This website is a digital museum piece now, which feels strange to me. I'm a solitary type and in my little studio I did more of my version of living, breathing and filthy, sweaty, loving work than any other time or place in my life. This site is just a strange soft, dry whisper.  To me.  And the Covid world spins on.  My glass sculpture practice is closed due to the financial and political choices we make as Americans during a disaster.  Not to help one another.  But to attempt to protect the machinery of profit taking for the 1%. It is striking, the utter lack of imagination here.  We aren't failing to imagine some astounding new world.  We fall way short of that.  As Americans rush at gun point to go back to jobs that will spread the disease, we failed to merely imagine helping one another directly. We could not and did not even stop and realize that it is completely within our power to pause for a time, suspend our financial obligations(that will now, instead, end up crushing us) and offer ourselves hope and cash. We did not organize.  We did not pause to even think these things.   We could well pay it off the same way we allow a few thousand people to own trillions of dollars of wealth.  We eventually get back to work, requiring, this time, that we keep most of the value we create for ourselves instead of handing it to the few anointed capitalist god-kings. There would literally be no difference beyond a few of the very wealthy people, being less so. Not even a thought to any of that here. 


I'm mystified and furious. This studio closing is an act of art for our times. Like the coming wave of millions of evictions of working poor from their homes,  it was a strictly purposeful, loving endeavor and it was crushed by the single mindedness of this culture. Ended by the promise of back rent that is transparently known to be impossible to pay.  However, because it is a capitalist obligation, even when overtly impossible, even during a global disaster it remains, somehow, in force. The mindless presumption is that the struggling poor will be expected to struggle harder so that the funnel of wealth doesn't stop flowing up.  It is an overtly hateful way of life.  Something to be ashamed of.  Something to be screamed at. And something ubiquitous across the country. 


As things stood, I was just some dude playing tiddlywinks in a rented garage between working hours as a personal fitness trainer. There was, ALREADY, an age old tale of difficulty and woe preceding all of this. And as a response to all of that, my art was pressed out of a tremendous, personal disquiet and a desire to be sane, valuable and a part of society. I have no idea where I am going from here. Clearly it won't be that. Nonetheless, these works, I made.  I hope you connect with something here.