Here's an example of both. I made a watercolor. Then I took a photo. Then I manipulated the colors. Then I printed a few copies on canvas and metal.
I've had various art websites but most art hosting sites suck. I used to like Deviant Art, but they also suck.
I am making some prints. I'm beginning to put some up at Fine Art America and Flickr. I will probably add some prints to my Artisan's Coop Shop. For now, there's a growing stack waiting to be given away. If you ever see anything you want, let me know.
This one started as an analog photo on a Nikon FM2. Then scanned and lightly manipulated.
When I say 'lightly,' I mean 'heavily,' as in 200-300 variations until I find one (or more) that I like.
This next one was taken on a vintage Diana 120 camera (original, not a clone or lomo), then lightly manipulated. This is my second Diana. The first one fell apart. This one is in such excellent condition, I rarely use it because I don't wanna fuck it up.
(Kinda like my mother stopping reading books because she was afraid it would make her eyesite worse.)
I also appropriate images and give them a little twist...
I sometimes draw on my ipad...
And I sometimes take 'straight' photos on my phone...
One last category. Some of my art is part of my story. Specifically, I make some stuff that is informed by my adverse childhood experiences. Here are a couple of those:
OK, now a poem. This is part of my That Time collection/wip. It's untitled but you can call it 'why i always hated pea soup,' if you like:
i can’t hear you because
i have a bag over my head
a bag made of dried leaves
and mud
and the spittle
from a frightened boy’s chin
can you hum a little louder
please i can still
hear the marchers drumming
hear the drummers marching
cum a rum tum tum
ooh ah diddley squat
Lord Bangha calls
your name
to the gate
to kneel before
the sky ends
(the sky's end)
knife or fire!
you choose
you die
you choose again
you die again
you choose again
you die again
until
you choose
the knife
the fire
was just the warm-up act
i have no more fucks to give
except for this one:
ooh ah diddley squat
i said it before but
you still don't
know what it means
you call that time?
that’s not time
that’s my life
rotting on the sand
transmogrifying
transmortifying
decaying
decomposing
a sarabande
a harvest dance
for gulls
with plastic six-pack
rings around their necks
things i have seen:
green moss on the side of a tree
a fish-shaped whorl
where the branch used to be
partridges ruffling the shrubbery
skunk cabbage
cracks in the ceiling
where
the light
still
creates shadows
