Artwork Notes

These paintings contain notes, thoughts, and written scribblings for those inclined to read…

Insinuation IX: Where Once there was Only Sky

Rising up to heights intolerable Between moments of relief All too briefJust when the final surge washes throughRearranging the ground floorSoaking the upholstery With salt driven from the earth’s rotationGlass breakingWalls shakingThe record collection scattered like shells on the shore Just when it’s too much to bearAs violently as it movedJust as quickly it is over And there is no sound to be heard Above the chirping of birds Except the voice of a helpless infants cry Where once there was nothing but endless sky


Insinuation VIII: Hope of Expectancy Surrendered

As joy turns to sorrow And victory defeatThe batteries drainedThe battering remains A constant beatEach pulse an increase of primordial painThe hope of expectancy surrendered Like broken water from a cloudburst in a heavy rainSomething gone wrongThe absence of lightThis can’t be the way That all is set rightThe giver of life drained of the giftThe spark itself turned insideThe fire within is within anotherA universe within this imploding starWrought in the worst of collapsing rhapsody Written in verse of relapsing tragedy


Insinuation VII: The Spin of the Sphere

The spin of the sphere Is the beginning of fear And where it leads none can followIt’s tilted gait Refuses to wait As yesterday wars with tomorrow And the lengthening days The upper hand gainsAnd the bluebirds await the arrival Of the victor’s scorn Trampling the snowmelt Of their opponentWho retreats to the high mountainsBlocking lifeblood supply routes And starving the proud of Any further harvest celebration Until the conquerors meakly succomb To the darkest deprivationBut their season of starvation is also soon to passAnd the reason of the star’s ovation will not last


Insinuation VI: Earth’s Shadow Not Yet Reaping

The lunar eclipse breathes its deepest shade of red As the waters of earth rise up to meet the dyingA global procession Where every drop offers An honest confession Of unending love And weeps for the loss of their beloved’s white-blue lightThese fluid mourning masses Gather at the funeral parlor doorAwaiting a turn to glimpse Her pale face once moreGathered round in silenceThen a wondrous pauseThen thunderous applause And there’s been no greater joy sinceHer shadow only just sleepingEarth’s shadow not yet reaping


Insinuation V: No Escape Until Exhalation

Inhalation of numbers A suspended matrix of love and tears Sweat and painNo solution for this equationJust a problem of oxygen suspended in bloodArriving from beyond the sea To bring life however brief it may beBut with it arises The conflict inside usCarried by wind Born of dustMade of earthFragile and flammableUnquenched and unbirthed Ubiquitous by natureThe post-war riot an ethereal vibration With no escape just escalationNo escape until exhalation


Insinuation IV: Riding Shotgun in the Cardiac

As the plot thickens The pulse quickens Signals the release of adrenalineThe fight or flightThe might makes right At heart it’s all just lightEmanating through nervous roots Planted deep in the sinewsIt’s neither sin nor is it newsRiding shotgun in the cardiac Pumping beats to keep the blood movingRegulating the pace of exchangeThe old for newThe tired air for the thought of lifeSome peace of mind for another With roots of another kind


Insinuation III: Sheet Music of Endless Revolutions

Pulsating depths collide with rock in steady rhythm Rocksteady rhythms Seafoam drifts that move in procession Driven by the upwelling of timeEtching on the surface a crooked white lineA visible record of the upheavalThe sheet music of endless revolutions Each blast is a rebellion In search of freedom like waterMoving to this inexplicable beatDancing with the reckless abandon of oceans unknownIt’s the song we we fought and died forWe were bought and paid forWe were wrought and made for


Insinuation II: Hunting Reverb for Survival

Molten harmonics signal the release of tensionThe groaning of tectonic riffs Played with the volume cranked to eleven The subterranean chords of metal and rock circle their preyDescending through chasms Black air dripping with the sweat of earth Waiting to shake its foundations And strike Hunting reverb for survivalAnd it hides by the deepest frequencies Amplified by the frequently deepest seas


Insinuation I: Lost in a Sea of Synapses

Dancing at will upon the innumerous grainsThe finite brains of particulate philosophersWho cannot through their centrifugesDo anything other than remain on it’s surfaceGrasping at photonsMissing the pointMarching lockstep in lines around the cornerAdrift in a city of relapsesLost in a sea of synapsesMentally sequencing the circuitry required To awaken the silicon mined of earthThe silicon mind of earth


Insinuation: Prologue

Rising and falling, the transfer of energy, the simple wave is itself in nature prominent.To look too close is to see only the thing and miss the implications of its movement.From here on no further mention made of the object of our salted minds.Just an attempt with light and with shadeto find it between the lines.
It will be what it will be


