"Panic"conte crayon drawing on Arches paper
8'x10'
"The Storm"Ball point pen on Arches paper
4'x3.5'
Artist Statement
Thunderstorms are a prominent theme in my life. In Texas, you learn to fear Spring, while at the same time reveling in its excitement. The weather is perfect for thunderstorms. Storms are weather with personality. They roll in, rumbling and flashy, clapping thunder and blinding you with lightning. They have short lives, pounding your house with heavy rain for about thirty minutes. Then they quietly slip away, almost embarrassed of ever demanding your attention. Now you’re left with the aftermath: flooded backyards, streets with rivers on each side, and wriggling, unearthed worms that didn’t get the memo that the storm’s over. Sometimes, you even get a rainbow to top off the entire event. These are the good storms. The bad storms are what make me happy about my choice to leave good ole’ Tornado Alley.
Safe in Massachusetts, I can reminisce about the bad storms with a sense of accomplishment at having lived a little. If I were still in Texas in the Spring, you can bet my artistic expression would have nothing to do with even the tiniest twister. The bad storms are what damage property and ruin lives. They come in the same way good storms do, loud and boisterous, but give you something to fear. These are the storms I’ve cowered under a mattress in the hallway for, the ones that made me pray. The ones that make you afraid to hear the N.O.A.A. weather radio alert, and relieved if it’s “just a test.” It’s when the sky really does turn that electric shade of green, and the hairs really do stand up on the back of your neck. You react with primal instinct, and something tells you to get the hell outta there. It is impending doom. You know that it’s nothing personal, nature’s just gonna take you out, and that impartiality is what really does it.
Right here, right now, I love these powerful storms. I’m just as perverse as a storm chaser who films tornadic devastation for sport, but I hope the unsympathetic nature of my artwork will communicate the dread that comes when the computerized voice says, “Tornado Warning.”
