My
childhood efforts to impress my parents ironically resulted in my catching hell
more often than not. Whether hopping from foot to foot on propane stove (age 2)
replacing aquarium water with a nearly empty shampoo bottle (dead gold fish collection
age 3) or backing the idle truck in to the ravine across the street (age 4). I
suppose my early crayola frescoes should have foreshadowed a creative passion.
Concerned about the arguably dark subject matter I connected with at that age,
my parents were loathe to encourage me and often attempts were made to oppress
the artistic force in me. Determined to impress them I’d try harder, focusing
on details and perspective...
