Most of my adult life has been spent studying and practicing the arts of fiction and poetry. I have an MFA degree from The University of Arizona in creative writing, served as a fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts here, and I taught college English for eleven years in the Southwestern United States. I've published three books of fiction and many pieces of newspaper journalism, criticism and poetry. I wrote hard, and lived hard because of it, for almost two decades as I produced those books, but I only dabbled in, played at, drawing and painting in those years.

So I came to the visual arts through a kind of side door, an odd perspective. Mostly I've taught myself the rudiments of oil painting, pastels and watercolors, ect., etc. For many years I used representation, especially in figure painting, as my mode ... this before moving entirely to the abstract six or seven years ago, where I shall remain until I die.

I have nothing left to say to the world, no more of the verbal bully resides in me that good writers must possess; all I have left to me is the desire to show what I have seen, to show what I see in my mind, my unconscious -- no matter how obscure and bizarre -- show it to another mind willing to view what I see and perhaps accept it as her own kin, at least a similar cousin, in the nature and ways of living, of thought, the glory and pain and outrageous longing that I have known for years deep within my own human heart.