I have two blogs that I have been forced to upload to https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fadinginfluencerblaze because of Wordpress.com (s) refusal to publish my articles. The last thing that has been read from anyone from there was the story about the Gypsy's from Chicago. There has been a lot going on since then and many may be unaware. So I would like to take the time and share those two articles that were denied publication rights, on the one place, where everything is acceptable.

THIS FIRST ARTICLE IS IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE ART WORK: https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/fallen-dreams

 Disclaimer~ Art is devised by me and all editorial work is a solo operation. “Fallen,” will be my last publication before my vacation: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057611 If you would like commissions or requests for art work done please visit my patreon account  https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057550    https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057522

From several authorities of art and creativity, I’ve heard something after completing “Loving My Dragon,” something I’ve not heard since I was sixteen. My ability in the arts is worth more than a few hearts, likes and the endorsements of a few passerbys. It is better than what people have been forced to digest in the past twenty four years. Could be longer really. Depends on your tolerance for main stream media.

Forced to settle, due to never being exposed to minds similar to my own. Which there are a lot of us. I’ve realized as I dig deeper into the internet, blogs, and journals of other dreamers.

There was a study, a social experiment really, given by Facebook and other online platforms, seeking to gauge how to rate worker performance by emoji. Wanting to reward creative minds who earn the most accolades and applause of the people. It can become rather addictive and I find I may be falling into that same trend. Advertising more or less for the approbation of people and not so much for pay.

I explained this to a few supporters and they were shocked. Believing me to be worth far more than the few seconds of increased impressions on twitter and the level of dinner table conversation I can influence with a few well directed bards and illustrations of the latest trending topic.

Now if only I could find a paying sponsor that believes the same thing. Then me and the Dream Weaver would really go places. Here’s the thing about me, that is different from your average ambitious and dedicated creator. I don’t want to go anywhere my friends won’t be invited to reap the benefits.  

I’ve seen too much in this life to believe I can do anything on my own and be a success at it. You know I remember a time when people could have 500+ Facebook friends and no one spend a dollar with or on each other. On anything that could turn a profit. Nearly a thousand people talking, interacting, mingling and no money is made on the effort. Oh there is a lot of sexy talk, a lot of people locked up cause the girl is underage and the guy is enthralled with her pictures. Oh there was a lot of room fo shows like “Cheaters,” to corner a market in tracking people via location recognition devices on the broadband signatures, but for nearly ten years, no one was making any real money that would put them on the Forbes list as the best entrepreneur, besides those buying out all of the larger retail stores and Disney. Could be why I spend so much money on everyone else and not on myself. Makes me feel like I am saving the small business owners world, one click at a time.

The loss of Tina-Raze on the                    internet and access to her work has really made me appreciate the gift of visibility attributed to my own work. Sure I desire a physical gallery, but that cost money and you need dedicated staff. An online gallery is a one man show that will last as long as I have material, drive and an interactive audience. But when outside forces wage against one’s output and you are forced to erase everything and the years put into a showcase are no longer accessible; there is something daunting in the realization that everyday I have a chance to present anything, it should not be wasted on the trivial.

That is a sharp word because I highly doubt any of us have the authoritative right to define what is relevant or trivial to a creator. We can choose to interact with a product of not but we can’t say what someone was seeking to share has no value and thus erase them from existence. Not if we have any respect for the sanctity of the culture of art and the freedom in which we universally share this gift.   

~ I can never say enough of how much I appreciate the time we shared and I hope you return to the creative scene soon Tina-Raze.~

 I was reviewing “The Action Bible,” published by David Cook and illustrated by Sergio Cariello. It is an extensive publication that sought to illustrate the entire Bible, without the mistakes seen in previous renditions. It really took that whole group a while to find the best method to bring the Bible to life for young and old readers. I enjoyed their expressive illustrative skills and dedication to keeping to as much as can be had with a book as fantastic as the Bible.

What surprised me was the decision to eliminate the wings of angels and go with the ‘golden locks,’ signature. For years the wings of angels and demons played a big part in aiding people in separating the two worlds. Without the wings, we are no more than disembodied spirits, ghosts of our formers selves and have a long journey yet to that pinnacle of glory that awaits the faithful. So it was taught to me at least.

There were a lot of ideas shared with me as boy that I spend little time contemplating now, because I am a man and more than assured of where I will be regardless of the mistakes in this life.

Others may doubt. Others may seek to clip my wings as I ascend. Others may project their insecurities and through bitter imaginations suggest that because of the curse of Ham, and Nimrod, the black race will never have a place in heaven. Some may build a whole world of fantastical proportions and place compartments, as zookeepers, locks and doors upon the gates, with signs that say, “If you never drank yourself into oblivion while on earth, you go here, you never loved anyone but God you go here, if you never where tempted to fuck a woman in the ass, though she begged for it, you go here.”

Another sign reads, “Collect your white wings for perfect attendance on the earth, to every Sunday meeting.” In this corner of heaven, you should have received a notice in your casket upon death, we were sure to send Gabriel, who after years of working for God, never got his golden winged promotion.

All who have been the black sheep of the family and have been to prison more than once in their life time be sure to collect your “black wings,” down isle five. Five is the number for grace and that is the only reason you’re hear, so don’t be cute and try to steal the ‘white wings,’ from your betters, who happen to shine a little sharper in hue and have more gold flakes in their hair. 

Those who were on earth and always fought for a righteous cause but failed to achieve any victory and remain angry behind the loss, you will receive your ‘red wings,’ in the dust falcons chamber. Some of you were clumsy on earth. Always bumping into things. Could never walk in heels or win a fashion show. Never turned the heads of men or appealed to women. Had a haunch in you back from never learning poise and posturing. Be sure to pick up your set of ‘spotted owl,’ wings, found in the east gate.

God is a god of order and angles never complain about their lot in heaven. There in whatever state they are in, there, they are to be content. There is a hint of a karmic code in association with the hue and colors of heaven and I was never one to believe in eastern influences when it comes to what my place in heaven would be like. I bend so far on earth, doing what I am told, I will go to heaven with white skin, white wings and all curse will be lifted from my body upon death and the curse of the previous life that marred me and made me black, while I was alive. 

