08/17/25
Preparing to paint, this time around I would like to be more intentional with what I am doing, I'm currently uploading some photo's from a trip we took to the Brooklyn botanical gardens.
I also wanted to do a reset, after not getting into that JCAL residency, I want to take the lessons I learned from that process, mainly, taking good photos, and carry that specific part on.
Also, deciding to be less dependent on Ai, I am not really interested in it for creativity. I would be interested in it if I had the time to build out some type of program, but I am also not interested in making something mainly to solve other peoples problems. I want to keep my current job, climb that ladder, save money, maybe find ways to make money but through means that I feel good and comfortable with. Even building stuff might be a good option for me.
Anyway, being more intentional, I am going to look at the photos I took and see what catches, maybe even look at some other photos in my library, see if anything clicks.
Also for the painting, thin base layer, mainly spirits and color, then layering them up from there. I will be working with 3 larger paintings this time, larger than the smaller works I have been doing.
Also, this is the last time I'm buying canvas from Michaels. I don't think the quality is good, I was just trying to get through the canvas and material I already have.
I'm going to dive deeper into abstraction, in painting, because that's what I enjoy. I was considering making more traditional art, like representational, flowers and the like, and I still might do that, but for now, since I don't have and don't want to go through the trouble of getting flowers or something to represent.
Oh, and I'll be using oil for this series. Thought came to mind to purchase some new oils but, avoiding it. Want to quell that voice that always want to get new stuff, I have so much I can use and re-use, ill only get something essential if required.
06/29/25
Early today, I was thinking about the idea that I would be doing this anyway. It’s funny how certain thoughts resonate and stick with you. I wonder why this particular line is lingering in my mind. Maybe it's because it answers a question, or resolves a conflict, that I’m always grappling with: the idea that I’ve made all this work, filled all these sketchbooks, bought all these materials, and yet it doesn’t "do" anything. That all this time could have been spent on something else, something more traditionally productive.
I’ve always had these thoughts. It’s why I’m comfortable with the idea of “stealing time,” something I’ve talked about before. By that, I mean creating work while I’m supposed to be doing other things, like working, for example.
So, the thought (or the truth) that I would be doing this anyway is comforting. And it's not just an excuse, it is true. Regardless of whether the work sells, gains exposure, or enters into the “professional” art world, I would still be doing it. I enjoy it. Maybe now my perspective is a little more refined, my gestures more informed, but the joy is the same as it was when I was young, when becoming famous still felt possible and was a big motivator. That particular motivation has faded, but a new one has taken its place: the desire to be good at something and to make something interesting. First and foremost, for myself, because it satisfies a curiosity, and secondarily, for others.
There’s also the innate pleasure of scratching a mark into a surface, or sliding color across a canvas. The movement of the hand, the physicality of it, and the result. And the accumulation of those results. The mystery of the process paired with the satisfaction of its finality.
Lately, I’ve also been thinking about AI. This moment feels oddly similar to what Bitcoin eventually became. I sometimes wonder, if I had gotten in early, could my life have been completely different? But AI feels different in a way that’s more expansive. I think it really does have the potential to disrupt so many jobs.
06/28/25
I recently updated my artist statement. I hadn’t mentioned archiving before, but I realized that’s one of the main reasons I put this website together, there’s something powerful about seeing all the work in one place. Even just tracing a line back to 2017 and earlier feels meaningful.
Right now, I’m taking apart an old notebook from 2012. And by “taking apart,” I mean that for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea back then to physically dismantle the notebook and place each page into a screen protector inside a binder. To keep the pages from shifting, I taped them down inside the protectors. I wasn’t thinking about scanning them at the time.
Well, now I want to scan them—and I have to go back and undo all of that.
The problem is, I didn’t use masking tape or painter’s tape. I used scotch tape, which is either leaving residue, scraping the surface, or tearing the pages completely.
On some pages, I just fold the tape over rather than remove it, but I’d honestly prefer to take it off. So I’ve decided to live with the occasional tear or scar. In a way, they’re new documents now—altered by the very process of trying to preserve them.
And these are my rules anyway. They’re all made up.
06/24/25
There’s a lot of mundane parts of making art. At least for me. But you have to move through them in order to create something beautiful.
No one really talks about the tedious stuff. The scanning and renaming of files for an art book. The endless task of organizing folders. It’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary.
Still, during those moments, I find space for myself. As I scan, rename, shift, and sort, thoughts begin to surface. I pay attention, and when something comes up, I write it down. Maybe it’ll be useful later.
There’s something about this in-between state. The work isn’t quite finished, but it’s not raw either. It’s just sitting there, becoming. And somehow, the energy of the work keeps flowing. Even when I’m just doing admin, it feels like another part of the creative process.
I'm currently organizing a book of scans, arranging images with texts, I realize that some people are drawn to word and others to images. Some enjoy both. And then there are those who don’t seem to care for either. If I want to make something people actually want, do I need to think about all of them?
I understand the people who love images. I understand the ones who love words. But what about the ones who don’t respond to either? What are they looking for?
Maybe it’s emotion. Maybe it’s the feeling of hope, or sadness. What does a sad book look like? What does a happy object feel like? Does something heavy feel sorrowful, or just expensive? Does lightness suggest joy, or something else entirely?
What happens if you flip those expectations? What if something that looks heavy turns out to be light? Or something that feels bright is actually dense? Maybe that’s how you reach someone who doesn’t care about images or words. Maybe they’ll connect with the object itself, even if they ignore everything it contains.
But then again, should I even be thinking about those people?
05/16/25
Trying to recollect the thoughts I had on the train ride here, I was thinking about time.
I think it began by remembering what it felt like to be in college, in an environment where, at least at the time, it felt like I was highly creative, particularly around creating architecture, but I was probably still drawing and sketching at the time.
And then I sort of jumped into when I was doing my overnights at Comstock, that 2 months of working 7 days a week overnights. And then even in between that, I also had to move. But mainly, since then, it feels like life sort of hit overdrive. Or maybe not overdrive, that might not be the right expression, more like it got on a track in which the car can’t stop.
