Steppenwolf 2003, 12″ x 30″ Acrylic on Board

I paint my picture, you write your sentence, but the meaning gets lost in a stream of technicalities. Details that always seem to drag us down, drowning in specifics, choking on abstractions of the mind. A delicate blue moon stained with an icy glow, watches over me tonight. Just observing my movements like a [...]]]> I paint my picture, you write your sentence, but the meaning gets lost in a stream of technicalities. Details that always seem to drag us down, drowning in specifics, choking on abstractions of the mind. A delicate blue moon stained with an icy glow, watches over me tonight. Just observing my movements like a hawk trained on it’s prey. Sometimes I wish this was over, but I know I need to stick around. I’ve found meaning in a silent abyss, a different perspective from which I can make a truce with the moon, laugh amongst the endless array of stars and wonder once again. There was a time when I lost my dream, now I vow never to lose it again.

(July 2004)

Something seemed very different about that day. Perhaps it was in the waves that crashed so solemnly against the shore, or in the sky stained a soft translucent red. My mind seemed occupied with uncertainties, as I sat silently gazing out a million mistakes, rearranging fragments of a past like a jigsaw with one [...]]]> Something seemed very different about that day. Perhaps it was in the waves that crashed so solemnly against the shore, or in the sky stained a soft translucent red. My mind seemed occupied with uncertainties, as I sat silently gazing out a million mistakes, rearranging fragments of a past like a jigsaw with one missing piece. I couldn’t describe the pain that I felt that day, cold and alone, hoping for salvation from the tears that fell from unfocused green accented eyes. I stared outwardly, looking for something, anything, anything at all that I could relate to, a fleeting moment of desperation laced with a incomprehensible necessity for love. That day was different in a way that will never arrange itself into words. I stop writing my sentence, yet the feelings replay themselves over and over again.

(September 2004)

Thursday afternoon, and thoughts followed me around with every concealed step. The sun shone down, as I hypnotically hypothesised the structure of better days. Despite the warmth, I held each breath, an act of improbable isolation, I had never felt so alone. perhaps I’ll never know why, but that moment transfixed my attention, negating [...]]]> Thursday afternoon, and thoughts followed me around with every concealed step. The sun shone down, as I hypnotically hypothesised the structure of better days. Despite the warmth, I held each breath, an act of improbable isolation, I had never felt so alone. perhaps I’ll never know why, but that moment transfixed my attention, negating comprehension, a crossword puzzle washed out in the rain as I slipped further away. I hadn’t noticed the disappearance of the sun, only the coldness wrapping around me like an empty birthday present, bought out of necessity rather than love. I stood motionless, replaying conversational conversations and Russian roulette routines. I had everything, yet indiscriminate amplifications of pain, white-washed the walls of my mind in battleship grey. I have no recollection of how many tears rained down that day, as reddened eyes tell stories never understood.

(May 2005)