From my days of drawing clouds on walls to now, I have experienced a lot and have much to remember and enjoy. At age five, my art reflected what I thought life was – a lively collage of clouds, rainbows and bright sunrays signifying joy and worry-free days. The older, more mature me seeks to express my knowledge of the goings-on of the day and the history and emotions related to how different people interact with and react to social cues. My drawings and paintings often show young males, like myself, alone and expressionless. My art seeks to meet people where they are, to induce reflection and to precipitate action! I draw what I see! I draw what I hear! I draw the quiet realities that are often ignored. Many scenes depict soldiers, boys standing alone, or young families. The truths that come forth are buried within the hearts of people. Each culture is able to view the same work and draw something meaningful based off the histories and convictions found in their culture. One may see the pose of a soldier and think of a loved one who fought during the Civil War but was enslaved and forbidden to read or write. Another may recall a relative who died in Vietnam while another recalls a son who was able to use a GI Bill to fully fund medical school or the 21 Gun Salute the Honor Guard gave at grandpa’s burial. I have found that different cultures place their joy in different places. Some find joy in things and tangibles while others find joy in feelings and intangibles. Some find joy in status and perceptions of great wealth evidenced by their vehicles and jewelry. There is a group of others who, despite the wrongs promulgated, the disparities, misinformation and maltreatment of their people, find joy in just being alive. My art calls the viewer to be bold thinkers and to see not only the obvious but to see visions and have dreams of what could be going through the mind of my art subjects. Most faces are blurred or have stoic expressions. Some see joy while other see pain. The things that hurt the most often are buried in emotion and covered with hyperbole. Speaking on the impeachment of President Nixon, the late Representative Barbara Jordan said, "... I believe hyperbole would not be fictional and would not overstate the solemnness that I feel right now." Without hyperbole, I aim to show the solemnness of joy and pain. No huge smiles are needed. No sad faces are needed either. Just the serious stare to show just how important the two imposters, joy and pain, are in allowing our cultures to co-exist. The tie that binds is knowing we all have had some rough times, but joy can always be found in the next art stroke, the next glance at an artwork or the next heartbeat. So, yes, my art shimmers and sparkles – not because of paint or glitter but for the silver linings found in each work.

On being a man, Rudyard Kipling wrote. “… If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same…” He describes my dad perfectly. My earliest drawings had my dad stretched across the length of the paper. His legs were long and muscular. His hands were like big brass symbols. His feet were make-shift riding toys and his shoulders were like sitting stools. He was a former college football player. My dad was strong and could do anything! He was a smart, hardworking man who was actively involved in the church and in our community. I would stand in his study in awe of the man I called dad. He had plaques all over the walls, certificates and trophies were stuffed in boxes, championship rings and medals were displayed on the credenza. I remember asking Dad if he was the greatest man on the planet. He replied, “Great is relative. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” I had heard him say that at so many funerals; I rolled my eyes (in my mind). I felt like dad had just used a scripture to dodge a heart-felt question. My dad was built with a hammer and nails. He was the strongest man I knew. Thinking back, he did have some small ailments back then, but he looked to his faith and assured my brother and me that everything would be okay. The walls came tumbling down on the last day of school of my fourth-grade year. It was Memorial Day weekend and I was going to spend the summer in Georgia with my grandma. Dad got hurt at work! He had some chronic conditions, but they were well-managed. The added stress of a new injury precipitated a downward spiral that had him in and out of the hospital. Each new visit was longer than the previous one. That big, strong dad of mine pushed through pain and sickness to provide for my brother and me. He had his first stroke on Christmas Day when I was in ninth grade and fought his way right back to health. He was not the same, but he was still a massive man with a commanding presence. He was diagnosed with a nerve condition the next year, and his vision began to suffer from it and his walking became unsteady. He could still do the work of two men even as he sat. My dad was a different dad, but he was still the Rock of Gibraltar in our family. The nerve condition affected his digestion, and by the following year, he had lost over one hundred-thirty pounds and was too weak to get up without assistance. He sat in his motorized wheelchair most of the day and slept most of the time. He was hurting physically, emotionally and noticeably. I watched a giant shrink in stature and in abilities. Last year, his kidneys stopped working and he had three more strokes while driving home from dialysis. Now, he commits his time to researching cures for everything and raising money for charities and foundations that assist persons with chronic ailments. My dad says, "God doesn't give all of this to just anybody, so I do what I can do and leave the rest to Him." I button his shirts and tie his bowties. My brother helps with socks and shoes. Dad still cooks and checks homework. He teaches Sunday School and directs the laity of thirteen churches. And he knows how to “drop the hammer” should we stray too far from the straight and narrow! The silver lining in this memory cloud is that goodness came from change. My dad is not the same. Now, he is more patient, deliberate and passionate about physical, emotional and spiritual health. As a family, we have learned how to do more with less – a lot less. Our finances are stretched. My dad allows us to be active participants in family economics. We prioritize, budget, save and sacrifice together. Somehow, Dad always finds a way. His faith reminds me to be bold in my faith. I would have never known how strong my dad really was until I watched his health decline and see him continually thank the Lord for the blessings within the calamity. I used to cry. Now, I just remember when and smile.