I think that’s the feeling now, and even if it is frustrating, fundamentally it is a blessing. And I don’t want to lose sight of that, that in all of the complaining, the fact remains that I have been gainfully employed enough to support myself and my family, to even be able to start a family independent of any help or foundational support.
I also can’t dismiss the support I did receive from my aunt and uncle, who took care of me when my grandfather passed away, and my grandfather, who adopted me when my parents couldn't take care of me.
And all of the pitfalls that could have happened in between, not getting caught up in the dragnet of jail for doing basic stuff, or even when I found myself in a holding pen, they realized I didn't belong there, at least not this time. How if that was now, maybe it would have ruined my life.
How my life could have been altered multiple times, the relationships that led to terminated pregnancies, and how if she decided to keep the child at 16, that would have sent me down a different track.
So, this track ain’t so bad. I complain about it in relation to my purview now, the nonstop grind of the now and the appearance of the world crumbling around me, and the wanting and yearning for some time to sort of think. But that thought was more of a realization that what I desire, fundamentally, is time. Time to create and time to think. Space to create and space to think.
I realized also that this is the space. Me, here, writing, thinking out loud. It might not be the ideal, but it’s a gift as well, the time in the commute to let thoughts flow in and out of my mind, and then being able to capture it and write it down. That I have to create space, claim space for that which I want to do.
I was thinking also, along with the time of that period in college where I was most creative, or that maybe that wasn’t the most creative, just the period in which I had the most time. That instead of working for 8 hours, I was taking classes, and in classes we didn't simply sit and talk and digest information, but we worked and drew and built and compared. And how we had time after to also sit and build. And how now that is replaced with work, this work which occupies so much of my day.
I have mood changes in which I am thankful for my nomadic creativity, how I enjoy capturing the thoughts and marks in sketchbooks, and then at other times, where I feel robbed of something bigger, of larger potential.
But I also have to widen my participation. I wait for things to pull me in instead of seeking it out, afraid of not being good enough or ready. And I am ready. I’ve been ready. I’ve always been ready. I am just sort of lazy, or just want to have fun, or create while I am supposed to be doing other work, like right now I’m typing this whole thing at work while waiting for the tech guy to install a computer at this new desk I’m at.
I was thinking about the Honda Element, how I would like to turn that into a sort of outdoor studio space, camper, have the ability to make food, and also use the side to sort of hold a large canvas and be able to work that as well. Is that poor? lol. Like is the desire to sort of have just a mobile everything a poor type of thing? I mean, no. Why do I even think like that? These are tools that I use, and I am mostly outside, and plus this is me and for me, so who cares. Stop thinking like that.
But ideally, here is a brainstorm of what I want the Element to be, like my most desired dream-like scenario: Mobile studio, place to hold multiple-sized canvases, sketchbooks, paints, be able to hold the canvases outside the car maybe. Inside, have the ability to store and cook food. Also have a place to sleep and rest, have a canopy to block sunlight, have a mobile generator, music/computer studio.
I’m not sure if nomadic is the right definition because I’m essentially just doing stuff wherever I can. I think that’s it.
04/07/25
Its chilly and raining, grey all day, still waiting on my promotion but honestly, the wait is kind of nice
Thinking about cataloging my art work again. I think the issue I ran into last time was that it’s going to take up so much room and require a lot of time to upload everything, and also, I am always iffy on having everything posted online but, I guess we can’t live in fear right, also, if somebody does use it for something , me as the creator has rights.
But I want to put it up. If even for me to see and make sense of things, life sometimes feels like there’s little point or direction until we stop and reflect on it all, and sometimes the meaning reveals itself.
Not that I’m searching for meaning, it’s just, I think I would like to know there’s so meaning to it besides the grind of it all.
But that's where my head is at, I think I’m easing into the idea that I can’t just do the work for my own pleasure.
This city isn’t for us anymore, us natives. It feels sometimes like this country isn’t for us either.
It’s funny, think of everything as some type of narrative, trying to get everything to cleanly fit together. But this place isn’t clean, and the fact is we all randomly bump into each other and the environment and try to make sense of it afterword, and that’s fine too.
I also write for the intention of somebody reading it, I think it’s hard for me to imagine otherwise, even though I tell myself I don’t want anybody to read it see if. The fact is is do, but, I don’t want to admit it. I think I’m anxious of the sharing of it, cause it might reveal something about me I don’t want seen.
Maybe it’s just all facade, the movement and thoughts I have, it’s all an act the creativity thing. And act for myself, I think I said that sometime somewhere in this thing.
Or it’s my ego, the ego that gets stroked when I write something interesting. Now that I think about it I don’t have to write by hand anymore, that is sort of the extreme edge of performance and I really never stick to it. I think here this makes the most sense if I want to write something, and the thought comes out so much cleaner.
One day I’ll print all of these out. I imagine I have millions of pages written over the years but the reality is probably like 20. If I just sat down for maybe a week I could get everything out.
Storage is becoming a problem. If anything that’s what I should invest in, creating a creative system. My drawing room.
Home, washing clothing, got some weed. I thought I wanted to play some Mindustry but then I started playing and quickly became bored. Fun game but not really what I want to be doing right now. I think I want to be drawing or something, when I thought about it that kind of sparked a bit of joy. I have about 20 minutes until the clothing is ready, ill probably go retrieve that and then rollup and start drawing or something.
What's all of this for? really. I guess the key is to just keep pushing until something clicks.
I was thinking about my website on the bus. I think i re-did it in order to sort of coincide with the submittal, and when that didn't come through I sort of didn't really care about it anymore. But I should keep it going.
I'm still attracted by the everything idea, putting everything up on the website.
02/17/25
My living room has been quite dormant lately, since my studio is in a separate room and my wife and son are typically busy on their respective devices. So, I made an executive decision to bring our living room back to life by moving my easel out there.
