Broken syntax against the crackle hum of distant wires and digital dreams. Growing up in love with air against the skin and sky.
This and NASA flight of escape from farm boy reality. The Eagle has landed, did land, and on to college with high-energy lab work-study mundane and I needed out.
Chose out. Moved to spectrum function of learning to explore the physics of reality in color instead of formulated alphabet soup numbers.
As the Vietnam War wore on into a frazzle of crackle hum reportage of post-War four dead in Ohio into Watergate deluge, I hitchhiked into a degree in fine art. On the Road. Marriage dissolved into backwoods visions and seeking Native connections, I became myself, an acculturated Native without a tribe.
New vows and family and I painted, constructed, and labored into a mountain retreat of 15 years until a friend gave me a used PC 286, digital, vector art.
Upgrades and peripheral devices allowed input fromvideo, scanned slides, and processing. Suddenly I was making the images I envisioned beyond that I had been educated in college. I was flying.
I am comfortable painting and drawing the old fashion way, so I don't approach the computer as a painting tool. It isn't post-processing work, either. I generate images from many sources, including scanning slides, using a flatbed, or digitizing video stills. I also work with many fractal programs to create images that can't be derived from other means.
Then I mix these images to create a new visual work. I work with PhotoShop as well as POV, a ray-tracing program.
Of the digital, no two views are the same, since no two monitors are going to show an image the same.
Digital work on-line becomes a random function of machine mutation of the original image. Democratic. Four dead in Ohio. Peace.