Oh, ma. Or, Indianess
2022 was my 2020. 2020 was kinda my 1999. Been so long since I wrote much. Since I put together an artist statement. Made myself a product and wrote some pitches. Since I've shown any work outside of my little shop I've been occupying myself with in the wild little sand dune town of Los Osos. Been just living. Art living. Where to begin.... Ma died. No, too morbid. I fell in love. No, too personal. I like waking up early. No, too mundane. The work is about trying to capture the texture and significance of what it feels like to be alive. No, too grandiose. What do I say about the evidence that I have continued to pay good money to spend good chunks of my life putting colors onto surfaces in an attempt to create meaning and value for myself, and some hypothetical audience which I then go on to try to hustle up the best I can through pestilence and fire and death? Do you even follow me on Instagram? First off, love. No. First comes the ...