Blanked Out

I don’t want to know what’s happening. Not because I have my head in the sand--although that would be interesting, but I want to be free of manic influences that are exploding all around me. In my ears, in my eyes, pushing me to see what I don’t want to
see and hear what I don’t want to listen to. What’s going on ? Where’s the surprise, the magic, the what’s going to happen next ? Give me a blank anything and let me draw, write or sing and dance on it. The unheard of yet, and the not seen before--- that’s what excites me. I don’t want something new I want something ever changing and evolving. Life is not cement but a ever changing river of possibilities.

Get Lost

The only way to get to know New York City is to get lost. And for a native that can be a challenge. I take public transportation because it’s cheap and fast. On Sundays, I often explore the city with subway trips to various destinations like Coney Island or the Bronx Zoo. But on the long journey to foreign neighborhoods, when my creative juices begin to flow I get a sudden urge to jump off the train at the next stop. Standing disoriented on the platform, I look for the exit. I climb the stairs out of the darkness and into the light. The busy streets are filled with colored faces and rich smells. This blur of unfamiliar images jars my imagination to the point of pure excitement. Exploring neighborhoods gives me a sense of the old and the new. My work thrives on the unknown. In fact, I draw and photograph only what I need so as not to recognized them later. It doesn’t matter where I am as long as I never been there before. I take out my pad and camera and start to explore the area. As soon as I become comfortable I know it’s time to move on.

In the Moment

The challenge in a busy city is to be able to be present in the moment. So much is going on that our senses are on overload. Sounds collide like millions of rivers with no wear to go. Is there one sound, a word or a melody I can recognize? I weave through the mass of peoples like a choreographer searching for the right steps. I dance along twisting and turning trying to avoiding oversized backpacks, cumbersome dollies and flying mustard. I look for calm in a graceful crack beneath the concrete pressed against the core of the pavement. I breathe----

End of the day

The fast forward speed of the city slows me down. I feel every crack of the pavement under my feet. I sing in my head. There is no beginning to the rain.Newspapers fly in the air with the grace of dandelions. Mocha lattes, and raging music propel from the backs of heads. I am still in my purpose as life moves through me and the night becomes new on the block where I live. In the elevator I reach for the keys to apt 6B.

Comfort Zone

One day, on 2nd Ave, while I was kneeling on the ground, creating a drawing, someone pushed into me. Annoyed, I gave the man a dirty look as he hurried down the street. I tried to reposition the paper onto the surface again and again. As I struggled with the problem, I noticed that the lines began to connect and overlap with each other. Drawings emerged from the pavement like a moving stream of scratches and textures. A rush of adrenalin took over as I filled several sheets of paper in an attempt to connect the dots of my misguided images. Later in my studio, while examining my interesting new rubbings, I realized that there are no accidents in life. Obviously I needed someone to push me out of my comfort zone.

Street dreaming

I look up and see slices of sky between the tall buildings of glass and cement. It is warmer than yesterday, and I did not have my coffee yet. There are no alarms, or engine noises at this moment, which is strange. A bus passes me by and I wait for another. I don’t know whether to go uptown or downtown today. I am too familiar with the city's places. Thinking always leads to dreaming, and dreaming, and dreaming. Awaken by the sounds of hissing and bumping, my bus takes me through a jungle where time is mine to kill.

The state of becoming

All energy evolves. There is no us, there is no it, just the dance of molecules. So when I touch an object I’m adding my energy to the history of the universe. I don’t believe anything really belongs to us. We are all connected to everything. My art is inspired by this concept. Drawings are always becoming. They have a life of their own. A sketch is just a journey of evolution that changes minute by minute. It is the story of my energy engaged. A story defined in line and time. Art embodies this spirit. When I am creating I am part of the earth and the stars and I’m suspended in state of becoming.

Between the spaces

All life is pure energy. Harvesting it is impossible. But I try. I like the feeling I get from touching objects because they have an indwelling spirit that connects me to the morality and mortality of the universe. I find tranquilly and joy between the places and subjects I encounter. They in turn reveal themselves in unusual and mysterious ways. What draws me in is the ever changing possibilities the emerge without warning. What I'm saying is that I don't control my work it controls me. The joy of being in the moment is reward itself. Creating is being myself. And that is when it happens--- In that tiny space of a moment a form, a line, a texture becomes art.

The spirit moves me

There are days when you feel that the world is out of control and you've lost all sense of reality. Today was one of those days. The sky was pale gray with no particular weather eminent. I look at the cracks on the pavement my head down. I didn't know what street I was on or what the time of day. I search for inspiration and there was none. I turned the corner and took out my pad and crayon. I wanted to go home and forget today. I rubbed mindlessly and let the spirit move me.

The Rubbing Diaries

There is magic under my feet, a wealth of visual excitement commanding my attention. On the street and in doorways, people cover my subjects. I wait anxiously. Soon it will be my turn to touch and stroke the premises. Boldly I rub the cracks and crevices of street remnants. They tell me a story as I take position of their reference. My eyes are clicking. I search for amusement and folly. I search for meaning. People scramble and miss all the juice. I savor every impression as they are revealed to me. This is the talk of the streets. And I am the only one listening.