mixed media on canvas

my mother is a mountain.  as a boy i played at her feet with my matchbox cars. she looks at all of us like we are only children. 

mixed media on canvas

the white hats never intriqued me; they were alwyas plastic and gave me a sense of dishonesty.  As a boy I thought that I was secretly enlightened to know that the white hats were never the real heroes but some western version of a scam artist with pearl handled guns. I had a black cowboy hat, but I would have prefered a headress.

mixed media on canvas

I remember my baptism in the backyard hot tub of my older sister's boyfriend.  The smell of the chlorinated water and the feel of the cover on my hands. This concept of change, of magic beyond my understanding.  There were two bodies of water; the one in my head and the one with the nylon cover and chlorinated water.