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As mentioned in a previous post, I have had a predilection for hearts since early childhood. When I visited beloveds in the summer of 2016 and learned that they would regularly ask each other, "how does your heart feel?", naturally, the ritual resonated with me. When I returned home from my visit, I introduced the ritual to the new relationship that I was in. The question morphed into "What’s the color of your heart?" which still explored the feelings in the heart, but with emphasis on the colors. I knew I wanted to bring this ritual to my artwork, and in typical form for me, something deeper was drawing me to this... {click below to continue reading}

Everyday one-on-one interactions can be difficult, or even draining, for empaths while those same interactions can barely register on the radar of others. Mass violence events, such as 9/11, school shootings, and other horrendous tragedies, elicit emotional responses from people on a massive scale, but they are seismic for empaths. As the news breaks about tragic events, there is an over-saturation of information and not a lot of answers. At those times, it's like slipping into a trance as I step outside of myself to absorb massive amounts of energy being released by others and channel them into something different, something positive. It's how I, and many emphaths, survive such events. The Pulse nightclub shooting on June 12, 2016, was one such experience. {click to continue reading}

That moment when you realize that you've come full circle, when an experience from a previous relationship plays itself out again in a current relationship, is, in a peculiar way, rewarding. It's especially rewarding when this time around you're applying the lesson you've learned. Suddenly, the past makes much more sense than it ever did. {click to continue reading}

I owned my first camera when I was 8 years old, and I have been a photographer ever since. I was utterly fascinated with the art form. The ladies at the pharmacy in town came to know me by name-- not from buying baseball trading cards, but from the steady stream of film that I would bring in to have developed. I don't remember the cost to purchase film, but I do remember that in 1985 in Derby, New York, developing a 24-exposure roll of film cost $6.42. From the time I dropped off a roll of film, I eagerly awaited returning to the pharmacy to retrieve the long envelope stuffed with 24 visual surprises. {click to continue reading}

It is said that what we are drawn to in our childhood is what we are meant to do in that life. My earliest memories involve color and creativity. My first foray into art was at the tender age of 3 when I redecorated my cousin's room with spray paint. Nothing in my cousin's room was spared-- even my cousin's dog Benji was part of the "Installation in Army Green". Spray painting his dog proved to be a misstep for me because when Benji returned to the kitchen with army green lowlights, it tipped off my father and uncle, who were fully engrossed in their cribbage game, that something was transpiring elsewhere in the house... {click to read more}

I grew up being a perfectionist, always trying to please a parent who never would be. At the age of 22 when I finally stood up to that parent, I learned who he really was, and that was the last day I spoke to him. Emancipating myself from him was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. There were times when it nearly destroyed me, when people felt compelled to tell me that they disagreed with me, but I persisted because I believed that no one should endure such shame and disrespect. Through it all, it prepared me for the world.

Earlier this year when my partner and I returned to his hometown in the Midwest for a family celebration, I experienced this all over again... {click to read more}

To say that Fine Art America saved me is no exaggeration. Perhaps it's art that truly saved me. In October 2014 in the wake of an extremely unpleasant situation, the universe hurled me toward my destiny and Fine Art America was a beacon for me on that journey... {click to continue reading}

"Sometimes truly horrible things happen in life, they just do, when you least expect it, when it is completely undeserved, but what is important is the way we respond to it. From there, the greatest gifts arise: the love and support of true friends, which ultimately overshadows the initial negative act, but also, in removing ourselves from the situation, we learn just how strong we are."

That was my facebook status from the 25th of October 2014. At that time, only a handful of people knew about the back story to that post. Enough time has passed and I have enough distance from it now to speak more openly about it... {click to continue reading}

In September 2013 I agreed to create a piece of original artwork for a friend. I started by having a conversation with him about what he likes in art and in the world. With his answers, I began the 14-month-long quest of gathering images and working on the composition. During that time I experienced an incredible loss that resulted in the creation of another collage, and I experienced a traumatic event. (I will expand on that event in my next post.)

Incorporating my friend's favorite colors, flora, and fauna was simple. The challenge with this piece involved working with my friend's preference for symmetry. I almost always gravitate toward asymmetry. The longest part of my quest was figuring out what the framework, what the vessel, of this piece would be... {click to continue reading}

February of 2014, like the February before it, found me meditating on my 9th grade year. As discussed previously, that was a pivotal year in my life. My interest in art and French were piqued by two unbelievably talented teachers. In retrospect, I understand that in both February 2013 and 2014 my subconscious mind was trying to make me realize that I was straying farther from where I was supposed to be. I had an office job that was taking over every aspect of my life, namely because my manager was losing his grip and had spiraled into a depression that winter, so I became the backbone of that office. Through my meditations on the year I was 15, I realized that who I was trying to be then was who I truly was, and 22 years later in 2014, I desperately needed pick up those lost threads of my soul. {click to continue reading}