New 3 canvas series...available for sale in the STORE (will only sell as a set) for $350!  More new art to come!!

So I have been laboring for about 8 hours today to update the web store, and am please to announce the release of 9 BRAND NEW PRINTS, as well as the launch of over 42 prints available on high quality canvas.  These incredible prints are available in various sizes and come either stretched and ready to hang, or just printed on canvas so you can frame them as you see fit.  All prints come SIGNED. I've also gone through and re-released all my available poster prints in larger sizes, so head on over to the store and check out what is new!  And best of all....FREE SHIPPING!!! (except originals paintings)

Just uploaded a nice batch of new art...images below for your viewing enjoyment.  Prints are available in the store - new canvas stretched prints of all your favorite art are on the way!  Enjoy... 

So in my many years of selling my art, and dealing with everything from total drunks to serious buyers, I've never really sat and written about my experiences with the art buying public. I am now at a point in my career where my art is selling for a good amount of money per piece, but not so much that I'm sitting on a really lumpy mattress. When a deal falls through it has quite an effect on my life. The lost promise of food on the table and bills to be paid carries the weight of another shell being loaded into the shotgun that I would love to use on the person who doesn't follow through with the buy. This week I had a deal fall through at the wrong time, just after my transmission blew up, and has sent me scrambling to put back together the financial puzzle pieces that make up my life, although if you have ever lived a day in the life of an artist, that is commonplace. My feelings towards people who don't follow through with the purchase are as varied as the lame excuses that are heaped upon me year after year in this business. Some people have legitimate reasons, most just lie. They are like AIDS infected aspiring porn stars with fake test results. Now most people feel art is incredibly overpriced, confusing smears of paint on a giant canvas with no obvious or legitimate reason for hanging on the wall of a gallery--the sales rep staring at you in delight as you have taken interest in a piece that he could not tell you what the fuck its back story is. He just knows that some drunken French guy that died a hundred years ago, painted it during a herpes outbreak on a piece of carpet from a whore house. Others feel that true art is buying a homeless man's cardboard stick figure drawing, made from the butts of cigarettes in order to justify that all the art that they collect is 'legit' because it's from the streets. After spraying down the art with Lysol to make sure that they don't contract an ancestor from the dead French guy's affliction, they hang it on the wall, and make use of its social class distance as conversation at a dinner party, wowing their upper class friends with tales of what it's like to walk amongst the downtrodden for the few short moments, outside of the shopping mall, where the homeless man sleeps. So what about the rest of us that fall into the middle category? Those artists that function in society without total life failure and homelessness, or being dead to help our art carry value. Those artists who work at Olive Garden or Starbucks, serving people in order to support the basics in life so they have a place to sleep, and a place to work on their artwork in those few precious hours between shifts. Many of the artists I work with actually take this shit seriously, and expect the buying public to do the same. Weather we agree with what they are creating, or can definitively call it 'art' is really no concern when you consider that these artists are cutting out a big slice of themselves, and serving it up to you raw. For those of us, such as myself, that make a complete living on our art, supporting our families, allowing our wives not to work, and trying to build a legitimate business out of our craft for example, the stakes are incredibly high. The rewards are even higher, which obviously makes it worth fighting for. As far as my clients go it's been a struggle to even get a thumb on the pulse of what makes people buy, and what makes them walk away other than price. I've had plenty of people actually put a deposit down on a painting and then never answer my phone calls or emails to complete the deal. They actually GIVE their money away for no reason. Others try to haggle me down to 75% off the price of the painting, thinking that it's a 'privilege' that they are buying it in the first place, and I should open my eyes anime wide and let the tears of joy flow. Fuck you. And of course there's the cell phone wielding cheap fucks that walk up and try to take a picture of my art without asking. The lack of courtesy and class that fills the urban swamp I paint in is immense, and the artists are just as much to blame. I think that one of the reasons art and artists are seen as a novelty, is because of their lack of enthusiasm and their lack of ability to price their art at a level worthy of what they are creating. I did a show recently where a guy was selling his originals for $10 - $20 each. It was decent enough stuff, but for some reason, making just enough money to maybe get through the day was ok with him. Now you can imagine the buying public getting excited about those prices, and then walking over to my art and seeing prices that were at $800 or more. The paintings were 10 times in size and detail, and