Works on Canvas | My Site 1

Cosmic Tongue. Acrylic on Canvas. 6x16ft, 2022.

Traveling Without Moving; a fucking explosive monstrous ethereal moment where you become everything and nothing // I can hardly get enough water or air but I’m leaking and that’s all that matters that I’m taking up space in a thousand and 1 hundred billion places it’s over zealous and its ok // redecorate my body with new idea’s // I find myself when I’m alone in my apartment I’m scared to go back into society I’m meant to exist in dimensions in terms of space and dimensions in terms of place is right here there’s no reason for anywhere but the lake that's where I dock the boat and go fishing in my brain it’s soft and gooey and I let it drip down everywhere but its safe and still inside it’s all just metaphors for thinking and taking and digging I often don’t think until after I do and it somehow makes sense this doesn’t make sense and it’s okay you’re just stuck in the metal and I think about anatomy but like bones and nerves and muscles how do these things move my mouth? It’s my brain, The one I fish in. Where’s my boat? Did grandpa sell it like he did with the hobycat? I’ll build a sailboat one day. Sailing is like finding the womb that my body engulfs in green slime and I know that I have a body if that’s where I came from you can’t tell me aliens aren’t real. 4 x 10ft, Acrylic, Flashe Paint, Ink and Collage on Canvas. 2021.

Pulling from the dark in a romantic way but factual. It’s how we look at life, or I do at least. There’s nostalgia but not really. What does that even mean? Disjointed fragments sharp slimy jagged repeating but inconsistent morphing remembering feeling forgetting. I saw a snake get chopped in half once and whenever I think about it my feet feel funny. Each half slithered away but in a pathetic and rash way. they went separate ways to grow each other back the gardener snake didn’t eat its own tail but my father, who is afraid of snakes, and needed to prove something to those watching contributed to the ouroboros the birth of death and the end of life, it’s a cycle but I don’t have to tell you that. In one dimension out the other, bodies are like galaxies, cells are too, even the garbage stuck to the bottom of the dumpster, // my body respects me, but do I respect it? I can’t say I fully understand it, my feet feel funny at the slimy disconnect the split the difference the separation the connection, bowl or above it’s relatively the same, this may sound like I’ve become a self proclaimed philosopher but really I just have questions and make associations and I let my brain regurgitate it all, it’s like the dimension I can’t control, I merely open and release. a galaxy’s fate is also partially determined by how it began: how massive it was to start, and when it was formed. 4 x 10ft, Acrylic, Flashe Paint, Ink, Collage. 2021.

Galactic Glitch; something that occurs when you are confronted with a situation that glitches you into the comics and you think “huh. How did I get this far away?” And while you’re floating, treading, and waiting for the ultimate return to your realm, you realize that it’s all recycled, repurposed but in a non eco way; eco friendly recycling still ends up sitting in a landfill until well after the time of pacing for a year has ended, I never learned to bake bread during quarantine but I did discover a volcano but that’s a secret. I discovered glitches in my walls and in the way we talk to people. I realized that there’s glitch in that system you know the one you know the hundred. The words hit me so hard that I rupture and resort to counting stars instead of breathing. What happens when I go home? What happens after where I’ve been for the last two years? const int ( glitchVal, 8); Galactic Glitch, 56 x 60in, Acrylic, Ink, Collage on Canvas, Alla Prima. 2021.