Island as Muse

It’s easy to grow jaded with the island as a source of artistic inspiration. And I’m saying this even as someone who pulls from the island for artistic spiritual content. Thus how doubly slovenly and trite of me to be jaded. Slap my wrists and cancel my pedicure for the week because just look at what I saw on the way to the studio:


No joke:


And the damning thing is that as I drove past this abandoned Caribbean home (and then obviously slammed my car into reverse – I didn’t just narrowly pass my driver’s test for nothing…) I thought, “WHAT, is that ART?!”

The bias being that when I was living in NYC I passed by many such pieces daily and while I was really into them them I never questioned whether they were “art.”  The Manhattan area is brimming with so much street art that one skips from questioning the merit to thinking, “is there a way I could steam that wheat paste off the wall in the dead of the night and abscond with it?”

I am even now in the air to NYC to check out galleries / art for a few days.  There are always several layers to my shame.

Me. Chickens.

Very little is so uniquely life de-affirming as waiting at the docks for art supplies to arrive. With chickens.  And only chickens.  There are complications to being an artist on the islands…obtaining art supplies while maintaining robust morale being one of them.



BOCK! BOCK! You’re one of us, bock!



Smokers can pass some of the wait time in this elegant smoking lounge. With chickens.