for the life of me i can’t see any reason for a person to specialize. it forces bad habits. it creates problems where one can only see or think or hear the world through the sphere of their specialization.

for my part, i see all things as systems. in art, the minute something gets established the “system” is created and everything from thereon out is given “the treatment”. for this reason neural style generators are perfect tools. after 5 landscapes by van Gogh everyone pretty much has a good idea about the 6th, 7th and 500th. Same for Monet, Pollock, etc. etc. etc. on down to me and you.

the machine is good for repeating a system. man, for better or worse, is not because it makes us boring when we do.


choices should be seen in the negative. not what you are choosing but, rather, what you are refusing. refuse is always more interesting than the kept object. what was it? why was it tossed? who thought it was good in the first place?

through this you see the millions of choices that no longer exist. your future is now determined and a new set of choices predicated on the previous one exist in its place.


I haven’t clicked on every link on this page however i’m certain that all the links are dead are, at least 98% of them.

a lot of them link to colleges and from the looks of it were some student and/or professor page who at one point in time believed in the internet enough to try something but now, having moved on, let time cover up it’s existence. the link, therefore, is a tombstone that only reveals the sunken ground where the tomb has collapsed in on itself.

and this will happen to us all.


long time no update, had a show, etc.

pushing work now into a new direction. more later.


letters in bottles but beyond that it’s anybody’s guess.


  • i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again - there’s comfort in the blinking cursor.

  • i fail to understand anyone who wishes to be a specialist. but, having said that, i completely understand why someone would become one.

  • if there’s something worth saying, i don’t know what it is or where you’d even bother saying it.

  • the best utterances are the absurd noises made during sleep.

  • i’m missing something but i’m not sure what it is.


it's like i'm supposed to
give a fuck
about the work
i'm forced into doing
because i was a fool
and went off
chasing dreams
at art school


ancestry offers no consolation for me. while my curiosity takes me into my family’s past i have no desire to claim a relationship with people from eons past. whether i came from dirt farmers or kings is inconsequential to my current place in time.

as i sit here, now, at 1 in the morning the idea of past riches, great triumphs or terrible defeats offers no solace for me when all i want is a quesadilla from Taco Bell.


no part of my life has been allowed to rest easy for more than a few moments at a time. whether interrupted by actual tragedy or the learned behavior of waiting for the other shoe to drop anxiety is ready to come in at any time to destroy those times and ruin them forever.

since childhood i’ve been closely watched by it and kept under its thumb. from terrible sickness, death, loneliness, etc. i am forced to believe that there is no other kind of life for me but one of constant unease and motion.

and i believe this is reflected in my work more than any other theme. i can’t settle, i don’t hold to any theories or beliefs, there is nothing in man worth saving. we readily destroy all things that are good like angry toddlers wanting more candy and being denied.

i’m a vagrant, a wanderer, constantly searching for something that’s definition has been lost a long time ago.


it’s late, can’t sleep regardless of how much sleeping dope i take. it’s tedious and absurd. chewed through 2 packs of gum. blood sugar low - didn’t want to consume more calories but the choice between calories or the implications of low blood sugar make for easy decisions.

new hard drive for photo work/video work on aurora. wonder what the point is. haven’t painted in a while - why have more paintings sit molding in the basement?