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I’ve always been a dreamer, as a kid it was no big deal, that’s what kids did. I’m not talking about dreams from REM stage sleep, or dreams of a career and a future, I’m speaking of daydreams. The dreams that come in the light of day, dreams that wriggle into the hours filled with chores, the hours when we are told we should be working. These were always my secret pleasure that I didn’t have to share with anyone else. I dreamed, I wondered, I imaged and it didn’t seem wrong, quite the contrary, it seemed natural to me, but I found out early on that these were things others thought to be a waist of time, thoughts better kept to myself. So I dwell now, as always in a mist, an ethereal pool of near nothingness, where words, phrases, and stories swirl and this zone, this realm is familiar, it’s actually the most familiar I am anywhere. Not necessary the most comfortable or safe, but the most familiar and that’s what keeps me on this path.


There was never a shortage of artists or creative thinkers in my family. They were scattered among the agrarians, the ranchers and cowboys, the homesteaders, some kept to the land and still do. Others taught or simply found themselves living in town and a good portion of this ‘salt of the earth’ clan were and still are of the creative class. This is not a term used outside of artist circles, but it’s what I’m born to, I do not aspire to it, nor do I think it is gold in my hands, its simply what I am. My mind searchers continuously, looking for something to throw against the wall, just to see how much of it sticks. I don’t know if its possible for creatives to ever think in unison, but maybe communities could recognize them and make space for their works to be shown or heard for all to enjoy. Sometimes all it takes is stepping to the edge of your comfort zone and experience something unfamiliar, even if it’s through another’s eyes, even if it’s second hand, you might not realize what your missing. 

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