Do you remember your first oil painting? If so, what was the theme for it?

It was my senior year of high school. I was mostly just playing with the experience of laying paint down on a canvas; experimenting with where I could take it. During these initial years as an oil painter, the image would come about on its own, slowly. I’d sit down to paint with no preconceived idea of what it was I’d be painting that day. The theme wouldn’t come into fruition until the end. For that piece, I guess it was just some figures hanging out. Nothing too crazy about it. I’d show it to you all but I fear it’s not worthy of being seen; it wasn’t far off from just being downright ugly. 

What part of Ohio were you originally from, and how did that influence your art?

I was born in 2001 in Cleveland during a blizzard. My parents met driving forklifts for ABF Freight, a trucking company. My paternal and maternal grandpas worked there too. One worked as a trucker and the other was doing logistics. They had me in college so once they graduated, they moved down to Dayton. This is where I grew up. 

Dayton is seemingly mundane. But as I grow older, I realize that nothing in the world is plain. The Midwest taught me that. I’d spend a lot of time wandering train tracks, running miles down by the river, climbing trees, playing basketball, drawing horses and swinging on our porch swing. I made do when there was nothing to do. I don’t know if I’d be an artist if I grew up somewhere like Los Angeles or somewhere with an easy view. In Ohio, we don’t have waves to watch or mountains to ponder on.

My parents Keith and Nikki always encouraged that creative side of me and I thank them for that. My dad was always sitting down with me at the table teaching me how to draw an eye, or a house or something. My papaw was always sitting with me while I colored, showing how they all mixed and complemented each other. My mom always encouraged me to write, so I’d make all of these short stories about dogs and horses or whatever, stapling printer paper together.

What is the most intricate sketch you've ever done?

The most recent sketch I’ve done is probably from this one night a couple weeks back. My girlfriend and I were sitting in my bed winding down for the day, and I asked for a subject to draw. She said a ferris wheel off the top of her head. I hopped on Google Earth — this is where I get a lot of references if I don’t have a photo of the place I want to draw. I found one and started to draw. I thought it’d be a breeze, it’s just a circle and some support beams. I was so wrong. I was fighting for my life with that sketch. All of the tiny connecting cables and intricacies had me putting in that work. I feel like I damn near learned how to build a ferris wheel myself. Drawing shows you all of the little bits and pieces that come together to make something what it is. Drawing is appreciation. 

The most intricate drawing overall that I can think of is probably this ballpoint pen drawing I did of a pianist in some jazz bar. I started it at Schwartz’s Point one night, and then it just got crazy from there. I had a helluva good time with that one. I eventually reworked the whole thing digitally and made a poster out of it. I think I called it “Bend We Don’t Break.”

To what extent has the concept of time impacted you and your work, be it positive or negative?

Sometimes I feel like a walking to-do list, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love what I do, and do what I love. 

When I sit down to paint, I simultaneously punch into an invisible time clock. I feel like I’m always on the clock — always trying to look for inspiration and information that can elevate something in my work. I see a nice shade of green and in my head I’m trying to figure out what color recipe I’d mix to recreate it. I see an interesting texture on the wall of some rotting building, so I go and try to scrape some off to scan and use for something digital. I’m in a waiting room at the doctor’s, and I’m using that time to organize random notes I’ve taken in my phone or making lists of random things I want to draw or sounds to record. 

I can’t just lay here. I gotta keep my hands busy to keep my head. If I sit around for a day, I feel as if the whole world is already up and leaving me behind. Maybe it’s some kind of fear of not making my death count. Death terrifies me. I mean, we only get one death per person. The closest to immortality that I can get is leaving all of this work behind. Oil paint decays slower than the human body does. I guess this is where I try to find my solace.