30 Apr 2012


My dads poem


The beginings of a book series i am working on currently

2 Apr 2012

Grasping at the duplicity of reality

Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces - Sigmund Freud

Threshold conciousness

Winding, and unwinding we go, through our selves, going one way we are ourselves, the other way, what are we? The art of ourselves? images, dreams, stories, fantasies, memories? Can we rub against our art selves as we wind around, like serpents, and let some of the pigment brush off on us? And look, where the pigment rubbed off, the skin becomes transparent, and we see through it, to another world. Much more vast. And it's looking at you.”

My hand is holdier than thy hand

Sandblasted acrylic monoprint , mixed media