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One of the nifty things about having a blog with a nonsensical title is that you can veer madly in a different direction and nobody can seriously complain that the blog is no longer as advertised.
So far here I’ve talked about free writing techniques and my Word Art and now I feel like adding another category to the mix. Because the 2,000+ words in True Wealth didn’t really cover all I had to say about my notions of how to live what I call a rich life.
You do not have to be a rich person to live a rich life. Rich living is, in fact, entirely independent of how much money you have coming in or tucked away in the bank. You can be down to your last dime and out on the streets and still live a rich life. (In some ways, it might even be easier to.) You don’t have to be dirt poor to live a rich life, either. I’m not knocking money, it’s great stuff to have and I sure as hell could use some right now, but I’m not letting my current situation get in the way of living richly.
There are two kinds of poverty–the poverty of the material and the poverty of the soul. There’s been a lot of noise going on about the former but talk of the latter is seen as something you can only worry about when you’ve gotten your material situation completely to your satisfaction. Not just your basic needs covered, mind you, but the ideal job, the ideal income, the ideal location and no more worries ever. Then, and only then, can you take your nose off of the grindstone and pay attention to your surroundings. Until then, you have work to do, dammit, whether it’s the job you’re making your way through until retirement or the business you’re trying to launch, anticipating that indefinable sense of having arrived.
Right now, a lot of people are still thrashing in that state of uncertainty, waiting for something to happen, waiting for things to get better, waiting for the perfect arrangement of economic forces to restore a sense of security. And in the meantime they condemn themselves to the worst kind of poverty, the poverty that in fact requires far less to be alleviated than people realize.
You do not have to wait until you can quit the sucky job and start your fabulous business to live a rich life.
You do not have to wait until you have enough cash in the bank.
You do not have to wait until you can afford to buy a place and stop renting.
You do not have to wait until you’ve found the love of your life.
You do not have to wait for the pain to go away.
You do not have to wait for anything.
Be present.
Be grateful.
Be curious.
Be yourself.
Those are all you need. Right here, right now.
Start.
Lake Sirmon is one of the reasons I am irretrievably barred from saying I have not had an interesting life. We met at an art show that my friend Steve took me to. It was supposed to be the grand opening of her new art gallery and studio space. Unfortunately, an ice storm hit the area and made the opening a little less than grand. Nevertheless, we braved the slick roads and I fell in love with one of the masks that Lake had made–a half-mask covered in red glitter with beads and red and black plumes. Steve still owed me money (I have a tendency to fall for men in less-than-stable financial situations, but I always get it in writing when I help them out) and the mask in question was about the price of his final payment, so he bought me the mask and we called it even.
Because of Lake, I have posed for photographs in the ruins of an abandoned steel mill, wielded a wand as the Art For A Buck Fairy, covered myself in lipstick and body paint while completely nude in front of an audience and helped paint a hearse to turn it into a multicolored work of automotive art. Lake proved to me beyond all doubt that you don’t need to be a rich person to live a rich life.
Lake has a thing for aliens. She’s made art of spaceships, dressed up as an alien, put on an “Alien Luau” and collects the odd bits of ephemera depicting aliens that have made it to the thrift shops. One of her artworks comes with a story about a girl from an isolated planet who builds a spaceship to explore the universe with.
It was at Lake’s house that my art career began. I knew I had until June to come up with a birthday present for her. True to form, I was ridiculously late, but I wanted this piece to be worth it.
 Alien Life We have always looked up at the stars and wondered if anybody up there was looking back.
As, over time, we reduced what was unknown through adding to what was known (and as we realized how vast indeed was the unknown) we cast our various fears and our hopes into that void and asked ourselves what kinds of beings would arise from it.
Perhaps it says something about ourselves in what things that we expect will come.
We have told tales of being invaded by those who would take what we have and make use of it.
(Perhaps we secretly fear that all the things we did to others will one day be in turn done to us?)
In other stories, they come in the guises of our highest selves, being the beings we wish that we could turn into ourselves.
We wish that we could fly and so we gave them flight.
We wish that we could be rational, and so we give them logic.
We wish the rules for life would be clear, and so we give them purpose.
Some people are convinced beings from distant planets have already come to this place, even as the traces left behind are transient and uncertain.
(Should you suggest that past stories of humans were have been captured and released by the fae are really stories of those who have been captured and released by extraterrestrials, my question would be how can we indeed be certain that the abductors are not, in fact, the Fair Folk in suitable disguises?)
