I was up in Seattle for the first time this past weekend. It was beautiful.

Loved the skylines, the crisp wind, and intermittent drizzles. Stuffed my face and drank too much.

When people ask me what I paint, I usually say figures (naked chicks) and graffiti shit. It's just the things that have always interested me and have influenced me greatly. I met an older artist awhile back and asked his advice on where to take my career. "Well, naked chicks usually sell the best, but you'll never make it into a museum." Which I took a little bit to be a jab at my choice of subjects and my own career. I was offended at the time and thought it a little demeaning for him to so bluntly curtail my work. I kind of wanted to punch him in the face.

Now that I've had a little time to think about the situation I come to realize that maybe he is right. That maybe I'm still just a immature young boy with no direction and no cause. Still just a rebel without a cause, yelling, ranting, and fighting against something which is not there, an outline of an invisible apparition.