I have been getting in trouble for my art since I learned how to sign my name and discovered floors, walls and furniture made pretty neat canvasses. By the time I hit second grade, I became a tattoo artist for my classmates (also pretty neat canvasses) in spite of inadequate, under-the-table pay and their being forced to bathe. I started playing drums when I was nine, graduated with a BFA at the top of my class when I was 40, and in between raised twins. Somewhere in the middle of growing up a little, I became an illustrator, graphic designer, fine artist and writer. I worked as an illustrator and graphic artist in the editorial art department of a daily newspaper for six years, and have been an exhibiting artist since 1990 and illustrating professionally since 1992.

Most of my art for most of my life never ventured very far outside the lines. I did as I was told and followed what I thought were the rules. But once I took a breath and looked off into the distance, something sparked and tugged at me to step over the lines. I imagined work that existed only for me. I gave myself permission to explore and not fear spontaneity, and in doing so also gave myself permission to fail. By experimenting with new techniques and pushing a medium beyond its traditional limits to find what it was capable of, I inadvertently expanded my own limits, and I don’t think much anymore about what’s going on inside the lines