Oh, what little simple means to summarize oneself, to explain ourselves.
I am whatever our struggling-postmodern society would interpolatedly define between artist and writer.
The terms “creative,” “producer,” or that which the smitten New York Times most recently described the mass of Brooklynish emigrants magnetically affixing themselves to California, all presently seem, well, egregiously overutilized. But, I am a creative person producing written and visual work, which is published and exhibited here and elsewhere, and I currently inhabit California, my frenetic home for more than a decade.
I make what is often conventionally described as artwork.
No longer do I write artist statements.
I do, instead, write about anything, everything else.
You look at and read both of those products.
Some I explain to you. Some you explain to yourself.
And in that course, I inevitably talk about myself.