ready for the art show!

Labels ready, statement ready, credit card machine set up, everything is set…

and I am still nervous.


I always am, I’ve been doing shows for over a decade and I get nervous as hell every time.

Wish me luck folks.


Oh yeah, side note: here’s my facebook art fan page, if you’d rather “like” than “add”.

I don’t bite, drop me a line! Or come on out to the show. I love seeing internet people in real life.

get your own tree from me!

I’m doing commission trees right now, if you’ve liked the trees I’ve been posting.

email me at resonanteye at gmail dot com, to get one!

You pick the colors (up to 3) and the species, and whether you want roots,trunk, or branches to be the focus of the artwork. The one pictured here is a pink and grey oak…with the trunk the main focus. right now I’ll do a 9×12″ for under a hundred dollars- larger sizes, or full sized trees, may be more.

I’m looking forward to making these; I love drawing trees.

just a grasshopper, that I drew for my dear, sweet mother.

You haven’t truly lived unless you’ve made your mother cry, worry that you’ve been arrested, wonder where you live for a while, and then cry some more. It’s just what happens when your life is full and exciting.

My mom likes grasshoppers, ducks, and flowers. Now that I’m not a teenage anarchist heathen in her house we get along really well.

We disagree on a lot but she’s one of those people that really does want to do good; her heart is in the right place, and I think mine is too.  I miss her; my family is on the opposite coast so I don’t get to see them very often.

This is just a little prismacolor drawing.

flaming car

car fire

Car on fire, at Mary’s Peak Road, Alsea Oregon. Saw this on my way in to work this morning, fairly extreme heat coming off ti as I drove by. Leaned out the window and hollered “I know first aid, anyone hurt?” and some guy yelled back “Nobody in it!”

So I drove on.

scary stories to tell in the artroom part one

"why is everyone drawing dicks?"

I moved into a house in the woods, part of an old ranger station, about a year ago. It’s sincerely in the middle of nowhere, dark as shit at night, and surrounded by the kind of old pine and fir woods that only Oregon can grow. I at first was ecstatic- I even was willing to pay the high rent. I’m an artist, a professional artist, and the place is wonderful. Huge, south-facing windows, high on a hill over a river for a grand view; the front room is one large space, about 1500 square feet, and attached is a bedroom, kitchen, and bath. It’s basically the dream studio, only instead of being stuck in a hellish noise-hole of a city, it’s in the beautiful, dark, mossy woods.

I have only one neighbor. She is unintrusive, normal, and boring. She has chickens.

I moved in in a state of grace. My art area takes up the entire front room with the exception of a small corner for a couch and TV (I watch a lot of VHS but don’t have cable). The front wall, with the huge windows, is lined now with my desks and tables, on which I store all my gear.

I work in a lot of mediums; I’ve done photography, paint in oils, watercolor, and in the last year or two Ive begun doing sculptures. Now my sculpted work is not “sculpted”, more of “assemblage”, since I rarely use clay. I collect and build mounts, plaques, which combine animal remains and paint, feathers, wood, and carevd pieces into totems of a sort. I’ve had two damn successful shows of this kind of stuff, and the only trouble I’ve had has been doing enough research to avoid using any illegal materials (songbirds and whales and such) in my work.

I intended to continue mining this rich vein of inspiration in my new work space, and felt for the forst few months that being so isolated was even helping me to gain more inspiration. Having the woods, sea, and river so close has been a boon for my collection of “supplies”; and my eye has been more honed by this constant exposure to nature than it was before (I had previously been living in town, and then on a farm in a rural town.) I have always found isolation to be best for my work, but here I experience a more profound aloneness, and I still, despite everything, enjoy it.

It was in July, on return from a long vacation, that I began to have the dreams. I would wake up suddenly, my heart pounding. I felt a complete loathing, as if a slug had touched my tongue. I did not at first remember the dreams, but as this summer wore on they began to sneak through during the day, in fragments, slight jolts of memory here and there. I’d be pouring coffee in the morning, staring out the window at the trees, and shudder. I’d hear a tapping sound of a branch and cringe.

Once, I walked through a spiderweb and almost vomited from fear- there seemed to be no reason for any of it.

And yes- I’m an eccentric artist. I’ve suffered from extreme depression at times in my life and am all too familiar with the sensations of delusion and madness. I spent many of my younger years drugged, drunk, and hollering or fighting. I know that my ability to convince any authority of my honesty is simply feeble. So I haven’t spoken of this, at all. Not to anyone but you.

I should say that my work entails having a lot of creepy items in my studio. My studio which is in my house. I get a lot of strange animal remains from various friends and clients in sundry stages of decay or dissolution and sometimes from questionable sources.

Right before I began having these dreams, a friend of mine had returned from a trip to northern Africa, to a nation in some disarray, from a trip to promote literacy. (she is a volunteer) She brought me, on her return, a pair of monkey skulls. one was complete, female, and small. A vervet or something, perfectly legal and not too unusual. The other appeared to be a male, slightly larger, and with the back of its head cut out crudely. “Bushmeat.” she said. “They eat their brains. It’s legal, it came through customs fine and all and isn’t CITES, but I have no idea what it actually is.”

As the dreams progressed, and began to make themselves more known to me, I decided to build something with the monkey skulls. At first I placed them on a mount with some veves, voodoo charm symbolism. I chose papa legba (a protector spirit of sorts) as their totem. I used red silk and various other items to assemble a mount for an artwork. I was satisfied when finished, but on waking I felt it was the wrong use. and I began to pick through bird and cat bones, a bin of which I have amassed over the year just passed. I lay out a handful of bones and suddenly the shape came to me in a flash as if I remembered it instead of imagining it. And I knew somehow it was from my dreams. I ended up abandoning my other work in order to finish this piece as quickly and well as possible. It came together with almost no effort; simply looking I knew which bone to apply where.