Other people make claims that the pyramids and other exceptional achievements of times past were in fact works of visitors from other worlds.
I find that this comes across as a bit of a slight to humanity.
We are, as a whole, far more remarkable than we give ourselves credit for.
And I also suspect that we all feel a bit like an alien from time, as we behold the peculiar customs of these human creatures and wonder why they act that way.
Anybody who explores the inner and outer spaces of the realms of creativity will find this to be especially true.
So perhaps the eyes that stare back from the skies are our own.
Lake loved it when I gave it to her and I’m honored to have my work added to her art collection.
Printout of this work (3 MB .jpg file) available here. Please read the license details.
The original has been given to Lake Sirmon.
Use this technique for: when you’re stuck on a project and need to move forward on it.
Starting point: when you haul out the book to write in.
Ending point: when what you’re trying to work on is finished.
This is a technique that I’m still testing out, so to speak, so if anybody who’s reading (all five of you) wants to try it out and report back on how it works for them, I’d love to hear about it.
This is a kind of hybrid of the Sub-C Session and the Shit Book, with a slight variation. Suppose you have something that you need to do, but Resistance is kicking your ass and keeping you away from it. Start by sitting down wherever it is that you need to Do The Ugly Thing You Don’t Want To Do But Really Have To (hereinafter the “Ugly Thing”) and having the Little Block Book handy. As soon as the Resistance rears up, pick up the Little Block Book and start writing. What you write will probably be some variation on “ARGH! I don’t wannaaaaa!” Start there. From there, vent out all the frustrations that are standing in your way, all the resentments, fears and so on that the Ugly Thing is bringing up with you. It might be something completely silly like “I’m scared that they’ll all laugh at me.” This is completely okay. The moment your fears are put into words, they lose some of their grip on you.
Once you’ve vented it all out, start working on the Ugly Thing. When the next round of frustrations rears up (perhaps along the lines of “ARGH! I suck! I’ll never do this right!” for example) grab the book and vent all those thoughts out. Get back to working on the Ugly Thing. When Resistance starts trying to ply you with excuses (“Hey, that’s a good enough start, time for lunch now, right?”) write those down. You may find they’re a lot less persuasive when put in words.
You can even use the Little Block Book as an odd sort of way to mark your progress. Say you’re working on writing a letter that you’re scared to write. Start by opening the word processing program and writing something in the Block Book like: Okay. File’s open. Now what? From there you might type in your return address and the address you’re sending it to and then write down what you’ve done in your Block Book. Keep going until the letter is written and ready to be sent. You might have to vent like crazy to get all your thoughts out (heck, you might even draft out part of the letter there) but in the end you’ll have a letter to show for it instead of putting it off for another day.
If you strike a particularly deep vein of resentment, you may want to take things over to the Shit Book for some proper purgation. If you’re really uncertain about what you’re doing and why, you might want to shift to a broader Sub-C Session and figure things out there. If you’re working in an office, you might consider using the Clicktappity method instead of a separate book, so you can look busy to people passing your cubicle.
After a certain point, momentum will kick in and you’ll be immersed enough to no longer need the Block Book. But if you find yourself stuck again, pick up the Block Book and write out what’s stopping you. The point of ending is not when you’re tired of writing about it–the point of ending is when the task you’re trying to get through is finished.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
I’m not sure which rabbit hole of links I tumbled down to land on the virtual doorstep of Pace and Kyeli, but I can certainly say that I’m glad I did. It was refreshing to see such enthusiasm, optimism, sensitivity and encouragement in the cynical wilds of the blogosphere. I added their blog to my RSS feeds, looked forward to each new chapter of The Usual Error and signed up for the Freak Revolution (which is now the Connection Revolution.)
When they announced a scholarship contest for their upcoming World Changing Writing Workshop, I decided this would be an excellent motivator to finish a Word Art piece I’d started but had gotten stalled on, which was also on the topic of change. Even if I didn’t win, I’ve have some art to show for it. As it progressed, I was less and less happy with how it was coming together visually, so I scrapped the initial design and carried the words over to a revised piece, with a better shape and a more harmonious color scheme.
 The Flow of Change The one who promises you absolute certainty is not to be trusted.
In a world that shifts and changes so, such a promise is impossible for one to even try to keep.
