Markings

At DRIP we throw a lot of paint around. By the time the show is over it is all over the audience, the floor, and especially the cast and crew. On this particular day I had gotten splashed with a healthy dose of red and blue. 

The red landed on my skin first, followed by blue, which took the same path as red. The colors mixed creating blurry purple lines. Most of the time I get covered in paint it just becomes spots of color. But this time it morphed into beautiful markings.

I examined it in the mirror. At first it looked like a wild bruise or veins just under the surface of my skin. It also reminded me of a jellyfish sting or those intricate lace-like burn patterns some people get after being struck by lightning. I looked down at my arm again. Everything reminded me of horrible injuries and yet I still thought the marks on my arm were beautiful.

That night was actually our sixth month anniversary of having opened the show. I have been with DRIP for about six years - almost since the beginning. I thought of all the hard work I put in and the criticism I have endured from friends and family who didn't understand why I would follow such a crazy dream. All of those things could have easily broken someone else, but they never broke me. And the beautiful markings on my arm became a reminder that all I have survived makes me a more stunning and interesting person.

The paint washes easily off my skin in the shower. But I would gladly wear these markings over and over again.

Virginia Sky

This is one of my favorite photos I took while visiting my friend in Virginia for her wedding. It was a whirlwind six day trip. I got to stay with her and her husband, tour various parts of Fredericksburg, Richmond, and Washington D.C. - as well as help out with some of the wedding preparations.

This photo was taken as her wedding reception was winding down. I stepped outside the reception hall to take in the evening sky. I was surprised at how the last remnants of the daylight clung to the horizon. Off in the distance the lights from a another venue in the property sparkle just in front of the tree line.

I took a nice, deep breath as the breeze whisked over the hill. I was so grateful for the ability to be in Virginia for my best friends wedding. The entire trip was filled with so much joy. I couldn't even remember the last time I had just laughed and smiled for six full days. Nothing was more beautiful than realizing how lucky I was underneath the Virginia sky.

Grounded: The Art of Looking Down (Part 6)

This photo was taken while I was at New Smyrna Beach. I had gotten up specifically to watch the sun rise over the water. I sat on the wooden steps and enjoyed the breeze as the sun made its way up past the clouds. 

After a fun day at the beach I took a nice relaxing shower. I just laid there and let the ceiling fan cool my skin. 

In the evening my uncle and cousins decided to watch football. I never got into sports but I decided to join them on the couch. I propped my feet up and took in the hard wood ceiling. 

When I got out of the car on this overcast day I noticed that my gray pants matched the concrete below me. My shoes and toenails were a refreshing burst of color. No matter what I wear I always seem to find a way to carry some color. 

I took this photo at DRIP as we were about to add more paint to the sand. It was a messy but fun afternoon. 

Tattoo

I spent most of my life never wanting a tattoo. I found it unlikely that I would love a design so much that I would want it on my body forever. But I was wrong and I did find I design that I fell in love with. The tattoo itself is simple but its story is beautifully intricate. 

2007 was terribly unkind to me. I struggled to make it through that year only to have my last remaining grandparent pass away just a few days shy of Christmas. Ray, my grandfather, would have been 92 in just a matter of weeks. 

I never got to know my grandmothers since both had died young, and so my grandfathers became very important to me. It was heartbreaking to lose my last grandparent when I myself was so young. 

On New Years Day I raised two proud middle fingers as the ball dropped in New York. 

"2007 - I will see you in hell." 

I welcomed 2008 with open arms, ready to put the mess behind me. Turns out I got a lucky break when I began working with DRIP. Something that just started out as an internship transformed into a wonderful opportunity. I had been making art all of my life but being involved with DRIP made me feel like I was part of an artistic community for the first time. I wanted to get a tattoo to commemorate how I felt and how far I had come. 

It was a pretty radical thought since I had gone 25 years without ever having the slightest desire to get inked. I remembered a conversation my sister Jenny and I had a few months ago. She made a joke about wanting to get a cave painting tattoo across her butt. After laughing I stopped and thought for a moment. I loved art history and cave painting was at the very root. Maybe my sister was on to something. 

I let the idea simmer over the next few months. I got "The Complete Idiot's Guide To Getting a Tattoo" and read it cover to cover. I learned lots of great information about getting a tattoo, however, what interested me most was the art of ancient tattooing. 

Tattooing is far older than most people realize and nothing made that more clear than the discovery of Otzi. Otzi, was a man recovered in the Swiss Alps. Originally, the people who found him thought he was a lost hiker they needed to identify. However, it rapidly became clear they had someone much older on their hands. As it turns out, Otzi lived around 3,300 B.C. and is one of the oldest human remains ever to be found. Scientists were amazed that he had been so well preserved, so much so that his tattoos were still visible. It appeared the art of tattooing has a longer history than anyone imagined. 