I don’t think so. No, I’ve believed for a long time now that even black angles deserve to fly.  https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/  https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/you-read-it-here-first-black-amethyst/

I know I am not one to be denied.

Those of you that know how to twirl and twerk and shake your tail feathers, to win the Twerk Team Auditionshttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rba9Z0CcWwQ&list=PLxwfHzPeMrG0N0E5Q3hBI_vRjXl-BqJAR or hang out with DJ UNK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeLdCPINh6M and earn 15 minutes of fame for being a video vixen with a phat ass, you can gather your eagle wings in the North tower. You should notice the Notorious BIG Smalls in the butlers uniform, set to serve and assist you wonderful ladies in fitting for your wings. He was always so good at zipping up Faith Evans dresses, we thought he’d like doing that for eternity.

Just stand there and zip wings.

He was way too dark and ugly so he never earned his own, but Puff Daddy sand and danced enough to ensure he’d make it in. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LHyvFryW2M

What a joke, eh that might have been a cheap shot to bring Puff Daddy and Biggie into this conversation, it’s just, I am so sick of color being a barrier for people I guess. But as long as there are people, it will play a part in the minds of men and women that hold their minds hostage and will build politics and kingdoms centered around it. We will split God into figures of hued stone that resembles us in some fashion and suggest if he looks like me, then he is the one that created me. Odd considering how I can create characters of different races, backgrounds and love each with as much joy as the next. Why would I doubt God would love me less because my hair is not wavy or red and ruddy and my skin is not peached or pinked, but bronzed and red? Why is my tolerance for people and the curves, shapes and hues greater than that of a god and I am a mere man?

King Solomon, black but comely: I am glad I’ve never heard it taught, due to Solomon’s hue of skin the temple came down. Why are we so caught up with color that we would actually base our safety on it, risk our lives for it? When in the middle of turmoil, pain, upheaval, or simply in a moment of benign joy during an annual parade in the city, color should be the last thing discussed.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve held a rigid position on color talk. I had to be set because all of my friends where white. My first love was a gothic princess, that used to put a cat collar and a leash around my neck. I lived in New Jersey and traveled to upstate New York and Ohio all the time and had so much fun playing video games, poker or reading comics with white people. Lived in Kansas where they tried to make me where a confederate uniform for the JROTC program. I did not know if it was a joke of if they really felt I would be honoring someone’s death by wearing that uniform.

I sought to be above the barriers poised by classification and color because I am an artist. Because I am a storyteller and find relevance in people and can’t deny anyone based on my insecurities. I would not want someone to look at me and deny me access to anything. A communicable discussion, a forum, anything political, or my own comfort and what I believe to be good for me because of my color, because their preconceived beliefs denotes I should be marginalized.

I laughed myself into stitches, when during my junior year of highschool I realized all of the black children expected me to eat my lunch on the wall and away from the ‘preppy-white,’ children because they decided to self-segregate. Because they felt they did not have a life style or come from a family that could afford to play golf at the local country club. That they would not and were not admitted to be apart of a society setting our grandparents and great grandparents were conditionally denied. I was infuriated by the idea of having to defend my home and right to existence, from people of my own color, if I ever married an Asian, white, Indian, Arab, anything besides a black woman. Especially to look at me, you’d never out right believe I was of African decent until I grew out my hair, which I would wear proudly, long and wild.

Fredrick Douglas had nothing on me in my desire to topple the walls the youth of my generation would build around themselves for the sake of traditions that should have been long dead. I would have loved to ignore this conversation, but it is all over the conservative radio, it is misdirected or used callously on liberal stations and it’s become too easy to degrade someone you might disagree with on a benign social discussion, as a racist.

It is too easy to believe I don’t attribute credibility in the claim when you call me an Uncle Tom because I speak well and try very hard not to curse when it would be so much more convenient to do so.     

https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/730095

Honestly in the world of art this should never be a discussion and if life truly imitated art in this dynamic the world would be a better place. At least confrontation and schisms would not be as prevalent as it is today. To me it is like we begin the topic of hues and what is beautiful or seen in heaven, because we don’t have anything else to talk about.

I illustrated “Fallen,” as a response to how ridiculous of an idea of not being accepted by God or anyone would feel that way, because they are black. That someone would use the Bible to teach that and we would stop illustrating wings when talking about angels, in order to unify the spectrum of colors that make up our world into the kingdom of Zion.

Hard to imagine; in some aspects we still can’t agree on a marketable environment that unites black, white, Asian, and Indian dreamers.    

THIS SECOND ARTICLE IS ASSOCIATED WITH THE ART WORK: https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/armageddon

I received my book from FAKKU.com and it is wonderful, just a shame I could never share it with anyone or read it in public or anywhere besides the comfort of my solitude and dark spaces. I don’t know, I bought it, so I’ll be able to make time to finish it. I am excited with how well “Fallen,” has come along.https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/fallen-dreams https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice,https://www.deviantart.com/adventvoice/art/Fallen-803479192 I have not illustrated an angel in quite some timehttps://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/we-are-going-old-school and to have the opportunity to do so in response to a lot of negativity that has been broadcast by conservative and secular programs. I’d love to be able to soar over and surmount in real life and it feels good to get it off my chest.https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fadinginfluencerblaze “Fallen Dreams,” be sure to read the article and let me know what you think.

You know I am an artist first and foremost. I am owning it, then I write everything, I edit my own work, correct blogs, connect old stories with new ones, and I love to speak to the world through pictures. Well after “Fallen,” there is a second piece which could be considered the follow-up to the previous conversation. A discourse that was not given much opportunity to see the light of day, through Wordpress.com or any of my connected online galleries and forum sections. Not only are wings to be associated with demons and angels, but when we talk about them, it was always understood that their actions were the direct response or command of, an all powerful god. I say that because the demons answer to their leader and the angels answer to their own leader. It is good verse evil, darkness against light, purity against impurity. That was the tradition. This is the reason for wars, death by chemical warfare, plague, pestilence, children being held with their families or alone in detention centers, without food and toilet paper. This is why we can watch on television government workers playing theoretical tennis with the issues because neither side wants to be correlated with death camps, incinerators, or concentration camps, by illustrators. Painted with the brush of artists like me that does agree there are concentration camps akin to those used in North Korea, in America no matter what those, who did not find the story first, try to tell you. “Cough,” Glenn Beck, ‘your a lying, filthy mouthed troglodyte that won’t be seen in heaven because you keep breaking the ten commandments.’