And I found myself not building a totem, but a golem.

I spent three days working, drinking coffee, no sleep or food. The staining and painting took the longest, and while drying I would pace the room. I felt almost frenzied. As I finished, and mounted it to its plaque, I broke off one of the fore-legs. I cursed, reattached it, and finally, happily, went to bed.

In the morning it was no longer straight on its mount. I decided the glue must have been still tacky, and that it shifted of its own weight. But my dreams had been horrible. I’d seen it trying to get off the mount, straining like a fly on sticky paper. its foreleg reached out to me and pried at my lips, trying to get in. I added more glue, all round.

Over the next few nights, my dreams became more vivid. The creature was on the ceiling, dropping down on a thick wire of silk, reaching for me. It was in the shower, weaving in a corner. Its jaws (which I had lovingly chosen, skunk’s jaws to be exact) gnashed and slobber fell off in pats like butter. If I closed my eyes I saw it. Creeping. It could move fast. Then one night I snapped. I have a habit of napping on the couch in my studio.

The creature had been hanging on its plaque on the wall. Each morning it seemed slightly off from the position of the night before- but I attributed this to the glue still not set (a week later…the mind is so clever, isn’t it?) That night- I had been drawing. I have a few commissions that at that time I was still maintaining some little interest in completing. I grew tired, and as had become my habit, I lay on the couch; at this point I always turned my back to the wall where the creature hangs. Right now as I type it is to my left, clutching its plaque, waiting for me to see it again. To be honest I cannot stand to look at it. I lay on the couch and dozed. I dreamt that the creature poised itself over my face- it brushed my lips apart and inserted one leg, then another. finally it deposited something sticky on my tongue- and yes, if your mind went there, that was exactly what it was like. I’m a woman, I like men- I know that taste and feel. It was awful. I woke up flinging my arms to my face and could still taste it, faintly.

they went thataway

I looked at the plaque and- the creature was just settling itself. It seriously looked- well have you ever tossed something onto a bouncy bed, and seen that last tiny bounce before it stops? it was that sort of motion.

I left my house. I live, as I said in the woods. Being outdoors here isn’t safe-feeling, exactly. I mean, there are bear, cougars. It’s pitch dark and ancient. I wasn’t happy about being outside but I was even less willing to stay indoors.

I had an epiphany. I could not keep this thing.   

second installment is here
third installment is here


I really, really miss my friend Brad.

feather and tar

human bones, on the other hand, are just fine. as long as you didn’t collect them yourself.

The most recent revisions to the migratory bird act can be found online; my favorite part, and the most useful, is the list of species NOT covered by the act. These are the birds I find, use, and adore (along with game birds, and pets). If you decide to scroll to the bottom (or actually read the notes, I don’t know what kind of sicko you are, after all) you will find quite an extensive list, many of which you will also find represented in my artworks.

I collect a lot at wildlife facilities, and the feathers and bone I collect there are from birds that do not inhabit north america or the US.

As for bones, skulls, and incidentals of mammals and reptiles/amphibians- I don’t use anything on the CITES list, I either purchase or obtain my pieces legally; sometimes through roadkill salvage where that’s permitted, by finding natural remains, or by beach combing.

It’s not hard to find beautiful natural objects. Simply taking a walk away from other people is often enough. I use plant materials, as well, and collect those in the same way. There’s something deeply fulfilling about walking, looking, and finding. I will use anything I find in some way, just about- whether for my private collection or for artwork.

I do have an artist’s statement hanging wherever these sorts of works are shown. If you’re at the gallery it’ll be right by the first piece you see when you walk in. I will probably post it up here this time too.

my daily routine.




I have two separate routines for work. it depends whether I am having a tattoo-studio day or a home-studio day.

if I’m working at the shop, I wake around ten or eleven and lay around like a slug until it’s time to rush to work. I arrive, drink coffee, plan out my hours. talk to clients. clean my inks off or monkey with a machine until  “real work” shows up. I leave right after the shop closes for the day. I usually don’t do any other art on these days; working on commission is draining (satisfying though!)

if I’m not going in to the shop, I wake up late, noon or one. I have coffee and laze around a little.then eat, and start looking over the mess I left the previous day. usually I will have something drying and ready to be worked over a little more. so I pick up where I left off. at some point I’ll reach a moment where everything is tacky. then I start something new…I work a little, stop and stare. smoke, have a sandwich and more coffee.

a lot of times I’ll just get in the car and go exploring, searching for objects or supplies, detritus. things that make me feel creative. it’s a lot of walking along the river or the side of the road.

I work until very late at night when I’m doing my own art. I’ll stay up until the birds are talking. sometimes I work all night and into the next day. coffee is my friend. this happens a lot more in the winter. I tend to have a very hard time waking up in the mornings, it’s always been that way.

of course I spend about two months each year  “on the road”; I can’t call it a vacation because I usually am tattooing just about that whole time- I don’t like not working anyway. but when I travel I have no routine at all, and when I return it takes me a while to get back in rhythm with my schedules and routines at home.

Sheanderthal caveman



Fashion week is totally biting my style!

No, seriously.

Just about ready for the first friday opening at the oak street speakeasy. Opening is the 4th, my art will be up all month.

So stylish. Come get some.


Just some images from the show. So fucking good.

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