it really is amazing what you can accomplish with a stack of newspaper clippings, mod podge, and a found canvas, discovered around the corner at eleven o’clock at night on your way home from work after smoking a good sativa. as an artist existing in late capitalism america, i’ll take my materials where i can get them. the sound of the scissor cutting paper, the deeper sound the glossies make versus the lighter sound of newspaper, laying them out, making adjustments, focusing in my mind drifted to other things, but what i cannot tell you, my working meditative, a delightful white noise om of art delivering me from the very american acid trip of terror i found myself laying out on the canvas before me.
