Coast Ranges Pt. 4: La Soledad
or
Iris Dreams of the Two Headed Serpent God

As we slide deeper and deeper into art official ness, I can't help but wonder, is anyone else tired of being marketed-to?

Endless creatine and teeth whitening gum ads, featuring bots that are more attractive, more disciplined, more confident, more accomplished that anyone in their right mind would ever want to be.

Qui bono?

What I like about making artwork is the struggle, the discovery, the failure, the very human-ness of trying to make marks mean something to someone, anyone, if even to yourself, in glimpses and flashes and, as we slide into artifical authoritarianism, it's nice to feel something real, even if it's fucked up, even if it hurts, if it's just a collection of mistakes, accidents; sacrifices of precious life force to make an empty gesture, in an empty room.

Because, see, there is always a chance. That it lands. That someone somewhere somehow sees it and their heart explodes into full aliveness, and are reminded of the depth and preciousness of their own experiences, and they know, for even a moment, that they aren't alone, that there are other wanderers towards the light.

I started this painting with the rest of the first batch of Coast Ranges in 2019, after I had spent the better part of a year wandering around California, biding time while I waited to hear the results from an endless battery of pre-surgical tests that the epileptology/neurology team at UCLA was using to determine whether I should go under the knife to remove a sclerosis, or strange dark spot, showing up on MRI's of my mid- front-right temporal lobe, presumably the source of the mystical visions, deja-vus, and premonitions that I had been having since I was a kid, and which were diagnosed, as such, on November 13th, 2016, my 35th birthday.

I was dating a woman who had up and moved to North Lake Tahoe, and something about that long traverse, from Central California to the Northern Sierra, up and down Interstate 5, was calming, and made me feel connected to my ancestors. It was calming. And beautiful.

When I landed in Los Osos and started the Roots space, this came out. Hovers on the Edge of Me