Death would have been better…

If only for a fleeting span…

Clouded, blind, and flailing.

Moments, like days, can trip near any foot. Toe-catchers we’ll call them. There is something unique about moments, they lie beyond measured time, they endure minutes. The painting above has something to do with that, in an obscure, far-off, and unexplained way…

There are moments that bend toward a drawn out stuckness, a mire of trapping, that elusive span of time can grab hold and dwell. Some should be held. Others still, hold darker lingerings.

Why do I write? Or paint?

It’s because of these very moments… the ones that threaten who we wish to be, those breaths where everything seems to snatch away… and sometimes do. When we are left with only ourselves.

I write for the notion of expression. For the harried moments that breathe life into a heart-wrecked soul.

This painting is…