My artistic purpose is two-fold: first, to make my mark; and second, to live in the creative process. To make my mark in this world I have chosen painting as the medium, and the feeling of grandeur I feel when I finish a piece is priceless. It is like walking among the clouds. My spirit soars like a hawk, and at that moment, I am the greatest artist in the world.

 In 1991, I resigned from my sixteen-year employment with a major computer corporation and  moved with my wife Jill to Richmond, VA to pursue painting as my work.  I would stand outside all day in the hot Richmond sun. It was not unusual for me to work on a piece for over a month, returning to the site day after day. The weather is fairly stable, which meant the scene I was painting stayed the same. I was able to work out my struggles directly on the canvas, scraping, building, and stripping again and again until the piece was done.

 In the summer of 1993, we re-located to Iowa. This move had an enormous impact on my creative process. No longer could I stand in one place and paint for very long because the change in the light, the wind, and the terrain was too dynamic. I reduced my completion time from four weeks to one week. In this first series of Iowa works, I completed twelve paintings. I then started a series of fifty palette knife paintings, which helped me to work more directly and spontaneously.

 Although the palette knife paintings added a spontaneous dimension to my process, I began to struggle with the challenge of painting a landscape that offers more horizontals than verticals. Looking up, the sky presented me with a solution, and I began to render more and more of the sky and its shifting patterns as a part of each painting. The horizon line became less and less important.

 During this time I also came out of my "winter denial." In 1993 through 1996, I painted landscapes in sub-zero degree weather through the windows of our house and the cab of my truck, but mostly held my breath and waited for spring. I also painted interiors. Then I discovered the floral still life as a way to stay in touch with nature while exploring technique, color relationships, textures, and brush strokes in my studio.  Having complained about the Iowa winter for three years, this fourth winter actually set me free. This spring when I went back outside to paint, I found my winter work had ripened my vision.

 In April I began to experience the first symptoms of my illness, including headaches and an inability to find words to express my thoughts. On June 23, 1996, I was admitted to The University of Iowa Hospital for surgery and was diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor.  Needless to say, my life and Jill’s life have been torn apart. One day I was healthy, the next, terminally ill.

 At first, the outpouring of love and support from our friends and family was enough to carry me; however, acceptance of the prognosis of my illness, that this brain tumor will kill me, has been difficult. I still don’t believe it fully, but tests continue to confirm the tumor’s existence, and so reality prevails.

Regardless, I am still working at my vision. I picked up a brush the first day I was home from surgery, and my painting continued. I find I am now able to use pure color and my paint application is very bold. I think I knew all along in what direction I wanted to take my painting, but for some reason I wouldn’t let myself go there. Now that my time is limited, I am free to do so. Before the tumor, it seems that I was going about from day to day without the sense of urgency one needs to accomplish great things. I felt this urgency in the beginning, but I allowed the "work-a-day" attitude to permeate my creative process. My part-time job to put food on the table began to take time away from my real work, making art.

It takes time to make art, to move in a direction.  An artist friend once told me when I first started painting to decide whether or not I wanted to move towards the abstract or the real. I could never decide. Since the diagnosis, I find myself making that decision by using colors and brush strokes motivated by imagination rather than by what I actually see, particularly when it comes to depicting large areas.

Yesterday afternoon, while outside painting, it came to me that I may not even live as long as six months more. And that means that I may not get to where I want to be in my art; I may run out of time. This depresses me. And the question has become "How can I sustain my enthusiasm for my art?"  Today’s reality is that I am alive. I’m making art, today. My friends and family love and support me, today. I am actually working as well as I ever have, today.  So, despite the fact that life has me pretty well "boxed in," the only way out is for me to continue to use my art as a medium to communicate with others and myself and God.

And with that, I tell myself, "Go on, be grateful for the day! Go out and paint!"