I grew up amongst a wide assortment of roughs, freaks, and creeps in an angry, sad, mid-western wasteland. I am the youngest son of a peanut-headed salamander, and I learned at an early age that if I spent 4 hours a night practicing my trumpet in the small bedroom I shared with a dead-alive porpoise, the peanut-headed salamander would stay away. In looking back, this particular move – along with playing a lot of baseball – kinda saved me.
Having survived these formative years surrounded by, in addition to the peanut-headed salamander, various disturbed family members, perverse relatives, and demented neighbors, I have always felt compelled to explore and cultivate methods in which to soothe, cope with, and escape myself. The catharsis that I undergo through the process of producing art provides me with such a mechanism. Through my work, I am able to express and purge many of the feelings that continue to consume me as a result of these collective experiences.
The resulting images, words, and sounds are merely a logical extension of these feelings.