trying to write for the first time in 7 years and learning that I might not have a single original thought inside me!! all I do is filter every piece of media I've ever enjoyed into some obviously derivative composite material. No magic trick, dove outlines clearly visible in my jacket sleeves.

found one of my very first doodles from 3 yrs ago. not much has changed

paris, tx

woman with a parasol, soft pastel

woman with a parasol, soft pastel

old comic i think about a lot. rarely do i depict myself

zoe palmer... an attempt at gouache

some oil pastels. been a long time. I'm drunk on too much wine and I want to say a lot and also nothing and I think I'm just a little too old for this

agony

moving across the country, professional burnout, losing my job, existential terror/death anxiety have really inhibited my ability to make art. ain't much, but I painted some ducks yesterday w/ oils. i hope to make a comic again soon

long gone now.

doodle while on the clock

i gotta leave texas. thinking portland, i guess. but I'm tired and empty and cries for action ring hollow against the constant erosion of my security. it's all platitudes anyways, grey matter slowly disintegrating every time I'm told to "persevere". but hey, at least I'm already diy'ing my hrt

oldie 3

oldie 2

oldie 1