as well, I have been doing this for a long time and have built up a fan base and reputation, yet these people were cringing at the prices, with a look on their face as if someone had just burned off their genitals. Hopefully it was because I was putting their current salaries into perspective, and sparking a job hunting revolution, but probably not. Most artists are pushovers, and I mean that in the most insulting way. You are. You who sits there and does the bare minimum and thinks that you have the right to sell your art. You who rehashes the same shit over and over and over because it was the only thing that you could come up with in that foggy brain of yours. Yeah, you who is too scared to raise your prices because you are too insecure that it might not sell, or that it's not worth it. And you who sits on Facebook and reposts other people's artwork, spiritual sayings, and 'pictures with a cause' in between your offerings, thinking it makes you look more educated about, and more apart of, the 'scene'. This does no justice in helping the buying public understand that, while art is a necessity in life, art buying is a luxury in a sense that it's not food, clothing or shelter. Price your art high, and make them realize that the money they spend on flat screen tvs, sports cars, getting chunks of metal shoved through their faces, and shitty tattoos is a waste. Art is an investment. Why? Because, unlike that depreciating liability you drive to work everyday, it goes up in value. And it does so in style. That is the great thing about art, if the artist dies it goes up, if he commits genocide it goes up, if he keeps working hard and people keep buying his art it goes up. It all depends on the artist to keep working hard to make sure the investment keeps going up in value. But for a buying public that has lost everything in the recession when their 401K's have been wiped clean, their house values have fallen lower than what they owe, and their faith in the banking system is gone, they are looking for alternative places to put their money. Make sure they try your pockets out. This industry is a total crapshoot to begin with, as factors such as hundreds of thousands of lost art school students desperately selling their art for rock bottom prices to pay off student loans, and the flood of crap that is the internet make it tough to stand out. I implore you though, to take a stand and make sure you are charging a price that is fair to YOU for your art. I beg you to make sure you charge a deposit when someone wants you to hold a piece of artwork for them, and set a date by which they have to pay for it or they lose it. I grab you by the neck and shake you until you are blue and peeing your pants, if that makes you take half up front and half upon completion for custom work. Treat yourself with respect and respect for your art will follow. So in writing this rant I had hoped to feel better about the individual who committed to buying a piece of art and then flaked, but I don't. In fact this is the beginning of something great. Something that will no doubt make me a few enemies, but at minimum I'll continue to get what the fuck I deserve for my art, and will be weeding out those people who deserve to have generic mall posters and landscape paintings on their walls, instead of something savage and intelligent. A more educated client will hopefully emerge from this social experiment that is also my livelihood. A client that realizes that when a commitment is made to purchase art, they are not only decorating their walls, but helping to push forward and nurture a talent. They are paying the artist's rent. They are feeding the artist. They are probably buying most artists drugs. Point being, realize the importance of what you are doing when you spend your cash on art, instead of pissing it away on something that just makes a useless groove in your life's record.

New Prints!!! Finally getting down to releasing some of the artwork I've been working on tour....All prints are limited edition, signed and numbered by myself, and are available for order in the 'STORE' section of this site.  The 'JOKER' print is extremely limited and only 25 out of the 50 will be released on my site.  Enjoy!!

Alright, so from the title and the date of the last few posts, I've been to many places, and have a ton to update.  I wish I had a better excuse as to why I didn't update as much during Identity Fest, but 15 hour days from set up to breakdown and then driving 400 - 500 miles to your next day's tour date just sucks the life out of every burning cell in your body.  Savage.  Now we are up in Sedro-Wooley, just north of Seattle at Rachel's Uncle's house.  It's nice to have some time--even though not much--to reflect and recoup and get ready for the next string of events.  It's even more odd to sit and think that just a month ago I was sitting in Maryland at my grandma's house celebrating my birthday, not knowing how tough the next leg of the tour was going to go.  It was like riding an explosion across the country...paper cuts and whiskey...no time to think, just sell and paint and wade through the surrounding body parts and staring, bloodshot eyes.  I even found out that my art goes over well with just about every sheriff department in the U.S., to the point that we had to ask the cops to not hang around Vincent and I because they were killing sales.  They were cool about it, and knew exactly that what we were asking was not a stretch, considering most drug soaked, drunks were not going anywhere near the cops, even if I was giving away free paintings of naked women.  