Just felt like adding that in there cause it is true.

I don’t want him to feel safe because I only illustrated Hillary Clinton and Mueller and not him. I don’t find him attractive enough to illustrate and I don’t know who’d I have fucking him in the ass yet. Maybe Kellyanne Conway, she likes fat men. They all make it too easy to rag on them. I should not be so childish but I am on my 4th of July, vacation as I write this.

Anyway the notion of good and evil being orchestrated by winged beings who whisper in the ear of those with or without influence; I mean just ordinary people can help to move a story along and they are just as susceptible to the supernatural as the President of the United States, whom many may feel is untouchable, but will have to answer for his deeds in the next life, like all of us, is how “Armageddon,” is framed.

For centuries a prophet has come and sought to shed light on which the angels do not know and if they did know, would only be following orders and could not seek to change anything, even if they could. I personally stopped trying at the age of fifteen because I realized, there is a lot I can do before the world ends and I earn my wings.

The month of June was so odd. Wordpress.com (www.avproductionsblog.wordpress.com) Reddit, DeviantArt.com, sites I use to publish articles that give hightlights about present art pieces, and future projects, to promote commissions, requests, and access to my online galleries featured on https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/   https://twitter.com/Scope2Mars, refused to publish “Fallen Dreams.”

Out of all of my publications, my dilution of the Mueller Report:https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/mueller-report , my cries against For-Profit-Prisons:https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/dream-wavers-aim and overall censorship of creative material, none have ever been deleted, or refused visibility. It was really disturbing; I thought it was something I said, so I moved some things around. Deleted this and that and by the time I was done, there was little to read, yet still I was ‘shadowed banned,’ or whatever that is and all I sought to say was, “Even Black Angels Deserve To Fly!” https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/  I personally felt the denial of publication rights was due to the giant black angel, but they kept the picture, they refused the words associated with the art. Anytime a person is denied the right to publish an article,I was always intrigued and made to ask, “What is so damaging in that article, that no one should be allowed to read it?” It is those kinds of questions that made “The Davinci Code,” by Dan Brown, “Harry Potter,” by J.K. Rowling, “Dangerous Liaisons,” by Choderlos de Laclos , or Gustave Flaubert ‘s “Madame Bovary,” and several other stories famous, well read and desired by the masses. “Fallen Dreams,” is not a large article. I purposely was not trying to drag out the conversation or bore my readers with a long winded monologue. It does cut to the heart of how I feel about our role as people to curb color barriers in our present culture. Thanks to Tumblr, your able to read the article without the Paid-per-view requirements of my other sites, https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice

The drama surrounding the article I had hoped to use to guide readers to pay for something that would not have been read anywhere else.

Other online platforms were so against allowing, ‘Fallen Dreams,’ to see the light of day, I’m not even sure if it’s good to mention it, if I desire to have anything else published. Be assured my present apprehension to share my thoughts, has nothing to do with fear of ridicule. I’d rather be told what made someone rebuff me, thus adjustments can be made to correct my ways, opposed to outright denial access to a public forum. With nothing more to gauge a reaction on, than that of the mentioning of black people equally obtaining the right to heaven.

“Armageddon,” is the cover art of this publication. That is what my summer will consist of, showing the world how dark, drab, dreary and repulsive it would be if artists did not exist. If we did not have the ability to take bleached parchment, use the art of calligraphy and the education of the times to chronological the day to day affairs of this world. Things would have gone boom a long time ago.

That could be an exaggeration, but I am sure there is a museum of propaganda art, from WWII, the Vietnam War, Cold War, etc, etc, that inspired you to take a stand, to choose life over death and end the Armageddon’s of our present lifetime.

Is that not what American’s were doing when they were in Cambodia, paving the way for the free world to set up the golden arches along the mountain side? The Dream Weaver holding a briefcase with pieces of parchment and what looks like blank sheets of paper flying in an updraft that does nothing to move the nuclear and radioactive cloud in the distance, without words, says a mouthful. It is hard for me to pin-point which moment in my life made me feel I was facing coming destruction and any amount of work I am able to produce or convey to the people will be as worthless as dust.

Can’t tell you what I’d equate in my life to be as devastating as the events of Hiroshima. I really feel insignificant compared to that day and doubt I’d ever be able to know how they felt or if I ever wanted to. I want to exist in the mind of the millions that have more respect for artists like Hudson & Company Tattoo Studio, than for that of the illustrator. I want to be remembered as an individual not afraid of challenging convention, always seeking to expand his environment and incorporate others into his very small section of the world. I want what would be considered worthless, in the midst of homelessness, unemployment, lack of health insurance, foreclosure of ones home, death camps, migrant detentions centers, Ebola outbreaks, death to ecol i, cancer treatment, radio active exposure, and poisoning, Marshal Law and police states that do not end because of talk of doing without government assistance and welfare would be treated as sedition, insurrection, and treason. To permeate the minds of those around me and release the spark of Wormwood, that when translated means Imagination.

I refuse to be an echoing memory lost in history never having the chance to impart my gift because the enemies of freedom were successful in creating silence. Before everything I hold dear is razed to the ground and replaced by GMOed Spider silk and we are expected to comply to man-made rules of self-preservation from an enemy that can not be seen and a threat materialized from paranoia, hysteria and mentally ill people. I will have my art in every home of the world, continuing to give hope to the dream weaver’s in us all.

BOTH WERE DENIED PUBLICATION RIGHTS AT WWW.WORDPRESS.COM and I really can't tell you why right now. ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS SUMMER!!

Well I am excited that my recent works have received all of the love and support my fans and those too shy to add their names to my list of appreciates, have given them.

Those that have supported the stories, the art, the blogs, and the vision of the Dream Weaver have served my heart well.

I am going to be going on vacation for a few days so if you don’t hear from me, it’s not cause I’ve died or don’t care about what your doing. Far from it. Come July 1-3 I will be at Mertyl Beach. I’d like to take my sketch pad with me but it might get wet. Or someone one might open it while I am not around, or whatever other bad thing that can happen when you try to mix pleasure with work.

