My life    has always been about perception and conceptualism; the only thing that kept me content was my imagination and eye for detail. One word set off a spark, which burned inside of my mind, igniting another idea, that ignited three more. 

 

           

   My Mind   is a forest fire, manipulating ideas like a fire distorting tree bark, becoming ashes; and like a Phoenix, everyday objects were born from these ashes, given life and given a purpose.

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    Sitting   and staring becomes a form of painting on the pages of my own mind. Art is around every corner. As soon as I see something I deconstruct it, then enliven it, rebuilding it as something better.

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      Art   became a part of my being, creativity shooting through my eyes, surging to each fingertip, and venturing towards my toes. 

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   Now,  when I sit and draw, madness rushes through my mind, chaos collides into creativity, it's like I'm five years-old with imagination steaming out my ears, shaping the space around me all over again.

 

 

  I Never  separated the notion of art being a process of deconstruction and reconstruction. I never realized how big of an impact it would have on my life.