There was a sliver of time where I knew about art. where it went and was going. then there was a time I made art and I knew little and a time after that I knew a bunch. Now, again I know nothing, like when I started. These extremes are the best times, I am so stupid and the work still gets made. I know that I know nothing. I make, do it yourself art, it is individual, not a theory. It is not for sale but can be sold. I pull my head from the vise and make a simply gesture, go alone, for I do not matter, but my time of making, makes a life! It is only an expression of being but in the end the slate so covered with marks will be wiped clean.