This easel can hold canvases of all sizes and also lay flat. I use it for both small and large canvases, but I sometimes also place a large drawing board on it and use it as a table. I attach newsprint or other types of paper, or even just stand and draw in a sketchbook. Standing and drawing has a different feel from sitting—it feels a bit like dancing, and the lines created are a lot more organic than when sitting down.
I spent the entire day there studying some of Goya's work. I'm really into his bull etchings at the moment, and while listening to a YouTube video about Goya, I learned that the shadows in his etchings represented ignorance—specifically, ignorance of enlightenment, which he feared his government was beginning to recede into. I didn’t plan or choose his work for this reason, but in learning about it while studying, it felt oddly right for me right now.
I also decided to upload some pages from my current sketchbook. It’s always fun to see these drawings I create on the go and transform them into a permanent fixture by scanning them into very heavy TIFF documents and then diluting them for the web. That was a nerdy sentence, but hey, this is what I'm into, haha.
Where it all goes, I don’t know. Progress keeps moving forward, and I continue to create. I’m thinking about my next series—in fact, I don’t know why I don’t call what I do regularly a “series,” but I guess it’s because I don’t really have a specific goal right now. I mean, the goal is the study of Goya, but I don’t know if I can call that a series as opposed to just an exercise. Either way, I’ll continue to draw.
02/14/25
I wanted to provide some background on how the painting Chihiro came about. This is particularly for a submission I’m currently working on, and I’d like to brainstorm and get something down before heading off to sleep. The basics are as follows:
Page 200–201, Chihiro Reference A
I had some time to kill after finishing work a bit early. When this happens, I tend to look for a bookstore, library, or art supply shop in the area. I often find myself in parts of the city I don’t traverse regularly, depending on the availability of work at my home base in Queens. This particular week, there was no work in Queens, so I ended up in Brooklyn.
At the end of the day, I like to go through my paperwork and organize myself. So, I searched for a bookstore on Google and found this odd little place at 770 Hart Street—I know this because I wrote down the address in my sketchbook.
When I walked in, I’m not going to lie, it smelled pretty funny. It was a combination of stale coffee and the smell of old moss, as if the ventilation in the store had never worked, hints of the smell of old books and coffee from a small bar-style coffee shop in the back.
There was a trans woman behind the counter who was really polite, and I found a seat near the window. I should mention this place was really small—a tiny bookshop with maybe two small tables and a couple of bookshelves scattered about. But it worked. The energy of the place was very comfortable, and it felt like a spot where regulars came often to relax and chat. They didn’t mind my presence, which I found comforting.
I sat down and pulled out my sketchbook. There was a pot of plants on top of a bookshelf, so I drew that, along with my cup of coffee, which I didn’t touch because the coffee was really bad. It wasn’t even close to something I would call coffee, but I didn’t mind because the place was so comfortable. I just left the cup there and drew it. There was a young man at the counter talking to the trans barista, and I think there was another woman next to him. I forget what they were talking about, but the scene was very tranquil, despite the smell and the awful coffee. It felt like one of those things you’d only know about if you lived there.
While I was sitting, a good number of people came in and browsed; some purchased books. I remember thinking the book collection, despite the tiny size of the store, was really good and interesting. I think I purchased two books. I don’t remember if I read them—they were small books, and it would take more effort to recall exactly which ones they were. I remember thinking places like this might not exist much longer, and I needed to capture this.
Page 204–205, Chihiro Reference B
73-13 Roosevelt Ave
A similar situation, but this time I was at a diner—a very classic-style diner with booths and a counter. The Diner is not located at the address mentioned, but I wrote this address down on the page for some reason. The address is actually the Roosevelt Ave train station where the E and F meet the 7.
Anyway, the women waiters were very Greek and very old, but with such youthful energy you couldn’t tell.
I love diners like these because the Burger Deluxe tastes exactly the same every time. I always get mine with a fountain Coke, and I’m both surprised and delighted that I know exactly what this dish is going to taste like no matter which old-style diner I go to. They must all source the beef and fries from the same prepackaged place.
If I get anything else besides a Burger Deluxe, I’m usually disappointed. I remember trying lasagna once—terrible. Another diner had roti on the menu, and I was curious, but it was a bad idea. Sometimes the sandwiches are okay, but honestly, you’re better off going to a deli for a sandwich. Stick to the Burger Deluxe or breakfast food, and you’re okay most of the time. The coffee is usually good, too.
There was nothing particularly special about this diner, but I think that’s the appeal of places like this—they’re just normal places to get normal food. The energy of the people there is what makes them unique, not the flashy signs on the wall or the interior design. I’m sure the design of this place hasn’t changed in 50 years.
Sometimes new restaurants design in the style of 50 years ago, but it’s not the same. Take Johnny Rockets, for example—it’s like shiny, new old-style, which makes you feel like you’re in a movie versus being in a restaurant that was actually designed and built 50 years ago. I imagine you’re getting a little piece of all that air exchanged from all those years ago, some grime that’s been built into the walls of a restaurant like this versus one that tries to mimic that grime. It’s hard to explain, but it’s an experience.
Chihiro
I usually get my canvases from Michaels, but only when they have a buy-one-get-two-free deal, which happens maybe two or three times a year. I check the app every Sunday just in case. Sometimes it happens on a random Sunday, and I drop everything to go pick up some canvases.
I’m most comfortable working small, likely due to my original method of producing art through my sketchbook. Since I’m always on the move and have always had limited space, I’ve always worked from my various sketchbooks, most of which fit in my hand or, preferably, my pocket.
Somehow, I figured out I could put some nails on the wall to hold a large canvas, and I’ve always been told I need to work bigger. For the longest time, I avoided it because I convinced myself I could make my small work as relevant as large work. But in retrospect, I was sort of kidding myself and staying within my comfort zone. Plus, I had so much small work that it would have been amazing if I could pull that off without leaving my comfort zone.
