I have no regrets but upon looking back there are things I would do different. I would appreciate myself more in order to see the appreciation others had for me. I would push myself harder to be social and kind, because lord knows, at times I haven’t been kind enough.
I would have communicated more often, more clearly, saying what I mean and meaning what I say, verses beating around the bush, creating drama when there was no need.
I would have loved with more passion when the situation called for action, I would have respected myself with boundaries and strength.
If I knew then, what I know now I would have the confidence to keep on track with my needs instead of leaving my own path for the sake of another.
Learning to let go would have served me well, sadly it is a slow process of realizing what is worth detaching from, and what is necessary for reasons of the heart and soul.
I would have known despair without the experience just with the sense of knowing… but despair has allowed me a growth within.
All of it necessary, but the perfectionist in me, wishes there could have been another way to learn these lessons…Now its the struggle of assimilation and movement forward. I am ready to excel, I just pray I recognize opportunity when she shows her face.

Hard work, is an investment. More than the price of supplies; time is priceless. The creative reservior in the mind is an ever evolving shuffle. Everything becomes a steam of consciousness flowing from one project to the next. Process at times is unexplainable. One only hopes that is makes sense to nameless strangers looking to grow their personal collection in honor of artistic expression. That is, if you sell your original art.
I have given so much art away. Many times to those probably undeserving for lack of appreciation. I have no record or picture left of that creation, it exists only in my memories and now lives a life of its own. But like an over zealously whorish mother, perhaps I have even forgotten some of the faces of creation I have helped design. And hopefully this does not mean they have found themselves in waiting at the Salvation Army… though some cool things come from there, and admittedly I own many things from them. Only once a piece of original art. A 7 in by 9 in framed stipple of two eyes done in black pen. It looks like it took a while, I appreciate stipple because I once did a 2 ft by 4 ft panel of an Angel coming out of a pit of flames in the same style. It came in a nice silver industrial metal frame with glass, a good buy for $2.99. But to think of my own art in the thrift store, when each one was given out of so much love and personal conviction. I guess a buyer of fine art would never take it to the thrift store, would they?
Not true! There are stories of clueless owners of art all over the place. Not to toot my own horn, but I believe one day people will be happy and astounded to own something I did. Not because I have elevates hopes of grandeur, but because I love what I do, and life itself. I travel, and socially I get around. It is how I try to live and what I feel I have been put here to share. I have been blessed in my young age to have the ability to be told by many people that I have positively influenced their lives. I can not say if that would be a consensus of those who knew me earlier in life or not. But I believe that many of us get multiple chances in this life to share the joy of living with those around us. And many people are too caught up in the petty parts of living to ever fully engage in that way.
In the beginning for me I experienced this overwhelming “push me, pull you” effect. To be social vs. apart from society in my expansion of art. To work alone or in a crowd. I am somewhat of a loner as it is. I realize I enjoy good beer, good music, happy people, tasty food and stimulation. Not all the time, but when I am around it, even if I am not talking to anyone, I am engaged in this artistic expression. Not every piece is that way. I ask, “Is this piece calling for audience participation, or is this an object of unconscious; manifesting through a tool called ‘alienation’?” Sometimes I create art to participate (sometimes painting most times writing), and sometimes, I do it to avoid people. Every piece has it’s own fuel and organic process.
This at times, I realize is a direct and clear channel of the collective.
Recently I have looked at art from artist near my age and with similar beliefs, our colors reflect one another, our minds are meeting somewhere, but I don’t know these people. I specifically ignored looking at other artists work because I didn’t want to be influenced or to copy. I wanted to just experiment and see what I came up with. I didn’t even know who Jackson Polluck was until I was twenty-five.
As a collective when we further understand art, and artists who create; we become more clear about ourselves, and the facets of imagination meeting facets of reality. Either way it usually persuades you to let go a little or to take more action in your life. There is a style for everyone, whether it is the darker shadow elements or the lighter etheric reality encompassed through visionary art. Each finds and sustains its medium in the endless process of creative and inner growth.
So many people own commercial art. And the renaissance for the artist is in its beginnings. Worn out are the cheesy posters and the over industrialized “generic print.” Creative types like muralists and tattoo gurus are showing us how art can be a part of day to day life. Accentuating the home through art is the next step. Art should not have to have high price tag on it to be considered good. It is idealistic and nice to think that one can sell a couple of paintings a year and get by well enough, but what about art as a living, pumping it out because people need what you do and the medium you work in doesn’t take days to dry? Graffiti artists do it, and some of them eventually get paid for other artistic endeavors. Some local artists find their niche in photography and are able to make it by capitalizing on the every day things they are able to capture about their local area. Perhaps visionary artists are popping up all over with the same vision because we need change, and the artist are the just the people to bring it after this long oppression.
In tribal communities artists would trade their wares,it kept the tribe stocked with things of artistic necessity like blankets and pipes, but also things to trade with other tribes. What if some how, some way this visionary art is a local necessity as it goes about expanding minds, activating hearts, and making people thing beyond their normal bubble? I think it is. And before you know it, it going to be unavoidable.
Thank you to those who own and have influenced my art; those who hold it sacred, and realize your life is a little bit brighter because we have shared something beautiful. A lot of people look for one person to have babies with. I have taken a different route to loving those around me by allowing them to inspire a different kind of co-creation. I want to see us live in a better future, one giggling with bright colors of change. One we are appreciative of, and in awe to participate in. A life with Truth and appreciation of the experience. Each of you, in your own way have helped me become who I am through this process, and no words can express that gratitude I have for you in the sake of life and art!
May each of you receive the returned blessing of sharing your gifts with those waiting for what you have to offer. Each one of you does, it’s just a matter of figuring out how you can make it work. This always means committing to a certain degree of risk. But if you know me, than I know you can handle a little risk. Never be afraid to give the best parts of yourself in service of humanity, Each moment is priceless, each life is an investment, and each of us in our own way, is a necessary artist.

