from the time at a young age, i can always remember the feeling of picking up a pencil, a brush, or anything that would leave a mark and vanish into a world that was tranquil and surreal at the same time

as life moved forward, the progression of becoming an artist flowed effortlessly as i turned towards it to escape the world in which just didn't seem right to me

not knowing why or understanding the anger that seemed to possess my thoughts as soon as i stepped outside and ventured my way thru the world, just feeling that something had to give

 

that something was home . . .