just turned 59… how could this be?

Answers to the rush of questions would come later… the rain of tears came first.

Maybe someday I will write a tribute to this amazing, beautiful woman who lived life to the fullest, loved to the max, and painted bayou scenes with such living colors that it could make you want to go play in a swamp… but, today, I just want to savor her memory and keep some thoughts to myself.

Thanks for reading.