There is just so much of it. Songs written, released, performed. Poems, essays, articles published. Paintings and photographs fading in the sun. So many works still cowering in boxes, bundled up in stage fright. Their ribbons have come loose.

“Dancing is not just getting up painlessly, like a leaf blown on the wind; dancing is when you tear your heart out and rise out of your body to hang suspended between the worlds.”  - Rumi

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I like this dull kind of day, the city’s sharp edges disappearing behind a smokescreen of fog. Outnumbered by apartment towers, the trees shiver a little in the autumn wind. They stand half-naked, brave enough to shed all outer…

Based on a musical performance I saw in a Montreal bar, this painting dates back many…

Got up early this morning. It’s Saturday. A day off. My body is adjusting to the schedule of a new full-time job, to…

I am an explorer.

I take pleasure in many modes of travel, including music, writing, painting, dancing…  …