I 







try to practice my craft everyday.
Busy making
I 







try to practice my craft everyday.
Always making
I 







try to practice my craft everyday.
I always find my words in these podcasts. I’m so quiet in a lot of life. I love to paint in my head rather than slow down and be a part of everything. I must look crazy to most people but it makes me happy. I figure the idea is to find what makes you so happy.
I hope this finds you well and the photos are from this week in my studio. I loved this week’s end.
My coffee cup feels empty. Like nothing, I take in fills and warms. This splif is a doorway to the empty. I am a foul on its songs. I dance slowly and then vibrates my eyes to sleep when it makes my mind dance to fast. The days are on rollerskates. The moon runs from me and the sun hides in the wind chill. The painter is a game of death. I make with the ashes of things that once had formed to make things that get to be formed. A recycler of existence. Ash to Ash and ink to paint.
Liquid fire in a coffee cup to burn questioning butterflies out of my belly. Standing as music booms into my ears into my bones and so the fear is danced out all over the canvas for another night. That cold creamy moon wars with me.
Fuck,
I’m a strong believer in curse words. It just feels like freedom. I love the word fuck. It is such an amazing word and conveys so much. I kind of want one day when people ask what my style of painting is fucking painting. I’m a fucking painter. I feel it in bones of my fingers that scream me awake at 3 AM as I wonder the hall in our condo with the cat.