My graphic work is far looser and more abstract than it ever was when I was putting oil to canvas. Nonetheless, there is a sense of homecoming in my flatware, the call to action in my arm and wrist, the muscle memory, my eye and brain negotiating composition. These things, and more, are as familiar as walking through the door of my parents house, which sat at the foot of Green Bay and faced the northern storms head on.
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The River
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