This is a drawing of my grandmother, my mom's mom I did in 95, after her death in 1994. It is to this day chalk full of mysterious objects and happenings.
There are a host of strange coincidences between my grandmother, Katherine, Katherine, a girl I dated in the late 90s in high school whose mom happened to be schizophrenic, and my Katherine now. All three wore the exact same glasses, which you can't see here, but are those 60's style rimmed glasses you might see in a show like Mad Men. All three have the same first name, spelled the same way, and all three have or had Epilepsy.
I'm not sure what dimension I'm channeling.
But I am sure that true artists, whoever or where ever they are: painters, sculptors, dancers, musicians--are not in the business of mere entertainment, posterity, illustration, or otherwise the intellectual equivalent of paint by number, but receivers and channelers of that other realm we as humans do not yet really understand.
The only proper role of the artist is that of the formerly known 'shaman,' or 'holy person.' Far from being religious, Art is the attempt at being a messenger to that undiscovered country, not a preacher; but perhaps someday its master of a kind. Perhaps artists are the early stages of what, over eons become 'Time Lords' or keepers of time and space.
I wish I knew exactly what ethereal planes I am a conduit to, or what happens to the 'soul' after death. I have my theories and try not to make my paintings and artwork too deliberate to let that other 'darker passenger' speak through me. There are many hidden things in my work, faces long gone, faces I see right next to me, time lost and time found. There are just too many large life-scale coincidences to deny what I see in front of me with my own senses.
In my art, you will also see the here and now, my life and those I've known, etc, as well and what I think is something very important that links these glimpses into the 'other place'
with what is going on here on this Earth.
Nevertheless, whatever, whomever, or where ever it is: Earth and this place I keep seeing have some kind of nexus I seem to be seeking all my life. Maybe someday I'll see far more. I burn to see even shreds of the dark and luminous place of my visions.
Terror is a medium.
You are included.
Your life is changing.
Your family's changing.
Violence is identity.
War is Education.
The human drama must continue.
We know full well, we are already obsolete.
The year is 2090.
This is the story of a young girl presented with a riddle.
By the primary computer of the world.
This 2009 vision, I believe to be my current partner and beloved, Katherine, whom I have been with for over a decade. This I think is a premonition of her. It also resembles my grandmother, Katherine.
My mom’s bones were really visible.
Those last two years before New York were especially hard. The year right before her death was like sleep walking toward a cliff knowing the edge is there, was always there, and never there at all.
As sick as my mom was my whole life, we really never thought she was actually going to die. She certainly thought about it I think, and so did my Dad I guess, but for some reason I never really did growing up. It wasn’t really talked about too much either. Maybe this is because she was such a survivor. Most of my life she resembled a resident of Auschwitz. I never really met a woman like my mom again until eight years ago when I met my wife. It is now 2020.
When I really look back I can see she was no ordinary person. My mom had an epic sense of strength to which I can only compare to that of myths and legends when it came to what she had to face. Oddly enough, I almost exclusively think of Ripley from the movie Aliens when I think of this strength she had. There aren’t even many mythical depictions of women of this calibre anymore it seems.
I grew up in Springfield, Virginia which is the most generic sprawl in NOVA (Northern Virginia). The year before her death, I was working as a cashier and ice cream pumper at Dairy Queen in Ravensworth Farm’s shopping center. I remember all those nights on my way back from work, rollerblading under a vaulted black sky mostly hidden by light pollution, illuminating the vast open highway bridges I would cross along narrow sidewalks so dangerously that year.