I’m an artist living around Boston.

I use the skills that I’ve learned while making my own art
to earn a living working for my commercial clients.
I’m often hired to help make something look it’s best
and give it broad appeal to the general population.
Over the last 20 years, I’ve learned to appreciate the true beauty of imperfection.

I’ve written many paragraphs like these over the years.
If, while reading an old artist's statement of mine, my shoulders should scrunch up or I instinctively pull my knees or elbows inwards to protect my vital organs, I can know that I am doing well.

”An artist can only measure themself by themself.”
That is the only thing I agree with myself on after all these years.

Perhaps, in time, that sentiment too will stir a wince.

Here’s some ideas I may recoil from in the future:
It’s vital for an artist to de-socialize.
It’s a good idea to hide your work on your low-traffic website.
It’s a bad idea to cultivate a following and grow from that praise or criticism.

My mother used to tell a story about how no one ever saw me learn to walk. The trips, the falls, the progress, the success- all in secret. No encouragement, no hushed laughter, no relevance to anything but the challenge that I had assumed. In diapers, I really had my shit together.