I was never one for art growing up. I wasn’t the kid that sits around and sketches during school. I never tried to stand out from others by developing my own sense of high fashion, though I did some serious pleading for some British Knights when I was 12 (and my loving mom bought them-I’m sure against her better wisdom.)
I took a passing interest in art only if I could get something for it in return; that is to say if chocolate was involved. I won some chocolate when I drew a rabbit for Christmas in 2nd grade. I won some more chocolate for drawing a flower in 3rd grade. My brother and I won some chocolate (and maybe a football) when we created a kite in a local art competition.
I entered art school at the University of Georgia because I was tired of studying chemistry, math, and geology, and knew I could at least draw a rabbit and a flower fairly well.
When I left art school, I left art behind, unless it could again get me something in return. I credit art for helping me land my beautiful wife. I designed and cast her ring.
I began to finally enjoy art about a year ago in 2015. I still don’t understand much of the art that is in the world, but I can get possessed and entranced by my own. I can’t sleep most nights because my mind is creating new images, projects and means of creating.
I am still developing my style, but a consistent focus of mine is on expression and intent; coming from a state of mind that seeks to understand my subject matter, place, or time. I enjoy creating moods that leave the viewer slightly uneasy; i.e., vibrant colors with fearful energy through brushstrokes, dark solemn colors with graphic cartoon-like characteristics in the lines. I feel that this unease (though ensuring only the slightest unease is extremely important) encourages the viewer to take time with a painting, create their own story, and make the painting their own.