Another example of Phontography. But this one has a message. Pull tabs from soda cans can be collected and given to St. Jude's Hospital. Coke will make a donation to the hospital per pulltab. Its a wonderfull was to donate to St. Jude's and it cost you nothing. Even if you save coke cans, you can donate the tops. If you haven't saved them in the past, I encourage you and your family to do so. And don't forget to tell your friends and co-worker. Heck, start a collection at work. Just think of all the cans and pull tabs that are thrown away. Thats a lot of money that could be going toa great cause.

This is an example of "Cell Phontography". Following in the footsteps of Andy Warhol with his poloroid work, I intend to show that great art doesn't need expensive gear, but can be made by with accessible tools like cellphones. Feel free to post your input on the subject. We'll see where it goes.

Its difficult to see this whole thing. The overall effect was to be looking through the bamboo forest. The light changes from red to yellow to green. The texture was made with credit cards.

Funny story about this painting: The Vice President of Nigaraua, Jose Rizzo was at my mother's house, don't ask, and he saw this painting. The name at the bottom said Statom, so he asked if she had paited it. She said "no", that I had and he said how much he admired it. I only heard about it later and I thought "Jeez mom, why didn't you take it off the wall and say "Here, as a token of our hospitality." I could have had a painting hanging in the Presidential Palace, or whatever they've got in Nigaragua". She told me that she couldn't give away a painting I had given her. I could always paint her another.

When we had the house painted this year, I had to cut down my potato vines. I was not pleased to do it, but there was no way for them to paint the metalwork in front of the house with the vines still there. My wife refers to them as my "babies", so you can tell I was upset. So to take my anger out on something, I grabbed a canvas as I often do. This is my angry painting entitled "A Year with No Potatoes". In case you're wondering, my potato vines did come back up, oh happy day.

Without purpose, we are just occupying space until death. I often wonder if I will be remembered in death, as I am sure we all do from time to time. We can only act today in hopes of leaving a footprint for the future judges. Maybe they will have mercy on us and view our material reminders with kindness.

A black man once told me a story about the black water devil. Both his father and his preacher, on two separate occasions, were fishing on a Sunday morning. His father was at Cross Lake in Shreveport, Louisiana when a manlike creature, no bigger then three feet tall came up out of the water and started screaming at him, "eeeeeeeeeeeee". It was slick and black from head to toe and resembled something from the bowels of the earth or the pits of Hell. He left in such terror, never again did he dare go fishing on Sunday. The other occasion was his preacher on the Red River. He looked up on the shore and the water devil was standing there watching him. The two creatures descriptions were identical. So, it must be said that if you don't want to be visited by these entities, make sure you are in church on Sunday morning and not out fishing.

Isolated in an abstract cell, a boy contemplate his life and future. The ceiling of the room is a strip torn from a phonebook, his connection to the outside world. The dark sun is an intrusive eye, but warming in the pink sky. This is the moment before the first step.

The sun rises on seven figures as the rouse from slumber to discover where theirs lives had lead. In the distance, the city of Hell rises like a flaming Alamo on the lake of acid. Is this truly their first day or do they feel the terror of discovery every morning?

This corkscrewed pine grew behind the church I went to when I was a child. Over the years, the weather and time took their toll on the old tree until, in decay, it started to fall. Likewise, the membership of the church fell because of internal fighting and the loss of new members, possibly because of the strife. Now, along with my childhood, both are gone. This painting was symbolic of the passing of time and the loss of things dear. All of these things will be missed.

Reason and Greed cannot co-exist. Reason does not always give Greed the answers he wants. So, Greed kills reason to be the only voice.

This was painted for a friend in Kentucky who was sick of winter. I was hoping this painting would somehow magically end the current season and welcome in spring. It is a figurative, abstract landscape.