Essays

When artists are afraid to offer up their doubt in their art, its presence and resonance cease to announce its appearance.

I am always moved into an acute sense of extreme sorrow when a friend calls or writes and shares the injustice of this journey.

Remembering is harkening backwards, an attempt to in part, stop the forgetting. Art making is not merely a nostalgic gaze at the past but a creative reply to the impulse of memory.

We were designed to love impermanent things.

I serve a God who hides. There are times when regardless of my rituals or disciplines, the Father will not reveal himself.

When faith is only an adherence to a set of propositions our once ”living beliefs” will grow cold and perfunctory.

For what does the human soul long? Sex? Power? Money? Beauty?

s been said that thoughts are the ultimate pilgrims.