I make art from shards and scraps
and memory lapse and rough tokens
and trash collected/collated
from thrift shops and empty lots
and what I find in my pockets
after a night of trawling the depths.
The story is told in a stack of matchbook covers and cocktail napkins and smeary Polaroids. Garish color gleams neon-like amid somber tones. Chaos waves are pitched at us, projected ceaselessly upon our cranial tele-screen, our Bronze Age psyches stunned, desperate for augury and some kind of sign-post to Wherever.
21st Century New Day Rising is still begging to be born and artists and poets are no better equipped, have no better sense of what's in store, stumbling towards some smoky haystack of future barbecue that will be our legacy if only we could find answers to the questions no one asks.
These pages are noisy and colorful and
I hope you enjoy them.