Louvered hideaways

Fraught with What's Wrought

Grates Mark the Spot

Buried Treasure: Call Before You Dig

The Shelf Holds My Interests

These are drawings I made between a few trips I made this past year to help my parents move and sell the house I grew up in. I salvaged a few forgotten belongings but these indecipherable scrawlings are largely devoted to reflections on a handful of objects that I've been carting around since childhood. Bidding this home farewell, put me into meditative high gear. That's what's happening here.

What's there to know about it? Wood, wrought iron, joinery, reappropriation of salvaged building materials: those materials and compulsions were synthesized into an idiosyncratic stew by the men in my family: my dad especially--but my grandfather and brother too, no doubt.

Up a Storm: Umbracat

Up a Storm: Snake Cast

Up a Storm: Savannah Blues

Up a Storm: Fourth Wall

Up a Storm: Books and Travel

Up a Storm: Leatherproof

Up a Storm: Bobtail

 

 

Grand Opening

up a storm VI

up a storm V

up a storm IV

up a storm III

up a storm storm II

...up a storm

I go through some periodic bursts of activity where I make a lot of scribbled drawings.  More or less provisional picture-making marks swirl together with verbal fragments.What's happening here is I'm daydreaming with a pen in my hand trying to "work out" some jumpy thoughts around a given observation or memory. These source observations or memories usually haven't gelled into anything too unified so the drawings that arise are a record of what's available to me (what's present?) before any highly unified contour or syntax can set in--pretty much standard early 20th-century automatism.