I don't belong here. Yet this has become my only creative outlet. My escape. A reason to get out of bed everyday. I am a dull, retched, and unemployable provocateur who despises crowds and driving in traffic. I'm old, angry, repressed and totally dependent on my spouses income. Intellectual agility, finesse, and grace are all but gone in American society. Bunkhouse.com made me wealthy beyond my wildest dreams on a roller coaster ride between 1997 and 2007. I refused to adopt the newer and often deceptive business models as the internet grew ever more greedy and inane. I squandered millions and finally lost the rest with a bout into the music business. As a venue owner. Bad idea. Finding myself with no skill sets beyond owning a successful porn website for 15 years and obsolete graphic design knowledge pre- computers in the advertising racket. Here I sit at 56 bitter and fearing the declining years ahead. No friends and no extended family. Let me put it this way ; I am a guy who got fired two months ago from a volunteer position in a contemporary art space for getting into a yelling match with the president of the board. I was asked not to return. I have not stepped foot in that building since. I would volunteer at art museums, but I am definitely NOT docent material. Preparators are payed and have college degrees, so there goes that idea. The gallery scene sickens me. My thought processes and ideas are no longer relevant or trendy. I don't know what a glop is. I don't know how to tag my pathetic drawings here. I don't know how to convey hearts to all of you who do wondeful work. I am hoarding dozens of hearts because I do not know what to do with them. I can't ever make those smiley faces or clapping hands you folk use. It is not because I an ungrateful for the praise all of you have bestowed on me. I just dont understand the social aspects of SketchClub. I admit I rarely look at other peoples work here. I have no excuse for that. I do the daily challenge then log out. I entered my first comp today Aug. 20, 2014 and I am not even sure how I got there. I don't even know what it is. Did you actually read this far? Astounding! Oh there is more. I was practically raised by two lesbians who smuggled monkeys into the US for the illegal exotic pet trade. They lived two doors down and I went there to get away from my drunken benzo junkie of a mother. The type of single parent that would beat me with a coat hanger. A lot of time I was looked after by a full blooded dakota woman next door. She had a black husband who was obsessed with building a perpetual motion machine. Across the street live old Mr. Janszek. Just a small shack, but he had magical hands that he used to build boats from scratch larger than his humble abode. Hand crafted and made to order.

Artist Highlights

• ArtWanted.com Gallery:    Art/Drawing Misc.