I like making art because it makes me normal. I want to be nice and normal. My paintings are fast. Fast scribbled lines trying to capture the edge of the figure, the spiral of the image, the noise of the color and the over and over again of dis-fractionary rendering.

Most of today’s art is from the head, but my paintings are from my heart. I talk too much, I think too much, I read too much, I eat too much, I drink too much, I paint too much and I am too much. Making a painting is like driving across the desert at eighty miles an hour. I look out the window and everything is flying by. Yet, I just sit there and step on the gas.

My friends like hiking in the mountains, skiing or playing tennis. I don’t really like that. I would rather just drive to different towns scattered across the southwest. I drive up to Pueblo, Colorado or over to Lubbock, Texas or down to Las Cruces, New Mexico. I like to see people and be a person walking around landscapes of old buildings and broken signs, subdivision homes with dirty cars. Nothing is permanent.

I remember drawing a lot of trees with eyeballs attached to the branches like leaves in my youth. Van Gogh said “I put my mind and soul into work and have lost my mind in the process”. I would say “I put my mind and soul into work and I saved my mind by becoming normal”.

Everybody is keeping their head in the computer, but you need to be with somebody and use your hands or you will go crazy. I know people who don’t come out of their houses. I don’t know why they call it social media. There is nothing social about it.

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