At some point, though, the combination of the Michaels sale, my own consumerist impulses, and curiosity led me to purchase the largest canvas I could fit in my car—a 36-by-48 stretched artist-quality canvas. I think it was around $80, but I got three of them and took them home.
I tacked the first one up and started freeballing it. I made something interesting—fully abstract with some figuration thrown in, a combination of my drawing style but on canvas. The second canvas was a sort of still life of two plants, from my head, no references. The final painting was Chihiro.
I used the same color palette, but I was following an artist at the time named Cecily Brown. I love her work—I loved it back then, and I love it now. I remember the exact moment I saw one of her paintings at the Met, a triptych called Fair of Face, Full of Woe:
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/497143
This painting stopped me in my tracks. I remember thinking, This is exactly what I want to be doing with my work. It was like trying to figure something out all your life and then seeing it right in front of you. I can’t explain how much I loved that painting at that time.
I immediately went down to the Strand to see if they had any books about her. They did, and I purchased one. I think I own about six of her books now.
I began studying her work and her process, listening to her interviews, etc. In studying her, I realized I was making a lot of incorrect assumptions about being an artist.
For one, she copies a lot. Most of her work is reinterpretations of masterworks, painted in her own hand. She’s also heavily focused on drawing, which was another thing I found kinship with. I loved both her paintings and drawings.
She almost exclusively uses references. For the longest time, I thought that to be original, you had to draw and paint from the mind, freehand. I thought references were copying, and for some reason, I thought you couldn’t do that. But this limited me in a lot of ways. At the time, I was kind of stuck in my own abstract style, which I enjoyed, but I was stuck because I felt that was my unique thing.
When I realized this world-renowned artist, whom I had devoted so many hours to studying, in fact uses references exclusively, it gave me permission to explore not only using my own references but references from all over—other artists, masters, photos, anything. Text, music—it’s all up for grabs, and it’s not only okay but encouraged.
Originality is a bit of a myth in the sense of creating something so outside the realm of recognition. I think that would just be noise—to make something so original that nobody can place it within anything. If it can be placed, then it’s not really original, but that’s okay. It can be new; it can be your own. But originality, in the truest sense of the word, is a bit of a myth because you’re using the tools of those who came before you—and that’s okay.
While painting Chihiro, I copied the drawing I did at the bookstore and the drawing I did at the diner. I believe I was also looking at some stuff from both Cecily Brown and Eddie Martinez, another artist who led me down a rabbit hole.
I didn’t really have a plan for the painting, but I would pull an image from one reference and a shape from another, adjusting as I went. Using perspective tools and some randomness, I eventually arrived at a compelling composition that felt satisfying.
I originally named the painting Abundance. When my father-in-law saw it, he immediately wanted it for his new apartment. My father-in-law has seven children, and on the bottom of the painting is my wife sitting across from me at our table. His life is a full one; it is abundant, and thus the painting’s name followed.
But later on, I became obsessed with a song called Chihiro by Billie Eilish, particularly a Brazilian rendition that I couldn’t get away from.
When building my updated website, the letters “CHIHIRO” on top of the image of the painting went so well together that I just kept it. Something about the font, its placement on top of the painting, plus my obsession with the song, made it feel right. Also, Cecily Brown often names her paintings after famous songs, so I felt I was following in that tradition.
In writing this, I feel I must also attach a personal note outside of the process of making the painting: I believe little bookstores like the one depicted in Chihiro and diners will soon be gone from our existence. So, in a way, this painting—like all paintings and art—memorializes these places, these unique moments and experiences.
( "Chihiro" emerged from a convergence of daily life and artistic exploration. The piece stems from two drawings, one done at an odd bookstore in Brooklyn (770 Hart St.) and the other at a classic diner in Queens (73-13 Roosevelt Ave.)
The bookstore, with its mildewy air, was a tiny refuge brimming with the energy of regulars. The diner, unchanging and comforting in its familiarity, offered the same Burger Deluxe, every time. Both felt like spaces on the verge of disappearing. I knew I had to capture them before it was to late.
Inspired by Cecily Brown's layered, referential approach, I used these sketches as source material, alongside inspiration from Eddie Martinez. I pulled shapes and images from each, weaving them together with perspective and chance. The initial title, "Abundance," reflected the richness of my father-in-law's life, which resonated with the painting. However, later, the song "Chihiro" by Billie Eilish took hold and the name became "Chihiro".
Ultimately, "Chihiro" is a memorial. A reminder of these ephemeral spaces - the bookstore and diner - and the communities that breathed life into them. )
01/31/25
I’ve created an environment of constant sonic chaos, almost as if I’m afraid of hearing myself. I ignore my body while searching for inspiration, drowning my internal thoughts in external noise. I know what I’m doing—constantly absorbing information, but not really absorbing it. It’s more like it bounces off my eardrums without much processing. So, what am I actually doing? Finding comfort in the sound, in the idea of receiving information. Sometimes it’s useful, scary, or funny, but when I try to recall something, I can’t. I can’t remember a video or a conversation because, honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. It didn’t matter when I listened to it, and it doesn’t matter now.
I saw a video recently about how people react to fears embedded in childhood without even realizing it. They associate things with those fears, even though they don’t understand why. It made me wonder how much of my life is like that. What traumas got buried in me, and how do they shape me now as an adult?
I’d like to say I’ve slowed down on drugs because I’m older and more disciplined, but the truth is, it just takes too much energy. That’s the wisdom I’ve gained with age: getting high isn’t free. It costs you—not just financially, but physically. Smoking, drinking—your body pays for it. When you’re young, your body hides the damage well, but as you get older, the wounds take longer to heal, and the sickness lasts longer.
I knew the cost back then, and I know it now. I just didn’t care. The pure enjoyment of getting high felt worth it—that little bit of independence, the feeling of holding my life up so high. But this life, the sober one, is better. Drinking? Ha, don’t get me started. What a waste.
