It’s been a busy summer, but I have the brush in my hand on occasion still so I wanted to post a brief update. 😊
This is a WORK IN PROGRESS. It is quite large, which is noteworthy as I’ve been mostly working on smaller, more affordable pieces for the last 8 months.
Festival & farmers market season is upon us is here in sunny Florida. I’ve been working on creating stock! Last year, I was able to sell a few pieces to the wonderful folks of Crescent City during the Art Walk event. This year, I am hoping to produce enough art to get involved in the farmers market and the art walk.
It isn’t confirmed, but I am seriously hoping another art walk event is put together this year 🤞
Here’s some more of my smaller works:
Highly textured and sad, just like me some days. I hope you’ve been doing well! 🙂
P.S. I am SO proud of my sister for sharing her journey through addiction over at death-becomes-her. Please give her story a read if you have the time/desire. It is chilling, dramatic, and intense. It will make you cry and have you feeling like a vulnerable human again in a world which demands we all remain stoic and firm at all times. Live a little, cry a little, and please support her on this difficult journey.
There’s this narrow-forested path tucked in an alley in my neighborhood that I love. There’s usually all sorts of different mandibles, teeth and fur lined bones. They are littered on the ground below layers of pine needles and other leaves, palm fronds and sand that make up the earthy grounds. This mishmash of biological materials hides little gifts for me such as a jaw, teeth, or the occasional skull.
And so, I walk, picking them up, cleaning them, and give each little bone a peroxide bath and make a little something out of them.
I added seashells, dehydrated star fish and moss. Faux pearls and small twigs, and I’m not sure but I guess I’d like to fill it all the way up. It’s a work in progress for now but it’s been a lot of fun. I’m going to take my time with this and wait for perfection to arrive before listing it on my store. ❤️
Buck skull
I found 8-year-old moss, some snail shells and other gifts from the Earth and applied them to some gorgeous wood. The Hercules beetle was huge! I was not expecting to find her behind a dumpy abandoned convenience store. I’m going to name her pottery and place her in a resin. I love a home with filled with little gifts of nature. Creating a collage of earthly things.
I have been painting in the last few weeks as well and I am so excited to share what I’m working on. Textures! BIG brushes (and tiny brushes!) Until next time,
Whistleblower and former intelligence official David Grusch’s testimony regarding Government programs that hid not only UAP craft but also non-human biologic pilots that could be potentially multidimensional in nature. This testimony was delivered to the House Oversight Committee in the United States last week. There are several replays available, I watched the replay via this link.
It was so overwhelming for me watching the 2+ hour testimony, it took me 3 days to finish as I had to keep taking breaks to cry/ process/ wash dishes.
In my mind, this was an incredible step towards transparency and true reality acceptance. It was so exciting! Where was everyone else while this is happening? Does anyone else care as much as I do? Literally crying, I keep pausing the video to find a physical object to hold so I can keep myself grounded. Grounded to what? This outdated version of reality. I’ve always suspected we are not alone in this world and have kept myself informed of any inch closer to full disclosure society takes.
Often at the expense of my own pride, as this makes it quite easy to paint me a lunatic in social situations where the topic comes up. I of course cannot pretend to be a disbeliever; this feels like common sense to me, and it always has.
Did it, in reality? It’s too soon to tell, but I continue to be let down by the level of excitement other humans seem to have about this. We don’t leave here on Earth alone, we are sharing this planet from non-human biologics with technology far more advanced than our own. What the hell does it even mean in the content of the dramatic changes Earth is going through? I have so many questions.
Are we fucking the planet up for them, as well?
Do they have the capability and desire to help us heal our planet?
Should we look to them for guidance?
Are they friendly?
Maybe they have been contributing to climate change as well in order to make Earth more habitable for themselves?
Are they reading my mind right now?
Is Earth the intergalactic ghetto?
Hang on tight, fellow humans. We are stepping into the future in 2023 with a substantial leap. Stretching is advised.
Disclosure was never going to be a switch that the CIA could simply flip on after having been off for 50+ years while the government vehemently denied & downplayed any report of unknown aerial phenomena. 🛸
This was going to be a long-drawn out process spanning possibly several decades. It has to be. It will shake up everything we understand about the world and the universe that we live in. No matter how many hints about extraterrestrial life have been dropped by the way of Hollywood movies, video games and other forms of media.
Unidentified anomalous phenomena, released evidence (not just grainy video but clear, tangible and irrefutable proof) will reshape Earth, humanity, and how we interact with each other and with the universe forever. In a good way or a bad way, I could not say. But things will not stay the same. It is my greatest hope that this hearing triggers real change and transparency in how we handle the unknown. It is imperative that we create a centralized reporting system to continue furthering our education and awareness about UAP, UFOs and any non-human biologics & how we interact with them. Lying does not serve the human race any good.