I’ll take my camera and be sure to get some shots I can incorporate later in some art works and my journals but the lewd, the dirty and the dangerous will have to wait until after the fire works.

I need to buy some more business cards to hand out to the tourists that line the beach this time of year. If I was not care-giving, I’d hit up the bars and night clubs and pass out pamphlets of my numerous sites and see what kind of reaction I’d get. It is always nice to hear the surprise in people’s voice when they find out your an open minded artist. It is kind of like when #IOTA https://i0ta.newgrounds.com finally realized I could draw, after having followed me for a few months and reading my blogs.

Since I’ll be gone and you’ll need something to keep you busy be sure to check out Beth Bale Artist. Www.bethbale.com she is an interesting water color artist in my area. I plan on emailing her when I get back. I need to find some SFW art to show her cause all the ‘good stuff,’ will only give her a heart attack, but she has some talent and a lot to share. I am sure her outlook can captivate my new and old friends and motivate yall to develop some works that will wow me upon my return. Of course I am easily entertained.  

My online appeal has increased a lot in the past few days; despite the fact that this accumulation has only translated into unpaid requests, the advertisement and endorsements for my work is uplifting. Of course Hentai Foundry continues to deny my viewership of a lot of my recent works, I’ve continued to produce what I know appeals to you all. I am especially proud of an interesting piece entitled, “Loving My Dragon,” which does not have much of a story or motivation, outside a desire to incorporate ideas from other dreamers and my own creations into creative situations. I personally have always wanted a pansexual friend and now I can empathize through the eyes of Alexia Thorne https://www.f-list.net/c/alexia%20thorne/ I was just fortunate to find a person that not only appreciates my dirty mind, but the art I use to express it.

As I created Alexia Thorne I had not realized how much she reminded me of Alice (Medral) https://www.deviantart.com/medral who as you all know is one of the many artists that inspire and encourages my own ability. In all aspects really. It was so wonderful to have her input on one of my recent articles https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057074 and to know she could correct, add to, just be apart of the conversation and wanted to be. I have to add a disclaimer that Alexia Thorne is not related in anyway to Alice (Medral), but I can see it and I’ve been wondering how many other creators have run into this particular situation where they can relate with their own creations and see aspects of real people, reflected into their work?

I have friends in Trinidad that make me laugh when they talk about my ability to draw from my mind. I don’t know how they feel about others but I know they go on and on about my creations and believe I open portals and give the world a glimpse of my dreams through my art. Which when I am not using references, for the sake of detail and a desire to be politically correct, I agree with their analysis of my motivation and reasoning for the work. They don’t see it as demonic or entertaining demons like Christians do, but they are certain about the opening of spiritual portals. They feel our dreams are doors for the spirits and sometimes they are modes of communication.

That is why card readers: https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/euriidice-and-the-dream-weaver Horoscope deciphers, palm readers and cute little witches have always intrigued me.

As a Dream Weaver, I’ve always desired to have an oracle I can communicate with to aid me in deciphering a few convoluted messages.

https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/05/07/its-a-new-dawn-its-a-new-day-and-im-feeling-good/

It’s been nearly five years and I still can’t find anyone that can help me decode the dream of the “Deer tenderloin, the block of cheese, and slab of fish,” dream.

I have just as much doubt of anyone being able to come up with a logical reason as to why I am fantasizing about dragons and which of the many spirits aided me in developing it for you. In truth it is much easier to own my perverted love affair with pansexual futanari dragons and the neko’s that have the insatiability to handle their girth. Not to blame anyone for my fantasies or suggest the years of reading the smut of other writers has had anything to do with my never ending stories.

I just don’t think it is as satisfying for you to think that as I am alone in my quite moments, Alexia Throne sits next to me and whines and complains from feeling neglected. Desiring to express herself and to nut.

While her hands play in my hair, she whispers in my ear, “Give me a dragon to love.” Explains her need and my fingers manifest what she says.

That is all well and good, but wouldn’t it be more desirable to think there is a tribe of dragon lovers out there who sit around a fire chanting and singing and from the flames rise a futanari winged goddess who picks from the crowd a red-headed neko whom I created? 

If I did not think it was ‘unkind,’ I would begin ignoring all art “requests.”

The term is just a passive aggressive way of saying, “Can you make art for me for free?”

Which I am not an advocate for. It is so disrespectful to acknowledge a persons talent and refuse to pay them for it, or when payment is offered you give two-three dollars per article. I know when the world ends due to nuclear meltdown a piece of paper and the art that covers it will be worth as much as toilet paper, but this does not mean I have to spend the rest of my life as if I live on the edge of a wasteland and tumble weeds are my only friends.

Unfortunately no matter how frustrating the imposition is, I must swallow the bile that builds when I receive ‘requests,’ opposed to commissions and continue to be kind. Even to those who refuse to see their actions as completely uncalled for.

The bum on the street fly’s a sign and pleads with the passing person for a dollar and by the end of the month could have enough to pay for an apartment and create a credit line at the bank. Of course they can’t spend a dime on food, but they’ll make it.

The issue I have with this is, the bum gives nothing to the world in return for his or her request for spare change. They wrongfully feel entitled and are coddled by the Social Service system.

An artist gives and gives of his or her time, life, and mind and some stingy or cheap consumer will look at the work and desire their own custom made material and ask for a free piece of art.

If they sent me their photo, smiling and presumably happy with this show of callous behavior, I’d illustrate them falling in ‘Dathan’s Pit,’ screaming as he did for forgiveness and mercy. Post the illustration on twitter as a warning to others who find asking an artist to do anything for free. A warning to those that believe art to be a waste of time, unprofitable and not a service to be respected as that of the minimum wage labor ready worker, or a corporate lacky of a company that only has a five year shelf-life.

The brightside of the constant barrage of non-financed conversations I have with bots and real people is held in the comfort of someone speaking to me at all, about the work.  

In my youth a kiss was an innocent claim of affection for another. It was as unimposing as a hug or a pat on the back between friends. Of course we young men were not going around kissing each other. We would beat each other up as a display of endorsement for one another.

The young women mind you, received, tussled hair, while at the same time never imposing terms or conditions upon our kisses.