I have to admit, though, there’s something I enjoy about all this. Maybe it’s the occasional podcast, the ideas that don’t come from me but still feel like part of me. And okay, I was being a bit dramatic earlier—I do remember some things, especially if I enjoy the subject. Will I remember them years from now? Maybe not. But maybe I will. That’s why writing feels important. It’s a record of your thoughts, a snapshot of where your mind is at. Even if it’s bad, it’s worth it—just to have something to look back on later, when you’re a different person. Or maybe someone else reads it and finds comfort in it.
Being this artist, this version of me, means I have to believe this will matter to someone someday, while also being okay if no one ever reads it. It has to be enough for just me. Because if I write with the expectation of an audience, then I have to believe someone will read it, for one reason or another.
I remember what my wife said this morning—how all of this is just setting up, how people work for years to achieve something. What attracts me?
01/31/25
Art and creativity have always been my compass, guiding me through the labyrinth of self-discovery and the exploration of what lies within. My journey is one of constant curiosity, a blending of fine art and technology, where scarcity becomes the birthplace of innovation. I thrive on using whatever tools are at my disposal—whether physical or virtual—to bring my visions to life. This philosophy is at the core of my latest project: my art portfolio website.
The Project: Crafting an Art Portfolio Website
I’ll be honest—I have little experience with coding. But what I lack in technical expertise, I make up for in determination and a willingness to experiment. With the help of multiple AI algorithms and a lot of back-and-forth between different AI models, I was able to create this website from scratch and host it myself. It wasn’t easy, but it was deeply rewarding.
In a world driven by capitalism, the obvious route would have been to use a website builder like Squarespace or Wix. These platforms offer straightforward tools that promise a quick and easy solution. But I knew that if I took that path, the result would pale in comparison to what I could achieve on my own. I wanted something unique, something that truly reflected my artistic vision and technical curiosity.
A key moment in this process came when I asked Claude, one of the AI models I was working with, for advice. I posed the question: “Should I just use Squarespace or Wix?” Claude’s response was emphatic: “No, we can do so much more here.” And with that, I was off on a journey of discovery. Claude walked me through the tools, the software, and even how to create my own local server to run and test the website. It was a crash course in web development, and I was an eager student.
The Process: Far from Straightforward
There’s a common misconception that AI can magically grant your wishes with a simple command. “I want a cool website,” you say, and boom—it’s done. But the reality is far more nuanced. To create something meaningful, you first have to know what you’re asking for. For me, this meant stepping into the shoes of an end user, imagining the experience of someone visiting my website.
I began by mapping out the journey I wanted visitors to take. What would they see first? How would they navigate through my portfolio? What emotions did I want to evoke? These questions became the foundation of my design process. From there, it was a matter of translating that vision into code, with the help of AI as my guide.
The process was iterative and often frustrating. There were moments of doubt, times when I questioned whether I was in over my head. But with each small victory—a functioning button, a beautifully rendered image, a seamless transition—I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. This website wasn’t just a portfolio; it was a testament to my ability to learn, adapt, and create.
The Result: A Reflection of Self
What I’ve created is more than just a website. It’s a reflection of my journey as an artist and a technologist. It’s a space where my physical and virtual works coexist, where my love for fine art and my fascination with technology converge. And perhaps most importantly, it’s a reminder that innovation is born from scarcity, from the willingness to push boundaries and explore the unknown.
This project has taught me that creativity isn’t just about the end result—it’s about the process. It’s about the late nights spent debugging code, the moments of inspiration that come from unexpected places, and the satisfaction of seeing an idea come to life. It’s about embracing the unknown and trusting in your ability to figure it out.
So, welcome to my website. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. And I hope that as you explore it, you’ll see not just the art, but the story behind it—the story of a personal history through art and creativity, and an investigation into the self and the capabilities within.
08/17/24
Give yourself some grace. I was talking to my wife today, and she reminded me that while creating artwork, I am also a father, maintain a full-time job, keep up a household, and manage to do it all with a smile on my face most of the time. So when knocking on the door to my own pity party, I have to keep in mind all that I truly do.
But if one were to attend my pity party, it would sound something like this: What am I doing this for? That little sound of regret for all the times I didn't submit my work or didn't take the next step. That maybe now I like what I'm creating—not that I didn't like my work before, but this recent stuff has been pretty inspiring. But also, now that I have created work that I enjoy, I haven't built the infrastructure to share it.
But maybe it's enough for me and my wife to sit back at the end of the day and enjoy it ourselves. Maybe that's what it's meant to be doing right now. I can wish for another reality, but she also always tells me I can't wish for a reality that I'm not working towards. And admittedly, I have not taken that next step.
I write all this to say that time continues to push us forward, and for some reason, I thought I would have more of it. But I am now reaching a point where life has its own demands of me, and when I actually do squeeze some time out of it, I end up working on my website again as I did today, uploading some new stuff.
There is actually something blocking me from submitting my work. If I'm to be honest with myself (don't do it), I think I'm deathly afraid of somebody telling me the work isn't good. Like somebody who knows work well. Or even a jury. But if I hold onto that fear, I will never know, and I have to ask, is not knowing better than rejection? That can't possibly hold true.
I do stupid things as well. I found the perfect program to submit my work to, but for some reason, I closed all of my tabs at once, knowing that tab was open.
I get in my own way. It's all so silly. Just get out of your way and do the thing. Nobody else is going to care whether you do or not, and you seem to be killing yourself over it.
07/06/24
What lessons have I learned? Be direct, be intentional. I'm unsure how to begin. Staring at a blank screen or a blank canvas, I find dealing with a canvas easier because the line feels more natural to me than words, even though the line has recently become fraught. Maybe it's the anticipation of interruption or the fear of not finishing a particular thing. But how can I finish what I never began?
Maybe it's the memory—the memory of all my past projects that went nowhere. The thousands of drawings, some I put up on my wall and then take down a couple of months later. This website, my last blog entry was three months ago, promising to get back on track, but on track to where?
