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.
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.
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 is a work done in honor of my wife Katherine's father, who passed away earlier this year, 2023. A brilliant man, and a gentle soul.
This painting called “Warning,” is from a dream I had in 2003, while living in France. This is part of a series of what I think to be a psychic experience I have been having throughout my life.
Look at the similarities between this painting of mine done in 2005, and this other one, just below this description; by an apparent: "Zhongguozhuli" from Shanghai China, done in 2009. When I search for this artist by name, nothing comes up or has in the past, I only know it from an image search I stumbled upon, selling the painting on eBay.
They bear beyond striking resemblances to each other: both feature a white birch tree forest in a snowy scene on a hill, both have a mysterious woman with black hair, dressed in a specifically red garb, which is also similar in style, and both are looking at the viewer in a very similar way. The painting below, was apparently done 4 years after mine, and in any case, I had no knowledge of this artist or this painting when I did “Warning.”
I started painting this as a sketch from a dream I'd had mid August this last year. The white shards I began almost looked like a white ship, and then quickly I blended it into the sun, but who knows what that was. I might re-visit that vision.
This scene has long been a subject for me. This beach from nowhere with a child's sandcastle. Soon the dark anthropomorphic monoliths will visit.
First painting ever with water mixable oils to prevent toxicity. Windsor & Newton. They are indeed as lush and buttery as claimed, however a lot more tack to them as well. They are way better than acrylics, no comparison really, maybe in terms of fast drying which they are and makes it easier to paint layers. Using a water mixable medium sub for linseed oil and water to clean the brushes. I notice the medium does not mix directly with water though.
3rd layer of the new painting: the humanoid monoliths of my constant dreams, (or nightmares) appear.
The sketch for this was done from a dream the night before my wife, Katherine's Dad died, August 12th, 2023. Now that I look back on it, this must be some kind of requiem. A signpost of sorts, maybe, telling us something. Warning us?
There's going to be a dark long thin metal bird feeder in the middle of the two figures, but looks more like a pole with libra like scales. Soon to come... I think I will name it the above title.
I frequented the downtown East Village Yaffa Café at 97 St Marks St. NYC, many times while attending The School of Visual Arts on 23rd St.
I wept to witness its departure in 2014. Another last of true bohemia in the United States.
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.