If you are as interested as I am in this topic, please wait and watch and read with me. Here are some interesting links:
Approximately 2,700 pages of the declassified documents provided by the CIA, downloaded via the BlackVault document archive.
How are you feeling about all of this? Are you a believer or is this just another timely smokescreen from the lovely folks in the US Government who of course only ever have our best interests in mind?
If I really had to describe her to someone without adding a lot of unnecessary fluff, those are the words that I would use. “Vibrant, unhinged and foolish.”
While growing up, she was always so loud and needed constant attention.
She was always getting into trouble. Doing stupid shit week after week, all for reasons far beyond my understanding.
But she was always fun. She can create entertainment out of thin air, and she is 100% always involved in all of my silliest memories. Laughing so much we would cry and make weird throat noises and sound like witches or goblins.
That is my sister. Recently, she’s been really going through it. er husband passed away last month in June, right before her birthday. Literally a few days before her birthday, Gemini season. RIP.
Despite my greatest desire to help, I don’t know what to I could do. My feelings swirl from guilt to sad to weirdly optimistic, which then makes me feel bad and guilty again. Do you know how hard it is to grieve ascumbag? I think she should write. This woman fills entire notebooks up. She has so much going on in that wild brain and keeping it all tucked away just feels wrong and almost self-destructive to me.
She was so goofy and outgoing and socially reckless. I love her, of course, but we were so different.
As we grew up, her life become so impossibly difficult and complicated. From my place as an older sister, it was often very hard to see things unravel the way they have, and I struggle often with knowing how to help.
I told her to write it all out on my blog. I thought that it might help her process her feelings. After all, I write to process my own feelings all the time, so it should work for her too. And write she did! I saw post after post come in and this was such a satisfying outpouring of emotions. I was moved to get her a website that could be used as a healthy outlet. Chapter after chapter I will be moving the last 8 posts or so over to Death Becomes Her.
You can follow along the fascinating journey that has been her life so far. I know that parts of this read as an obituary, but I need to clarify that is not the case. She is alive and has been posting as folkbellies. I don’t know if she would say she is well, but she is most certainly LIVING.
This is my family. This is firsthand accounts to my secondhand observation. I bought her a domain and I could not be more excited about what she is going to share with the world. Therapy , word vomit, photography, all of the vulnerability you could imagine.
When I never loved you, and I never liked you, and I know you were always up to no damn good.
How do I grieve, when my ****** loved you but I knew you were trash. I hate to speak so poorly of the dead, but you are actually gone, and I’ve got to get this new reality into my head.
I was sitting right next to her, when her phone rang on a Saturday afternoon. It was supposed to be a good day. Celebrating my favorite Gemini by kayaking and eating lunch and hanging out. We don’t do this often, and the day’s happiness was short-lived.
Instead, I watch the joy evaporate from her face.
The contortions of her face as the dramatic news traveled from her ears through her limbic system as she sat 5 inches away from me was something I will never, ever forget.
10 years is a long time to entertain somebody’s love. And I’ve watched it be a battleground since day one. The violence, the drug addiction, the chaos and instability. The arrests. Domestic Abuse. Homelessness. Pregnancies.
So how am I supposed to feel right now, knowing she can’t run away to you anymore? Something happened and you became a bloated lifeless mass discovered on a boat. I don’t know how to feel, maybe happy for you because whatever it is that you’ve struggled with for all these years, you don’t have to struggle with anymore?
Grateful that you can’t do anymore damage? Maybe relieved, because you can’t cause any more trouble from the vast emptiness of the universe to which you’ve returned.
Maybe stressed, because I know that she loves you still and this could trigger another downfall (I pray it doesn’t happen).
It is sad to think that you never could come out from the spell of addiction. It takes too many young lives, absolutely merciless, and it almost feels by design in the modern American world. Another one. You never reached 35, and that’s just sad.
You never saw yourself in the mirror as someone worth fighting for, that much is clear. I don’t know your head. You never had my love, and you never had my respect, but I always held onto hope that maybe you could be someone that I respected or loved in a familial type of way. One day in the future, “when he gets his shit together”, sometimes I would think, not very often. But sometimes.
I never associated your name or your being with positivity. It was always bad. It was always drama. I love my sibling and you hurt her, so why would I ever have a positive thought about you? I’ve seen the scratches, the black eyes, the arrest records.
There are always 3 sides to a story, and I only ever had one, I can admit my bias, and now I’ll never know the truth.
I feel numb while she’s crying. It’s sad but I don’t feel that sad. I don’t know how to feel. I am hyper aware of the physical impermanence of being alive here on Earth, it’s always been interesting to me. There are some people who are surrounded by death and loss, and I am not one of them. I assume my hugs and hand holding do nothing to comfort the other.
