I began my adult path as an artist, as many do, by attending art school for completely the wrong thing. I first enrolled at Massachusetts College of Art & Design in Boston to study industrial design, that is, the art of conceiving, designing and developing objects for people to use and enjoy. The model making and technical drawing involved in the field of ID amazed me, and more importantly, it was the major of my recently graduated older sister, who was (and still is) a great positive influence in my life.
However, my interest in ID was soon stolen away by the bohemian revelry of MassArt's SIM program - a multimedia performance & installation based major that easily ranks among to most difficult majors to explain to your parents, or truly, to anybody at all. Every critique session was like a microcosmic Cirque du Soleil, and I was immediately enamored.
So long as my work didn't look, sound, or feel too much like any of the more traditional arts, I could move in almost any creative direction. There was ample support and equipment available (assuming you could answer the basement troll's riddles unerringly) and my peers and I produced some of the most compelling, though also some of strangest, works in the college art scene.
But something nagged me. The glitter of novelty dimmed for me and depression reared its head once more. Deep inside I had creative sparks originally kindled by fiery explosions of autumn foliage, the cool low lights of the winter sun, and quiet forests softly pierced by bird song. In short, my creative spirit was driven by beauty rather than the conflict that the contemporary art establishment which prevailed relished.
I produced half-hearted installations with buried televisions and broken electronics which the professors glowed over. I felt like a con. When I presented musical pieces meant to communicate peace and beauty, I was told by the presiding professor to consider changing schools. In a way, I ended up taking that advice.
I left MassArt with the blessings of some and the curses of others. After some soul searching and way-finding, I realized that the traditional paths of fine art, which have been traveled by those in the west since our written history began, were where I'd find my self expression and life's pursuit. Discovering no immediate outlet, I took to studying and practicing independently with as much discipline as I could possibly arouse. Nature, I decided, is the true teacher, but to play it safe I sought out and hoarded every good text I could obtain on the matter.
Eventually, I returned to New Hampshire where I would study in near isolation for some years. Despite the hardness of winters there, the complete and transitory beauty of that place inspired me everyday. The ever changing gamuts of color, in my opinion, put even Monet's dynamic Rouen Cathedrals to shame.
What makes New Hampshire beautiful also makes it cold, hard, and sparsely populated. For a young artist there isn't much opportunity to be challenged and grow. So, I made my way down to Atlanta, Georgia - a thriving hub of all art forms and a constant source of active inspiration. It is in this place that I work and live today, inspired by other artists of all types, big glorious Georgian clouds and the sound of cicada buzzing in the live oaks.
I hope to share my paintings and other artwork with others as an expression of light, beauty, simplicity and peace.