I paint with oil. I paint with acrylics. I sometimes mix them together. I use nail polish and polish remover, magic markers, egg whites, ink, and whatever else I deem necessary to translate the ideas in my head onto the canvas. I often apply my colors with the edges of credit cards, the opposite ends of brushes, and with balls of string. I take my canvas with me into a hot shower on occasion to achieve various effects. 

recent visual output - A small sampling

If I provide too much context as to the meaning of a work, it will become limited by this narrative. I prefer to leave the interpretation of my art up to the individual viewer, providing them only a title and the freedom to piece together any semiotic cues or clues they may encounter, thus compelling them to form their own conclusions. The best moments in my painting (and music) endeavors have been the results of what I call “happy accidents”—random occurrences that happen dynamically in the creative process that, while completely unplanned or unanticipated, result in something of equal or better merit than what was initially intended. In other words, the meanings of my pieces often change while the work progresses, with planning frequently trumped by whimsy. 


Walking the fine line between free will and predestination, wise enough to resist a fight with nature, but too stubborn to submit to natural law—they were the Eidolas. I recognized you among them.  

four seasons

To a child growing up in the Midwestern and Northeastern parts of the USA, the changing of the seasons was pure magic. These canvases reflect fond memories: Winter - Philadelphia / Spring - Kyoto Japan / Summer - West Chester, PAAutumn - Central Park, NY, NY.


The Hyaku En series was produced at the end of 2016 in Tokyo Japan. With no exceptions, all materials were purchased at Hyaku En yen shops. (Hyaku En means 100 Yen in Japanese, which is approximately equal to one U.S Dollar—sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less depending on the monetary exchange rate.) The end result of each day’s work was random, in the sense that I would restrict myself to using only those items which were available at the Hyaku En shops around me, much like a chef might base his daily menu on what he/she is able to procure each morning in the town market.

Rather than feeling constrained and limited, such an approach was invigorating and conducive to innovation. With no control over the supply chain, I experienced an ironic liberation: Forced to work within parameters that were completely out of my control, I found that the cognitive dissonance that often goes hand-in-hand with unfettered freedom-of-choice was greatly decreased. So instead of feeling helpless and paralyzed by too many choices, I was able to focus on solving specific problems—to consolidate and marshal my creativity to push beyond the limits of any perceived constraints.

My recent journeys in painting have reinforced my conviction that the arts—whether visual arts, music, etc.—should, by and large, be as accessible as possible (especially in financial terms) for both the artist and consumer. The Hyaku En series has supported this conviction to an extreme degree. I knew that fancy brushes, paints, or canvases would in fact be minimally helpful in physically realizing the visions that had been flitting about in my head throughout 2016. I chose to forgo expensive art supplies and work with all sorts of bargain-sourced unconventional materials such as nail polish, wood varnish, and shodo sumi ink.