Beta Autobiography in progress (Rough/Idea draft)
If I were to get right at the heart of the matter, I would generally say that I am particularly good at learning everything the hard way. While that may not be the most desirable way to go about things, I will say this, when something finally does sinks in, it digs deep and grows roots; and there is no way of getting those buggers out, once there in. I recollect my first such education in this regard, was when I got really good at the long jump. Back in those days, in what we called elementary school, we had sort of a track and field event called "field day." So, we were all getting worked up and practicing the events at recess, because leading up to the big day, we were shown all these cool ribbons for first, second, and third place. Now I was pretty darn quick, and it did not take long to figure out that I was jumping further the other boys by a fair distance; and, the general consensus among us was, that first place blue ribbon was going to me mine! Boy, did that charge me up and really put the spring in my jump. Now, along comes the big day, and I am sure that plenty of those blue first place ribbons are going to be mine. At the end of the day, a girl named Porsche beat me in every event. What is worse, is that she happened to also be my first crush! But, that is not where I am going with this, because, along with being good at long jump, I really started like to see what kinds of things I could jump over. Creeks mostly.
About this time, the home in which we resided in was a cozy place with white lap siding and a green asphalt shingled roof, situated among high cottonwood trees and with an irrigation ditch cutting diagonally along the lower border of the property. It even came with a perfect play spot. There was a tire swing hanging from a huge cottonwood tree branch, and an old sandbox, that was being taken over by tall grasses and weeds and came complete with a couple of old, beat up, somewhat rusty Tonka toys that still mostly worked. They were the full sized ones, a front-end loader that had levers you could work and a dump truck with a tilting bed. It was pleasant and shady and a good place to hang out and look across the ditch at the the storage lot across the ditch. Now, I always preferred playing with construction toys and cars and could never really figure out what the heck to do with a GI Joe. Anyway, I am getting side tracked. So, of course, the view from my cozy hideaway, across that darn creek is a lot filled with all sorts of hand made construction contraptions and modified trailers, and just about any odd thing that could be rolled in. To top it off, there wasn't even a fence to keep me out. All I had to do was jump over that darn ditch.
The only way to cross it was at the road at the end of a long dirt driveway in the wrong direction; and where I wanted to go play was dead straight across from that ditch! So, every day, when I went down to play by the creek, where there was a gigantic cottonwood tree with a tire swing and somewhat over grown sand box, I would explore both directions along the ditch, trying to find a good spot to jump across.
Long before we moved into this place, someone had fastened a strong rope to an old car tire, tied it to a large branch of a gigantic cottonwood tree that towered over the ditch, and made a swing.
Every day, when I walked down the narrow path toward a large cottonwood tree that grew over the ditch where I played all the time,. Now, I got to thinking about jumping across that creek; and started walking back and forth along our side of the ditch scouting out a likely spot. This ditch was pretty deep and both banks pretty much hung over the water and it looked like it would be nearly impossible to get out of if one were to fall in.
Why would I write an autobiography about myself, I feel I have lived a deliberate and exceptional life, but worthy of the annals of time? Artists will be worth something when they are dead? Rather presumptious, and I am really not money motivated when it comes to much beyond a simple life. The importance of this autobiography lies in my perspective of the world, veiwed through my personal lense (Weltanschaung) and how my perception of it shaped my ideas. This becomes especially relevant when considering my art, as they represent very powerful moments in my life. My paintings are my memories on canvas in full, bright, colorful glorious magnifagance for all the world to see.
The greatest things we can accomplish in life lie in the unaccomplished ideas in our minds.
I've often wondered why there could be so many books in a library. It seems as if there should be some sort of finite amount of information in existence. So why should I add my story to the almost infinite mountain of lives written down . It is not so much about me, but the times I have lived in, the things that have influenced me, events that have had a profound impact on my live. Hardship and great joy both. I really suppose the value in my autobiography is the events surrounding them. people have very different paths and this is just mine in a snapshot of time.
I am a man out of time and out of place and generally out of sync with the world. I seem to have been born too late to be a knight, or a western explorer trading with the American Indians and looking for a passage west.
Everything is interconnected. We do not live apart from things, we are a part of things. We effect the environment around us just as the environment effects us. Within this existence, I find that the ability to create things, in both a physical and metaphysical sense, absolutely amazing. This power to create, essentially something out of an idea in the mind to a physical form, gives me pause and great wonder. Where does the imagination come from and is this earthly existence even real?
I was born in Stillwater Oklahoma in 1963 and my parents moved to Denver Colorado when I was two years old.
Not all artists feel this way, I don't create the art that appears on the painting. I am merely a mechanism through which memory, thought and emotion expresses itself in the physical world in the form of paint on canvas.
This is not an original idea as many artists connect with the metaphysical and paint with their imaginations. The final product of what I envision in my mind is vastly different from what manifests itself on the canvas. It is largely dictated by the mediums in which I am expressing my ideas.
What emerges for me, in my paintings, is my wanderlust and revisiting events and places.
Growing up, I was encouraged to use whatever was available to make arts and crafts.
I made this creche when I was around 13 years old.
Some branches from the greenbelt, some Catalpa tree pods, a couple of wooden planks pirated from the garage and some wood glue. My mom had a small print of Salvador Dali's "Last Supper" and I thought a nativity model would be cool.