I am amongst the Ponderosa again

ready to revel with long lost friends,

only i was the one who wandered away

they keep living day to day, while i live 1200 miles away

And the sun called me, showing an open road

so I left for a moment, I knew the way to go

Now I try to formulate words and picture

to explain this state of mind

but what is growing here is hard to define

and I know lessons are evident, not soley mine

I just need to loosen up and allow the sun to shine

This body is bruised from hours of travel

soaking away in a moment of doubtful

and I know sleep will lull away the confusion

tomorrow brings another solution

the universe brings brilliant resolution

and I am flowing like the water

blowing like the breeze, sturdy as a mountain

flexible like the trees

goddess within me, master with out

child of curiosity, town crier waits to shout

and this is just the wayside brige stop to where

who knows

just a rambling, gambler, midnight singer

riding an open road

just an artist, writer, with no real destination

eager and willing to learn these lessons

lonely but fine, I get what is mine, each is divine

sharing and caring with this love of mine I find timeless

this world makes no sense to the senseless,

i carry senses in abundance, they dance with anticipation

Apparently, I am missed, but I was never lost

In a world of wanters’ wanting to be wanted, spring has sprung. Pheromones float in the air, beyond sight, ready to infect the masses. Winters nesting melts away into the stir craze of spring. For this particular individual, it seems as though the pot o’ love is just about ready to boil over into a frothy and unpredictable spectacle.
I call this segment of life, Six Beau’s, a Dame, an Old Dude, and me.
Finally, for the first time, I can remember, I am being called out and appreciated.
It appears as if I have created my own motley crew, an entourage if you will.
None of these followers hang out together. I am pretty sure none of them know one another. I am the Princess of the Ports. Somehow, someway, the hormonal aching of spring has drawn some unlikely suspects in the perusal of the Princess of the P.
Firstly, we have an Israeli. We met haphazardly last spring. After required service to his country, this ex-military turned bohemian was spending the last few weeks of the ski season hitting up Eldora. Minding my own business, as usual, I was embarking on a frosty brew and a heady writing session at the pub. Tokman, as I will refer to him, brought about a certain nostalgia in my mind.
Who did he remind me of???
Ohhhh, right, that guy Tyson I had a crush on in 7th grade. The guy who treated me like shit, and wrote: “dyke” (though spelled “dike”) in my 8th-grade yearbook. Yeah, Tyson, who dated my (at the time) best friend Lisa. Tyson, whom I ran into at the age of 24, working at a gas station in Cheyenne. Good ole, badass, Tyson, who found my face familiar but my name escaped him. Tyson, who has the worst case of “monk’s hair” anyone has seen in this era of plugs, sprays, and implants. All this, probably due to all the harassment he gave people like me back in the day. Yeah, Karma can be pretty heinous.
So, dear Tokman, resembles Tyson, in his youth and once hairier prime. Tokman, however, lacks much of the abrasiveness I associate to Tyson.
Two weeks after our initial meeting this traveler was bound for foreign seas. Apparently, I made an impression… a year later he is back in Colorado’s western slope and anxious to hang out… My biggest mental deterrent is knowing his hooked up with a red light district Miss, in Amsterdam.
Next, we have the pleasantly reclusive artist, we will call Bud. After a momentary interaction, I have realized that artists that reclusive must be sought out if they are to be interacted with. I ride my own rainbow, and honestly going too far out of my way to hang out with someone who isn’t “that into beer,” leaves a dry taste in my mouth. As luck would have it, the crazy spring vibe must be tickling him too, because he just started calling again.
