The Coming Of The Kids Hasn't Come

We Love Our Lovin'....but Not Like We Love Our Freedom.

The Thing That Started Me Painting Originally Was Seeing Bambi When I Was About Nine. I Was Incredibly Disturbed By The Forest Fire That Killed Bambi's Mother, And That Distress Gave Me The Impulse To Create Something, As A Way Of Dealing With It.

Augustine, Anne Sexton And Sylvia Plath Are Confessional Writers And All Three Make Me Sick. I Have Nothing In Common With Them.

Fibers In A Variety Of Colors Protrude Out Of My Skin Like Mushrooms After A Rainstorm. They Cannot Be Forensically Identified As Animal, Vegetable Or Mineral.

When The World Becomes A Massive Mess With Nobody At The Helm, It's Time For Artists To Make Their Mark.