I often struggle with the state of the contemporary art scene. From the academic side, artists, teachers, and curators are constantly demanding more—more meaning, more impact, more more. It’s a kind of art inflation; the infinite growth principle applied to the arts. Of course, you know what that means. All bubbles burst. The frenzy of postmodernism has crashed and burned, resulting in art in which its meaning is strained and its aesthetic bleached. Contemporary art can only be appreciated by the inner circle of those in the know and in the nude. Left behind are the rest of us who direly long for art we can wallow in freely, without pretense, without pretending we like what we really feel sucks. I’ve not followed the postmodern path. Instead, I’ve taken a different fork in the road; the easy way out. My eye leads the way for me. My heart guides my choices. I let nature take its course. I keep to the original ideals of craftsmanship and beauty. Art adds to life when it has something to say and nothing to prove. When it speaks, it never shouts, and it never uses words. Just like Nature : elegant and quiet.