That was all they were, kisses.

Just because her wet lips devoured yours, you were not to believe that meant you’d marry, go steady, or were to have any thoughts of children and if she saw you kissing another, that was fine because you did not belong to her anyway.

She could kiss her girl friends full on the lips and suck on their necks, leave hickies and red marks where shadows grew during the day. This did not make them ‘lesbians,’ mind you. Those kiss did not deaden her desire for the touch of a man and neither did it rule out the possibility of sharing that man with her closet friends. They were innocent and as unimposing as a hug.

The habit of labeling and categorizing and joining groups or tribes, did not occur, until high school and where not so ‘all encompassing,’ until the death of adolescents and the choice was determined by traditions, few had a chance to investigate on their own, were encouraged never to question or alter, and probed and precluded thought, but the time spent under the grip of higher-scholastic-obligations.

$40,000.00-$100,000.00 was spent on four to eight years deciding if what we have come to accept as social realities was to remain in the realm of theory, fantasy, and projection, or if it was true because relationships are much to difficult to hold onto outside of the traditions laid out for us.

I was nine years old when I learned Christians had no love or understanding for Sodomy or Lesbianism. The innocent kiss of young girls among each other that grew into the recourse of holding off, marriages of convenience, pregnancies of loveless marriages, and the ambitions of vain men who only loved the idea of a woman and not the woman was the definition of everything against the teaching of the traditions of the Church, verses everyone else.

Now it is taught by Catholics that we are to accept it as always was and normal. It is the ideal form of expression and men were expected to love their fellow man with his probing rob, strictly in the anus of another. The innocent kisses of the playground have turned into the insecurities of our elders who faint under the weight of holding to the declarations of truth, long prodded over and paid in full through years of financial and scholastic endorsement.

Oh, how I yearn for the days of my youth when their was no tribe, no obligation and a kiss was an innocent as a hug.       

For the past few days I’ve not wanted to think about anything. The last time I felt like this I was 21. Old enough to drink myself into oblivion in my dorm room, the night before a major final exam that studying for had bored me to tears.

I passed. Even surprising myself that I desired to function after a bottle of rum and hours of Family Guy reruns and Super Jail.

That year most of my girlfriends had decided to challenge me to pick only one of them to fuck on a regular basis. Because they did not think it was fair that I was ‘stringing them along.’ Which was laughable when you consider they all had boyfriends.

I remembered the story of Zeus and how Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena, and few other goddesses and lesser goddesses he was fucking asked him to name the prettiest of them all and he chose one and rued the day he did not choose Hera; who claimed him as husband and demanded the respect the title of wife afforded her. https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/JudgementParis.html

None where that important and so I banished them. Never saw them again after that. Which was fine, I could not handle the headache that came with their insatiable demands.

After they left, I left and walked around the city looking for something to entertain my mind. Nothing came. That was a boring year. I can remember the emptiness of the campus, though their were many people there. So many potential profits, so many dreamers. I was the worst kind of playboy back then. I would get rid of women, only to line up more because I could not stand the silence of being alone. Facebook was no better than Myspace back then and their was always a potential blowjob on call or through text, rather, available. A lot of their names come to mind as I sit here thinking about them.

There was nothing better than going to the club on the weekend, collecting numbers, telling them I all I was single and available and getting lifted by their deep-throttling mouths for a few hours. Finish. Pay-nothing. Leave and find another woman to entertain me or let me stay the night.

All to ease my mind.

Amid being plagued by thoughts of being broke for the next six years because their was little in the way of work. I took a job at Burger King: mistake. Mattress Capital: mistake. When I was not there, I was hustling papers for paralegals and lawyers, moving military families out of their homes. All of it was a waste of time. I should have focused on my art and writings. I should have been going to Comic-cons. I should have been making video games and hanging out with fan-fiction writers, other dreamers and building a hot-spot I would have called, “The Nightinggale,” and sucked up all of that weekend money. https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AVplusME

We threw parties in the dorm rooms for a fee and would rent homes; spending the weekdays recruiting women to come and “Go-Go,” dance and spend some money with us, but it was childish compared to competitors like Club Fubar in Raleigh, The Skybar in Durham, or Diamond Girls (You know that famous strip club that set the world on fire over the Duke Lacrosse Boys)

I would visit them from time to time to investigate their blowjob clientele.

Don’t ask me why I am walking through these old places in my mind right now. Could be because as when I was 21 and found myself in a hard place financially, I desired to take my cares and watch them drown in rum. Immerse myself in the scent of a woman and faint from the adoration she shared in the gift of her mouth.

All at once I felt better and did not mind the hunt for an occupation that appealed to my ego.

Back then I was certainly, “Running away from God,” and anything that hinted toward moral absolute, rules, control and would deny me the ability to earn a seat in the Capital Building or high loft residences that over looked the city. 

The sad thing was, when I was introduced to people of wealth and some form of social eliteness, they all seemed asinine to me. The men lacked ambition or a desire to venture into anything besides dealing drugs and using that money to buy commercialized property to support Tattoo shops that butchered the bodies of all the young people; or barbershop that butchered the hairlines of all the young people. Hair salons that burned out all the hair of the beautiful young women. Chicken shacks that clogged the arteries of all the young men, and Churches that robbed the souls of the creative mind by telling them how worthless they were if they were not willing to give the last of their college refund checks to their organization.

The women dreamed of men that could make them climax, take them to dinners every night, buy the newest Chanel hand bag, buy that new house. So they could sneak another man into the home and give out blowjobs to soothe the madness that comes from being left alone in their mansions, their husbands bought them as he promised on their wedding day.

After having seeing that day in and day out, you can imagine why rum, blowjobs, and smooth jazz music was the ointment to soothe the rash, city life would give me, the longer I stayed there. It was like reliving a Ralph Ellison novel except the year is 2009-2010 and I have no fear of loving a Caucasian woman when the urge strikes me; or simply settling for a blowjob.

Yeah right. I started with a blowjob and ended with meeting the family and dealing with the awkward stares that come with the insecurities, associated with interracial relationships that occurred at the time.

