"Bury my heart at Raquette Lake"

Ahhh sweet youth. So, again we find ourselves in the oh-so-predictable mid winter slump. I find myself pushing forward through these sickly days with no real goal or purpose in mind. Maybe a better way of putting it is I'm going through a minor identity crisis. In years past I had always had some activity or routine I could confide in. Skateboarding, Music, Grappling, Striking etc....If nothing else, these activities served as a vehicle for social mobility. Meeting new people was never the goal, only a bi-product that conveniently united me and my "teams" with other like minded turkeys. As I enter my mid twenties I figure most scenes that used to accommodate me would either write me off as a drunk, big-kid who never grew up or even worse...they would respect my devotion....Skateboarding and punk rock are simply out of the question. Grappling and boxing require a sincere devotion if one hopes to do anything other than be dominated by big, strong men....Devotion is for someone with goals. The truth is, hard headed bumblers like myself simply dont cut it in combative sports anymore. So I ask myself, what is it that I do? I powerlift, but I do that privately and dont compete. Huh. I do art! I am in fact an art major! So where does that leave me? Well I'm glad you asked...It leaves me drinking beer and telling dirty, crass jokes to kids who only want to perpetually analyze marxist ideals and yell "Fuck Republicans" from safe homes....-Oh and lets not forget immediately trying to demonstrate their intellectual superiority over me because my physique reminds them of someone who spat in their chocolate milk in highschool. What the hell ever happened to having a house party or piling a bunch of people into a car and going to dennys?
I have spent alot of time reflecting lately, reflecting on cortland, cortland people, old friends and friends to be. I guess what is ultimately bugging me is I've spent almost five years in college and I'm not sure what exactly I have to show for it. Technical knowledge and ass-kissing abilities seem like more of a consolation prize than a degree at this point. Just as before at OCC I find myself sitting idly as a swath of people (who have permanently integrated themselves into my dreams in the best of ways) spread their wings and move on (and leave me here to do my time and scorn the next generation of kiddie boppers who slither into the program). Throughout the endless waste and "letting go" at college, I had always maintained an outlook that I would find something special for myself...Someone to take with me maybe. Visions of sipping tea outside in the spring with a nice girl haunt me every year when I am confronted with the reality of drinking beer by myself in a lawn chair whilst muttering "maybe next spring". I am approaching my last spring at suny cortland, I find myself running my fingers through my thinning brown hair and screaming with my mouth shut as I flip through past prospects and all of the most sweet and memorable "what ifs" and "maybes" and "She's pretty cools". All of these feelings struck me at once when I listened to the song: art isn't real by: deer tick. I listened to this band a lot last summer and it reminded me of a girl I was into. Having even the prospect of something on the horizon is usually enough to keep me chuggin' at 110%. Lately I have no hopes or prospects in that area, and, frankly the idea of trying to get to know more people and learning someone else's story with so little time left here makes me wanna slam my head in a door....I feel equally bad about assuming the same pre-prospect routine. So, for now I'll humor the endless "You're a good guy" like consolations as I seriously debate joining a co-ed volleyball team....I need a scotch.

"I'm Sorry Wilson!"

"So much lost...So much Forgotten...So what?"

Here are some paintings and sketch-work that supports them. The paintings aren't done, they will be subject to much more personal knit picking until Im satisfied with their outcome. The goal of my thesis series is to depict a physical manifestation that corresponds with a simplified emotional, internal identity. In other words, if I were to put it in the form of a question...it would sound something like this: "What would you look like if your body was a direct representation of your mind?". I was inspired by a real life example of this when I was at the Tomik fitness center on the Suny Cortland campus. I witnessed a myriad of young men who had transformed their bodies into shapes and sizes that simply yield no functional purpose for a human being. They were students of body building. For those who are unfamiliar, (modern)body building is a competitive sport in which one seeks to bastardize the human form and turn it into an ultra hellenistic showpiece. Muscle strength, endurance and personal athleticism are not judged. As I watched these gorillas make a mockery out of themselves and the fundamentals of strength training I realized they had transformed their bodies into their inner selves! This was quite an impressive thought! However, their success in the way of self-expression was more of a window into their own inner faults and absences of security than anything else (that's just like my opinion, ya dig?). -In any case, my paintings analyze thought process along with a corresponding figure(s). I stack masonite board to create a distinction between physical realms and conceptual realms. The handling of my paint is rough, physical and loose. The odd physical manifestations I depict are not of this world, that being said I would rather depict them loosely giving the viewer the chance to "fill in the gaps" with their imagination and come to their own conclusions about the creature and it's mind (and perhaps even wonder if their inner beastie bares some resemblance to those I have depicted...)