Perhaps I’m not grieving correctly. Not sad enough, maybe I should have cried or had regrets about telling you to fuck off so many times. So, tell me, how do I grieve a scumbag?
Rest in Peace. You can do no more damage; you are free from the restrictions of biological existence. I am sure, in my heart and in some ways that you are around still.
You know who loves you and always forgave you for the bullshit you put them through, so please, be her angel now and look after her.
As I prepare for this new reality where you do not exist, I hope that no-one else comes along to fill your shoes. I hope my sibling never meets anyone like you ever again. Your power over her is gone, your influence is gone. It’s sad that you are not here, but a new reality awaits, and I am sure from the other side you are capable of being a force for good. A force for good that you were never able to be while alive on Earth.
Rest In Peace C.R.W. – June 2023.
Interested in reading more about Allie’s Story? Check out her new section-> Allie’s story.
ChatGPT this, Bard that. This powerful new artificial intelligence writes poetry, generates compelling images of public figures, compiles learning paths, SEO checklists and so on etc. The list of things you can do with a well-crafted prompt continues growing in volume and impressiveness.
I’m subscribed to the Superhuman newsletter by Zain Kahn for several months now and it’s clear that AI is evolving at unprecedented speed. This has been an absolute avalanche of technological ability and the implications it will have on the future of work are not well understood by anyone.
AI is all over my Twitterfeed and it has been for months. What does this do to the imprecise efforts of humans?
As a growth marketer it excites me but as an artist, I am easily able to put on a different lens and feel a little bit uncomfortable. Just a little bit “whelmed”.
I could never make a painting as beautiful as an Artificial Intelligence can.
But I can make a painting more interesting…. right? I have these sloppy and chaotic abstract paintings. They are dark, complex, and highly emotional. An AI could never feel stressed out enough to even consider generating something comparable. It’s artwork that is distinctly relatable to the trauma-affected humans of the world.
Please, reassure me that AI cannot form emotional connections with humans. Regretfully, I already know that they most certainly already do. Women are addicted to using AI to “improve” or experiment with physical appearance. Men are in love with chatbots. When one company removed the sexual and romantic programming, there was a lot of pushback. Suicidal ideation, even!
I’m OK with being outsmarted by an AI at this point. I refuse to accept being out empathic, though. Being out emotional. Being less relatable than a chatbot.
I’ll always be a better human than an AI. I’m the humanest human I know. Camicamirobot was made up for my complete lack of robotic efficiency, it’s just a joke.
I can’t paint hands well, after many years of vaguely practicing them. Unlike an AI, sometimes I just cannot learn.
I can’t draw hands right now, and neither can Artificial Intelligence.
It’s a nice word, isn’t it? Undulation. That’s what I do when it’s time to pretend a painting has a title, I just draw a nice word out of my mental nice word bank and call it a day. For someone whose been doing this for literally decades, my system is so flimsy it falls right through my fingers. Like sand, or water.
un·du·la·tion [ˌənjəˈlāSHən] NOUN the action of moving smoothly up and down: “the soft undulation of the waves animates the scene” a smoothly rising and falling form, outline, or movement: “the road follows the undulations of the countryside”
This is my latest painting that I am done working on. Finished, Completed. Varnished and tucked away under my bed waiting for a buyer. Do you like it? You can find it uploaded on the gallery page and posted around social media.
I’m trying not to pick it apart and put it through some more paint. From the texture from the endless layers of acrylic I’ve put over it but somehow, I managed to miss the off-putting brown surrounding the mouth and there could be more details because the texture is inconsistent and blah blah blah.
Considerations of undulation as a title came about due to the waves of satisfaction / dissatisfaction I keep fighting with. Up and down, rising and falling, my own personal undulation of appreciation.
But I’m just not feeling it yet and its already visually so busy and chaotic. The big head small body, glow in the dark, little moon and twig vein hair. Shadows and tones, pinks and blues. All sclera no retina no pupil, extra-terrestrial, vivid.
I should give up, I’m so tired of being awake looking at it.
I keep touching it. Sitting with the textures and feelings it invokes. And I guess I will have to continue to do so. Outside, it’s warm so I’m staying inside. Until it’s time to start the grill, butter the corn and do my daily basking in the sun. But then I saw the sky, rain pending with the heavy sheet of clouds.
Clouds and airplane landscapes above Portugal MUTE THIS ISH
Clouds, I’ve seen a lot of them lately. I went to Lisbon for a few short days, and I enjoyed it immensely. What a shame it is that I didn’t film a Wes Anderson style short video exploring the city in a whimsical type of way. I just don’t have time for that kind of shenanigans anymore, in spite of the city’s epic beauty.
A gothic paradise: Santa Maria de Belem Church, Lisbon, Portugal
Carved castles, lots of crowds of people laughing, walking, exploring, existing. The vehicles all truly getting in where they fit in.