Though I was fine with it and encouraged it. There was not a real acceptance, at least one I could notice. Not until 2015. Again, I’ve entertained the blowjobs of white women since I was eleven and so on but it came with challenges that I had the freedom to meet with my fists and the ability to hog tie the earnest men that sought to step into a situation that had nothing to do with them, my elders did not enjoy. In like manner the youth of today enjoy even more. It almost comes off as an expectation or inclination. If you are alone too long with a fair skinned woman, that she will offer and because I am black I am to accept, lest I am seen as homosexual or impotent, neither of which is true.

No, but because I am older the ability to walk up to a woman and ask for her time and a blowjob without inclining to pay for the service, just seems childish and tacky.  

~ Father’s Day ~ that was two days ago. A year ago I published an article “They have called me Degenerate,” https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2018/05/01/they-have-called-me-a-degenerate/

in it I express my desire to see my son again one day.

I never really did receive a lot of feedback for that article and I wonder as the years go by if it is a day easily forgotten? Have we become so desensitized to the idea that crime has been on the rise due to the lack of fatherly influences in the home and the mounting prison institutions replacing fathers in the home with state regulated representation?

Personally I have not gotten to the point where I don’t want to talk about it, or the tears no longer spill when I think of him. I’d love to no longer shed tears over him, my William. There is just so much men like me are supposed to say, are expected to impart, that I’d rather not because of my hypocritical position.

He is going to be nine come Christmas. That is nine years I have not been in his life. Come 2020 it will be a decade and the time will continue to stack against me. “Black Amethyst,” https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/black-amethyst will mean nothing to him by the time his is a grown man. If my words have no effect on his heart, as they have waned against the hearts of the average person, there will be little I could say or do to excuse or apologize for my absence.

Of course I can’t possibly beat myself up year after year for not being there or doing enough to declare my right to influence his life.

Karlene Turrentine is a lawyer, supposed to be a friend of mine, but after she accused me of running from God, I am not so sure. It isn’t funny. What could she mean by that?

Does she suggest that my life is not a reflection of the Lord God of Isreal working in my life?

Outside of reuniting with my son after years of separation and little to no money to support him, building her aunts dream and staking my claim to a piece of that dream, Liberation: I could not imagine what more she’d want from me. Does she want me to bring followers to her church? Is that the reflection of the power of God? A million dollar church? Cause if it is, I doubt my beliefs will be the piece needed to aid such ideas.

Sure I’d love for the world of art to intergrate and permeate throughout the Christian Community, but as long as they remain cloistered in their desire to ignore the views of the relations between people, holding onto the themes of the secular culture, video games, and creativity of any kind being inspired by the devil and demons, then the rift will remain and any desire I have to share of a world in which those made to feel marginalized, disfranchised, and devalued, finally achieving their realization of liberty on the Holy Hill of Zion, now and not having to wait upon their death’s to be remembered for influencing their corner of the universe, will have to wait until they are in a position to hear anything of worth from someone ten to twenty years younger than them.

I am very careful about not allowing my overly zealous friends of the Christian sect having access to some of my more revealing pieces of art. That is why I can’t imagine what she could have gleaned from me, outside what I’ve told her or desired to share to suggest “I’ve walked away from God.” To publicly pray I return from my wicked ways and preach the word of god.

Preach the word of god! I say that with contempt of Christians whom heard my declarations and desire to express 1 Cor 13:12 through my art and have either missed it or believe, the Prostitutes, Ex-cons, drug addicts the uneducated, the college dropout, the Vegas stripper, the derelict bum, the vagabond, the starving artist, the politically moderate who lives in their sheltered middle-class fantasy of ‘live and let live,’ attitudes towards the mounting distresses plaguing the poorer communities. The constant dross that would drive a sane man crazy to deliberate over everyday. Would suggest their loving God placed the judgment that is their lives of depression and denied them charity because they are sinners and deserve it.

Knowing Christ died for us all, redeems us all and because they remain enthralled in the hope televised by the world, then they are to perish in their deception.

I have not walked away from God or his people. His people are my people, that includes the Jew first. For the promise is to the Jew first and then the Gentile.

You know my people are gentiles? That secular, Roman-Greco, African, Latin community that still teaches me how to express charity. The need for it. Those that knew God, never needed that kind of love, they received it freely. Their is an ocean of people that have yet to receive but they must see before they can hear.

But I will not cast my pearls among the swine made fat on the word of God and never exercise or stretch their spiritual muscles.

Never dared to dream.

It is not depression or unhappiness that makes me reflect on the realities of my life and seek to find comfort in my art and the community that supports the guild.

It is my frustration with communities outside of the world of art that will find every excuse to curse me into poverty, dysentery, a card board box or indentured servitude because of the preconditioning of a society that associates any form of craft with the occult and deviance. Then after condemning me to the outskirts of the metropolis and reach of the center of the marketplace with obscene regulations of where and when I can present my talent, encourage others to not pay me or entertain my interests because of a disagreement that remains unsettled.

At the moment I can a caregiver of an 84 year old woman who does not have much longer to live. When I am done here I would not have earned enough money to settle in an apartment any where in the city and the rural towns are still holding onto a dead past. I will be no better off than I was in 2010 after leaving the University, because I could no longer afford it. I am not alone in this mind you. There are a lot of 30-50 year olds that came from upstanding backgrounds, were princes and princess’s of their generation, who’s parents left them with no outlet for financial gain. Have to bust tables in restaurants or work and have worked ten years in the same registry position in Whole Foods.

I did not go to college and spend that money, time and energy to glean fields in the country or bag groceries to pay my bills. I am not above doing it. I have worked some bull-shit jobs in the past. It is not ideal and so I continue my search for more.

The four pieces of art https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/juicyjolene-chicago https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/sweet-dreams https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/glamour-girls https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/gypsy-love featuring the two Gypsy’s of Chicago was attempted for many reasons.

I can’t put the idea in a nice package or article and say, this is why I spent my entire weeekend drawing instead of looking for a better avenue to pay bills or just put more money in my pocket.

