is where the heart is, as your grandma used to say. So wipe away your tears…

We stand in a period of art regression. There are no monuments being built for for our generation. There are no temples for us to stand in awe. It is our plight to face inward as the gods rain information down upon a collective humanity that is crushing in on itself. As my eyes melt I smile with cold solace, knowing that everything is going to be o.k.

I light candles to my holy trinity, Marcel Duchamp, Iggy Pop & William Burroughs. Father, Son, Holy Ghost. I pray to Johnny Rotten (Or Malcolm Mclaren, whoever you believe) I pray to Andy Warhol (Or Andy Kauffman, whoever you believe) I flog myself in the name of Arturo the Aqua Boy because in the end, nothing is ever enough.

I seek the blessings of the reality underneath. Every day is a party with the material at hand. Dancing vagrants, inbred fruit venders, cell phone thespians. These are my favorite things and they are here. Right here. Angry traffic cops, old trannies in the daylight, body fat, incense, horseradish, middle aged whores. These are my favorite things and they are right here. Nothing is ugly when you only have one life and I ask you, who has two? They say everything is fascinating to a child; little animals that have no shame. Why do you? Smell that city heat garbage rot? Taste that ice cream? Those moments are real and meant for you. Hurdy gurdys, sharp cheese, broken hearts, road kill, pigeon shit, dark beer. These are my favorite things and they are right here.

I do not make art for inner peace or for the exploration of self. I create for legacy and forced dialog, for my own narcissistic imperialism. I create to conquer and challenge.I have chosen the least respected of mediums because with respect comes acceptance. Acceptance means absorption into society. Absorption into society means mediocrity. Mediocrity means failure. I believe we are at a cross roads in art history. There are no possible break throughs left in the old ways. Academic institutions are filled with fear and rules. Galleries are filled with masturbation and boredom. What is life without a challenge?