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Growing up, my father taught me a lot about cars.  It was his passion, and he could build just about anything for the road.  He loved automobiles.  He took us to car shows every year, and we knew every car on the road.  My first job was working in a car dealership office, and I learned to love chrome and the shape of a sleek auto.  That love of shape and form, sleekness and color -- all speak of childhood.  My father passed away almost 30 years ago now - how could that much time have flown by? - and I still love a "hot car". 

When I began my journey as an artist, it never occurred to me that the love I had for cars would connect with my love of art. But I came to see that automobiles ARE art; they are sculptures that we get in and drive every day, or artwork we save for sunny days alone.  Some are almost lyrical in their beauty and form, others are chunky and brutish. We flow together into the daily traffic in our own expressions of art - practical, functional, or extravagant and excessive.  As Americans, we are tied to our cars through tradition, through the message they convey to every young driver, whispering "freedom!"  They are beautiful when handled well, and terrifying when they are not, dangerous takers of lives when handled poorly.  

When I get in my car, the designed interior, carefully thought out and tested, remind me that there are many types of art - and that we are surrounded by art every day, whether we readily recognize it or not. There is very little we come in contact that ISN'T art.  When I think back on how my father could shape a piece of metal, smooth it and join it with others to create a mobile piece of art, I have to give him his due.  He was truly an artist. How blessed I was to know him.

My car? A red Chevy Camaro.  Awesome.