To make amends with a friend I've had to eat crow and humble pie and probably will again. In the case of argument of who's right, who's wrong and being quite sure I'm right only then to react in an offensive way, I find it in myself to be unacceptable. It is here I must put the main issue aside. It is at this point I must swallow my pride "eat crow and humble pie"because my knee jerk reaction of angry words is now worse than the disagreement. Even though it " sticks in the craw" I'll apologize for my behavior for the sake of the relationship. Don't wait to long...

The battle within, trouble in mind aggravated and fueled by caffeine conflict resolution graph,by connecting the dots, overlapping planes with multi-layered transparent cubism I'm attempting to view all sides of the problem at once. Drawing while ruminating can prove helpful yet I continue to weigh all we said, the isolated statements and responses spoken and broken now hours apart from each other.My mind as tight as a clock spring, wearing thin, fatally frazzeled and in need of sleep. I contiue to scribble as I process. The results is like some alien blue print but at least I've art to show for the time. The composition stands on it's own. You may conclude either it's a demented doodle of a madman or a metaphysic equation of genius.

I keep coming back to its not so much I want to make a living as artist as it is I desire "the art of living" in my life.I wish to incorporate art in all I say and in all I do. As I move through a day I become a vessel of new and unorthodox mediums. Molding my circumstance as clay is to the hand. A man wearing a sandwich board with painted canvases on both sides and reporting to everyone in a voice laced with music and with gestures full of grace. The soul must be my instrument of expression. Is it not so much a finished piece like having arrived as it is the process like the journey? My ultimate gain is emotional not necessarily financial. I love the fact that some art is given away as well as sold.

I am swimming often. I move with rhythmic calligraphy strokes, propelling through a vast sea of watercolors. Weightless and unrestricted my vessel of discovery plunges deeper. Descending I pass through the sunlight shallows of aquamarine hues. Silently and deeper still, my subconscious mind sinks into the fathomless regions of midnight blue and further down into the indigo darkness. Search lights and automatic pilot on, I am safe in my single-minded one man sub. Is this a voyage into the unknown, a quest for the proverbial "original idea"? My sense is that I venture to a most mysterious place where all color bleeds together in the waters where visions are spawn.

I'm outlining with increasing vortex spirals, the atmospheric swirling space that occupies the gap between the eye and surface of the paper. These lines translate into maps of the interior life. An automatic drawing hand is attached only by invisible electrical impulse. I attempt to record the unconscious with a language of swirl and crosshatch. I witness an expanding cloud contained somewhat by paper margin and the peripheral eye. I make no attempt to contrive the outcome. Full reign is allowed to the freewheeling spirit of creativity.

2 stats back to back,"12 city blocks = 1 mile",was somthing Dolores said at the same time the radio claimed "There's one suicide every 18 minutes". As a counselor I often carry a clipboard with yellow ledger paper.When I draw it actually increases my focus while I converse .As I talk I look up from my sketch making eye contact to listen or voice a point. This process has made me a better listener and causes me to comment only on what is necessary.When I showed Dolores the art she inspired she was greatly encouraged.