A life unexamined is lived without intention.  A soul unexplored is lost in the shadows. 
And dreams forgotton are mist in the sun.
I've come to believe that a perfect existence leaves one with a blank canvas of a soul. That the tragedies and joys, triumphs and disasters...these are the colors of us. I meet few that I connect with unless they speak the language of scar tissue and wonder, the combination of which tramples through my dreams, dragging fingers of sienna and sand and cobalt ocean blue across the horizon.
I’ve lived in Pittsburgh for over a decade now, but my first memories were of the forests on our ranch in the Colorado Rockies. Horseback riding and towering pines and isolation. Maryland, Pennsylvania…Mexico and Guatemala. Forests and jungles, pavement as well as miles of nothing but dirt and trees.  I’ve lived with much, and out of two cardboard boxes. I have danced and wept, haven’t we all?  But I dream of the serenity that I pursue in my waking life. A lull in the chaos.
I love whiskey and vinyl and humid summer nights. I love the smell of paint and the ache in my shoulders after hours spent in my studio.  I love jazz….and Tool. I love old cracked plaster and seafood drenched in butter and the smell of a campfire.
I love life.