Dahlias

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Dahlias

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Sampans in Shelter

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Wearable Art November Sale

A little something from the studio

20% off wearables. 50% off selected recycled string bikinis.

$6 off every order · Free shipping over $200. Applied at checkout.

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1000 yards

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Imagine

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Silver Lake

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Gorge

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Worlds

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Oasis

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Zambezi River

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Duck Dive

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Where the paintings have gone

Markers show country and state areas from recorded physical artwork orders, not individual addresses.

Places

From one maker to another: the romance, the grit, and the wilderness years.

The Dream

As a child, I would dream about Picasso and Van Gogh. I would look at their work, and lives, with passion and empathy. Imagining being them, but deep down always neglecting the whisper as a pipe dream.

It was incredible people who took my pipe dream and demanded it enter reality. Had it not been for the happiness others have felt and their demands for more, I might be pursuing another career; all the while, ignoring the little whisper of a dream that a 5-year-old boy imagined. I know that little boy would smile wide if he could see how happy his craft would one day make others.

It’s the smile of that kid and the fulfillment of others that fuels my journey. To be gifted with a craft that adds to others is the greatest gift I can imagine. When I view a canvas through this lens, self-responsibility carries the brush and the work is entirely nullified.

It’s my mission to proliferate this fulfillment and pleasure. To disseminate happiness into the hearts of everyone I can reach.

In reality, I’m floundering and have no idea what I’m doing. This is a journey reviewed in hindsight. No one cares for the naked ‘truth’ and who wants to hear about my life story? This is a dream and I’m selling the romance.

The Journey

In my early days, I would attack canvas without plans or intention, letting raw shapes, hues, and creativity run unbridled and rampant. I hold every one of these works near and dear to my heart. I would step back and marvel at them, wondering if another would see what I see. To an onlooker, this would be insanity. To me, I’d noticed the corner of a diamond in the dirt. I couldn’t stop scrapping.

I had no one watching me. Just loved ones saying words of encouragement. For the art, or me? I don’t know. Does it matter?

‘Keep going. That’s kinda’ funky.’

‘You’re a better person right now. Keep doing what you’re doing.’

In this space of love I would carve my method and refine my style. Colours, strokes, and expression would evolve into something that not only I could see, but viewers could view and ‘feel’.

I had a heart overflowing with fulfillment. Then love came from all directions. Maybe that was a prerequisite? I don’t know. I couldn’t be happier with every new person touched by my art. That passion you feel is the same passion I paint with. Thank you.

Obstacles

A happy ending, but only after a struggle. These are wilderness years. I’ll brainstorm some hurdles I faced and where things went wrong. This is where the drama occurs in my story. I was crazy, foolish, got great advice, got advice that backfired, had disastrous showings, life events, business qualms, and every little thing in between.

Here’s a list of the juiciest setbacks, wrong turns, and dead-ends to keep it entertaining. I promise to avoid any wallowing or bragging.

Not knowing what or how to charge. I was just so excited someone saw the same beauty I did. I would literally hand them the work and say ‘I really like you. Have it for free.’
Accepting commissions then crumbling away that, with full knowledge of my style, they won’t like what I make. I’d drag paintings out for months to avoid an inevitable embarrassment that ironically would never exist.
Not knowing when to stop. I would keep adding paint to works that were clearly complete. An artist desperate to make a piece I already loved ‘better’. Insanity in hindsight.
Not believing compliments or observations of others, even when they would reflect my own thoughts and feelings. Like, come on you insecure man, have a little trust and accept the kind words of strangers.
Letting exterior ideas and voices dictate and control my style… Kidding. That never happened. I’m way too perverse. In this singular case, that’s a trait of great endearment.

Seb