"He discovers he has no destination, that he's been putting one foot in front of another to generate the feeling of movement but has been stationary all along."
The work has changed though, evolved, even without direction. My interests and inspirations change. Recently, I've landed on a role model: Cecily Brown, who I believe will sustain my curiosity. It feels odd to admit my admiration for her work so much that I'm willing to sit beside her drawings for a very long time to study the linework, brush strokes, and inspirations. But I haven't delved that deep. I'm sure I haven't even scratched the surface, but I intersperse work in between.
I'm always looking for an out, a reason for why I'm here. Thinking about my choices, it doesn't feel like regret, but similar. It's more like anxiety—the mature understanding that time is limited.
I need somebody to talk to. I don't have that for studio work. A coworker for studio work? Who is in a similar boat? Can I just reach out to people? And what would I say? Maybe I could use AI for that. I wonder if I could train an AI to be a sort of fellow studio mate who has its own art world, goes to galleries and stuff, but also shoots the shit about my own stuff. I mean, I could just find networks of people, I guess. I wonder if that's a thing.
Either way, I sat down to think and work through what I want to do today and moving forward. First, I think I should just dump out the ideas currently circulating in my head.
I've been wanting to create another book of drawings or a book of work. I want to see if I could somehow publish it or share it or do something with it besides just letting it sit on my drive. MEIIKA STUDIO, caps.
What would the book be about? I mean, it doesn't have to be about anything, although the idea of texts tempts me. What would I say?
"In this inaugural volume, I want to take stock of where I am now as an artist. I'm interested in ink drawings, sumi ink, and gouache. As I stare at my latest work, my eye is attracted to the linework, the stains, the effects both accidental and intentional.
Creating meaning. I feel I'm in a type of quiet crisis, attacked by my desire to ground my work in theme or meaning, yet knowing that at the point of creation there was little direct intention. At the same time, the movements of my hand were not random, and the outcomes to my eye are really pleasing in both balance and composition. The space between brushwork is just right, the movements occur at just the right time and feel finished, intentional.
So I find myself, after the work, asking myself, 'How did this come to be?' Sure, references to Goya and Brown are scattered about, but where Goya was making a direct statement about bullfighting, I am merely referencing his linework. And then, am I unconsciously pulling meaning from his drawings and Brown's? Does it say something about my state of mind, focusing on these works enough to translate it through my own linework? Does it say something about my current state? Do I want to be abstracted, dissolved?
I admit I do not know. In reviewing timelapses of my process, I realize I work in a sort of circular motion. Sometimes starting at the center and fanning out, but I realize I'm always trying to maintain a sort of balance on the paper, juxtaposed by areas of high contrast.
I think my main fear is a sort of exposure of my own ineptitude, infected by the idea of realism without the skill to bring it about. Instead, I exist in this comfortable space between abstraction and figuration—a line I've read and heard so much about and am beginning to settle into. How do I talk about it? Can this be taught?
Maybe architecture school ruined me. In school, everything mattered. Every wall, door, window had to have meaning—a reason for existing. This was drummed into us again and again. I failed whole courses for not having direction, for doing things just because. I trained that out of me, but now I make up meaning to justify my actions.
This book is justification for the time I've spent creating work that sprung from a place of wonder and curiosity, without an end goal in mind. This book is a sort of generated end goal, a place to have the work rest as I decide what I want to do with it moving forward."
I'm so scared of cliché yet feel as if I don't have enough of a basis to know when I'm being cliché, and thus just go off assumptions.
04/06/24
Long pause. I would like to say I was taking some much needed rest, but the reality is that I picked up an extra job, and in thinking about it I am probably pretty tired.
I will continue though. However long it takes.
01/20/24
I spent the day drawing. I was looking at Renaissance drawings from some old masters; I want to create a habit of drawing as it makes me better. I spent the day in the living room with my wife and son, something I thought might hinder my creativity because I was under the assumption that I would be constantly distracted, but no, things went rather smoothly.
I want to get out of this abstract habit of just drawing random lines. Since I have been doing this for some time, I have developed a style that I enjoy, but I realize, although my technical prowess has been honed, the subject in which I put into the work is lacking.
I have never been a subject-oriented artist. I am process-oriented, or at least that’s what I call following one mark to another. I believe I have developed an inherent sense of composition through abstraction, but I am curious if I can also hone my skills in representation.
When I think of the art that I enjoy, it sits in a space between abstraction and figuration, and if I want to create art that I enjoy now, I must strengthen the representation aspects of my work.
There's a full history of abstraction, one in which I have learned through osmosis, not study. And in this osmosis, I have learned that it is perhaps my location, New York City, which feeds into my attraction to abstraction, following the great artists of the 80s and 90s that pioneered the form here in New York City. Through osmosis, I also learned there was a whole other field that was sprouting up in response to that over on the West Coast, and honestly, I find that art interesting, but not my style.
So today I practiced some. I drew with a pen, then with a water brush. As is comfortable with me, the figures and forms blended into each other. The resulting drawings were rather flat; I didn’t like that much, but I found it interesting how the masters used simple lines in drawings to create the appearance of whole faces, limbs, robes, etc. They were the first minimalists before that was a thing.
I enjoy the minimalism that is possible through art. How you can suggest certain things through omission, how you can use negative space to create a whole body, or parts thereof. I was going to say it's like a game, but in reality, when you're doing it, it’s a sort of puzzle that you're trying to sort out.
Then employing color in specific places to suggest depth or create depth. It's all interesting what occurs on the multipurpose paper.
I am thankful for a surface that can confidently handle the ink, the water, the acrylic. I usually use dotted or gridded paper because of my architectural background, so when I use paper without any guides, it’s a bit freeing, although intimidating. I realize being able to describe this in this way is part of the reason I love this work.
01/17/24
( Why quantify and justify what I do, it’s something I’m so used to doing in my head and I wish I knew where it came from. Is it a defense mechanism for the inevitable question, the why if it all?