     So anyways, The Identity Fest was an incredible experience that really pushed my art, my patience and my creativity to new levels--I can't wait to unleash the new paintings distilling in my brain.  It's been wonderful to finally have my eyes open to the rest of the U.S., and to calm my nerves, wondering if the rest of the country was as misguided about art as San Diego is.  I can honestly report they are not.  Different cities showed different levels of enthusiasm--especially the woman in Albuquerque who as astounded that the actual artist showed up in her town to promote, and didn't just send someone in to sell--but it was still on a level that was refreshing, and of a level that really recharged my will to create.  The appreciation from the new found fans and friends was just what I was looking for on this trip--a real justification that it was time to hit the road.  I thank all of you.   
     The sights I've seen as well have been a blur, but have been amazing, including just driving through northern Nevada's amazing expanse of nothing blasting music and screaming something out the window like a madman about America as I drove.  Gallup, New Mexico's route 666, the meteor crater, gas stations with mud smeared windows like something out of 'The Hills Have Eyes', gas spewing out of my tank when I took off the cap (unexplainable by a mechanic as well), Dinosaurs, millions of acres of corn, too many toll booths, my daughter machine gunning cops with a bubble gun, hundreds of thousands of people having fun, the milky way, Motel 6, swamps, my wife and the counterfeit bill experience in Ely, Nevada, slot machines smeared with lipstick eating my money, overpriced pizza, basement nightclubs, my paintings disappearing and being replaced with a fair price (probably the strangest thing!), wind storms, thousands of bikers in one town, Gwen dancing to Pretty Lights, sitting with Gwen having father/daughter time watching DJ Shadow's AMAZING set, Woody Creek Tavern--thanks for the tour Tim!, Amish people and their buggies, my wife by my side the whole way, Amazing cider at Lincoln Rock, talking it up with Vincent on the banks of the Columbia River while drinking a river of whiskey, testing my Volvo's limits halfway up a mountain and off road while pulling a trailer, the civilization we carved through the red rock of Colorado, the neon drunks of San Diego, and many, many more  sights and sounds too numerous to mention.  I thirst for more, though.  I want to be on the road more.  This was just a crumb of the time I think screaming across the country will satisfy me.  Too many people to meet.  Too much art to create.  Too many miles to rack up. The epic nature of this journey, and the lessons it will hopefully teach generations of artists to come, will not be fed to fruition in just one run.  No, the trip must soak through the years.  There's nothing in this life, of importance, that can be shoved down our throats in just one lusty, calculated, drunken, well read bar fight.  It's the wounds that sit on our skin that teach the lesson.  We change the bandages, we pick the scabs out of curiosity, we wash, we clean, we are nurturing the wound, and treating it as a mother.  Sometimes it scars and we become the open book of our time lapping up the knowledge of bar stools and gas stations.  I know in order to get to this point in my life I've cherished the defeats more than the successes.  The defeats, at least, will wrap their arms around you and poke and prod and remind you of your fuck up, allowing you to remember and soak the lesson in, unlike the successes, that just sit on a shelf like a trophy, only to be brought out when it's time to brag or defend yourself. I'm hoping this trip is an inspiration to all artists to step outside the coffeehouse set and realize that those walls are just ONE place to hang.  That it's more about the business knowledge than it is the knowledge of perspective--the talent will come through repetition, the business is learned.   That you need to see past your own handicap of wanting to do shows for exposure only, and thinking that you have to pay to play.  You are the performance.  You are the reason that people show up in a gallery or at a nightclub.  They are not here to see the promoter so stop watching him reap all the money.  I never saw anyone walk up to a gallery owner and congratulate him on having art on his walls, but I've sure as hell watched people's jaws slam against the floor when looking at the art on those walls.  Grow some confidence--the whole reclusive artist thing, trying to be as mysterious and profound will not work on the masses, just the snobs that try the same tactics to get through life.   The clients are out there.  The people that genuinely want to buy your art can be found by searching them out yourself.  It takes work, sure, but you are making the sale yourself, and making the connection yourself which will translate into a more personal relationship with the client, and they will appreciate the artwork that much more.  Just some advice through my years of being in this crapshoot, and my months on the road.  
