The commission to paint came to me at the tender yet responsible age of fifteen. 

I sat at home unemployed, and empty - void of self esteem.

     One beautiful day the sun flooded the room with light and filled my head with visions ...

 visions of a robot of cans.  My mother and brothers thought I was mad.  Yes, I thought,

I must be crazy.

     By night, thoughts of art lifted my heart and spirit.  By day, the reality of life pulled me

downward to earth. I found work as a messenger.  It provided money to sustain me and

assist my family.  Day after day, work filled my time and claimed my energy.  Night after

night, dreams invaded my sleep -- invitations to create something beautiful with my hands.

Time passed swiftly - five years gone, like a vapor.  I was drawn again to trash deposits

for substance with which to create my robot of cans.  This robot could not move, yet it

moved me.  The robot could not talk, yet it spoke to me.  All of my problems - all of my

problems - all of my troubles rested on the shoulders of my robot.  I carried them no more.

They were replaced with a fire and passion to create -- to paint.

     In 1998, I moved to my new apartment.  At first the vacant space did not leave me

feeling empty.  I had accomplished so much just to be here.  My diligence was rewarded. 

I had been a good steward of my money.

     As men, we are challenged to do more.  We know we can take nothing with us, yet

we strive to leave something great behind.  Thus, I awoke one morning with a yearning

for more.  I decided to visit an art fair.  It was joy mingled with pain.

     The art!

     The exhilaration!

     The impact of color and composition on my senses!

     The ecstasy!

     Sadly though, I could not afford these vehicles that transported me to a better world.

Returning to my empty space now left me empty.  I longed to return to the beautiful

place I had visited.

     Like a hungry child, I ran to my mother.  I told her of my dreams and yearning.  Kindly

and lovingly she offered me more than encouragement.  She was prepared to sacrifice

in order for me to accomplish my dreams.  All too aware of her limited resources, I

declined her loving offer.  Surely there were more pressing needs than my lofty dreams.

     Evening arrived.  In darkness I re-entered the world of dreamers, saddened by my empty

place.  At that moment I decided to create my own art.  I could fill the empty spaces in my

apartment.  I could fill the void in my life.

     Over the next month I set aside money for supplies - for things more important to my

survival than food.  I purchased canvas, inks and plaster, but had no money for brushes.

From heaven came the revelation that I needed nothing more than my hands.  God had

provided me with ten wonderful, sensitive brushes.  Every command from my brain to my

fingertips would be obeyed and rewarded. With my new found tools I was the richest

man in the world!

     Through my art I share my hopes and dreams -- past, present and future.  Join me on

this beautiful journey called life.