1. I don’t want to lose the knack of being able to pull my sketch pad out of my bag and draw the people, places, and things I see.
2. A day is coming soon when I will have to pack my things, bend to the eviction notice and while finding a new place to live, encourage someone to buy my art and help me pay my rent.
3. I was a vagabond from 2010-2015 and never picked up the pen to write or draw the world as it was. I had many friends, lovers, and as a lone gypsy desired to have someone I could share my tent or abandoned city roof top with.
4. The “Gypsy’s of Chicago,” have their chosen profession because where ever they are, there is no other recourse. She may be denied the support of Christian organizations because of the representation and stigma that comes with the field of sex-work but everyday they breathe, can eat, and keep out of the hands of institutions that would much rather see them imprisoned, working in someone’s coffee bean field, or driving an 18 wheeler filled with produce to feed the masses, they can continue indulging in their contemporary field of study.
5. Three of those years as a vagabond, after the loss of my son, family and friends, I spent them in prison. There were a few years of travel cross country and abroad when the poverty was so thick and the city streets filled with the deification that you did not mind paying $40.00 a night for a place to sleep. The last 4 years was a prison and a make-shift interment camp, that the only reason I am still not there is because an elderly woman took pity on me and said I could live with her for a while. She helped to keep the State out of my hair.

I now work my mind and fingers to the bone seeking to understand how to stay out of a place like G.E.O and make enough money to earn the kind of affection as shown in my “Gypsy’s of Chicago,” compilation with a woman with a face as beautiful as Jolene’s twitter.com/thejuicyjolene Oh what a dream. To have her say “Yes I’ll marry you, keep you safe, allow you to suckle my big breasts when ever you like, to draw me as you see fit and promote you like you promote me; when the wolves come for us sex addicts and deviant lovers, I will hold your hand while you use your broad shoulders to pave our way to freedom, to live another day seeking the riches of this world so we can eat a $45.00 corn beef sandwich without battling an eyelash. I will stand with you as you have stood with me. Loyal to your love as you are loyal to mine. Your my kind of guy.”

I would remain putty in her hand. Never wanting to wake from the dreams we weave.

The years have carried us far from the days of “American Primitive Paintings,” as described by Jean Lipman: ~1942-1969~ Much of the reason I retain consternation about those that discredit the achievements of digital artists.

There are a lot of inquisitive questions raised whenever I take time to draw real people.

What were they doing while I traveled across the country from 2011-2015?

Where they in search of methods to overcome the crash of 2007 to present? ((No matter how the Republicans tout a booming economy and financial gain, or ignore those on welfare to be political fodder to their Democrat masters, their remain more starving artists, than successful ones.))

Everyday I am made to remain thankful for the ability to broadcast my work online. That costs money. And as long as I can remain above destitution and have a studio to work out of, I can say I am better off then where I was years ago.

How do they measure success, compared to their lives of three years prior?

For me, success will not be realized until I find sponsors, willing to publish my crafts and assist in getting them into the hands of the thousands, interested in the beauty expressed from the woman.

It is nice to see women with a little fupa can be glamorized, supported and loved by so many people. I should ask if they ever plan on making Pin-up calendars in the future? They have a good line up of prints that can be used. It is equally wonderful that these two express interest in showcasing the real beauty of a woman, in as natural of a state of sensuality that can be achieved without it seeming forced and gaudy.

Either it is natural or they are the best modeling/actresses I’ve seen in a long time, because their friendship seems real, and I’ve been fooled into believing, they enjoy the demands of their work and the travel.

I remember the first time I was locked up. I was seventeen, turning eighteen and I would read People’s Magazine, King Magazine, Hip-Hop “Something or other,” Rolling Stone Magazine, just a lot of publications which featured dolled up women with flawless ‘sex-hair,’ or features unmarred by the realities of life. Young nubile women that I’d never meet and meant nothing to me but a passing fancy of objectification. I found myself, as I read about their dreams, aspirations, desires of love and being a house-wife that never had to debase herself again by taking pictures which complemented her Jergens baby-oiled ass, just right, wondering as I turned the pages, could I ever be the kind of man that could condone the actions of a woman I called, ‘lover,’ to bare her soul and curves for the world to see for a few hundred dollars that would only carry us to her next photo shoot and never put enough in our pockets to pay for the ever increasing interest placed upon the home and lifestyle we rarely enjoy due to the busy work schedules?

Would I sacrifice the peace I obtain in finding interesting things to draw for my own pleasure for the demands of drawing what people desire, only to argue about the ever increasing rate per commission? All for the sake of the dream that is found in being successful. 

I shared merely a sketch of Jolene of Chicago, known as JuicyJolene Chicago on twitter. She retweeted and sent hearts across the TWITTERVERSE for m. So awesome. https://twitter.com/Scope2Mars/status/1139267622762156033 https://twitter.com/thejuicyjolene/status/1129868175313711111

I think about my online support and remember what the owner of Joyful Jewel ( https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1056243 ) suggested about “Digital Art,” as a profession.

“I think the reason people don’t like digital art is similar to how they treat Photography. Feeling because they can do it themselves, there is no need to pay the expensive prices set by hobbyists or professional artists, they don’t attribute a value to the art.”

Hearing that made me want to write a how to book about digital art and illustrations, and suggest readers send me their attempts based on my point by point directions and help to raise the awareness of digital art and help those of my town to explode into the next century, in reflection of the demographic that actually invest in it.

You know I am convinced there is a wall that separates the minds of those born from 1960 and 1988 but surely their would be a little more understanding between the minds of those in their late fifties and early sixties with those in their 30’s. I was nineteen when I was fucking the brains out of fifty year old women and we had a clear understanding then.

Talk to them about sex, trade and expansion of digital merchandise and they become cross-eyed before you have a chance to offer to take them to dinner.

It is not just women mind you, that are having trouble with navigating our modern world.

Art Vandeley is a writer for “Skill-Set,” Magazine and was asked to give his take on “Surviving,” the do’s and don’ts of the strip clubs. He went through the usual lists of understood behaviors of the gentalmen’s bars that most of us learn at sixteen but he decided to give this diatribe of, “If the bouncers want to beat you up, take it, they have tazers.”

“No matter what happens keep your cock in your pants,” “Don’t ask for out-calls, cause someone will think you are a cop.” “Stay away from the ATM, cause it’ll take all of your money, be cheap in other words and even if she has stretch marks and is clearly seeking to pay her rent, don’t spend all of your money on an undeserving performer.”

It was the rudest article ever, but just shows how times have changed.

