My art:
I work in mixed media. Anything and everything I can get my sweaty paws on, I'll use. From water based paint to acrylic. Loved oil until outlawed here due to the fireball aspects. Pen and ink, even crayons, cheap finger paint, colored pencils, charcoal, colored chalk.
I am a muralist exiled to a closet.
I crave very large works to create, but am forced to do so in segments. My environment stays disruptive and abusive, so all I can do is never give up—or in. My past work was figurative and realistic. I wholeheartedly reject that style now—for the glamorous abode of modern abstraction. Where I've found a home and titanic passion. Unfortunately almost no one seems to like my painting. And while I secretly wish others might come around, and at least appreciate my work, and encourage me, I've learned through trial and error to believe more in myself. And adhere solely to what I feel and must express. Creativity is my kryptoian ability. I would love to find other like-minded artists. But for now, as with too much in my life and heart, solo is all I have. I must admit, the old starving artist moniker and cliché is wearing thin. But still accurate. I have extremely limited access to resource material. All I can do is beg for books on my favorite modern painters or examples of their work, for inspiration and joy. The quality of art supplies is currently cavemanesque, Neanderthal. Officially Kindergarten Crayola. But again I do the best I can with it, until such a time as I am once again allowed to obtain adult quality art supplies. I would rather paint than eat, hence the overdone cliché once again. And my budget is of a hobo nature. I have no doubt staying lonely fuels my art. But that is okay, as memories tend to be a catalyst.
My art is grunge meets sustained sophistication and childlike exuberance. I reshape and excrete solely from within, through and inside me. Indeed it's all deeply personal. Love, hate, dislike and loathing comes out of me. It's certainly as much therapy as it is pure unabashed pleasure. All I see coming from my untaxed gray matter is deconstructed, brought down and stripped into basic colors and brush strokes. For the most part, my subject matter is already chosen. But it too evolves into submission. I stretch it thin, cook, bake, knead, blanch, and give my mind's eye life. Conceptualize my sometimes warped lucid view. I could no more paint like everyone else—than not care. My minimalist blurry dark corner of regions still ignored and forgotten, lies blindsided via post modernism, and all the artists I crave to study with.
I've had formal training and went to college for art design and graphics, but I also often disagreed with my art teachers and professors. To a degree I quite frankly feel self taught. In my view an artist can learn and grow, and I truly strive to. But an artist can not be created. Either this is your calling and ability and passion—or it's not.
My biggest hurdle and obstacle, notwithstanding my location, location, location, and environment, is weather. We on Florida's Auschwitz have no air conditioning, hence whatever temp. it is outside, it's far worse inside. Our humidity is brutal. For weeks at a time I'm unable to paint due to moisture. Water actually running and dripping from the walls. Floors and everything else in a constant state of wet, rusting all metal in its path, creating and maintaining a loathsome, miserable existence. Colors will run and smear, unable to dry, even with my cheap no-name overpriced fan blowing. The quality of the cheap crayola kindergarten paint surely doesn't help. At one time we were allowed to order from a real art supply store, Dick Blick. With honest to gawd “Adult” art supplies. And I'll have to say the difference in my work was night and day. I continue to have so many colors in my head—that I just cannot get out—through mixing, mixing and mixing with all that I currently have.
I miss having a muse. So for now, taking my heart out of the equation—enemies, loves, lovers, friends and rogues all end up tumbling safely from my paintbrush. Those from my past and those I wish cared enough, or could find the time in their busy schedules to take a more active role—in my heart, mind and paint-splashing.
I have long since figured out, and it was confirmed, that all my school teachers used art as a means of calming me down, with my overabundance of raw, unbridled energy. I've never been officially diagnosed as “hyperactive”, but it was pretty much clear to all involved this was/is the case. I've learned how to use this productively and safely—via my overly creative ID. The controlled chaos I must drain daily via art and cardio in order to find sleep and peace.
Just Resting My Eyes
Solo swalded, and self aware.
Flashlight peering, stop and stare.
Just seeing if you're still alive.
Radio sqwalking, stomp and jive.
