A short film I made with footage taken in California, Philadelphia, Texas and New York.
I heard them calling in the distance
So I packed my things and ran
Far away from all the trouble
I had caused with my two hands
Alone we travelled armed with nothing but a shadow
We fled far away
Hold your horses now
Sleep until the sun goes down
Through the woods we ran
Deep into the mountain sound
– Mountain Sound, Of Monsters and Men
Swinging Away, This Childhood
I spent the past two weeks slowly working on this piece, redoing it for the third or fourth time in years. Skies, I’ve come to learn, are deceptively easy to paint.
8.20.18 – 9.2.18
Revisiting an older piece
8.13.18 – 8.19.18
8.5.18 – 8.12.18
Somewhere in Greece, a piece I worked on last week. 😎 Not sure if this defies the rules of #dailyart, but in lieu of drawing something small every 7 days, I worked on this larger piece….every day.
The purpose of this art project was to push me to make art consistently, even if I didn’t want to. on the upside, I’ve been churning pieces out! On the downside, sometimes they’re of subpar quality. Stumbling upon older, more elaborate paintings hammered in this realization.
For the next few weeks, I’m going to try & devote more time to fewer, but more detailed, pieces, and to work on them every day.
7.30.18 – 8.4.18
I love the way disposable film turns out: soft, fuzzy, warm, bright.
Like describing vintage in hues–
Like if nostalgic were a look, it’d be this.
Photographed this about three years ago. I miss New York and all its lights; I’ve been itching to visit for the past year or so. In my general consumption of rom-com movies–always based in NYC (of course) and around Christmas (yes), Christmas lights, in particular, have become somewhat of a myth.
So I’m going back soon–for the sixth time!–this time to see the Christmas lights!
Feelings are much like waves; we can’t stop them from coming, but we can choose which ones to surf. – Jonatan Martensson
Sometimes I find myself lost in paintings: the best pieces, I think, are transportive. You’re no longer in the pristine museum with white walled divides or the living room with its gaudy frames. You’re on some field instead, climbing over oil globs and brush marks and resting in blended shade. You’re on the rainbow trail dotted with pink painted flora. You’re somewhere else instead, dancing in visual reverie.