In my travels around the world, I've witnessed excruciating suffering and pain. When I see a baby dying in Mathare Valley slum of Nairobi, Kenya for lack of a $20 medication, I don't think about painting a picture. I just need to get the money to the child's parents so she can see a…Read more Can Art Change the World?
The craziest thing happened recently. The roots of the story go all the way back to when my son was just a baby. He nipped at the heels of his three-years-older brother, as obsessed (or more) with anything round. If it could be picked up and thrown, they would find it; and it would fly.…Read more Tommy John at 16?
What if Love has the power to pull you through darkness into looming space so broad and free it takes your breath away? And what if Love's mighty agenda is to crown you with the treasures gathered in darkness? What if Love knows the way to resurrection? ........................................................... I am convinced that the theme of death and resurrection is encoded…Read more Resurrection
All over the world, there are people who have no voice. Children drowning in poverty, women stripped of dignity, men pushed down where there are no safety nets. In dark corners of the world, they subsist day-to-day. Perhaps one of the greatest symptoms of the voiceless is that they lose the capacity to dream. I…Read more Finding My Voice… So Theirs Can Be Heard
When painting, I struggle for equilibrium between spontaneity and purpose, freedom and planning, energy and control. After four years of painting full-time, of steadfast exploration, perhaps I am finally finding a rhythm. My most recent work, The Other Side, emerges from this path of painting. Sometimes someone will ask me how long it takes to…Read more A Painting Path (A Creative Process)
I need to go. There is something the place will tell me, something my soul desperately needs to hear. There, windmills turn mindlessly. Like sentinels, they watch over masses paying homage at their base: fields rippling, yielding to frigid wind. The stalks blur into an aggregate of stark, browned-out hills. The windmills guard comings and goings, my…Read more Equilibrium