I have a quiet voice. People talk over me or don’t hear me.
I express myself through writing, art, and food.
Like the iceberg, only a fraction shows at the surface.
Maybe you’d like to discover the world below.

The stories I write about myself are true. This is my life in words and memories. The people in my family I talk about are deceased or lost in the quagmire of dementia. So I’m not bound to hide these memories any longer. It’s my truth, and I will tell it, regardless if someone doesn’t like it, or is offended by it.

What I once considered a tough life, all the situations, challenges, and invaluable learning experiences, I now consider the greatest gifts of all. My intention at this point is to feed my soul, quiet my mind, and let go of all the extraneous idiocy that we surround ourselves with. I feel myself emerging from the constraints I’ve spent a lifetime piling on. It’s the most difficult and challenging work I’ve done thus far, but it’s worth it for the glimmers of joy I find. This is my best decade ever.

This is me
This is what I like:

The overwhelming smell in the center of a pine forest.
Beaches at night when the tide is completely out.
The smell of linseed oil, turpentine, and oils.
Fresh canvas.
The world after a lightning storm, especially the air.
Climbing trees, being with trees of any kind.
Paper, pencils, erasers, rulers, and school supplies.
Looking at photography
Setting a table.
Just being.
Conversations about ideas, philosophy, and the grand scheme of things.
Big rocks warmed by the sun in the middle of rivers
Fruit picked warm off the tree or vine.
Outdoor cafes.
Watching people, especially in outdoor cafes in little villages.
Artists of any and all persuasions, hearing them, seeing them.
Feeling their work.
Art in and of itself.

I’d love it if you could support my writing and projects.