REM re-enter, but wide awake.
Pray what lord, whose soul to take.
Every thirty minutes, lights bright.
Puzzled peace, muzzled might.
Meager mutant, snore induce.
Counting sheep reproduce.
Forty degrees, no heater us.
Bundle up, layer just.
Pandemic putrid, infection rise.
So much warmer with her thighs.
Sleep, awake, it's all the same.
Love, longing, door slam, chain.
Built that building, sow that seed.
She once held me, gone and leave.
Demented demagogue, hath belong.
Truth's venue, right and wrong.
Breakfast humdrum, tilted head.
Still alive, but half past dead.
Feel my voice, rise into.
No one knows me, purple blue.
My goals:
To heal. Not to treat others better than they treat me. To live long enough to prove to my beloved daughters, Katelyn Alexis, Rachel E., and son Benito, the truth of my innocence. And the Gargantuan love for these three beautiful creatures and their lovely offspring—those awesome grandbabies. To scream with any or all of them on the best roller coasters. To cook breakfast in bed for my kids, having stayed up all night talking. Just to worship and adore them. To swim to my heart's content of pruned succession with a Cousteau, M. Phelps, or Dara Tores. To never go to bed hungry, sad or lonely again. To repay all debts in a fitting fashion and manner, most proper. To paint with a Picasso, Matisse or Chagall. To ask a few dirtbags to lunch who never believed in me, or my innocence, yet pretended otherwise.
Maybe, maybe—to not sleep alone half the time. To love someone as family, that would treat me as family. To travel again, just for pleasure, to figure out just where I belong. And to whom.
To act upon each passion, passionately.
To know someone, who knows better.
To have an endless Nike shoe collection again, every style and color dreamable.
To skinny dip in a storm, and in as many waterfalls as possible.
To ride an adult Big Wheel. To spend the night in a tree house. A haunted house. A submarine.
To go camping. Just holding hands and being held by a female best friend. To build a huge inside home fort—using pillows, sheets, cushions and blankets. To play footsie, Frisbee, Tag, Hide and Go Seek, Dodge ball, water balloons, squirt gun fights, GI Joes, Slip-n-Slides, Twister, B.B. Guns, Hot Wheels, Silly Putty. To share a waterfall with a love while debating the pros and cons of sunrises vs. sunsets. To trust again. Share again. Strive for love unconditional, and to find a lady who truly knows how to define it. To forgive, even when not deserved. To try and see the good in people again. To spend a few hours in Auschwitz, other than Florida's. To never hear anyone sing, who falsely believes they can or should. Ditto for dancing.
To grow again my beloved roses—hues from black to orange. Likewise my Gardenias, Wisteria, fruits and veggies galore. Berries and then some. Figs. Herbs, spices, Orchids—oh, my soul cries out for Orchids again. Daffodils, Dahlias, Phlox, Lilies, Echinacea, Hostas, Irises.
To wake someone up playing a bagpipe, or theremin.
To create memories that not only myself, but someone dear to me, will remember, recall, reflect upon fondly. To enjoy the refractive water's light and fireplace glow to sleep by, with.
To experience rednecks only when and if I so choose. Unlike now, constantly.
To prove liars for what they are and why. To prove even a group of liars with the same goal, do not equal truth.
To eat an entire gingerbread house, king sized Nestle crunch bar. A barn sized Wendy's Frosty. A piping hot Miss Smith's Dutch apple crumb pie. Then the next morning a cold one. Ice cream maybe. Candy apples. Caramel apples. Sweet sticky S'Mores—melty gooey from my fireplace. Ice cream cake. A few hundred Cadbury eggs. A rich thick chocolate brownie the size of a cat—so rich, you can only eat limited amounts at a time.
To blow bubblegum bubbles and annoy everyone popping them. To eat an outback steak the size of a manhole cover, well-done, naturally. Side by side with a blooming onion—just for me.
To devour every type of cheese known to mankind. Maybe even to invent one.
