the Artist
I've been painting since I was sixteen.  A
friend's father was an artist and had a box of
paints.  My friend said do something with these.  

So I did.

I never went to school for it.  I have a degree in Liberal Arts, with concentrations in film
and literature.  I take pride in my primitive status.

I painted for fourteen years or so.  My work was abstract.  My technique was in the vein of
automatic painting (I was to learn later, when I learned the words for the things I was
doing).  The movement was subconscious.

One of the traits of my paintings were the faces that appeared out of the repetitive
patterns.  Later I would learn this was due to the minds tendency to assign facial
recognition in random patterns:  'Pareidolia'.  My technique I called 'aleatory' (from the film
term), incorporating chance in the process and how the painting evolved.

I knew none of these terms then, when I decided I would paint and write, be a beatnik, and
an anachronism.

After years of painting and writing and living like said beatnik, I decided the benefits
sucked.  The long and short of it: I took seven years off from painting.  My hiatus.

In 2001 I came off my hiatus.  I painted for months, over a hundred paintings...
Cannibalizing what didn't work, and my style changed, became more minimalist, sort-of

People ask what is my motivation to paint.  I'd never really thought of it.  I didn't assign
them any particular meaning until asked by a young French woman what they meant.  So I
analyzed my own paintings.

I drew parallels between: spiritualism and metaphysics (citing the aleatoricism as the
method of meaning arising from chance, like 'spirit writing), subconscious projection, and
archetypal or 'Gnostic' meaning.  The best example of me spinning this lurks on Youtube:
me speaking at the Worcester Art Museum.  With each show I created more and more
baroque statements, each with its kernel of truth hidden within a pseudo-schizophrenic
montage of allusions to religion, psychology, and philosophy, like the notes of a Philip K.
Dick novel full of delusions of reference, trying to capture a mysticism derived from its own
internal, flawed logic.

I've been painting for fourteen years now and my style has segued again.  Someone
insisted that I painted landscapes.  I'd never thought of them as landscapes.  I referred to
them as bifurcated color fields.  Before showing at the Fruitlands Museum I decided I'd
embrace the landscape.  (I felt a little bad, since the show catalogue compared my
composition to Rothko pieces and they paid for the rights to put a Rothko in the
catalogue, and here I show up with pieces that are landscapes.)  To answer one question
asked (understanding the shift from color fields to landscapes), the intersection between
color fields and landscapes is the quality of light.

Since then, inspired by the Fruitlands (and its curator, Mike Volmar), the Hudson River
painters, the transcendentalists of the 1800's, and from growing up in the heart of
revolutionary-era America (the Lexington/Bedford/Concord area), I've been consciously
trying to capture landscapes, with an old New England feel (I quoted Hawthorne in
connection with the Olde New England, with which the Devil had more than a passing


It seemed appropriate to ditch my previous 'metaphysical/occult' artist's statements,
especially in light of returning to my roots, and go back to saying I simply paint.  That
being said, there's been a dozen reports of my paintings being 'haunted', with similar
symptoms: "...Headaches, disturbed sleep and bad dreams."  "Image began to morph in
my head and in my eyes to something evil.  Can't explain it, never have anything like this
happen before."  

From a woman who bought a different painting, "I'm not sure how to explain [it] other than
feeling lightheaded, cold, nauseous when walking by it. On the one occasion I hit it with a
feather duster the same happened but with more force and I immediately had no hearing
for a minute or so and puked. Also my cat was often hissing at it that's about it. It's been in

And, from a self-proclaimed witch: she felt there were things in the paintings.  However,
she passed them off as not being harmful, as I wouldn't sell her harmful paintings.  She
owns six.  

So there they are, as a disclaimer.  Let the buyer beware.
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