Spelunking into the Page

Each blank sheet of paper has infinite depth. Sure, the edges limit lateral extension but think about how far inward you can dive through a single sheet of paper. And while you're spelunking into the page, when do you determine that the rope you're drawing has reached its limit? At some point there's an end, right?

I'm in the process of finishing a drawing. I haven't puzzled through this in over a year. I mean, a long term, long puzzled drawing with lots of intricate content. I've pieced the images together and as I finalize their connections, composition, distribution of light and flow, an inevitable end looms indeterminably. Morning after morning, my imagination lowers deeper into the remaining crevices of white. I'm not done exploring, but the blankness fills and there's less to discover. Soon as there's no where else to climb, it's time to dive into a new sheet of paper. And that's how a drawing ends. Next time, draw a longer rope.

A Peculiar Imagination

I discovered this book of my four year old drawings. My descriptions of them are, well...pretty morbid. Don't be deceived! I was a very happy child. 

F Train, Rush Hour

The headlines to yesterday's newspaper run across three seats, although she occupies only one. Her cheeks are two isolated swathes of bright coral. A pair of swollen feet rest on newspaper padding while printed current events flop complementary to the train. Her bony upper vertebrae curve in a line from the bursting plastic bag at her toes to her pointed nose. Occasionally she peers to looming commuters, huddled in five layers of black jackets, coveting a dust of fine white powder.

T'aint What You Do

The base thrums patterns into your abandoned punch cup as you ease into coupled swaying. Dancers bounce to an unlikely mix of musicians who drip jazz into the already humid air. Peering from up a flight of stairs each spin blooms into the wooden floor.Up another flight and a many window lit sky blows the occasional breeze under your foot taps.

This is where I slip into dreamy dancing and hope to never awake. I'm obsessed with the music, the dresses and endorphin fueled smiles. The more I dance, the more it infiltrates my thoughts. I tap into a mirror in my living room, the carpet rolled up behind me. I dance until my breath is heavy and my palette dry.

I swing three nights a week, sometimes more. With each great dance another trouble shimmies into tinny recordings of eras past.

The Value of Your Art When You're Dead

Thank you, says the tall British man as the tenacious gentleman adds $10,000 to the already $130,000 glorified Calder doodle. Postured people line the perimeter of the room on telephones and occasionally a stiff hand raises to claim the removed painting as it rotates on a grey walled easel. Sitters contemplate their books while the easel turns at the rate the auctioneer takes each overdue breath. Voiceless conversations buzz through tense air.

I raise my hand.  The price increases another ten thousand. My hand goes up again, competing with a young business casual woman holding a phone that correlates to a booth above. Inside a famous face is masked by a row of starchy blue curtains. Another bid, I pitch my final bold raise...And I win!

"SOLD for two hundred and twenty thousand dollars to the young woman by the door in a track suit."

I run as fast as I can: down the East River, over the Williamsburg Bridge, through Hipster Wonderland,  back to my studio in Greenpoint where no one will find me. Back to where I make art and hope someone will value it beyond the cost of the materials.

Ragtime Espresso

To see the complete article on the cinemagraph above, check out photographer Jessica Glazer's site here.

Tap shoes stomp down a carpeted wooden staircase, while simultaneously a static television and shower turn on, followed by the singular click of a turning lock and the amplified hum of florescent lights. These are an espresso instrument's notes. The melody complete, a creamy and chocolatey, softly bitter molasses remains. I comb its surface with smoothly steamed milk and fanciful designs. I've had over 1,500 hours of practice with this tune in the past 10 months, but the music's nuance still awes me.

Developing Enveloping Envelopes

My latest project. Sharpie and colored pencils on security proofed envelopes. Every tree is different, only 15 more to color. I'll update more as it develops into a book.