Writing is my vehicle that hauls me back into my visual imaginary away from terra firma. It is a lonely and painful craft, but I cannot leave with out it. It is my alternative “reality” where there is not time continuum, but time within another time. Like painting, writing is done with out conscience is a command that one must obey until the energy burns down and then conscience become present to become our biggest antagonism.
I write and paint because I can. It is my duty and my command. I am a soldier of my imagination.