Whoever thought that being an artist was the tempestuous adventure of the artist lover, who travels and takes his muses, with disintegrating social skills and relationships, burgeoning mental illness, self-destructive drug abuse and the wax and wane of his riches, was duly miscalculated when they feast their eyes upon my domestic and dorky goodness.  I must confess: I take pride as the artist mother. The one who makes, creates and begets into form the visions bestowed upon her, who one day will bury them deep inside the world from which they became, realizing the cyclical nature and the ultimate impropreity of an unearthly creation.  I’ve made a song that was buried with a stream.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 6th, 2009 at 10:57 am and is filed under In-Progress Artwork, Latest News, Show & Tell. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.