Self portrait formed through words.

My mother is a gypsy. Her mother told her so.

My father is a proud American. His father told him so.

I am neither gypsy nor proud.

I question most, and answer few.

Taking strides in ways that I see fit.

I’ve got tiny little strings weaved into my heart.

Sometimes, I like to pluck them.

I’m very uncertain, but always so sure.

A walking conundrum; A colorful spectrum.

My words spew out of order.

A confusing sequence, that makes little sense to you and means just about everything to me.

My vision is seen much better through a lens.

I have a voice that speaks more freely on paper.

Structure is my anti-christ and i have a big problem with logic.

Logically, structure works.

I often ignore technicalities so i can create my own technique.

Create.

My life,My method,Myself.

I Create, because everyone else told me i couldn’t.