That which endures only endures by being mutable.
This is as true of abstract notions as concrete ones.
All that is built will be rebuilt as time wears it away.
What we think we know is perpetually subject to change.
Or at least it should be.
If it is not, it will eventually be smashed by reality as it settles into its latest form.
We know change to be inevitable.
But we cannot be assured that such change will always be for the best.
That is only the case if one makes a definite effort.
Change is a force, like water, like lightning, like rain, like the wind.
And like the water, like the lightning, like the rain, like the wind, we have been able to deflect it, shape it and even create it as necessary, in order to make that which we have need of.
The mistake is in assuming that once a change has been made, things can never regress to their previous state.
Change is a fluid that will pour into whatever container is provided for it.
Like water, like the Tao, it flows to the lowest point.
Like fire, like Spirit, it is indifferent to what it consumes and transforms in the way that it refuses to make exceptions.
Like all of these, it can be put to use, but only when you grasp the nature of it for what it is instead of what which you wish it to be.
Everything is in flux.
Nothing can ever happen in such a way that it cannot, however eventually, unhappen.
And knowing all of these things, you must now ask of yourself–”How can I shape these forces that flow through all of us? How can we direct change so that the greatest number of people can benefit from it?”
For if you seek to only do what will benefit yourself and no other, it will only cause the slightest of ripples in the world.
But if what you do changes the worlds of one another for better, the force becomes amplified and these ripples become waves.
What you want for yourself should be what you want for the world.
Seek peace so that others may know peace.
Seek joy so that others may know joy.
Seek love so that all may know love.
Change is powerful and for many it is frightening.
Our cravings for novelty are counterbalanced by our cravings for stability.
We know that what change leaves behind is not always improvement over what was before, and thus we are wary of untried changes.
Therefore the one who speaks of change is most persuasive when there is proof that it will work, when there are examples to point to and say: “This was done in a different way than the always. And yet it works, and works beautifully. Why, then, do we cling to the means and methods that are less effective?”
Be bold with your own life.
It is not a path, not a trajectory.
It is, in truth, a laboratory, wherein each new day, each moment, can be an experiment.
You are not bound to what has gone before.
You are only truly bound to what you choose to do in the moment as it stands before you, whether it is to sustain or to transform.
About halfway through making this piece, I came to a decision about it, but I kept that decision to myself until after the winners of the contest had been announced. Once the winners were announced (I placed as a runner-up, which was an honor in itself) I asked Kyeli for a mailing address, so I could present the original to her and Pace as a belated wedding present.
I’ve been told it now hangs behind Pace’s desk for inspiration, which is kind of fun to think about–that I am able to inspire those who have in turn inspired me.
Printout of this work (10 MB .jpg file) available here. Please read the license details.
The original has been given to Pace and Kyeli Smith.
Whenever possible, I set aside my birthday as a day to go out, explore, ramble and indulge myself a bit. June 14, 2010 was no exception. I spent the day visiting Centennial Olympic Park and the Georgia Aquarium and that evening I went to a restaurant in Virginia Highlands for Linchpin day.
Linchpin day was, in short, a gathering of folks inspired by the Seth Godin book Linchpin: Are You Indispensible?, which I hadn’t even read yet but was looking forward to doing so. I had a marvelous time meeting with people who were enthusiastic about the idea that work could be about passion, about connection, about making a difference in the world and that your job didn’t have to be some horrible hellish thing you put yourself through so you can pay for a secure place to sleep and watch television in.
While gathering information about the meetup, I also found out that a group of people were putting together a magazine to commemorate Linchpin day and to make sure that contributors would ‘ship’ as quickly as possible, they placed a 48-hour deadline just after the meetings, so people would get their ideas and impressions in right away instead of dithering.
So the next day, I bought a copy of Linchpin, read the whole thing, got out my materials and made some art.
1. Tell the lizard brain you’re only going to work on The Big, Scary Thing What That Needs To Be Done for only five minutes. Do so. When the five minutes are up, do just five more. Repeat until momentum causes you to lose track of time.
2. Picture the awful things that the demon in your head goes on about being said by somebody you would dearly love to piss off. (You might do best to invent someone, so your contempt doesn’t carry over to a live human being.) Imagine him like the villain at the end of some comedy, at the moment he has been proven powerless and is stomping and flailing and trying to reassert his vanished authority.
