On painting…
I have always had the desire to paint.
I played around with it as a child, though I spent more of my energy on drawing
back in those days simply because it was the readily available medium.
What 8 year old is ever very far from a pencil and paper?
My mother had always encouraged it and made sure
I always had something to draw on.
In grade school I had a great art teacher who was also very motivating.
One of my earliest memories of entering into that “creative atmosphere” was back in kindergarten. I remember our teacher setting us up with these huge pieces of paper,
the likes of which I had never seen before.
We were all given watercolors and left to create…
I was really getting into my painting… might even say entranced with it…
when the next thing I know I was getting pulled out of class
and lead to the principles office.
I remember being very confused by all of this and not knowing what I was in trouble for.
It wasn’t until my mother came in and explained to me that I somewhat understood.
I guess I was splashing paint all over the other kids and I wouldn’t stop.
Obviously I was heavily influenced by Jackson Pollock at the time.
I also remember an incident in third grade. We were once again painting in class.
This time with those heavy tempera paints they used to give us at school.
I had big bottle of deep rich purple. In front of me sat Marcie.
Marcie had this beautiful almost platinum blonde straight hair.
I can’t tell you now what was going through my head back then,
but I can remember the experience and the exhilaration I felt
when I took that bottle of purple paint and squirted it all over
Marcie's head.
Of course after that, it was a little embarrassing as my teacher came over
and taped me to my chair with masking tape. Needless to say,
I don’t remember any more “occurrences” beyond that from grade school.
I do remember my class mates would always ask me
“are you going to be an artist when you grow up?”
(yes! I would think...)
I remember it always made me feel a little strange,
as I didn’t know any “artists”.
It always made me feel like an outsider in a way.
When I made the move to high school,
naturally I signed up for art class.
I took it with a grain of salt though and didn’t view it as a serious class.
It was just that I was so much more in tune with that than
taking a wood-shop or auto-shop
like everyone else.
Ok, so once I hit high school, and feeling
like an outsider, I did what I could to try fit in.
I grew my hair and started playing guitar. I had always loved music.
Everybody loved music.
It worked out alright.
I would ditch classes and go hang out with my other “musician” friends
and I had a lot of fun for several years.
I didn’t need high school, I thought,
I’m going to be a rock star, and they don’t teach you that in school.
Then at the age of 19 with a daughter
on the way I got married and had to leave the “rock star” life behind.
The next 16 years of my life I spent doing all kinds of jobs that were neither exciting
nor lucrative. After all, I spent my “formative years” developing a “personality”
instead of focusing on a career. I didn’t have any great skills that I could use
to make a decent living so I did whatever I could with what I had.
We won’t venture down that road.
At 32 I went back to school and studied photography.
By this time I was on my second marriage and my new wife
had bought me a nice camera and some lenses for our first Christmas together.
She had seen some of the pictures I had taken
on our vacations and how I was learning to scan images into the computer
and “play” with them. She decided I had a talent that needed to be developed.
She believed in me.
I (we) decided that photography would be a great way to utilize my artistic desires
and leanings, and have a shot at making an honest living at doing something
I was passionate about.
That’s what changed my life.
After studying at College of Dupage in Glen Ellyn Illinois I spent several years
in the field doing everything from graduations, weddings and marathons
to food and product photography. I also worked in camera sales and photo labs.
Learning everything I could about my new tools and
how to best use them to my advantage.
In 2005 we moved from Illinois to Colorado.
I concentrated on taking my photography
to the next level and to get back to being the person I really was,
that little artist guy from Elwood Illinois.
A year later we opened up Stoneheart Gallery in Evergreen, Colorado.
It’s been a very healthy, rewarding and exciting three years since then.
I have grown in ways that I couldn't begin to describe.
I have met some of the most amazing people that one could hope to meet.
People who make me feel great about who I am and what I am, an artist.
Now after working with so many artists of various styles and techniques for several years
I have decided that it’s not impossible and I have decided to expand my creativity
from behind the lens and onto canvas as well.
I have decided to paint.
I always wanted to paint however it always scared me.
It always seemed like such a serious journey, which it is.
I'm just not afraid of it anymore.
Though I had always seen works of great painters, mostly in books,
I didn’t know any growing up and being
from the middle of a corn field in Illinois, it seemed that I was just not
in the right environment for that to be a realistic goal.
(You know, like being a rock star.)
Now I am in the right environment. Now I know artists.
And knowing all these great artists that I now represent,
being influenced by them constantly and studying their work everyday,
it has taken a hold on me and I can no longer resist its call.
I guess, in the end it’s coming full circle.
We can try to escape who we truly are.
We can try to be like everyone else.
But it catches up with us eventually.
At some point we become who we are.
We paint because we can't not paint.
I, for one, am thankful of that.
The last words my father said to me
were that he was proud of who I became and what I was doing with my life
and that I was doing the right thing.
He promised to come visit us in Colorado and see our gallery.
A few days later he passed away.
I never thought I’d hear him say those words.
I always felt he was disappointed that I had
no desire to become a carpenter, like him.
I now feel that we are
at peace with each other.
My mother passed away many years ago,
but I’m sure wherever she is in the universe,
that she sees her influence
in what I do every day.
"Reflections"