      Anyways, enough rant...time to call it a night.  We are leaving Thursday for San Francisco.  Rachel's folks know of a cool place to camp in Santa Cruz, so we'll set up shop there first and then this weekend it's the A.P.E. Comic Con.  We'll spend about a month in San Fran before heading down to the Long Beach Comic Con Oct 29-30th.  Then I roll into San Diego on Halloween!  After that it's Texas for the Wizard World Austin.  After that who knows....
     

Alright, updating the blog in the car right now as we scream through the south...Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and now we are in Louisiana (pissed I can't stop off in New Orleans!--more on that later), and on our way to The Woodlands, TX for our next Identity Fest show.  The festival has been amazing so far.  We've been to Atlanta and Tampa--Miami was cancelled due to hurricane Irene--and now we are heading for the Texas show.  The weather has been beyond hot.  My car temp gauge registered 135 degrees in Florida and then finally just said 'HIGH'.  Guess it ran out of numbers.  We stopped off for some Florida oranges to battle the heat and thirst after leaving Tampa yesterday and covered quite a bit of Florida before a flat tire on our trailer--yes, the same tire that blew out at the beginning of the trip.  Thankfully we had just crossed into Central Time so when we found some good ol' boys' tire shop on the side of the road, which looked like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it was 5pm and not 6pm so he was still open.  He informed us that all of our tires were shit and the other one could blow at any time, so we decided to stay in the town for the night while they ordered up 2 new tires for us.  We spent the night in the Super 8 which, after several hours, had an a/c that cooled the room down to a bearable temp.  I had some ice cold beers to help, and the girls and I ordered some veggie lovers pizza for dinner.  Add some Cartoon Network and it's a party!  Gwen also realized that she now has enhanced jumping skills, showing us how she can clear the distance between the beds.  I passed out soon after from exhaustion and ended up waking 10 hours later at 8:20am in time for the continental breakfast.  I was able to score a late check out since we had 4 hours to kill between check out and when our tires were going to be done.  
     Oh, and we stayed in a town called Chipley, FL to give you reference.  According to the date and silhouette of a train on the water tower, it was established in 1882 and they are known for trains.  We stopped off at a Pizza/Grill place for lunch which was on old converted train station, and then headed over to Walmart for some shopping. Can't get away from those satanic warehouses no matter where you hide.  Got me a bubble gun and some mouthwash.  Also found out that my trailer tires with the rims are sold there, so next time we have a blow out we are good to go!  After that we headed to Steele City Tires to pick up our tent trailer.  Ended up only being a hundred bucks for 2 tires, and 3 spares.  I threw in a few extra bucks to buy the guys who changed our tires some beers.  They were a real life saver.  Back on the road, we are finally on track to get to The Woodlands, TX around 3 am.  The South is an odd place though.  Feels weird being back here since I left 12 years ago.  Can't believe I used to live in this heat.  I guess it fries your brain so much you don't pay attention.  

OK SO IDENTITY FEST!!!

Wow!  14 hours on the road today and I'm finally sitting in a Motel 6 just outside Atlanta too excited to sleep.  Got some fresh bottles of Yuengling beer and should be sleeping right now, but too much to do and talk about, as well as being overly excited for the Identity Fest, so sleep will come 2nd to everything else.  We left Nan's house early this morning after packing up the camper and car, making road sandwiches and saying our goodbyes.  Can't wait to come back for xmas...been too long.  I miss my family immensely, but the show must go on.  It was a great drive today--well, the part I didn't sleep through.  Incredible scenery, states that actually take care of their roads and good weather made for a long drive, but one that covered a ton of ground.  Gwen has a new DVD player now, courtesy of Aunt Gina, which kept her busy in the back seat, and I got some shut eye before taking over the driving which brought us to Commerce, GA and into the Motel 6.  Mileage so far, not including driving to and from comic cons, stores etc. is 3599 miles.  Not bad for 23 days on the road.  
     Tomorrow will be an early one.  We have to get up to go set up for Identity Fest, and since it's my first show, I have to get my badge etc. and figure out my set up.  Shouldn't be too bad.  Show starts around 1pm and goes until 11:30..then it's off to Tampa for Wed's show.  Miami got postponed due to the Hurricane churning out in the Atlantic, so it'll be a nice drive to Dallas, splitting 1100 miles up over 3 days.  Would love to stop in New Orleans for a night to see how the Rabbit is doing, but that is a long shot.  Bought a nice, new 4000 watt, gas generator for the show as well to power the xmas lights that light up the booth.  Ok, seems excessive, but I'm sure over the years I'll get a more higher powered use out of it.  
