the a list

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This is another addition to a series of artist books I’ve been creating over the past several years. It features a collection of untitled images and photographs that come together as a unified whole. I find satisfaction in this collection, as it represents the result of years spent taking photos, modifying them, setting them aside, and rediscovering them through the power of computer search algorithms. Recently, much of my effort has been focused on this rediscovery process—searching through thousands of photos and images I've accumulated over the last 20+ years to uncover emotional and visual connections. I hope you enjoy the book. Please let me know what you think.

Quilts Sewn from what’s on hand, Scraps of love, and comfort, and longing. Each square tethered to the next Like family at the table.  Threaded with tea and troubles. Steeped in unspoken sorrows and sequestered joys. These disembodied fabric versions of ourselves,  Linger over the dreams of our daughters and sons  In forms and memories  we might not always abide. Published in Gravitas Dec 2019

  Got a short, polite email at 7:00 AM this morning from Craig at Zoarium Magazine.   I even got an (entirely unnecessary) apology for taking a vacation and still responding within 11 days.  It was nice to find a home for this poem.  It is filled with ancient memories of my mother's parents (and donuts!)

  Over Near the Big Christian Indian in Lowell I got to a Lowell cemetery to the gravesite of Jack Kerouac. They say that information Is just alienated experience. That’s just another way of saying life is more fucked up than the news. So, it follows that the grave is just alienated information about a life. Senseless too.  Senseless as Jack, whose is dead,  and oblivious to the rhythms of you and your soulmate making love to the idea of screwing near Jack,  and each other. Drunk on Cognac or boredom You’ll eventually come to terms  With how separate anything afterlife is. It’s more meaningless than information.  Less than memory, or being hated,  or sharing a smoke with your soulmate  after a good lay in the graveyard. Published in Duck Lake Books August 2019

  No Home Where do I put this dust; without a mantle  and the yellow paste of nicotine to hold it fast? Walls and windows cling to me, Desperately; Like a name to a place or a face Or like my love is stuck to you. The brown bristly welcome mat tells me The universe is not a home.  As do the locks, the lamps,  and the chimneys. My coffee stains and I Would have no place to leave our mark. Words would make no sense. The dog would just go anywhere. What a stupid thing  to think the universe is anything but a cold dark other. What else could it be? There are no floors and no ceilings. Breakfast and the cycles of love and hate Are left, space less. As if God had nothing to say And the trash had nowhere to go. The preachers that say,  “the moss on the house won’t need washing”  They lie. It was cholera that built these walls, not love, And I won’t give them up. Published in Ink In Thirds June 2019

  Click on the image below or here to read "rock"

 You can view my poems Cottony   and Ray Guns and Severity over at CEPHALOPRESS

  I've been in a bit of a free float creatively.  Occupying myself somewhat obsessively with carving up portrait prints.  These are a few of my favorite prints. I've been using reference photographs and portraits that express emotion.  I gravitate towards expressiveness, clarity of the gaze and the light of the eyes.  I seek out sharp contrast that lends itself to simple linocut. I have to say that this current interval of work is a departure for what I'd consider my norms.  But I'm going to have faith that this wandering is an unfolding opportunity to see and experience the world and to find joy and pleasure in it.   

 This... is another in a series of small handmade books I've been building. This one is much more free form and blends collage, prints, stickers (yes lovely, lovely stickers - a childhood obsession) and other miscellaneous ingredients. 

  A small little book/graphics project I finished up in early May 2022.  

  A reminder to myself.  share first, synthesize later touch it, feel it, see it incompleteness is the rule Looking back on this photo from 2013, so much comes to mind.  I see irony - the photo of the Prudential building in the fog carries the notion of "prudence", a recollection of the Tower of Babel, and fog. I like it because there is no place for any feeling of clarity to land. So the picture keeps pulling on me.