To have a meal cooked for me, by someone who cares. To not guess or hope that I mean something to someone. But to be told, and shown. To truly matter to someone and become a part of their lives and heart. To hear “I love you” and feel it. To say Goodnight. Good morning. I missed you. I need you. Can't quit thinking about you. To feel my views matter. Secretly wanting to hear all this, from someone other than myself. To open my eyes to someone holding my hands, to wake up from this nightmare. Knowing that's all it was.
My favorite photographers:
Ben Aquino, my beloved son.
Lucien Clergue. (Art and nudes combine effortlessly. Owned many of his masterpieces.)
Ansel Adams.
Annie Leibovitz.
Alfred Stieglitz. (Amazing nudes, Georgia O'Keefe's hubby.)
Dain Tasker. (X-ray photos of flowers and plants. Famous for his “lily” photos I adore.)
Faith D. Spahr. (An up-and-coming talent.)
My favorite artists: Influences and inspiration
Jean Michel Basquiat Paul Klee Joseph Solman Pablo Picasso Miriam Beerman
Henri Matisse Romare Bearden Marc Chagall Hans Hoffman Sly Stalone
Rosie O'Donnell Alexandra Nechita George Braque Gaston Chaissac
Lucian Freud Gino Severini Joan Miro Stuart Davis Paul Clifford Walter Anderson
Georgia O'Keefe Frank Stella Max and Jimmy Ernst Marilyn Manson
Dana Schultz Amy Sillman Willem DeKooning Hans Burkhardt
Willem Schumacher Zao Wouki
Best guitarists ever!!:
Eddie Van Halen, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Lenny Kravitz, Prince, B.B. King, Buddy Guy, John Mayer, Slash, Les Paul, Dave Grohl, Wes Montgomery. Orianthi. Steve Vai. Neil Shon. Robert Cray. Joe Satriani. Jimi Hendrix. Robert Finley. Stevie Ray Vaughan. Albert King.
I'm curious about:
What is Justice? What is Truth? How can we judge something is true or false? Can a person lie deliberately without at least thinking that they know something to be true, that they had a grasp of truth?
Is Man's nature different in kind or different in degree from the nature of other animals?
Can there be an end to progress or is it getting better and better, or higher and higher? Or does the line progress towards some goal, some final goal, which is its terminus or end? And if there is a goal of progress, is that goal attainable in time? Is it reached in time or is the goal only at the end of time when the world is done?
Does God exist? Can any man be judged a representative of any religion, with all our faults?
Can we know God's relation to the world and to Man? If God can prevent evil, but does not, then how can he be “all loving”? If God intends to prevent evil, but cannot, then is he truly omnipotent?
Why does God continue to allow evil such a stronghold? Why wouldn't God allow Houdini to tell us about the other side?
If God truly believed in capital punishment, why didn't he kill, murder, the devil? Why also does he allow the devil so much freedom, if both are, indeed, real? How can anyone believe in capital punishment, but not abortion?
How could any sane, thinking, breathing human being with an IQ above 50, believe everyone in prison is guilty? When in Florida's Auschwitz, death row, the numbers are: one in four are innocent? How could they not only believe in cliched innocence, but endorse a state putting a man to death, with only one side of the story heard? If there were only one case of innocence on Florida's death row, then surely the possibility exists that we as a society have already murdered an innocent man without knowing it. Killing to prevent killing. What an intelligent concept!
Why are invisible scars the hardest to heal? Can one truly heal, when everyone's turned their back on you? Why, how, can a man get used to suffering, yet be unaccustomed to kindness?
Why do few people believe in soulmates? Or is it just easier always to settle for less?
Which was blue first, the sky or the ocean?
Why does race have to be an issue, in anything?
Why does it matter which came first, the chicken or the egg, as long as we have both?
Why are closed minds akin to closed hearts?
Why don't we understand there are things we'll never understand?
Why do the most uneducated moronic yahoos still claim that America has the best legal system in the world? Aren't these the same people abducted and probed by UFOs? They would certainly change their tune if they were given an attorney working for the state attorney's office, and never their clients.
Do illiterate people have the same experience of alphabet soup?
