Confessions of a Quirky Christian Artist

Preface to my dear, gentle readers: I feel the need to give a warning to any who would dare to enter the twisted labyrinth that this post is. It was written mostly in 5 minute spurts over the course of a week… and it reads just like you imagine it would. Were I a professional writer with an intended audience wider than myself and my mom, I would go over this again and completely rewrite it. It starts with an issue that has been rolling around in my head for some time, but addressing it took me on so many side-tracks that it fails to present any sort of cogent argument. Rather, it's a record of my thought process when fragmented by the constraints of a job and an inadequate art education. _____________________________________________________ I'm 30 now, and sometimes I wonder why I still like some of the stuff I did when I was in high school, or even younger. My dad told me I would grow out of the heavy metal growling music. Never happened. I s...

Well, I've been back from my honeymoon for almost a week now. We are still enjoying our early wedded bliss. This, despite our cramped 2-bedroom apartment that we are sharing with my brother. The boys used to sleep with me on my bed, but now that I have a wife I've kicked them out into the living room to sleep. So our living room is now not only the T.V. room, dining room, art room, and toy/play room, it is also a bedroom for two. I really wish I could have given my new bride a better home to move into, but this is what we have right now and it will have to do. It's weird the considerations we guys don't even think about when we aren't trying to accommodate a woman. Suddenly I care so much more that the floors are stained and dingy, and there's no matching furniture, and my art supplies are always spilling out into the living room and kitchen counter, and no table to eat at. But my wife is so sweet. When we pray together she thanks God for what ...