Overview: Works are on canvas, unless otherwise stated. Biographical details about my life and work are available through my online book, Icarus Transfigured: A Memoir in Late-diagnosed Asperger's Syndrome, accessible through the Directory above.
Studies (pencil and acrylic respectively) 1984
Gotterdammerung (oil and acrylic self-portrait) 1984
Whispers, Isabella? (oil an acrylic) 1985
Petrouchka (oil and acrylic) 1984: Obviously, where one lifts anatomy from Victoria Secret catalogs, one is apt to get it right.
Reflections of A Monk: The primary purpose in creating this web site is to showcase my creative works, but as much of it predates the establsiment of this site, history about my process and thinking are lost. I have a storage tub that contains cartoons and diaries of my earliest formative age, but I cannot bear to look too closely at it, or read my purple, self-absorbed prose. I prefer perfect amnesia of most of this history. So at some level I cultivate forgetfulness: that of not paying attention to things that might interest other people. I speak of this lack of context in my musical pages, and I can best describe my situation this way:
When I lived in Memphis, Tennessee as a child and young man, I spent most of my time in my small back bedroom. I only left this room to mow the yard, and (less so as time went along) to visit relatives in other states. My bedroom and yard were my monastery and grounds, upon which I built up a peculiar romanticism that still turns up in dreams decades later. I did not know my hometown at all, and only came to appreciate its unique charm, culture, and decay upon subsequent visits home, especially after my parents died. Whether visiting The Fontaine House or Elwood Cemetery, I often wish I could move back there and reconnect to the energizing spirit that worked in the background of my youth.
At best, I can only glimpse Memphis obliquely in my early works, though more powerfully in my memory as I age, where perceptual, non-specific things come to mind, such as me cutting white pine for my canvas stretchers on the patio in Autumn, or touring the backyard at sunset and smelling my mother’s cooking wafting out the screen door. These perceptions are what motivate and comfort me; and there are even a few memories of this kind from my time in Bloomington, Indiana. Otherwise, these web pages are the chronicle of a workaholic, though a happy laborer, nonetheless.
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