Thoughts

Stories of painter madness.

motion

In a fog.

Who and what am I running toward with my art now? I don’t know if I’m going to be infamous museums but I have hope. I had this fear by talking about my nomination I was jinking myself. But I don’t know I believe in jinking.

Makes me what to fight the sky.

Gotta work harder and past even remembering any of it. Because the art is more improtant then the rest stops.

madness

Into the sun

into the wilds

The time to let all things dry and bond.

Those leaves are the rest of time in a rapper. A moment of space enclosed with a life print, laying in the sun to vanish. The darkness creeps in hours before my mind can grasp it. We are the epicentre. Paint is the epicentre. Ink is the epicentre.

madness

“There’s a ruby in my forearm” Milo

“If you are not a myth, who’s reality are you?” James Baldwin