There is a paradox between the beauty of death and the fear of dying. My work lies
somewhere between. In April of 2014, I found myself in a strange and terrifying brush with death.
Two men kicked in the door of my home with guns and took everything I had of monetary value, but most importantly, they took my innocence. They left my guitar though, saying, "let him make music". And so I did. I continued to pour the terror and pain and love into my art more than I ever had before. My journey living with PTSD has taught me that the worst hell is probably the one I create for myself. My love for tiny beautiful worlds full of life and death and humour and insanity and heart-wrenching sorrow is a testimony to that idea.

My works are gentle bad dreams and blinding ecstasies. My work engages mortality as it
relates to compulsive behaviours and the idea that belief systems stem from traumatic experiences. Beautiful corpses erupt with flowers, tiny worlds remain in constant flux, seeking the redemption of tortured souls. There is a dichotomy of life blooming and decaying simultaneously in my work, along with the fact that part of me only wants one side of the coin while the other has already let go.

I have been researching and creating works related to the paradox between the beauty of
death and the fear of death. Searching for the beauty and acceptance of dying as well as the wisdom of interconnectedness, regeneration and healing from trauma and addiction.
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