Respectively in line is a handsome Punk Rocker. Dark, robust, pleasant to the palate, and more tattoos than me. The universe would have this hard-kore hottie living in the rough’s of Denver. It seems we can never connect via phone, and I am dying to see his band perform because from what I hear, there is stage diving and EVERYTHING. The truth is, I have never been with a musician… my ego wants someone to write me awesome songs, to call me muse and a find a fountain of inspiration in knowing me… This is something I may need to wait for. In no way am I even assuming that this specific rocker thinks I am song worthy… it just gets my imagination roaming.
Now… as if three fine young lads wasn’t enough, we have number four. Tall, ironically Jesus like in appearance, and very, very Southern. I can’t help but slip to a silly drawl when I imitate the things he says. This fine example of chivalry found himself in my way during a Lotus show. I only had a severe warning of flailing elbows for him, so he moved. Past the first set, we found ourselves sharing a smoke… and well, let’s just say he is anxious to show me all the South has to offer.

And finally, and most weirdly of all… Missed Connections on Craigslist, has recently allowed me to realize someone from my long lost past of lifeguarding and high school dances, still flirts with the thoughts of me that run through his head. I am almost certain I know who he is, and I wonder if all this nostalgia is just a quarter-life crisis. A crumbling moment most likely found in inebriation when one realizes all of the friends from their wily youth are either married or with a child. The realization that the singledom that was so bravely fought for in our early twenties is now slipping away into a need and desire for a partner in crime, not just any partner though… No, a partner you want to sleep with.

Long lost are the days of misunderstood youth, and awkward moments of teenage alienation. I have found my worth, and now those around me share their appreciation…

All the while, I am starting to wonder where the hell my sex drive went, because despite my ever broadening options and my wanting to be wanted, I know I don’t need to be needed, it just feels nice to be held once in a while… So until someone gets those old fires burning I guess I’ll let my imagination run wild, there really is nothing safer than masturbation.

Unfolding, and I spend far too many hours wishing for sleep in a comfortable bed and almost any bed is comforting when I do not own one of my own.

I am avoiding the inevitable… the trip home bound  calls and I have been too irresponsible for my own good.

The wind is screaming things today and I am still wanting sleep and to allow my dreams to weave magic with this howling outside my window.

I’ve been told I will thrive at anything I stick my mind to.   And for now my thoughts stick to the wind.  As soon as they are there; they are gone.

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Sometimes I find it hard to put my finger on what I REALLY want.

Afraid of serving a cause of a ego maniacal need.

To get what I want, would pertain to success I’ve not been ready for; yet.

But today is a new day, a new reality.

 

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living, doing being

eating, drinking, entertainment

taking every opportunity

freedom

finding love

loving

making things happen

going with the flow

having faith

being aimless

responsibly reckless

reflection while moving forward

accepting of blessings

unconditionally giving

moments found breathless

letting go

accepting of change

feeding the mind, body, and soul

diving deep

enjoying moments of rest

accepting restlessness

 

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Goal-less and soulful

sad stories

i’ve  got an earful

some with a humorist twist

my whole world is shifting

conventionality slips from my greasy finger tips

 

i grow in talent, but i want to cash in these chips

i’m just sick of barely surviving

 

i’m lying to myself

 

saying

no one can help the helpless

 

i’ve just been stressed out at the proposition of asking

there are creative tasks that need blasting

and i am the task master for the job

i have a repertoire of craft

make  you think

make you laugh

but despite the fact I find lacking

 

this hermit has been in hiding