Is it ok just to do, it must be ok because the alternative, just to consume, leads to nowhere. So I create, write, even if it’s unintentional and aimless, see, I justified it again ):
I feel the breadth of stories within me. I ask myself if I have the skill to pull them out, or worse, do I have the time? Do I have the attention span, the motivation, to get these stories out, this art out?
I don't feel anything new at the moment. This is a point A to point B time period; creativity is at a standstill.
And I always land on the question, what do I want to do? Let's list it all:
Make paintings that give me the same feeling as Cecily Brown's and Eddie Martinez's work.
Make a book in line with Eddie Martinez's drawings.
Create architectural work.
Finish uploading sketchbooks.
And then what? The missing link is community.
Between the Howard Beach and Broad Channel stop on the A line heading towards Far Rockaway, the train crosses a bridge over a large body of water. On the train, looking out, it feels as if the train is flying on the water, juxtaposed with blaring rap music being played on a portable speaker by an African American man wearing a fitted cap, a blue bespeckled hoodie, blue jeans, and Timberlands. He pulls out a half-smoked blunt and starts to move it from pocket to pocket. It's 10:05. I was ordered to follow the stops of another day and decided to go to Far Rockaway since I was already far out and far away.
Riding over Jamaica Bay, I felt a spark of inspiration; the moment over the water feels like something I can include in some type of story, some type of New York story. But is this story interesting? Can I really write if I don't read a lot? Are there authors that don't read? And why do I want to write, anyway? Is it just something to do?
What else do I have to say about this man with the speaker? He walked off the train with a severe limp.
The houses over Broad Channel look nice.
I can't imagine getting out of this. What would I have to do to generate enough money to live the type of life we imagined?
I want to create work I'm excited about again.
I'm interested in lush landscapes, but also plain landscapes. Broad and wide. Large bodies of water with little specks of interesting houses.
I want a camera. But I'm self-conscious about taking pictures.
I'm afraid to be labeled as an artist when I'm not successful at it. But what is that, anyway? Where does that come from?
I guess it comes from looking, comparing. But the doing, that's what's important, I guess.
I should move my desk to the living room. Get a separate desk for the area, keep the clutter to a minimum.
5 stops.
I can't just smoke my life away either. I would be so mad if I just wasted all of it.
I think of going back to school. I would like to actually do art school one day. Would that solve it?
And if I just do stuff on my own, then so what, right? I feel like I'm spinning down a drain.
Creating felt important before because I felt like there was some type of destination. Now, not so much; it's just doing.
Now the train is at the beach. This is like a free scenic ride. Beach 44th Street.
It is a sort of history in motion. This life, I mean, it's documenting the quiet history of a life. My life, one I must admit doesn't feel so important. Running from one pleasure to another.
Maybe I want a new identity. My wife is very supportive, but whenever I do something, I feel the weight of all the things I haven't done yet.
01/12/24
I finished uploading " LEUCHT 23". Initially I was going to exibit all of the scans at the same time, but I like the clean look of 1 image at a time.
Uploading this took some time, but not too excessive. If i hunker down I could probably finish a full book a week. I have about 100 sketchbooks of various sizes and levels of completion. This sketchbook is one of my favorites.
I was thinking about Eddie Martinez, and towards the end of the book I got really interested in pencil where I usually use pen. Pencils allows a finer touch which my hand seems to enjoy. Pen / brush I find i tend to make interesting marks, but pencil I like scenes and gradients.
My wife is highly supportive of my work. It means a lot, because I do most this stuff in silence without much fan fair. She likes most of my stuff which is cool, and gives me the time to work on these various projects. We maintain a full household and its easy for your creativity to slip by without support so, that's on my mind at the moment.
I also found James Kalm on youtube, what a jem! His format reminds me that you don't have to be all polished, I mean the content is great and honestly the grittiness of the handheld camera is much relief when compared to the highly stylized and polished videos I'm used to from Art 21 and the like, even though I love that stuff as well. I guess James Kalm makes me feel like I can go out and start something just out of pure passion.
That's always been the case I guess. I wonder why my mind got so infected with this idea of success and worth through the monetary value of stuff. I was really infected with it when I was younger, not so much so. I guess when I was younger I had all of these ideas of what an artist is, and even worst I thought it would be relatively easy to get into galleries or something, like I thought that's just something that happened.
Getting older I realize that younger self had a lot of time to dream and work on my own things. Now time is a constant negotiation. Either way, doing what I love. Hope it makes sense someday.
01/10/24
Went to Blick today. I have always been curious about oils and today, I decided to get some Water Soluble oil color, convincing myself that they wont leave as bad of a smell in the house. I would really like to learn how to use the medium well, although my motivation for this is almost purely because I know most of the artist I am inspired by use Oil.
But I don't have the space for it.
A couple of hours in I felt the odor was faint enough to justify the means, but that smell builds up. I eventually ended up tossing the painting I was working on, realizing it's not going to be dry for days and that smell will continue to linger and build up in the apartment. Right now I had all the windows open, but come night time that wont be the case.
And so this story was short but meaningful. Surprisingly I answered the lingering question I had before even leaving Blick itself,
I wondered if Oil paint has more pigment than acrylic. The person assisting me told me no, it doesn't, it simply takes an absurd longer amount of time to try which for the artist is ideal because it allows them to manipulate the painting several times over. But for color and pigment, Oil and Acrylic are the same. I guess Acrylic is just a lot more limited.
But also, since i've only used acrylic, its function to me is pretty much the same: color spread by brushes on a surface. Looks like its Acrylic, Marker, Pen, and Pencil for the time being.
01/08/24
Traced a drawing of mine into illustrator, it allowed me to add some color I imagined or see when i look at the sketch. I like the comparison between the original and the edited, both hold relevance in my mind. Feels oddly wrong though, using illustrator. Tools are never wrong though right?
01/07/24
Raising a toddler is hard. While your learning about them, you are also learning about yourself. My expectations are continuously thwarted by the reality of toddlerdom.