In most ancient cultures tattoos were treated as a rite of passage. You only received one after achieving a milestone. Even sitting through the process of getting a tattoo was a testament to your character. In some cultures, if you cried or complained the person giving you the tattoo would stop. You would forever wear the unfinished tattoo as a mark of shame. 

I also found out that where you placed the tattoo on your body carried a significance. Some cultures believe that you should avoid placing tattoos anywhere on the center line of you body front or back. Most cultures, with the exception of the Maori, avoid facial tattoos.

So after a years of never wanting a tattoo and a few brief months of research I had my heart set. 

I felt confident that surviving the previous year only to reaffirm my love of art was my heartfelt and most sincere rite of passage. 

I walked into the tattoo parlor well feed, calm and sober. Mentally, physically and spiritually ready for the next phase of my life. 

I wanted the hand prints of the ancient cave painters on my right shoulder. I love art history and cave paintings are such an important part. To me, the art work of the cave painters says more about our humanity than anything else. What thought went through the mind of the first person to create something that was as functional as it was beautiful? Our minds and our creative drive set the course for our culture. The hand prints they left behind are deeply personal. Not only did they leave us with their hand print, but the dye they used was created by mixing in their saliva. Their language may be gone and their history may be sparse, but I can still connect with their art. 

I wanted six hands - one for each member of my family. I wanted to wear my family tree. I wanted to acknowledge all of the amazing history behind me while realizing that I was creating my place at the present moment. 

I went to get my tattoo at Granted Ink. Todd Grant came highly recommended to me by friends who had gotten tattoos. 

All I brought Todd was National Geographic magazine. He was nervous knowing that I was an artist.

"Are you sure you don't want to design the tattoo?" he asked politely

"I just want six hands. You can arrange them any way you like. I didn't come up with the design, I just want you to recreate it. Besides, you're a great artist, I trust you." 

He seemed surprised by my faith in his abilities without ever having a tattoo. But he was a professional and quickly set to work. My tattoo took about fifteen minutes to complete. 

I loved it.

It was art, it was family, it was beautiful.

It wasn't until I had gone home to visit my family several weeks later that I realized that I had gotten my tattoo exactly one year to the day my grandfather had passed away. December 19th, 2008. A coincidence that reminds me that I have angels on my shoulders.

I came a long way to find my purpose. My rite of passage made me a much stronger person. I am grateful for everything I went through because my own personal evolution has helped me grow into the artist I am today.

Granted Ink: https://www.facebook.com/GrantedInk

Photoshop World Orlando 2011

I was able to go to The Photoshop World Conference again in the spring of 2011. It felt so good to be back. 

The Orange County Convention Center is cavernous and full of beautiful archways. I spent most of my time in the expo center. Even though I wasn't able to attend many of the classes I still had a wonderful time. The expo center was bustling with information and enthusiastic presenters. I filled every moment trying to absorb as much information as I could. 

While I was walking around I ran into Rod Harlan again and he invited me to the Midnight Madness Party. A long standing slogan of the Midnight Madness party ensures that "you won't learn a thing". It is an event designed for pure entertainment. Multiple boxes of donuts are passed around as participants playfully compete for prizes. Robert Vanelli, one of the Photoshop World organizers, becomes the life of the party and he interacts with the crowd causing waves of laughter. 

After Midnight Madness I went up to thank Rod for inviting me. He told me that a group of the instructors was headed to a late dinner at a 24 hour restaurant in the Peabody Hotel across the street, and he welcomed me to that as well. "Of course" I said enthusiastically. How on earth could I turn that down?

It felt like Boston all over again. I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to be having dinner with all these industry professionals all over again. I was on cloud nine. 

Even the walk to the Peabody was interesting. I got to meet another instructor by the name of Frank Doorhof, a Dutch fashion and celebrity photographer. It turned out to be a happy accident running into him. I had seen one of his presentations earlier but I hadn't had a chance to meet him until that moment. 

(To see Frank Doorhof's work please visit: http://www.frankdoorhof.com/site/). 

At the restaurant everyone gathered across two tables. I was in the mood for dessert so I ordered the grasshopper, which ended up being a massive bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. The conversations were just as lively as they had been all day. Everyone was happily recounting events from the day and sharing the latest technology and art information. 

