I do not suppose to exalt myself as some kind of wandering hermit searching for muse and set upon revolution, whether it is within myself or others.
Fact is, I find my musical jaunt to be lax and casual when I am presented with form, constraints, and perimeters.Which has been a source of frustration to those whom crawl into bed with me, musically speaking.
But when left to my own erratic and chaotic devices I tend to flourish. It would seem that in this sense I only serve my self and not my art. But what is art if not a reflection of the truest self?
I am noted for being a Stickist, bassist..and sometimes a Native American flutist. I feel at home being a creative human. Be it the aural eschewing of a never still mind, the fluid stream of images conveyed by the written word, or the tinting of canvas with an assortment of mediums, I only feel restful when I am unchained. To me the true language of any art lies in improvisation. Exploratory and glorious in all its self serving platitudes, dangerous in its mysterious and often shocking unfolding. Like holding an arial up high in a thunderstorm whilst perched upon a high precipice. I dwell in the security of its purity, in the uncertain.