Why did Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
Why do we drive on a parkway, and park on a driveway?
Are all bad singers deaf, sadistic, or lip-synching out loud?
Who started the lies about Santa, the tooth fairy, and storks bringing babies?
Why do we close our eyes when we sneeze?
Is even the sound of yawning contagious?
How do we know America went to the moon first?
If all snowflakes are different, how many unique snowflakes have touched the earth over time?
Why hasn't one single person, one so-called Christian from my old church, ever written or visited me? I have heard what they said about me. How lovely they still found the time to ask for money—for seven years—I didn't have. I'm embarrassed to have ever grown up in the church, taught classes, and believed in anything they pretend to. Embarrassed to ever have called myself a Christian. No wonder I'm a proud agnostic, given all these fine examples.
How can Florida's Auschwitz's doctors kill and murder on purpose? Hippocratic oath? Not bloody likely.
Why are holidays here just so numb?
Why kill a tree for Christmas? Why??
Why do people devote so much time, effort, and funds to outside appearances, neglecting the inside, that inevitably controls the outside?
Why is beauty found so rarely—inside and out?
Why do people believe themselves to be romantic, if they like long walks on the beach?
Why don't others realize, you can't hear as well, when you're talking?
Why can't love be more real, and not just in the moment?
Why isn't kissing more of an art form instead of an interlude to?
Why are terms like “forever” and “promise” used so loosely?
Why is moonlight so intoxicating?
Why don't girls really have pillow fights in their underwear? Why is a “bra” singular, and “panties” plural?
Why do the “Twinkle, twinkle, little star” and the “Alphabet song” have the same tune?
Why does Sesame Street Grover sound exactly like Star Wars' Yoda?
Why are golf, NASCAR, Monster Truck races, American football, fishing, and tailgating all so very redneck?
Why don't sports yellers realize their TV is not alive?
I Don't:
Do high fives. Say “dude.” Follow the crowd. Play well with others. Bandwagon. Believe the “rules” were meant for me. Yell at sports. Talk to myself or the TV. Listen to country music, or gospel. Do drugs, smoke, or drink. Never have, never will. Trust easily any more, sadly. Take people's word for truth—without inner debate. Think guys hit in the testicles is funny. Nor girls hit in the breasts. Nor a woman's periods. Wear cowboy hats. Do square dances, hootenannys, or barn dances. Watch NASCAR or races. Like bullfights. Or monster truck rallies. Kill spiders, snakes, or creepy crawlers, unless they bite or try to. Use catchphrases like “time to rock and roll”, “Lock and load”, etc. Do gang symbols. Wear sunglasses indoors. Talk down to anyone. Forget my blessings, or that someone always has it worse. Do grumpy when I wake up. Take anything for granted.
I Believe:
Money and possessions do not create class, intellect, empathy, character, or kindness. But they will in fact cause impaired judgment on both owners and on weak observers.
One day Charlie Brown will have just about enough of all the Lucys pulling the stupid football away at the last moment, and will show them all what for!!
The ocean belongs solely to me in all her glory, beauty, power and sheer art work.
Rednecks cannot be rehabilitated. There is no cure.
All nationalities can be rednecks.
You can care about – and ride – horses, without being a cowboy or donning the dreaded hat or boots.
Over 90% of people will settle for less. Sadly. In everything. I've been guilty of this too in my past.
UFOs are possible. We should never be so proud or arrogant as to believe we own the universe.
Ghosts are possible until proven otherwise.
The only cemetery that is not beautiful in some aspect is Steven King's “Pet”. Only the living can hurt you.
State attorneys, police, and law enforcement may tell the truth...say, 25% of the time, if that.
Most people have no clue what a “true” friend is.
Honor may have died long ago.
If women don't know what they want, how can we?
My heart and soul belong to my precious 3 children and grand kids. Currently, sadly, they could not care less.
Children and animals are more honesty-giving and forgiving than anyone else. They know and can feel who truly cares and loves them.
One must laugh – too loud, too – often.
Being truly gifted in one field means you are lacking in another.
