Tuesday, August 23   6:30 pm 



I grew up fully aware that I was Irish American. It was a big deal on Tipperary Hill. But what exactly did that mean? I never danced the jig or played the bagpipes. Never acquired the taste for beer. Never cared for and refuse to cook corned beef and cabbage for my family. Never could tell a joke (I only live them). Never acquired the gift o' the gab even though I sacrificed mightily on a pilgrimage to kiss the Blarney Stone.

But...I do love a good pun. I greatly admire irony and dark humor and satire. I seek the tongue in cheek. I cherish the time to write witty narratives on a train. I love making people laugh...or cry. Certainly think. I am happiest drawing people as characters inserting them into a narrative...a miniseries...usually rooted in some social ill or other. 

I deeply appreciate the invention of juxtaposition and montage. Without them, life would be very flat and boring. They offer the perfect conventions to play with the fuzziness of point of view and memory.

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