We as a nation have become so wrapped up in how we are preconceived, we’ve sought to turn the industry of gentlemen dens, pubs, bars, social lounges, where communication leads to touch, into a partitioned viewing port.

Look, don’t touch. Speak, don’t insinuate. Offer to assist, don’t seek to gain. Trade, never accumulate wealth. If you have wealth, give it away. As I sit and view how the world has changed I have a hard time understanding where it comes from. Whose bad joke was it to have us all entertaining tape-worms. I have asked others what they make of digital advancements in the world of art and what value do they give it, the effort put into it?

Those I’ve spoken to have a different outlook from those that have physical galleries, entrapped by the demands of paying rent and commercial property taxes. It was hard to place much credence on their perspective because they don’t own an art gallery. Yet they brought up the issue of our world being graphically and digitally influenced throughout our major cities. It is not such an innovative process to sell and trade the digital medium in the metropolises as opposed to the notion surfacing in rural America stagnated in the perpetual 1930’s to the 1950’s, in their mental processing.

That being said, this same group finds the promotional endeavors of the online world to be as much of a fantasy as that of the manipulative practices of the inner city Malls, or mermaids: https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/siren-s-allure-sfw-version

That was shocking. To find how many have not attributed the practice of promoting their particular franchise via Twitter and other digital platforms and find those that do to be all charlatans.

That is why I enjoy drawing Portraits.

I remember a few months back. There were some artists that told me, in pursuing Portraits or art in general, replicating the model I reference, exactly is not necessary, neither should I focus so much on creating new styles and stick with commercialized and conventional process’s. Isn’t that absurd advice?

This was coming from Concept, Fantasy artists that work in a field of art that is by definition, not commercialized, conventional, or modern. It is neither held back by the rules of impressionism, expressionism, or mannerisms.

1 Cor 13-12

There was a time when none of us knew what we looked like. Then the artist came and was encouraged to illustrate truth. To reflect truth. That is one reason why I enjoy devising portraits. It helps to exercise my artistic muscles, through free hand, mirror what is before me as accurately as possible, to speak truth.

When I say JuicyJolene Chicago

@thejuicyjolene is beautiful, I don’t have to wait for her to mail me prints to prove I know her and we have a good repore. I draw her and you can clearly see the truth of what I tell you. I am a stickler about the truth when it comes to portraits. I leave room for a few mistakes. I am human, yet I believe those mistakes add theme and a little more realism towards the context of the project. Only I am not singular in my desire for quality works of art. My desire for everything I do, to be loved and appreciated is the reason I asked a few followers, how do they feel about the idea of two of my pieces not observing the standards of quality attributed to certain platforms or galleries? Do they agree or should I appeal the decision? Is it even worth it?

To me it is. If my model did not appreciate my attempt to capture her beauty I would be devastated and have to commit myself to working on her image until I satisfied her. Thankfully to my talent, she was very happy with the results.

After having written to Joyful Jewel Galleries: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1055074 and waiting the few weeks for a response about my work, I received it today. Of course I had to be the one to initiate the meeting because I am such an intimidating artist. The owner of the gallery asked, when I walked into the door, “Are you the young man that sent in the application?” I had been standing and looking at a lot of the new displays that were entered for this month for at least thirty minutes before she remembered me.

“Yes I am,” I responded. She blushed and said I was going to email you, when you are done browsing I would love to talk about your art.”

I ended my review of their works and stood on the other side of her sales counter and listened intently.

“Though we love your works and what you had to say about your motivations and desire to produce art, we don’t feel you will sell here very well. Our supporters and buyers are an older crowd and we feel you would be better suited in a more “Modern,” atmosphere.”

She apologized and I was more than happy to take her recommendations of finding an art gallery in the city to display my works. As I listened to her response to my work I was able to contribute my age as a factor. At least she made it quit evident that because I am wrong, my perspective and desire to experiment with my presentation, may be too daunting for an older, and retired crowd.

I am 30 going on 31 so I don’t really feel young, but I am trapped in this strange mode of life in which Digital Art and illustrative works, Roy Fox Lichtenstein inspired Pop Art, Expressionism,  Contemporary Art is still very new. Can you imagine, something devised in the 1960’s still has a had time surfacing in today’s galleries and cultural centers because it is still considered taboo or unsellable.

I personally would place my works in the same league as that of Jasper Johns, but those that view Modern works with the same lens do, and that has been a challenge. Learning how to set my works apart from the classics.

Have been spending a lot of time in reflection about my artistic journey and I remember https://roboseven.newgrounds.com/ early on in our correspondences telling me of how much she enjoyed Toulouse lautrec. That when she saw my pieces it reminded her of him and that was wonderful. Again I could never see myself anyone near the confidence artists like Georges Seurat’s “Sunday Afternoon,” where able to inspire in me, in the days of my youth.

Years have gone by and still I find I am missing something that will encourage a gallery of our modern world to take on pieces I present on face value. Without the boring divulge I can produce to sell the idea, becoming rout language, memorized monologues, and passe by the end of the year.

Taking notes from Lewdua https://lewdua.newgrounds.com/ all I plan on doing this summer is working on my art and devising poems and articles that might come from looking at my pieces for too long as they hang on my wall. As far as diluting my works to fit a galleries standards or desire. Yeah not going to happen.

I do plan on writing to https://www.chathamartscouncil.org/artist/liquidambar-gallery-and-gifts/ Liquidamber Kitty Mecham, to see where she would place my works or if she knows anyone that would be interested. She is not in the market to deal with new artists, but she has an eye for art and I would like to know how my works strike her. Mainly out of curiosity, not because I am expecting anything. She is a funny artist. I bought on of her cards. Making the joke that I saw her name on the back of the card and was wondering if she tried to claim works she did not do, in order to sell them better. She blushed and assured me they were her works. I enjoy her ideas of art. She is into drawing birds and plants and pieces that would fit in anyone’s home décor.

Could I produce works like that. Sure. Will I? Um No.

I never wanted to be known for Wall Art that can be used to turn your home into the finest museum, or agrarian studies. Still don’t and refuse to be reduced to drawing, painting, and beautifying vase studies.

One day soon Digital Prints will come in Vogue and I will be the first on the stoop casting my wares.