Balance can never be fully achieved or appreciated. But must still be strived for.
Tobacco use has zero intelligent argument for it. Ditto for drug use, abuse.
Great cooks, chefs—need not be fat.
Girls want sex almost as much as men, maybe more. We can hope, anyway.
America often sucks. Sorry, facts are facts.
Florida is for hillbillys and rednecks.
Being politically correct is a blight. A cancer that must be destroyed.
Best friends remain as rare as a real love. Or dare I say, as unconditional love.
You can be both best friend and father.
Corruption flourishes and ferments in high and low places and closed minds.
Joe Public is incredibly naive about this, just as he is too stupid to realize being a redneck or following the crowd is not a good thing.
The truth is all too often stranger than fiction.
Grown men can cry.
Manscape is fine. Womanscape, yum.
In soulmates. Mine has just not found me yet. I've waited all my life for her.
Labels and stereotypes are for the weak and simple-minded. However, many ring true here. Must be a Florida thing.
Everyone's not good at everything. But everyone has a talent.
Bad things do happen to good people.
Nudity and sex—are two different things.
Not everyone gets, likes, or even cares, about my modern abstract art. Always always always, someone is waiting in the light or in the shadows to tear you down. To struggle with other's views of my art is insanity. I quit taking that personally.
Women underestimate...the power of their eyebrows.
A soul mate must see you at your lowest, your worst, for you to know them, and prove who they are. If she loves you in spite of everything, she deserves you at your highest.
Where you sit, is where you stand.
Compassion comes with the destruction of personal ego.
Race should never matter. But the ones who talk the most about it, seem to have the most biased views and beliefs. I could care less about race in a best friend or lover. Nor about size, age, limitations, etc. I do need to work on viewing American girls as highly as I do overseas ladies.
Roses smell better when you allow them to. Roses you grow yourself exceed all possible “bought” rose scents.
I still believe beauty—real beauty, inside and out—remains a rare commodity. Even better, and sadly just as rare, is when and if she does not know or act like she knows how beautiful she is.
Only great kissers make great lovers.
Jedi mind tricks do work on the weak minded.
Over time all too often, much too much is taken for granted.
Underdogs, sanitation, and vindication.
Sock monkeys will take over the world one day. Enslave the human race and dominate us as our evil overlords, thus creating a jungle paradise where egos are no longer tolerated. Italian becomes the main mother tongue, followed sharply by Greek and German. English forgotten. Sock monkeys will rule the earth as they did long ago.
I flat out hate:
Crowds, tests, math, traffic, liars, unmedicated bipolar people, hair weaves, extensions, too much make up, smokers, any tobacco whatsoever, and drug users. Self medicaters and those claiming not to care what everyone else thinks, when they clearly do. Valley girl impressions, backwards or sideways baseball caps, girls with no eyebrows, line cutters, rudeness disguised as being tough. Overacting drama kings and queens. Wanna-bees, crowd followers, trend lovers, sport fanatics and yellers, tailgating, team colors. Gold diggers, users, phoney fake Christians, arguments with low IQ people, thieves. Those who do not love children or animals. People who take their health for granted. Wasting time. Lazy schmucks, non-swimmers, monster trucks, country music, gospel, hard-core so-called Gangster Rap., NASCAR, rednecks, simple or narrow minds, big heads, braggarts, egos, karma-killers, nosy bastards, know-it-all experts, giving in to political correctness, those who believe something but cannot argue why. Belief in only one side of a story told. Promises that mean nothing. People who take my friendship, caring or love for granted, game shows, gambling, mosquitos, gnats, roaches, fleas and ticks.
My biggest flaws:
Goofy nerd. Terminally perky. Touchy-feely, uber physical. Too hyper. Too skeptical. Rhetorical, sarcastic to the tenth degree. Sophomoric, childish, puckish. Too sensitive. Metaphoric to the point few can follow. Snarky. Upbeat. Eternal optimist.
BANANA FOSTER , OH MY.
I LOST A SEED , DROPPED A SEED.
HELD AND TAUNTED , SHOOK AND BLEED.
