It has been ten days since the Pulse shootings on June 12th, 2016. Reactions have been as diverse as America. There have been peace rallies, filibusters and failed votes. Without any sense of irony many Baptists protested the funerals of people killed by the one twisted Muslim. Angels have spread their wings in protest and won. Pixie Dust and magic wands will not erase the scars of the last ten days. Hearts are heavier because now they carry 49 other hearts which no longer
Out in Africa.
A life in the arts can be an exhausting proposition. You have to use everything you are and everything you feel. If you don’t, that fear or denial or oppression, becomes part of the creative statement – because anything artistic is a synthesis of how the artist lives. I recently did a show in Yaounde, Cameroon on the Western Coast of Africa. By reputation, and certainly by my experience, Cameroon is a very corrupt country. Bribing is a form of bartering, "Here are two thousan
Ray Triggs, my father, was sexy guy in a fish camp, Jack Daniels kind of way. Even at seventy-five years old, crippled by several strokes, breathing raspy from a three pack a day habit, he was sexier than I was on my best day. He just had that air about him. It's probably because my Dad was controlled by sex in a way that I never have been. That might be because I'm smarter than he was, or he was more secure than I am. At any rate, his record and actions speak for themselves.