     It's been amazing meeting all the new, fresh faces on tour so far.  Website hits have skyrocketed and business is building nicely.  Vincent has told me that the people are eating up the art at the ID Fest shows, so it'll be interesting to see the response they have to my art.  Hopefully it's not one of shock when some drug filled individual looks at one of my paintings and then flips out.  I'll think it's funny, but that doesn't fill the wallet, so...Got some great tour dates coming up though, including a stop in good ol' San Diego Sept 2nd @ Cricket Amphitheatre, and the one I'm looking forward to, the Mandalay Bay in Vegas!  My very first comic con was the Vegas Con back in 03 or 04, and it was held at the Mandalay Bay...rooms are aces.  

Ok, so I've been at my Grandma's house in Ellicott City, MD, just outside of Baltimore, since Tuesday, and man has it been a trip!  I've been able to see my family for the first time in 3 years, except for my parents who came to my wedding in May, and have gotten some much needed sleep and relaxation before the grueling Identity Fest schedule kicks in on Tues the 23rd in Atlanta.  Feels like we are making progress after finally getting a hot meal, a good shower and being able to sit in the air conditioning and reread all my tour blogs so far, as well as go through all the pics and memories of the past 20 days.  Funny thing about being on the road is that you learn things very, very quickly, and so the days seem to peel away at an alarming rate, making the first part of this trip seem like some distant journey.  Something that has already hardened myself and Rachel to the ways of the road.  Just have to keep an open mind and realize that many people have made this journey before, and worse journeys at that, tied to the hulls of boats, or driving Ox drawn carts across uncharted territory to tame the west.   I have a nice European car with a/c that can make hundreds of miles a day.  We've seen and conquered our problems and are ready to move on.  This is not the Donner pass in the 1800's.  We eat almonds and fruit, not each others frozen remains.  
     Anyways, after hauling ass through Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and to the Eastern side of Maryland, we finally arrived on Tuesday to my Grandma's house--the house I started life in.  It was good to see Nan (what I call my granny), and as well, my Uncle Kurt, his wife Darla and my little cousins Amber, Jenna and Evan were all there to greet us as we pulled up.  Nothing like family to wash away the dirt of the road and add some comfort to the other side of a 3000 mile drive.  It was nice to finally get a hot shower and some dinner.  After hanging out for awhile and catching up, it was time for sleeeeeeep.
     Wed was crab cakes for dinner.  There's something truly impressive about a Maryland crab cake that can only be understood when eating.  You can't explain it to anyone without getting some sort of 'Oh, come on they are not THAT good', look from them.  Nor can you explain to the seafood places in San Diego that put veggies in their crab cakes--which btw are the size of a quarter, and not a full POUND of meat like the one's out here--that veggies in a crab cake is like spearing Jesus to Christians.   
     Thurs found Rachel, Gwen and I heading down to Virginia to see my folks, my brother and my sister and her husband--and of  course the addition to their family as my sister just gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Taylor.  A bunch of us went down to the Lost Rhino Brewery that day to do some beer tasting.  Good beer.  My brother bought me a growler of Pilsner for an early birthday present.  After that we bbq'ed steaks and chicken.  Then it was off to the theatre my brother works at to see 'Cowboys and Aliens'.  Not a bad flick.  Spent the rest of the night drinking some of that fantastic beer and blowing shit up Call of Duty style.  Headed back up to Maryland in the morning.  Friday was spent chilling with family and getting ready for the Baltimore Comic Con which was set to start on Sat. I'm tired as hell right now.  Trying to pack on the sleep and enjoying the food for sure, before working my ass off at Identity Fest.  But I'm still tired, so I say farewell for now, and I'll update some more when I get a chance.....
