For a long time I thought I was supposed to pick a lane. Painter or builder. Fine art or craft. Instagram loves a single aesthetic in a neat grid; grant applications want a thesis statement. My brain doesn't work that way. One week I'm chasing a color problem on canvas — the cyan web and splatter language in Galexy Far — the next I'm cutting steel for a steampunk rifle sculpture because an idea needs weight and shadow you can't fake with pigment alone.

It isn't distraction — it's cross-training

Switching mediums forces different kinds of decisions. Painting asks about surface, illusion, and tempo. Metal asks about structure, gravity, and consequence — hot metal does not care about your plans. When I come back to a brush after working in three dimensions, I notice edges differently. When I return to the shop after a long painting stretch, I'm less precious about "ruining" a piece because I've remembered that materials can be cut, welded, and reworked.

The leaf-print series in 2026 is a good example. Pressed leaves through acrylic on black and white canvas — delicate, graphic, seasonal. The welded nut-and-bolt figures in the gallery are the opposite energy: hardware store bones, personality welded on. Same studio, same hands, different questions. Neither one makes the other a hobby.

What holds it together

The thread isn't always a visual style. Sometimes it's curiosity, or play, or a stubborn question I'm circling from different angles. Building Mushy-Lisa for Imaginarium Albany pulled papier-mâché, fabric, resin, and festival install into one object taller than my living room. That's not a side quest — it's the same drive that keeps me marbling canvases for MoonBloom or running a 3D print batch on the Flashforge.

Even Genius Repair fits. Small engines and automotive work train a diagnostic mindset: what's actually broken, what's cosmetic, what will fail if you ignore it. I use that in the studio when a piece feels "almost done" but something's off structurally — in composition, not just in carburetors.

Showing the overlap on purpose

I organized this site's gallery by album instead of medium on purpose. Paintings sit next to weld photos and in-progress shots because that's how the work actually happens. The articles go longer on process; the live stream shows the middle when I'm brave enough to leave the camera on.

If you work in more than one medium, you don't owe anyone a tidy label. You owe yourself honesty about what each practice gives you — and permission to let them talk to each other. I'm still building this site, still figuring out how much overlap to put on one wall. If you're the same kind of restless maker: you're not behind. You're multilingual.

Strange Art on the wall

The gallery is open to all by appointment only, currently still showing the Strange Art collection. Stay tuned for upcoming events. The test is whether paintings, welds, mushrooms, and sketchbook pages can share physical walls without feeling like a yard sale. I think yes, if the through-line is honesty — objects that know what they are. This site is my answer to that question, one album and one article at a time.