At one point Rod turned to me and asked about the work I was doing with DRIP. I began to tell him about some of our past events and how we had just gotten a venue on International Drive, within walking distance from the Peabody. Others began to join in our conversation. Between the great conversations and wonderful company I was thrilled. I never thought I would be able to match the wonderful experience I was so inspired by in Boston. 

Robert Vanelli with other guest at dinner. Nothing but smiles and laughter. 

Robert and I at the end of the Photoshop World Conference. 

Rod Harlan and I posing outside of the Convention Center.

As it turns out, the amazing time I had was not a once in a lifetime event. It has recurred several times and I have the phenomenal group behind Photoshop World to thank. I am constantly inspired by this collaboration of people who joyfully educate others while remaining students themselves. The icing on the cake is that they are all genuinely wonderful people. I certainly believe in the power of doing what you love and loving what you do. Knowledge and joy have never been so infectious. 

The Mirror Project

A contractor messed up the tiles in my new place so that ended up postponing my move about a week. My landlady and her boyfriend worked on the building themselves so that I could settle in as quickly as possible. She fussed over the details but in my eyes the apartment was beautiful. I appreciated that she took so much time to make the place look good. Little things like uneven tile and spots that needed touch ups of paint didn't really bother me. I finally had a place that I could truly call my own.

Everything was pretty much set. The only thing my landlady needed to get was a bathroom mirror to put over the sink. She was going to take her time and pick out a nice one for me. 

At first I was a little worried. No mirror in the bathroom - how was I supposed to put on lipstick? Fix my hair? Check for boogers? 

I dug around in my purse and found a long forgotten compact. When I opened it up I realized the glass was cracked. 

"Great" I thought. "I only have one tiny mirror and it's broken."

I placed it on the sink next to my toothbrush. I guess this will have to do for now. 

It was a little odd balancing the mirror in one hand and a toothbrush in the other. It was even trickier trying to brush my hair into a ponytail since I need two hands for that. Some days I would be rushing to get ready for work trying to put my lipstick on as smoothly as possible, but it was a little more difficult than I anticipated with the shards of broken glass. 

I got used to staring at the blank wall over the sink. I studied the texture like some topographic map. That was probably the strangest thing to adjust to. I realized that I had gone 29 years with a mirror in the bathroom. Now brushing my teeth wasn't as much fun without me making faces at myself. Funny those little things you take for granted. 

I remembered a while ago I overheard someone ask a hypothetical question to a group: What would the world be like if there were no mirrors?

Some people said very beautiful things like "We would all be reflections of each other" and "We would see what was on the inside". 

As for me, I actually got to live this out. And what I found for myself was that I got to feel again. Most of this past year had been very rough and I hadn't had much time for myself. I had gone almost three months without a single day off work between both of my jobs. I hadn't planned on making this move but a difficult roommate made it necessary. It actually ended up being one of the best things I could have done for myself. 

I finally had a place I could call my own. I was growing into myself more as an individual. I was making more time for myself and learning how to take deep breaths. I began to live more in the moment. 

About a month went by before my landlady installed the mirror, and I was surprised by how much things didn't change. But one major thing did. I could see myself in my apartment literally for the first time. I could see how happy I had become. My physical self didn't change but I could see myself in a whole new context. I am growing into the person I was always meant to be. 

The first thing I did was make faces at myself. 

The Fallen One

On March 24, 2013 Orlando got struck by an unusual storm. It rained for most of the afternoon but for a twenty minute period of time the conditions where eerily reminiscent of a hurricane. Rain slapped against windows, we received tornado warnings, and parts of the city were pelted with marble sized hail stones. When the weather calmed down there were scattered tree branches everywhere. Luckily, since the storm was so brief most people only lost power for a little while. 

A few days later on my way home from work I drove past Lake Ivanhoe Park. One of the parks giant trees had fallen during the storm. 

The tree's main fracture had occurred about six feet off the ground. 

One of the large branches had crumpled a dog waste bin. 

I took this photo of my hand against the core of one of the smaller exposed branches. I couldn't even begin to count the rings. 

I climbed on one of the fallen branches to get a better look at the tree. The blurry upper portion of my shadow was about four feet away on the ground. 

Large sections of the rough bark were stripped away revealing a smoother, speckled layer underneath. 

The main fracture, several feet off the ground, brimming with texture and a surprising variety of color. 

A smaller split branch with a dark streak - a telltale sign that this tree was already weak when the storm hit. 

The fallen tree was so large that it's branches damaged a neighboring tree. 

A close up shot of the rotted out core of the tree. Brittle and dry, it looked like a foreign landscape within the tree. 

This is where the rotted core and the healthy trunk meet. 

Parts of the tree that once faced the sky now look down to face me as I capture a jet flying by.