The artists in random order.
Music by Japanese Breakfast -Road Head
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Taste like poison, deep and rich. The dark matter matters as the only air I feel is the fan on my face. The skies little kisses splashing on praying eyes. Avalon is a dream and we are all but dreamers. Fire crawling up my temples and no end in sight. The feet roll up inside the welcome mat as the covers buried the man to young to remember his passwords to the WIFI. His sleep will take all his secrets until morning. No one soul is everything and no one soul is nothing.
A kingdom of paper plates. A jungle of unknown wealth jumbled in red, green, yellow and blue holiday lights. Forgotten in the dreams of liquid lucid lopsided lovers of all things dreams.
Bury me down by the river so as the Earth eats me I feed the children with the fruits of Summer. It’s all a thumbprint on a glass spiderweb.
Remember to forget the things that give you pain and eat the things that bring you your reflections of you feels. They become parts of pieces of all the little littles that inspire you.
A week of making,
Deep and true and fearful. The honest parts of me know the outcome is no bigger than a grain of sand to the world but I am a grain of sand so it is my world. In search of my next masterpiece and I do not know anything to begin and build a new universe with.
Wishing wells of all the parts that made me grow into the creative heartbeat. Cocoa butter for the tips and tops of feet and elbows to pull me back to the first time I ever lifted a brush as a youth. Whine and beer to remind my self that I can be limitless as I slow and speed up time; traveling on and bending space with colors.
Where ever I go the art is playing in the background; in the corners of my eyes. Forever a trickster to steal me from all other tasks. Making and making and making.
Next stop Painter Files Podcast.
I don’t know sometimes, how I found my path. It was always mine, I guess. No one gave it to me. I didn’t take it and yet it was maybe my birthright? That word feels weird to me. I have never felt that anything was really mine until my 30’s. The world is the owner and we are but mere space holders in service to it.
This art book will be grand. I will make and grow deep in the pages and I want each every one of you to feel the strokes and trace the lines with your eyes. I do this in service to you and my self because we live these hard lives for something warm on the inside.