For example, my son is very into Roblox. I have a background in architectural technology, and Roblox studio is very similar to the programs I used to use when I was in architecture, so naturally I downloaded it and had every intention of learning how to use it. Instead however my son took over the laptop and was doing his own thing. I try to redirect and tell him to read but I can understand the novelty of just placing things down, and spinning etc.
I simply have to direct his curiosity, tempt down my own expectations and than continue what I set out to do once he moves onto something else.
So in the interim I am writing this.
I continue to upload my sketchbooks, made some progress on 2 of them, scanning editing and uploading. I’m doing this I see stuff that I would like to build on. My current way of doing this is blowing up the drawings and pinning them up, but I was thinking yesterday what if there was I way I can make like stencils out of the shapes I see in the drawings, and with acrylic block them out on material.
I need some type of strong craft paper, something that can withstand the weight and moisture of acrylic / washes. Maybe we’ll take a trip today.
I realize I am building the foundation of my practice. That ever since I started taking this seriously I have had a sort or hopscotch approach to the practice. This site is beginning to bring some ideas together for me.
01/06/24
I’m going to apply to some stuff. Let’s see what happens.
12/31/23
I realized that this is my quiet place. This is a digital extension of my studio. Yesterday, I was wondering what makes it any different from social media, etc., and the real answer is that I can shape and mold this into whatever form I want. It’s another creative outlet where I can test ideas and primarily document them in a way that allows me to share.
Also, where everything is trying to gain and monetize your attention, here I can breathe.
That’s what makes this useful.
12/30/23
Lots of thoughts today. I want to organize some ideas that are running through my mind so that I don't forget them. It's currently 11:20 pm.
On this website, I would like to create a section called "Studio" where I put stuff I'm currently working on, along with thoughts and ideas for future projects. Probably put up videos of things I am doing, stuff in process, etc.
In the shower, I asked myself "how this website is any different from Instagram, TikTok, or social media", and the answer is that I want a space that's not attached to some other thing or company, a place that I control with my work and my flow of things. Without the pressure to please or produce, just a place I can dump my art and not have it be about anything else.
I've always imagined I would use my sketches to create larger work but never do. I think I'm going to do that now, as I have a wide array of things I can pull from. There are some notable drawings I already see that I want to process. The images on the website are JPEGs and no larger than 500 kb, not suitable for print or anything but fine on the web. I have the original files, however, which are in TIFF, and I scanned them in TIFF in order to be able to use them for print later.
When I paint, I typically go off the cuff and pull shapes and forms free-form without references or anything. I had a moment where I was doing screen printing, which I loved, but it also limited me to a certain size.
What I have in mind for the drawings is to use InDesign to blow them up and then use the blown-up images as a reference for form and shape because that's essentially what I'm thinking about when I'm drawing: composition. So I have all of these drawings where I've been thinking about composition for years to pull from. That's the general idea.
So, a Studio section on the website. Not sure if this would be public or private.
About the public or private thing, part of me thinks I am getting ahead of myself. I don't expect anybody to see this stuff as of yet. But, I also feel like, since this is an open space, I should have stuff I keep to myself; not everybody has to see everything I'm doing. Even if nobody sees it, since it's a website, I should assume that people will. Not that I'm working on anything secret. It's a weird idea I'm working through.
This space is mine. I will share it. But I will also use it to work through thoughts and ideas, and I don't mind keeping that stuff private. I guess the question is, why place it online at all? Why not just keep a private journal or something, or a Word document? I mean, I have that too.
I guess the website is more interesting. Plus, I can grant access when required, or open it all up if I would like. Maybe one day that will make sense, and I'll adjust when it does, but for now, this idea makes sense to me. I think that's enough.
12/30/23
My current sketchbook / workbook has a lot of pages with just information, because I use it during work. I draw in between. I choose to use the same book for both because switching from one to another is cumbersome, and many times I sketch while I work anyway.
There is text throughout my sketchbooks of varying thoughts, but a common theme is the subject of my work and handwriting. I've recently come to realize that the work doesn't necessarily have to go anywhere or have any sort of purpose, its ok if i simply enjoy doing it.
I decided to make the archive private. If your reading this, the password to the archive is drawings. I'm not too sentimental about the privacy aspect of it, I just felt a little exposed having all of this stuff out here. But if you've gotten this far, I can assume you have some interest in the work and I hope you find it useful.
12/30/23
I've been working on this website for years, thus I have gone through the process of scanning a lot of the sketchbooks already. At the time though I must have stopped, so there's a lot of unfinished sketchbooks with still a lot of scanning to go, however i'm deciding to upload what I have already scanned, then continue the various sketchbooks where I left off.
12/30/23
I began on "LEUCHTTURM1917 FRAMES". I've only uploaded a fraction of the book so far.
I was interested in the framing that the dotted notebook allows, and working on compositions. I always intend to turn stuff like this into larger paintings, but its obviously easier to use mark and line to plot down multiple ideas in quick succession.
I've been using AI to build this website, and learned that i can upload these drawings and have it pull out the text for me. I don't read a lot of what I write in these books, and i'm going to explore using this tool to transfer the handwritten text into type.
The LEUCHTTURM1917 books are numbered, so the organization of the pages matter. For some reason the website does not upload them in order, so I spent some additional time ordering the current pages from 1 to 40 (spreads). I wonder if there is a way I can upload them in order to not have to take this additional step.
12/29/23
Finished with the first book "BIEFANG 2022". I didn't date any of the drawings, but I recognize the apartment in which these drawings were produced, we lived there in 2022.
I was drawing a lot of still lives around the house, mainly bottles and things i saw around the table and kitchen. I found this small water color set, and the mixed media paper suited it really well.
This took some time to upload. I scanned the images two at a time, and had to divide them in photoshop and then save ( and resave when i figured out they were to large too upload). This process will take some time, but I will continue.
12/29/23
Learned when I convert from TIFF to JPEG the file has to be less than 500kb. Larger files are not uploading, need to revise. LS