My mother was light and shadow: at once selfish and self-centered, and then tender and  caring. Within one human being, I learned the whole of the human condition—it’s generosity, pettiness, hilarity, vengeance, optimism, cynicism. I saw her painstakingly build tender spirits and then crush them with a few pointed words stabbed into the jugular, sometimes twisting it to ensure the most pain and bloodshed. Continue reading Kintsugi


The sad thing is this: I am not sure I know how to finish this, even if I still had access to the book that I used for reference. I haven’t drawn with this kind of focused detail in at least three decades. Like any muscle, I am not not sure I am up to snuff at this stage of the game. Can I pick up where I left off without this seeming like two different people picked up a pencil? Can an artist return to an earlier incarnation of their process? Maybe. One of these days. When I have nothing else to do.  Continue reading Unfinished


“If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.” –Dorothy Parker Day 30 (379) At the end of my freshman year in … Continue reading Apologies