3. Do the lousiest, crummiest first draft of The Big Scary Thing What That Needs To Be Done that you can possibly come up with. Get from Point A to Point B and fix the result. There’s no way to sharpen a blade before it’s been forged.
4. Procrastinate your self-indulgence. Sure, you’ll go and check on how the Internet is doing. Eventually. Just five more minutes on The Big Scary Thing What That Needs To Be Done, that’s all . . .
5. If you have the flexibility to do this, give yourself two options: you will work on The Big Scary Thing What That Needs To Be Done, or you will do nothing at all–no books, no Internet, no phone, nothing. Sooner or later, your lizard brain will get bored enough to roll over and let you work.
6. Imagine that somebody is anticipating The Big Scary Thing What That Needs To Be Done and looking forward to the day that your creation meets the world. Even if the only somebody is you, it is more than enough and you shouldn’t ever deprive yourself or any other.
7. Always remember that the amount of energy you put into worrying about something does not count as effort expended towards solving the problem . . .
(For those of you scratching your heads and wondering what a ‘lizard brain’ is, I’ll just quote a bit from the book itself to explain: “The lizard brain only wants to eat and be safe . . . The lizard brain cares what everyone else thinks, because status in the tribe is essential to its survival . . . The lizard brain is the reason you’re afraid, the reason you don’t do all the art you can, the reason you don’t ship when you can.”)
The reason the word “Done” is in bold? Because I screwed it up the first time I wrote it and correcting it resulted in it resembling boldface. So I kept it for all subsequent iterations. This was very much a making-it-up-as-I-went-along kind of work, which meant I reached into my handy bag of Stuff I Say To Myself An Awful Lot (particularly the last line) in order to get the page filled. But it seemed like the kind of advice that others might benefit from, so there you are.
I sent it in to the magazine and wasn’t sure if they’d even make use of it, or if it would just wind up on the website edition, but much to my amazement when I got my copy, there I was on page 33. Then I looked in the back and saw that my website was there on the contributors list and thought, hmm, I should probably update or something . . .
Printout of this work (3.1 MB .jpg file) available here. Please read the license details.
The original is not for sale.
I have to say, How to Kill Demons did get quite the response in the comments section. Too bad only one of them was from somebody who actually read the thing. The rest got clogged in the spam trap and have that peculiar quality that comes with comments that are cleverly designed to sneak in and plant links to boost somebody’s Google rankings.
I’ve recently started a blog, the information you provide on this site has helped me tremendously. Thank you for all of your time & work.
Why, you’re welcome! I’m really not sure what information I provided here that helped you with your oddly minimal blog about how to become an ultrasound technician, but I hope it works out well for you.
I respect what you may did right here. I like the part wherever you express you are doing this to give back then again I’d personally guess just by all the responses that this is earning a living for you too.
It always weirds me out a bit when spam comments talk about “all the responses” or the “lively discussion” when I haven’t made a single one of them visible. Can they secretly see each other as their comments huddle together in the spam trap? As for ‘earning a living’, dude, I wish.
A superb view on this you’ve gotten, even as I don’t accept every thing which was explained I can see your case.
I’m glad you can see it. I didn’t even realize I was making a case for anything.
All kinds of things is absolutely free, wonderful woman. Gratitude so much for text this material for us to learn.
This one I might have almost considered letting through, had it been signed with a normal human name instead of ‘binaural tones.’
The amazing little blueberry has emerged as nature’s number one source of antioxidants among fresh fruits and vegetables.
Good to know, but how is that remotely relevant to anything I’ve written here? I’m trying to even figure out any blog where this would fit in easily without it bringing to mind some vaguely Stepford-like individual blurting this line out at a cocktail party with a blank smile.
I have two major Word Art projects in the works that I’ll be posting soon. I’ve also added a few scans up for people to download–check the “Free Stuff” tab at the top of the blog for details. And if you are a live human being with something to say, please, feel free to comment. I get lonely typing here by myself, ya know, but not so lonely that I’ll take up with spambots for company.
When I’d finished up Exile and The Intruders had finished their set, I packed up and said goodnight to the lads and showed them my work in a kind of “look what I did while you were playing!” way. I didn’t expect any of them would even attempt to read it. One of the guitarists did, however. Or, rather, he asked me to read part of it to him. I think I read him the last couple of lines, blushed a bit at being exposed like that, and gave him one of my hand-written bizniz cards so he could see the rest of the work I’d done at that point, if he was interested.