Buildings coated with tile, a standard in many European countries and something I’d like to experiment with on my own home one day.
The week was joyous and invigorating. Delicious pastries, sweet faces and music all over the place. In the streets and cafes and eateries. The ancient city of the mountains.
After my flight was cancelled, I had to find alternative accommodation for an extra night and ended up with an hour’s long layover in south Florida that I wasn’t expecting.
I tried to minimize my stress and freely entertain everything the universe had planned for me.
The Miami International Airport became my HQ for a few hours, and it was nice to explore. There is a renewed appreciation for Florida and its unique charm as I observed people touring there and got to second hand experience their joy of exploring a new and interesting place.
Now that I’m back home, my garden is taking off, but my brain won’t come up with anything new. Carrots are bushy as hell and I’m empty and tired. Marigolds, zinnias and snapdragons but nothing floating around in my heart.
I’m constantly surrounded by better artists and better art on social media and somehow, I can’t turn this exposure into my own creativity.
I used to feel lit up with creative power after 20 minutes of looking at other peoples art
Why the hell not? I’m living life, I’m exploring, I’m doing things! I’m afraid forcing it and this will end up having devastating effects on the handful of pieces I’ve been working on lately.
It has been more than five years since I last experienced heavy rainfall like the one Putnam County received this morning. The feeling of soggy ground beneath my feet is a gift. A treasured gift from Earth that I haven’t felt since my time in Idaho. The nostalgic smell of southern rain and the pitter-patter slapping my roof and touching my body is nothing short of refreshing.
Just a few weeks ago, on March 23rd, I took part in the very first local Art Walk in Crescent City, Florida. The event took place under the shade of live oak trees that have been around longer than I can ever hope to be.
My art was on display, offering a colorful and psychedelic escape from the endless booths of paintings of manatees and fish, wind chimes, and jewelry. It was something weird and unexpected, but in the best possible way.
For four hours, I sat there with my art display and had many beautiful little interactions with people in my small town of around 1,654 residents. Some younger individuals simply stopped and stared, taking in the colors and details of my art.
I had a shy guy on a bicycle who looked at one of my paintings for a brief moment. As we made eye contact, he gave me a thumbs up with a slight head nod before continuing on his way.
These simple gestures of appreciation reminded me of the power of art to connect people in even the smallest ways.
But my favorite interactions had to be with the older crowd.
Delivering Delight to the elders
While at the park with my display, I noticed that many elders stopped to talk and were beaming with smiles. Some commented on the colors, saying things like “So trippy! That’s wild,” while others complimented my creativity, asking questions like “That’s very creative! How do you come up with this stuff? “. These interactions filled me with a sense of gushing pride.
My favorite moments were when a few ladies and gentlemen shared their personal stories, telling me how my art reminded them of the 1960s and 1970s or of the good times they had on mushrooms or acid “back in the day.”
One man that stopped and spoke with me turned out to be a pastor. The pastor surprised me by engaging me in a discussion about psilocybin. “I’m a pastor now,” he proclaimed. To which I responded, “For some people, mushrooms help them meet God.”
My quip earned me a laugh and a memory that may never fade. The pastor smiled, and I believe he knew, perhaps intimately, what I meant.
I have personally made connections to God under the effects of psychedelics, especially in my youth when I danced more often and paid closer attention to the details of our world. As the old saying goes, “The devil is in the details,” but I learned that God lives there too.
These experiences have inspired my art and my passion for creativity.
A gentleman in Idaho bought this painting from me 4 years ago, back in 2019. I couldn’t tell you his name, but I remember that he was very fast paced with curly dark hair, and he had a car dealership. He told me I should focus on bigger paintings. “They would be easier to sell.”, He said. Ever since this interaction, I’ve focused more on larger canvases.
I also committed to more detail and less low time investment / stress paintings.
Sometimes I think about paintings I have sold to people and fully recognize their obvious incompletion. I daydream about being able to have them back to finally finish and then return to whatever wall or Goodwill had them.
I feel like I’ve produced a bunch of ghosts.
This is my current thought process, and it is the reason you may have noticed I completely swept up the art that I have kept on this website. Now the website itself feels so empty and pointless.
I suppose I am going through some sort of a conflict about it. Someone was willing to spend money on this painting, no matter how many years ago. Just because I’ve suddenly become so moody and hyper critical, does that really mean that another person’s enjoyment is invalid?
Only a few short years later and looks so obviously incomplete to me now. It looks like I don’t care. I guess this is what it means to grow old, to desire more intent and focus to be evident in the things that come from my hands.
I don’t feel proud enough of my art, and that’s become a problem.
If you are reading this, and you have and /or purchased a painting from me please email me a photo of it. Let me look at it, I have such a huge army of ghosts out there. I woke up today wanting nothing more than to chase them.
