Making Connections

I tore a big hole in my favorite jeans today. These aren't just any pants. These are my go-to studio jeans—the ones I dry my brushes on and where I wipe my paint covered hands when I get messy, which is often. This new hole reveals a little too much skin in a place that rarely sees the light of day, so it might be a deal killer and it makes me sad.

Yeah, these jeans are pretty special. They are perfectly stretched in all the right places, with worn areas on the knees from working on the floor and covered in speckles of paint from every art project I've worked on over the past year. But what I love the most are the great reactions I get when I wear them.

Strangers stop me to chat, curious about what kind of art I make. "I bet I can guess what you do for a living," said a man in passing. Or, sometimes, I just get a nod and a smile and that just makes me very, very happy. After all, isn't that what art is about—connection. Constantly reaching for that emotional connection with the viewer is what drives my work, but viewers and collectors don't always get to express that connection with me. With the jeans, I hear it all the time and the reactions are face-to-face, immediate and completely genuine. Yup, I'm going to miss these jeans. Sigh...Do you know anyone who sews?

All the Cool Stuff in Between

Driving a dusty dirt road in who-knows-where South Dakota, my friend and I were searching for a Native American petroglyph site. With no signs, no cell reception and certainly no people to guide us, we trudged along dodging cattle and boulders in the road. Finally, in the vast nothingness, we saw a beacon of hope–a porta potty.

We laughed, and laughed and still laugh when the topic comes up, a reminder that some of the best moments happen between destinations. When it comes to my art subjects I have the same attitude; I focus on the things we see every day. The fleeting second when the perfect light reflects off a biker as you cross paths, the powerful silhouette of an Oakland factory as the sun sets, or a touching interaction between strangers on the street. Aren't these the moments that make life fabulous?

By the way, we never found the petroglyphs and that's just fine. Please enjoy this series of photos from last summer. They are a celebration of the stuff you see in between the major cities. Next stop...Northern California and Southern Oregon.

Happy Trails!

Ride On, 36 x 24 in., mixed media on wood

Beyond Commission Jitters

I admit it – commissions make me nervous. One of my favorite things about creating art is knowing that people emotionally connect with my work. Art is so subjective and collaborating with clients to understand what they want often makes me delve into the unknown. But honestly, tackling the unknown is also what I enjoy most about commissions. 

I love a challenge and with every new project I learn something. It may be a color combination I've never considered or a subject I've never seen. Even if it's a request for a version of an old piece I will see the work in a new way and make it unique.

Last year, for instance, I did restaurant commissions that forced me explore parts of the Presidio and the surrounding neighborhood where I discovered the staggering views from the top of San Francisco's Lyon Street Stairs (popular with sadistic personal trainers) and the impressive art installations of Andy Goldsworthy scattered around the park. One of my favorite requests was for a large piece featuring the McNear brickyard in San Rafael. I had never even heard of the brickyard and when I took a ride over there to check it out I was blown away. Walking through the stacks of bricks, in various sizes and patinated colors, I felt like I had discovered the remains of an ancient city. Beyond cool!

I will always get a little nervous to start a new commission but now it feels more like excited anticipation for something that has become a guilty pleasure – a symbiotic relationship with collectors that gives me an excuse to explore new places and meet new people. And the best part, I know my clients will have a personal connection to the work they helped create.

Get Lost

"A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions." — Oliver Wendall Holmes

A constant swarm of bees and flies found us in South Dakota and Wyoming, feeding off the insect carcasses plastered to the front of the car. It made me miss the concrete urban oasis of Chicago, where we had been a few days before.

I wasn't really looking forward to this part of the cross country trip—I am terrified of bears and I hate outdoor toilets. But after a couple of hundred miles of driving and a speeding ticket from an exceedingly pleasant state trooper, I awoke from a nap to get my first glimpse of the Grand Tetons. Whoa...I wasn't prepared. Really, it's tough to describe their majestic beauty. And it's easy to see why so many people have it on their bucket list. 

Before hitting Jackson Hole we took a 30 mile diversion on a deserted road in search of an elusive petroglyph site, which we never found. And you know what, I didn't care; it was still fun. I've spent a lifetime taking the road less traveled—sometimes accidentally but usually because that's just me. It is one of my strengths and possibly one of my weaknesses. In either case it's a characteristic that definitely carries over into my work.

If there is a message I want to send through art it is to remind people to look up (increasingly rare in our smart phone-dominated lives) and see the world around them. Explore, dare to step out of your comfort zone and see familiar things in a new way. If you are lucky the road less traveled will take you to a bug-infested, dusty dirt road deep in Wyoming where there's no hope of phone reception, and well, you won't care one bit.