I thought nothing of it until the next time I saw The Intruders play and that same guitarist chided me for not having updated my blog lately. I was boggled that he’d even bothered to read it. He asked me if I’d done any new work of late and I told him I was working on a new piece and hoped to have it up soon.
“What’s it called?” he asked.
“How to Kill Demons,” I replied.
 How to Kill Demons Light a bonfire inside your heart.
Set the scene where you will.
I recommend the edge of the ocean.
It should be night.
Place your animus, in whatever form he takes,
next to you, as a guide.
Allow the flames to rise.
Stand close enough to the light
to cast a shadow behind.
The demon resides somewhere in the chest.
Sometimes the heart,
sometimes the solar plexus,
or somewhere in between.
A knot of burning, screaming ache.
You will know it when you feel it.
Sink your fingers into your chest
and wrap your hands around this pain.
There will be no blood or tearing.
Your animus will aid you, as necessary.
Grasp it firmly.
Pull it out, steadily and certainly.
Do not allow yourself to falter.
The demon will emerge in your hands.
It will come in any number of forms.
It may have claws,
it may have wings.
It will inevitably have fangs
still bloodied from
gnawing on your insides.
It may scream, in hopes of frightening.
It may insult, or try to bully.
It may even try to plead with you.
Do not, under any circumstances, listen to it.
Retain your grasp as you hold it over the first.
It may struggle, try to claw or bite you.
It will not succeed unless you allow it to.
Drop it into the fire.
Let the flames catch it.
It will scream more loudly.
It will curse you with greater viciousness,
or it will plead more desperately.
Again, do not listen.
It will burn.
The bonfire flames will transform it
into heat and light.
Warm yourself.
Allow your animus to embrace you.
Leave the fire to continue to burn.
It does not need to ever be extinguished.
This, like Blue Blazing, was an attempt to render poetry into Word Art. Instead of setting precise boundaries and making it fit, I decided to figure out the size of the paper after I had written it.
To this end, I took one of the 8 1/2″ by 11″ sheets of paper and set an upper margin of a couple of inches and side margins that left a three-inch space to work within. I wrote, alternating sides with each line, until I’d come to the end of the poem and then decided what standard photo frame size I could fit the result in. I settled on a 4″ by 6″ frame and cut off the excess paper.
The poem itself is, in its strange way, a true story. It was a visualization I came up with while away in a little place by the ocean, doing the usual vacation things and coping with the death throes of an intimate relationship. The images came to me in that certain daydream state as I lay on the bed and I guided them, the way one does in meditation and lucid dreams. I was able to release a great deal of pain and self-loathing with this and I still make use of the technique from time to time. If you think it might work for you, by all means, give it a try.
Prints of this work are available here.
The original has been destroyed.
At 2011 Bolton Road, in the northwest part of Atlanta, there is a relatively new commercial building that lacks tenants in its upper floor. The owner is amenable to letting artists use the space while nobody else is, and thus I’m now participating in my second art show there. The first show was the Upper West Side Folk Art Market, where I made my first sale in the midst of a snowstorm. The second is the Upper West Side Fringe Festival (which is still open from noon to six through May 21, 2010, if you’d like to drop by) which was where, indirectly, I made my first commission.
Since the space is intended as commercial space rather than a gallery, the lighting is not exactly amenable to an art show. My brother graciously donated some lighting equipment that he’d had in storage and I spent the Monday before the show unpacking these large boxes and cataloging everything. While I was there I met Ernest, my first proper art patron, and his sister, Margaret. Margaret was impressed with my work and when I mentioned I did custom work as well, she offered to commission a piece as a gift for her niece, Ernest’s daughter Candace. Ernest showed me the pictures he carried in his wallet of Candace–a pretty girl with a radiant smile, dressed in graduation robes. We decided on the size (the equivalent of Fire Meets Water–seven square inches) and Margaret specified that she wanted the white space to be “2010” and the color to be burgundy, to match Candace’s class colors.
I pondered what to write for a day or two, drafted a few notions in my notebook and then began:
 A Brief Message to the Class of 2010 You have emerged from the classroom into the world.
Whatever you choose to do from this point forward, even if you re-read these words years from now, know that the best life is the life of one who never stops learning.
These new ways to learn might not test you in a paper way, but you will still be made to prove what has been taught to you.
But if the proof does not come all at once you will know where to look to find out.
