Ever since I could grasp a crayon in my little paw I have made art. Very crude in those early days but I kept at it over the years and once I entered grade school teachers and classmates began to notice my talent. I was told that I would be a rich and famous artist someday or perhaps the next Walt Disney. None of that made sense to me at the time, and indeed, as I grew older I realized it was much more difficult to make a living as an artist even with a wealth of talent and perseverance. I showed at galleries, coffee shops, and rubbed elbows with the local art community, but it garnered little sustainable success. It wasn’t until 2015 that a new concept presented itself to me when I found a 1934 illustrated encyclopedia in a free box in South East Portland. A quick leaf through spilled the weathered pages onto the sidewalk, I gathered them up and proceeded to draw animals on them at my local cafe, creating a dialogue between the images on the page and the added creatures springing from my hand. Soon after I hit the streets and began selling this original art for a nominal price along with a bevy of prints, and an openness to interaction with any who might stumble upon my crude display. They sold quickly, so I made more and more, and the more I created the more cast away tomes from a century ago fell into my lap. Maps, pamphlets, songbooks, dictionaries, and old magazines; none were safe from my pen. I gave up my attempt as an anarchist street vendor in 2017 for a booth at the Portland Saturday Market and haven’t looked back. I am not rich or famous, I have no manager, and call no gallery home. I work independently, and have found a way to make my art a way of life. I am my own boss, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.