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It doesn’t matter how much I paint– How many classes or workshops I teach What exotic locations I teach them at Or what fancy wancy folks are there to hang with. It doesn’t matter how many hits my blog gets How many readers click follow before leaving- Or how many friends I stack up on Facebook. It doesn’t matter if Stampington thinks my blog is artful or not. It doesn’t matter if I show my Art work in a gallery in LA a coffee shop in NYC or the hallway leading up to my messy, dirty bathroom.     Truth…

I have a story. I really do. I have things that have happened to me that paralyzed me. Things that I could scrape up from my past and moan and groan about for days. I have heart break that shattered my soul and created ill illusions of LOVE for years and probably life times to come. I have things I’m not proud of and people who have shit on me for sure. I have a story I could tell. But the only way I can live the life I dream of, is to let it all go. Better yet, bury…