Storm rains down another art journal

Blues and pinks rule the day this time around. I’m officially living life without a job and it feels pretty strange. I can’t remember the last time I had a weekday with nothing planned. As it was, I went for a bike ride, and remembered the dream I have to be a writer. And not a “useful” kind of writer like a journalist or a textbook author, but a writer of fiction. I sat in my favorite tree at the end of Lake Calhoun where I wrote in my notebook. I drank tea. I wore a sweater for the first time in months. I biked far and the city became so small I could cup her in my hand. These are the dog days of summer and the people I love are coming back into orbit. The city is drawing her people back.

Below are images from my most recent project, the revision and revamping of an old U.S. Hunting Association atlas. Underneath these collages and paintings are maps of each state with pictures of men next to dead animals they’ve shot and killed.



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