WARLIKE TEA , REPRESS , REPOSE.
ADMIRE SWEET , THY FRIGID ROSE.
MONKEY PUZZEL , DAFFODILE GROWL.
LONG FORGOTTEN , EVEN NOW.
QUIT IT STOP, VOLTAIRE IN SESSON.
MIND NUMBING HEARTBEAT , SKIM REGRESSION
UNWILLING TO LEARN , IGNORANT BRING.
CLASS NOT MEASURED , IN SIGHT OR SING.
ABSURDITIES POUNCING , AFTERBIRTH CONCLUDE.
COMMON SENSE ZERO , BOUNDLESS RUDE.
REMEMBER HER WARMTH , RECALL HER BEST.
NOT THE SAME GIRL ,NEED A BULLETPROOF VEST.
HUMAN HUMANE , VISIT RETURN.
HUNGRY HIPPO , HID SUNBURN.
HUNGER ACHES ,DRAFTED DRONE.
NOT ONE PERSON LEFT AT ALL TO PHONE.
E - MAIL ABSENT , CASPER GHOST.
ALL TOO BUSY, MAKE THE MOST.
SAMOS DEAD, EUPHORIA MOURN.
RECALL NOT WHY , I WAS BORN.
WET SUGAR CRYSTAL FADES SIGHT.
PENCIL YOU IN , MY SCHEDULE TONIGHT.
FIRST I'LL CHECK, APPEARENCES VARY.
AT THIS HOUR , VOICES CARRY.
CHARGE THE TABLET , CHARGE THE HILL.
PEEPERS CLOSED , QUIET AND STILL.
AFTERNOONS YARD , STARLIGHT STAB.
OVERTHINK NOT TODAY, ITCH HAD.
COOKIES - N - CREAM DROOL, APPLE PIE SIGH .
DRIFT BY GURGLE, PAPER BOAT CRY.
ALONE TONITE , AND ALWAYS SO.
ONLY ME, TOUCH AND GO.
I PAINT AT DUSK, PAINT AT DAWN.
INSPIRED MECHANICAL , OFF AND ON.
BANANA FOSTER , SMORE OOZE.
TALK IS CHEAP , WHATS TO LOSE?
TOO MANY PUPPIES.
TOO MANY HAWKS, NOT ENOUGH BIRDS.
TOO MANY BUZZARDS , 2 LITTLE HERDS.
STAY IF YOU WILL , SAY IF YOU WON'T.
A PROMISE KEPT , DO OR DON'T.
RATTLESNAKE ROUNDUP ,TOBACCO STENCH.
NO I'M NOT ANGRY ,RELEASE, UNCLENCH.
NOT ENOUGH BANANAS , TOO MANY MONKEYS.
TOO MANY FOLLOWERS , TOO MANY FLUNKIES.
LON CHANEYS MOON , SPRINGS SCORN.
HOLIDAY BURN , SENTENCE BORN.
TOO MUCH HUMIDY , DRIPPING SWEAT.
BIPOLAR LIARS , WISH I'D NOT MET.
THERES ALOT TO LIKE , ALOT TO HIDE.
KIND AND HONEST DO ABIDE.
TREAT ME HOW I'D ALWAYS DO.
STARVED COMMITMENTS , SEE IT THRU.
NOT MANY SKIPPERS , NOT ENOUGH MATES.
DRIP DROP SPILL , CARRY YOUR PLATE.
CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT HER ASS.
LONGING , FORGET , LET THIS PASS.
TOO MUCH EVIL , WRONG SIDE WIN?
BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL , 2 FEW FRIEND.
HORRID AWAKENINGS , DREAMING OH DREAMT.
YEAH , I'M UP, LACK LUSTER SPENT.
ALONES NOT SO BAD , JUST TODAY.
OKAY DODGEBALL , SURE LETS PLAY.
2 MANY RATS , 2 LITTLE CHEESE.
LIARS A LEAPING , AIM TO PLEASE.
YELLING ECO , SHUT THE HELL UP.
NEVER TOO MANY , CUTE PRECIOUS PUP.