You were born in the 20th century but you come of age in the 21st.
How blessed you are, to witness and to shape amazing time such as this!
As you can see, so many things were at one time thought impossible and are now surrounding us.
Remember this–with courage and persistence “Impossible” becomes “not just yet” becomes “very soon” becomes “now.”
I presented the result at the opening of Fringe Fest and both Margaret and Ernest were quite pleased. I hope Candace will like it.
Prints of this work are available here.
The original has been purchased.
I was told about the Doo-Nanny by Chris Hubbard, and figured at the very least I’d come back with some good stories to tell, so I went. I did indeed come back with some good stories to tell, including the probably-more-epic-than-it-really-needs-to-be tale of how I managed to get a pair of Converse high-tops for two dollars, final bid, at the Possum Trot auction.
The Doo-Nanny, for those too lazy to click the link, is a festival of art, music, film and general craziness that is currently held on an 80-acre farm owned by one Butch Anthony, who is a folk artist, curator of the Alabama Museum of Wonder and perpetual wearer of overalls. I described it to people as a sort of Southern-fried Burning Man.
I had a table set up there, and while I didn’t sell much, I got to meet all kinds of people who peered at my art and found it fascinating. At one point, two ladies came up and asked me if I’d like to donate some art to burn in the Doo-Nanny. The Doo-Nanny itself is a two-story bonfire that is ignited on Saturday night. People drop things in there they are ready to let go of and they even auction off the opportunity to have a multi-course meal inside the Doo-Nanny a little while before it is burned.
I looked over my art table to see if there was something I was willing to abandon, but I decided instead to pull out a piece of paper I had handy and make something on the spot.
 Fire A flame fascinates as it burns to its conclusion.
We seek heat and light as we draw around it.
A flame terrifies as it burns without limits.
We beat it back if it goes beyond the boundaries we have set for it.
The fires of our hearts are always seeking a container to be kept in, whether as small a a candle flame or as massive as a bonfire.
And each fire contained so has the potential to ignite the heart of another into a fire of its own.
And so the flames are carried to hearts ignited, like the flames of candles at an Easter service, a lighting from one to the next to amplify a single candle’s flame to enough light to fill a cathedral.
Perhaps art movements should properly be called art conflagrations.
The blazing fires of genius are the kind to catch, to transform everything in its path into something quite different, quite different from what it was.
Here is a secret that we all know.
That creation and destruction are not absolutes.
They are value judgements applied to the process of change.
When a thing is changed into something we deem useful, we call it creation.
When the process of change results in something we have no use for, we call it destruction.
Each stroke of the pen obliterates the purity of the unblemished virginity of the blank sheet of paper.
The fires of the kiln strip all softness from the clay of a pot.
Every note of music, temporarily, it pushes aside the silence.
(And yet every moment of silence allows the music to be heard.)
Fire creates. Fire destroys. Fire transforms.
A new creation cannot exist without the destruction of that which came before it.
(Sometimes the one thing that holds us back from creating something new is the fear of what we may lose when we render it into being.)
One day all of this will be ashes.
Whether it’s when the trumpets blast from the heavens and God calls us all home or when the sun flares up in its final collapse, that which stands here will stand no more.
It is a rather terrifying thought for one to contemplate.
And yet it is a liberating one.
Against the length of eternity, we are as candle flames.
And yet how brightly we shine.
This moment flickers, gives off heat and light and then fades into darkness.
Keep it in your heart.
Tend to it.
And use it to light a new creation.
I typed all the words into a note on my iPhone so they wouldn’t be lost, and took a photograph to remember it by. I didn’t have a frame handy, so I picked some thin twigs off the ground and improvised one.
 Fire: Framed
I’d had it in my head that I would read the words on stage before dropping it in the Doo-Nanny, but the comedy of errors that went into getting the thing inside there was as much craziness as I could handle. (Another long story. Ask me and I’ll tell it to you sometime.)
Prints of this work are not available.
The original has been destroyed.
Hello to any new visitors who saw me at Riverfest! I had a lovely time there and I hope to make it next year.
All my Etsy listings have been deactivated for the moment. Sorry about that. I’ve taken them down while the pieces in question are being set up for Art on the Fringe. They will be for sale there beginning on Saturday, May 15, 2010. I’ll be posting more details soon.
Links to prints should still be active and custom work is still available. Thanks!
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