Johnny Bench and Paradigms...

In the opinion of many, art serves as a direct visceral connection between sender and receiver leaving both parties moved and effected by the transaction. I paint individuals who have effected me in some way or other throughout my lifetime, with whom have shared, either directly or indirectly, that same "visceral connection."


So I paint them.


I strive hard to recreate a sampling of that connectivity felt between artist and subject, and hopefully allow a separate yet equal experience between my extraordinary viewers and my equally enthralling subjects.


I was 12 years old and watching color TV for the first time in my Grandfathers living room, during the 1972 National League Championship Series when Johnny Bench first came to bat against the Pirates. The red of his helmet blared off the screen against the greenest shade of anything green, let alone actual grass, that my 12 year old had ever witnessed. His tan, focused face seemed oblivious to the camera through which I, and a zillion other 12 year old boys, were watching. His hand shook his helmet into place as he swung the bat single handedly, not unlike a certain man in a black mask I also worshipped had done earlier that afternoon. Johnny Bench taught me, in the next swing, the music of ball versus bat; the sound was almost deafening as he belted the leather bound sphere into the seats in deep left. Not just a home run, it was THE home run. He also taught me that afternoon, in living color, that art lasts forever.
 Because I can still hear that sound.

Sorry Seattle...

Okay, so here’s my problem with Seattle Seahawks fans: they just don’t get it.

I moved to Seattle in 2006 to be closer to family and to attend Seattle Pacific University where I received my Masters degree in education. In the three years that I lived in Seattle I was able to witness socio-geographic differences in the behavior of Seattleites unlike any I had ever seen in any other place I had ever lived. Seattleites are proud of their anonymity in so many ways; it shows in the landscape of the city and its surrounding villages. Looking from the freeways that dissect Seattle, one can only see the occasional rooftop through the blanket of vegetation that can be found only in the Pacific Northwest, hiding the truth of the situation which is that there are hundreds of thousands of human beings existing below the treetops in some sort of chaotic vegetative floor where sunshine is rare and opinions remain closer to the surface through some sort of social inversion based in alienation. Until rush hour. It’s like people in Seattle are happy to be isolated from the rest of mainstream America and, although they’ll scoff at references to “being part of South Alaska,” they also take a certain pride in the culture and subculture that they have created for their isolationist selves.

Which brings me to how Seattle sports fans are inherently different than the rest of the world:

Upon my arrival in 2006, a family member immediately offered me season tickets to the Seahawks and I halfheartedly agreed to attend an entire season of home games, seated in the north end zone bleacher section of CenturyLink Field, which is affectionately known as “The HawksNest.” The infidelity I felt, being a Bronco fan in the midst of the enemy, was unbearable and created the basis of a rift between said family member and I which carries on to this day, so I sold the remainder of my season ticket, found a local sports bar, and gratefully watched my Broncos each Sunday through the magic of DirecTV. But while I was there, amongst the 12^th Man in all its glory, I noticed an unmistakable focus erroneously being placed upon the fans themselves rather than the players that they were there to watch. An infestation of almost narcissistic and attention grabbing behavior was so much more prevalent at the then Qwest Field than in any other stadium I had ever attended in my lifetime, and I quickly became aware that they had even named it: 

"The 12^th Man.”  

The “12^th Man” has become the moniker of the Seattle fan base and, although not original in intent nor inception (see Texas A&M University for more info), it has grown in size and popularity so much so that it rivals Pittsburgh’s “Terrible Towel,” Anaheim’s “Rally Monkey” and even the “Duke Crazies” in scope and passion; however, I question it’s very intent. Why is so much focus being placed upon the fans of a sporting event rather than the players participating in that event? Why is Seattle the only city in America participating in this erroneous placement of attention? Who cares about the 12^th man? I’ll tell you: no one outside of the Pacific Northwest. We love our Broncos here in Denver, just like they love their Lions in Detroit and just like they love their Dolphins in Miami, but nowhere have I seen the kind of self-centered, fan-created, egotistical behavior like that of the so-called “12^th Man.” I’m happy that you support your team, good for you. We all support our team to depths that, frankly, surprise and scare me at times. Just like you. Except, we choose to focus our attention upon actually supporting our team, rather than pointing out how much were supporting our team. Like you do.

The facts are pretty clear when one looks at your "professional" sports history, aren't they?  How's those Mariners playing? Ya say ya got a soccer "club"? And I probably shouldn't mention Kevin Durant's zip code, should I?  So, stop claiming to be such an extraordinary fan base. Would ya? The last time I checked there's only ELEVEN men on the field at any given time.  Quit making yourselves out to be more than you and I, and the rest of the nation, know is true.  You're a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to root there.

By the way, I chose to move back to Denver away from Seattle and I’ve never been happier in my life. But enough about me: GO BRONCOS!