Visual artist and writer working out of a small Virginia town in the Shenandoah Valley.
Timid Amidst the Thrum
The smell of straw filled its nose, and it could feel its tiny appendages wrapped around a single stalk. Its surroundings distilled, though its rodent eyes saw only more of the golden strands settled into mounds by an ambient vibration. The sensation was that of a gentle thrum, which operated softly beneath frequent metallic clangs and the groans of creaking wood. As it became more aware of its surroundings, it noticed the cage.
High Hopes and Sunken Ships
Two sharks sat in the corner of a coffee shop built out of a sunken Portuguese man-of-war, one with a pen and paper, the other with a laptop. The one, a great white named Luna Daisy Sharkowski, was working on the next great Pacific Garbage Patch novel. Across from Luna, a tiger shark named Richard Sharker doodled cartoons. Richard was a freelance cartoonist who wanted nothing more than to work for The New Yorker as their first apex predator since Jeffrey Toobin. Nearby, a scuba diver ordered a cappuccino that, through the strength of its velvety foam alone, stays together even under fifty feet of water.
- Third Place in SFS 1: Old Barn Challenge
Appalachia Third Place in SFS 1: Old Barn Challenge
John Patterson carried himself with a simple presence, and a rustic dignity. He lived on six acres of crabgrass and clover in the Appalachian foothills, a plot nourished by long days of sunlight and a cool mountain spring at the edge of the property. Swarms of bustling honeybees would float among the native wildflowers, landing atop the late-blooming Golden Ragwort and the spindly clouds of Queen Anne’s Lace. Their thin stems would struggle underneath the clumsy landings, and the flowers would sway like the arm of a bow as you pull the string to length. It was, John thought, no different than when the squirrels or blue jays landed on the finch feeder and sent it swaying. No different, he thought, than all his own heaping ambitions he’d attempted to land with in Appalachia some four decades earlier.
Rise of the 47 Rōnin
In early 2018 I had an idea. To construct a large, commemorative sculpture depicting the 47 Rōnin. The catch, however, was that I wanted to make entirely it out of disassembled, chopped and butchered, bent and tied…soda cans. In October of that same year, after more than 800 hours and 36,000 carefully tied pieces later, I finally finished the work. The journey to create such a thing, however, is much more complex and storied than that. Here goes nothing.
I make things. Weird, complicated, dumb things. I make them out of soda cans, and I cut them into hundreds or thousands of pieces before tying and gluing them together into mosaics or three -dimensional works. I make forests, mountains, any kind of landscapes that are altered by the weird symmetry of our encroaching on them. I don’t know why I do this, and I don’t care to know why, because I love it.
Rise of the 47 Rōnin
The Beginning In early 2018 I had an idea. To construct a commemorative sculpture depicting the 47 Rōnin. The catch, however, was that I wanted to make it entirely out of disassembled, cut and folded, bent and tied, soda can pieces. In October of the following year, after more than 800 hours and 36,000 carefully tied pieces later, I finally finished the work.
The Labyrinth of a Roadside Hotel
I’d never had a Black Manhattan before, in fact, I’d never even heard of a Black Manhattan before that cool August night in the year before the Great Pause. In spite of this lack of familiarity, I’d had an onslaught of the things while sitting alone at a semi-upscale bar to cap off my girlfriend’s business trip before returning to the hotel at the edge of Nashville to polish off what must have been the equivalent of the Federal Reserve in booze that she’d stowed away inside the fridge before she herself returned.
Love and the Dessert Menu
Visualize an orchard, the clouds of flowers, the pollen sweeping through the air, and the soft grass. Collect your thoughts under a tree somewhere, let your eyes wander, and say whatever falls into your head and hope she doesn’t think you’re an idiot.