Blazing through the Midwest in the dead chill of winter on four tiny wheels. Wheels attached to an engine, an engine attached to a frame, and I was at the helm. The car created a shimmering blue streak as it hummed through the snow on the highway. I had left Minnesota for the promised land of California and was approaching my destination for the evening, Cheyenne, Wyoming, the halfway point of a 2000-mile trip. As I pulled off onto an onramp and into the gloomy town, my hatchback made a few disconcerting pops and jolts before dying in place. Trapped between home and West Coast uncertainty, I was forced to leave the vehicle and save myself. The last moments with my car were tough; it was my first automobile, and I will never forget it.
My 1992 Subaru Justy was quite possibly the smallest car ever manufactured. It was about double the size of a household kitchen refrigerator, could hold no more than four small people and managed to fit into any parking spot size encountered. The volume of the Justy added a level of comfort akin to a well fitting pair of pants. The car was of perfect dimensions, not too baggy and not too restrictive. The cozy interior of the Justy possessed a magical quality regarding cargo. There always seemed to be just enough room for whatever I needed to lug around in the vehicle. If I needed to drive my computer across town, I would load it up through the Justy's hatchback and by some marvel of modern science it would just barely fit. When I needed to haul my computer and all of my earthly possessions (which matched the computer's volume times three) 2000 miles across the country, the Justy mystically expanded to make room for the larger load. It was such miracles that made the car so special.
I am fascinated by the capacity to which I can offend, disgust, or alienate a viewer with my art. The delicacy of human sensitivity is a boundary easily upset with offensive imagery. Observation of psychological responses to my artwork, has helped me discover triggers that aid in achieving my objectives. Allowing my work to be deeply rooted in sensitive issues has given me the chance to explore reactions from a variety of artistic mediums. Illustration is my focus, but I also work with interactive media, animation, sculpture and painting. My artwork is created with an audience in mind, however the reaction it generates is the most fulfilling aspect.
Bruce Wayne is the wealthiest man in Gotham City. His manor sits atop Wayne Hill, overlooking the countryside miles away from the lights of the city. Bruce is a secluded chap who wallows in his privacy, tucked away from the other rich socialites out and about the town. He lives alone with his dedicated butler Alfred, who works dust control to the enormity of Wayne Manor. These two lonely single men have a special relationship for they share a bond of secrecy.
By day, Bruce Wayne is a red robed sandal wearing playboy bachelor. By night, he transforms into a brooding masked caped crusader; the Batman. As the moon beams through the deep blue hues of Gotham City's skyline, all of the filth and degenerates scuttle in fear. For they know, when the sun goes down, the Batman emerges to cleanse the darkness.
Buried deep under Wayne Manor is a series of bat inhabited grottos crammed with super computers, ridiculous vehicles and crime fighting equipment. There is a pointless sign above the entrance to this underground fortresses stating its name in large gothic lettering, the Batcave.
