THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST: NOT A SOUL FOR MILES

HOW I AM, THE WAY I AM

I come from a long line of artists. My father drew the original series of cigarette smoking woodpeckers used in all traditional tattoo shops today. My maternal grandmother was a professional artist who could paint the highlights of a vase with the devastation of a paper cut to the eye. And of course my grandfather was the infamous paint-by-numbers artist and rumrunner of Kansas City in the 1940’s. I have tried to combine all I learned from them into a cohesively rambling style.

My formal training includes years of study with the Canadian art God, John Nagy, developer of the audacious Learn to Draw Kit. We met every Tuesday afternoon at 3:30.

Believing in total respect for my materials I once used an entire box of Crayola 64’s without breaking a single crayon, I covered my driveway in Scotch tape to protect my sidewalk chalk drawings from the rain, and the linen of my canvas is made only from the wool of free range sheep.

THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST

Sunday, July 12, 2009

NOT A SOUL FOR MILES

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