A bit of biography, personal history, ideas, and all that stuff will eventually be included here. Once I get the primary parts of this new site hammered down, this will simply start to grow into whatever it’s likely to become.

In the meantime, as a small introduction, I’ve been in the arts for a very long time. I hail originally from the American South but now reside in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Writing has become more and more important to me as well in this last decade, for if we do not share what we learn and know, what then do we become? If we do not record what happened, and what is occurring, then we have allowed memory to recede from view.

As you tour through this site, you’ll realize pretty quickly that I tend to think in series, regarding my work. The initial works I’ll be posting through the end of 2019, however will be more current ones, with a few exceptions.

Such as the Southern Gothic pieces, which I recently decided need to be revisited, from the experiences of an extended stay in South Carolina after three very dear women in my family passed from this world. In mid August, I’ll be returning home to Santa Fe, to get back to work in my studio for the remainder of this year. In the meantime, there are miles to go before I sleep.

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”
≈ T.H. White

Life is, from the beginning, a move into mirage

The three-fold loss of my Mom, Jean Ogburn, her older sister whom I knew as Aunt Et Marshall, and Lizzie Cloud Izzard, the lady who raised me from wee small childhood into my perilous teens—was a massive change of being. Yet in time, I hope, through my work as a visual artist and writer, that I may offer a keener observance as a creative and as a human being in a world which in recent years had gone very much awry. For all three of them, throughout my life, always encouraged me to follow my calling—that of being an artist. Of being myself. An observer. A recorder.

Perspectives have irrevocably altered. Once upon a time has risen to a new level of poignancy, and adjusting to what the future may now hold in the American Southwest is both vacant while at the same time exquisitely present. While much of my stay here in South Carolina has been reflective, the time I’ve spent attending to those necessary pragmatics of loss has been both a heartbreak and a blessing. The work that I do in the future will, I expect, always be touched by the absence of these three women who played such a role in my life, nature, and upbringing.

Another new body of work has also arisen; they are fluid, and will reflect that part of our nature which is about who we are, and where we may be heading in the years to come, with both joy and hope reflected upon and recorded. Memory and recollection have both been charged. They are at times, the batteries which power our spirit, and engage us in the living task of pressing on. That ember of being which will always allow us to grow, and to learn.