    

Ahh, finally an ice cold PBR and an off the beaten path, hotel room in some town I don't know the name of.  We've been driving for 13 hours today, which ended up being about 5 hours too long and 150 miles too short of our intended destination of somewhere around Pittsburgh, but in our attempt at avoiding almost $75 in toll road fees, we had to actually grab an atlas, and carve out our own path through Ohio.  Problem with that is that almost all major highways in Ohio are up north and if you are heading South East like us, 95% of the roads are 2 lanes with speed limits of 55 max.  I got out and walked along with the car for a few miles to stretch my legs...ok...not so, but it was possible.  Ohio is a crazy land of corn fields--yes, MORE fucking corn--and picturesque Americana houses, all white picket fency, red barns and huge perfectly manicured lawns that looked like advertisements for Patch Perfect.  GPS was useless since the redirect would always want us to go north to the toll roads, which lead me to believe that there's some financial deal between Google maps and the Illinois, Ohio and Indiana Toll Commissions.  Ok, so the toll roads, since we're on the subject of those savage beasts, are insane!  Aside from paying 3 separate tolls in Chicago to the tune of $3 each way to get to the Chicago Wizard World, it was $10 just to go over the bridge into Indiana, and then once you were there, that state's troll under the bridge wanted to pop you for another $3 just to get into the wasteland of a state.  Want to get off and take a piss?  Grab a meal?  Well then you had to pay the toll, and then take another ticket to get back on the freeway.  Waste of time.  Also, I feel I need to mention that the money was obviously NOT going towards the roads as it felt like running over dead bodies every few feet there were so many potholes, and bumps that resembled the affects of tectonic movement.  
     Alright, enough of the roads...I'm starting to sound like some geriatric sitting on his front porch in his adult diaper with a glass of sweet tea laced with whiskey, bitchin' about the world around him.  Last time we talked, I was sitting around the fire at Fish Lake Beach just north of Chicago, burning my eyes on the smoke of the fire.  Since then a bit has happened including the Wizard World Chicago Comic Con.  2nd day of Chicago sent us south to Lombard to meet up with the infamous hippy artist and cartoon contortionist Vincent Gordon--fellow live painter and drinker.  Met him at his girl's house and from there went to his parents home so Gwen could play with the neighborhood kids, that have made the house a sort of boys and girls club.  Got to know his family a bit and then it was off to eat some deep dish at a restaurant, who's name I forgot, and drink some local beer from Two Brother's Brewery which was exceptional!  After that, Vincent's mom let Gwen stay at the house while we went out to a local bar to unwind.  Place looked like some big midwest house that was converted into a bar.  $1 beer night as well.  Shit beer, but for a buck I'll drink rainwater that's infested with E Coli.  Met some of the locals and realized how important going out to the local dive was to these people that lived out in the boring ol' suburbs.  Almost everyone in there was a local, kind of like an extended Alabama family.  Sisters and mothers meeting themselves in the mirror for the first time.  Guys driving around in the parking lot in Mitsubishi Eclipses blaring crappy techno, but of course thinking they're the shit even though they are 15 years behind the times.  Mullets.  Shots of Jameson.  Overweight comes to mind.  Every patron sponsored by some local sports team. Nothing but farmland and marshland around for miles.  Just enough cool though--an honesty and no bullshit attitude that definitely sets them apart from Californians.  Wasn't asked what I did, or drove first thing after being introduced when there even was an intro.  Usually you just started talking and then it occurred to you that you never got the other person's name.  No stress.  Nice change. 
     OK, so the Chicago Comic Con!  I was checking out the website for some info on the convention etc. when I came across a headline that said 'Largest Gathering of Comic Artists at a Convention', and thought 'Oh, great, an ungodly amount of competition', in the sense that there's so much for the consumer to check out, not in the sense that there's that many UNIQUE artists.  Which there weren't.  As usual, half of it was complete crap, or some dimwit selling nothing but prints of their renditions of Spider Man, Batman, and other characters that they don't legally own, but will reap money off of until the cease and desist arrives.  It astounds me how people can flock to those fakes and buy their shit.  How many fucking posters of Wolverine looking pissed do you need?  Get some class and learn to buy ART, not just a collection of prints that will sit in your closet and do nothing, or hang on your wall and keep you from getting laid...well, other than the fact that you don't shower and have a steady diet of Big Macs.  Anyways, the first 'day', which was more like a preview night, was slooooooooooow.  Just people walking buy and not buying.  Not even talking.  Met my neighbors Caleb and 'the other guy who was always late'--Very cool guys!  They even brought me a couple bottles of beer on the last day.  Friday was even more nerve racking as it took 4 hours into the show before I made my first sale.  It wasn't the onslaught of people that Sat ended up being, but it was still steady enough to make me worry that I was going to bomb at this con if people didn't start stopping by the booth so I could intro them to intelligent art.  Picked up though and ended up having a decent day.  Sat felt like San Diego Con in how many people were there.  Still took hours before the first sale, but ended up being a steady flow of sales after that.  Gwen and Rachel were there, and Gwen got to meet the artist of the Sponge Bob and Dora books. $16 bucks later she had a Dora anthology signed and sketched in by the artist.  Rachel actually got Gwen to fall asleep at the con by reading her a story.  A first.  Vincent gave us some towels that he uses to wrap his artwork up, and Gwen got a nice nap under the table.  Sunday was great...steady sales most of the day, and met some people that really dug my stuff.  Got to have some great conversations with them and made enough loot to make it to Baltimore and pay all those wonderful tolls!  
