Inside the Bug Jar


In a jar full of bugs,

I am agitated. On display

My actions and motives are questioned by

Leering eyes.

Waiting for the chance to dissect me and use me.

Abuse me and isolate my weaknesses

I must be deft and dexterous

Flexible and malleable

Able to adapt and function in all environments

My design must be flawless and innovative

Cohesive, yet groundbreaking


Eliminate the excess.

Don’t be the freak.


Tweak it.

Perfect it.

Make it the best.


Because no one remembers those who live in mediocrity.

The worker bees serve an elegant purpose.

Committed to one another as

A unit.

A family

Aiming to produce the best. The sweetest.


Don’t make a mistake because you must remember


Everyone is watching




In a room full of mirrors,

I see a thousand mistakes.

Changes I need to make

We need to make


I’ve said too much

I’ve seen too much

Yet not enough

Still looking for myself

In a world of constant change and



And Competition

I am under the microscope


I’m reinventing myself

I’ll dye my hair

Blue and orange, green and gray

Then black

I’m every color

Then no color at all


I’m reinventing myself

I’ll dress the best

Maintain a look of confidence

Even though I’m frightened and ashamed

I’ll spritz that dark rum scent

Scent like sex

Yet my airs produce miasmic odors

An attractor and repellent


What do I need to do to see this through?

I want to fix the world but I can’t seem to fix myself


I need a shortcut

A pointer

A guide


If only these mirrors could talk



In a puzzle with infinite pieces

I am in need of fresh air

But at least I’m finding grounding

In the lack of control


What started a storm with no foreseeable end

I am now in its eye

I am calm

The storm still persists, still rages

But I have a damn good umbrella


Like the bees, I’m still at work

Still dressed the best

I spritz my chest

To keep the lingering smell

That became my attractor


Yet now I discard this idea of supremacy

Perfection, a silly structure

A hierarchical mirage

I prefer to be the freak

To take my position in left field


I want to build something beautiful

But I sometimes forget the recipe

I am the baker and the chef,

But deft I am not


I’m making a mess, and it’s getting everywhere

And that’s fine with me

Food fights are fun





Perfection is a mirage

And in the a desert of opportunities

I’ll save my energy for fruitful excursions

The mirage will always disappear

And that’s fine with me.

An installation view of the stream of consciousness writing piece used for my  show  The Vault   shown center,  The Diary // 2016

An installation view of the stream of consciousness writing piece used for my  show The Vault

shown center, The Diary // 2016

The Red Hour

     In the red hour, when the hot neon lights of the King House illuminate the vacant parking lot; I am wide awake.  As I lay myself down on the cold, hard pavement, I feel a wonderful sense of quiet.  Amid the silence of the night I begin the process of deciphering my mind.  I feel as though we have so little time in our day to figure ourselves out.   All decisions are made on the fly, for the moment we pause to analyze our actions, times passes us by.  My mind feels like it's filled with spiders whose webs act as lingering reminders of my myriad concerns and anxieties.  But every new day brings new ideas, people, and experiences that add more and more clutter to my mind.  With every experience though, my mind adjusts, answering its own inquiries.  

When I create new work, sometimes I feel as though my mind has created shapes and marks for my hands to follow.  These decisions are made long before I even understand my subject.  I have inherent moments of automation that help ease my over complicated thought process.  

The fear of making mistakes used to eat me alive like a helpless fly caught in the spider's web until I realized that errors are tricks of the psyche created by the mind to scare us away from embracing the weird and yielding to our imperfections.  

My goodness gracious, the subconscious mind I a beautiful fucking enigma.  

This fascination with psychology definitely has lead me into a whirlwind of directions as I envisioned my latest installation of paintings.  I am at this stage in my life where I finally am beginning to come to terms with who I am.  I still have so many questions, some that will probably never be answered.  

At least now I know how to free myself from the pressure of the unknown and just move on.  To attack each problem one by one, slowly understanding each one a little more in the process is the core theme behind this work.  How the mind explains things to us is a barreling impetus that keeps me creating.  But, all creative forces are susceptible to stoppages at some point in the process.  An event, typically one of considerable gravity halts this momentum sending the creator into a dizzying state of confusion.  These unpredictable road blocks are what I like to call kinks in the hose.  And trust me, my mind is no stranger to these little bastards.  I'd say my mine looks like a balloon animal with the excessive twists and turns.  The best part of the creative process though is the maze.  To struggle with your mind does not mean you are weak, but quite the opposite actually .  

See, the more we try and fight to untangle ourselves, the closer we are getting to finding our truest forms.  I guess for me it's just this battle to escape the labyrinth that stands as the nucleus of this show.  

I open myself up for you all in an effort to discover my truest self.  

To reach the ultimate clarity amongst all the chaos.


Death of a Fool

And as the king's court were incapacitated by fits of wanton laughter, the jester helplessly asphyxiated on his own colorful scarves.  His existence remained only for sport and hedonistic entertainment and his own fabrications, although steadfast; were exceeded and overcome by his foolish imagination.