I want to giggle when every I try to write these third party descriptions. Guess it is expected to appear "professional". Who are we kidding? I'm just an old carpenter who is too broken down to move furniture. Something in our nature demands we act successful.  Maybe it is that primitive "trying to act big to scare the bear", or "If I have a big enough truck maybe she will be attracted to me" instinct. Getting old I just don't have time for that. Just what do I have time for? Death is just around the corner. Not just for me every one I know is getting old. It is a semiannual event to say goodbye to someone too young. Collecting decimal places on my bank account just isn't going to fill me with joy. Hell, I'm a grouchy old introvert so hanging out at the senior center doesn't enthuse me either. What's left but time in my shop, pushing pigment. 

I'm old enough to remember the first energy crisis. We were going to switch to electric cars and built passive solar houses, but we didn't. Now we get to face Global Warming on a catastrophic scale, Peak Oil, the Sixth Great Extinction, Habitat Loss, Economic Collapse, and season after season of the Kardashians. It seems I'm not painting for prosperity. We might not have time to save the world, but maybe we have time enough for art.  

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Before I forget, I was horrible with crayons. Had no talent. High school art teacher had me draw a grid then draw an animal in it. Turned out ok. Maybe I could do art. Fast forward through the alcoholism, depression, divorce I got to help a muralist, T. Scott Sayer, paint a labor mural, turns out I could paint too.  Whilst in the midst of my mental break down, I was working in my dads shop trying to build picture frames. This led to getting a technical certificate in woodworking. Many local homes have cheap prefab cabinets installed thanks to my love of craftsman ship. I've even built some beautiful custom kitchens too. 

Just at  the start of my woodworking career I found some galleries in Sun Valley Idaho that had amazing rustic furniture. I knew that was my destiny. It took years to build the skills and build a shop to do the work. I ended up at the tale end of the market. After ten years of part time, blood, sweet, and way too much mileage on my truck I just no longer had a market. I had seen seven different gallery's close in ten years. One of them twice. 

Our world would see this as a failure, but for ten years my heart was full. I wasn't just slapping together a $40,000.00 kitchen for someone too busy to use a microwave. I was playing with twigs and stones. This is my idea of a successful artist.