Insinuation XI: Like Polished Brass

Lengthening shadows signal the cycle Is nearing its endSoon to repeat againAnd as the fading light races the horizonThe dust is what we’ve laid eyes onThe circuit completeThe awakening of earth’s mind In a thousand incandescent lightsStreaming forth To welcome all and then someTo receive the failed and winsomeHer final thought to hold a mass For that which is hers to keepThe rest of which like polished brass Not hers will be releasedAnd tomorrows births Will be described In terms of shining metalAnd tomorrow’s worth Will be inscribed On every flower’s petal


Insinuation X: Green Explosions

The fragile seed Takes root and shootsGreen explosions of sunshine Burst forth from the scattered ashes Of those laid to rest From the day when the mad disease Took aim and shotTheir passing became The passion behind The protest of laughing children Bellies fullThe harvest abundant Ringing from the bell tower Over field and foe alikeThe vanquished appetite Of the now rusted machine But a distant memoryClouded by satisfied timesGrounded by gratified rhymes


Breakwall

Recent Live Art piece from the Save the Waves fundraiser in SF a few weeks back. I’m really stoked how this one turned out. I went with a simple image of a wave about to break into a breakwall, an enigmatic comment on our role in shaping the shoreline, creating and destroying surf breaks along the way. I figured it would be relevant to the cause. Not sure if any of that came across at all, but still I was stoked to be a part of their event and raise a few dollars for them along the way.


Hand Jive

Painted live at the San Diego Surf Film Festival, 2014. Throughout the 4 day event, contributing filmmakers were asked to trace a print of their hands on this 36″ x 36″ canvas. On the final day, I incorporated their hands into this finished piece.


California Spring

20 things I’m thankful for in the middle of this storm…⠀⠀A life spent exploring this coast. ⠀A brother that showed me the way to enjoy the ocean. ⠀A mother with the patience of a saint to bundle into the VW and wait while we surfed the afternoon into evening. ⠀A father that loved to drive… for hours… wherever we wanted to hunt for a wave. ⠀A bike path through the park that led to a path that followed a river that flows into the sea at Seal Beach where a kid without a driver’s license could taste freedom and ice cream and square slices of pepperoni pizza. ⠀An arrange…

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California Storm

We came to this mountain in search of goldWe’ll leave with pockets full of solitudeWe speak to the windWe are here nowEverything else is goneThe cars and housesThe monies and the mediaThe interconnected web of information thatTies us all togetherNone of that can truly exist at all
We know because we’ve listened to the quietThat raged so loud our ears bledWe know because we’ve stood on the edgeAnd peered overAnd seen everything we ever held on toSmashed against the rocksAnd washed awayOnly to be returned as the treasures ofSmall children on the outgoing tide
Dream on, dreamer, but when you awakeYou’ll find nothing hereAnd that will be all that you need
Ok, bring your own beer if you likeJust don’t forget to pack out the empty bottlesWhen you leave


A Break in the Rain

All the while the day grows darkerAnd nothing dry is left.The eternal endurance of water has won,And now even what’s wrong is right.You can see it, but you cannot understand itNothing more can be doneBut surrender beneath the weight of it allAnd beWashed AwayThis is what it is to be human


Approaching Storm

Wishing for another momentTo captureTheInconvenient gazeOf a child’sBrightAnd silent futureBefore they comeTo haul it all away


Restricted Access

We never did imagineThe goldenAccelerationOf our free fallWould yield…
Such high rentFor apartments so small
AndSo many left turns
AndNo rights at all


Mid-Morning

If you spend any time at all in this town, do yourself a favor and find a different mode of transportation than a rusty old van. Parking is nuts to non-existent and navigating the unfamiliar streets in a vehicle that can’t hop curbs, cut over embankments and weave through crowds of pedestrians really hinders one’s getting around here. A bike however, opens the world. A borrowed bike with a friend or two to follow around is even better. They’ll know all the fun zigs and zags. I recall this morning clearly, even though it was quite a few years ago. My old college roommate was living in tow…

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Beckoning

Each passing stormBrings a clearingOf mindRevealingSpiral rhythmsOf colorIn your eyesBoth fragileAnd totally free


No Fires

The higher laws do not forbidThe burning of your gasoline dreamsNoThey practically command it We’d driven all over the state, the miles passing like a rushing river in a sudden spring rain. It wouldn’t do really, us being together, that is. She was from a different world than I was, far too refined to spend any sort of life with me. Even her car was the sort that would start up every time, a Toyota Tercel that would look at home in any dealership’sused car lot. Made me a bit uncomfortable, really. I came from a long line of Volkswagons (believe it or not, they weren’t always worth so …

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House of Prayer

These trembling walls danceWith their Maker’s invisible spiritAs we wage war on tomorrow’s past
Victory was better an hour agoAnd defeat is a low-tide
Rising