     I swear I was peeling off $1 bills faster than if I was at a strip club.  Scary thought:  the odd assortment of toll booth workers dancing on polls while you pay, wearing neon vests and g-strings, a neon sign in the shape of Indiana or Ohio hangs in the background, setting the mood lighting.  The one I saw today could be rubbing her mole while asking if I wanted a receipt for tax purposes.  Make it rain with the smell of Vanilla and rubber.  
     Ok, enough about making public servants table dance for us.  It really is a trip to drive across the country.  The expanse of land you'll see really puts into perspective just how fucking big this country is, and how fruitless it is for the enemies of our state to think that they could conquer it.  Endless rows of corn, houses with back yards that, out in Ohio, are the same size as whole communities in San Diego.  The miles and miles of road and small towns that you have to wonder about how they even survive in the first place.  93 Octane gas for $3.49 a gallon.  Again, people who think we are running out of land, haven't been 100 miles inland from the coasts that millions of us call home and won't leave.  We think that because 10 million people live on an island in New York that we are running out of land.  Bullshit, you just don't want to live on a gorgeous property for cheap where you have to heat your house with propane, or deal with winter, or drive 20 miles to the nearest grocery store.  Effortless comforts with the ocean as their backyards are the calls of the shoe leather skinned beach bums.  Million dollar properties along the suicide carved cliffs of Big Sur, are the cries of the winemakers, their necks adorned with pale blue sweaters.  The smiles of MId Westerners are bigger because they are probably laughing at the property taxes, or over inflated home values that West Coasters are paying.  Maybe they are smiling because they have huge plots of land with trees their grandfather planted lining the front driveway, while New Yorkers can barely remember what cut grass smells like.  They seem to be laughing at the extremes we'll go through to make ends meet to afford our 800 sq ft. condo in downtown San Diego, that you bought because the real estate agent sold you a line about a 'view', or how hip it was to live downtown and have your own parking spot several stories underground, or how close you are to the hundreds of bars and puking Saturday night zombies spilling out at 2am just below your window. 
     Anyways, here I sit in my Super 8 Motel room in the town of Wooster, knocking back my third PBR and typing away. It's nice to have a hot shower and sit in the quiet and the dark, collecting my thoughts and experiences.  Need some food though, my stomach is eating itself alive, sending me messages that beer is not food contrary to current thought.  I know I'm supposed to update this bastard on a daily basis, but who am I to follow some sort of sequential consistency.  The journey is not a planned out episode, a sitcom of my life as an artist on the road trying to expand his career, so why should my blog be some forced daily blurb about the sites we've seen and the rest stops we've fouled.  You will get when I'm ready but I appreciate the read.  I've met so many wonderful people so far and this is just the tip of the iceberg.  My birthday is on Sat, the 20th.  I turn 35.  Not feeling the age though, especially since I have a hot 25 yr. old wife sleeping in the bed next to me:)  I'll spend my birthday at the Baltimore Comic Con spreading my artistic seed, and educating the people about art that has thought and research put into it.  Introducing them to the wonders of texture and original thought.  Giving them insight into why I would possibly take my family around the country on a grueling tour, in the hopes that at the end of this open ended, loosely planned journey with fear and joy battling it out at the comic cons and in the repair shops, I might actually find some solace and substantial success with my art and myself.  Alright, time for bed...Grandma's house is next and I'm looking forward to a few days at an actual house to get some work done, as well as some prep for the Baltimore Comic Con, then next Tues it's off to the Identity Festival for a whirlwind 13 shows in 2.5 weeks.  Talk soon!