I won't explain my work with fancy philosophical language filled with intellectual analytical verse. That's just not my thing. Being born into the bus exhaust fume filled hard edged streets of lower east side NYC circa 1950s/60s, actions spoke louder than words. So I'll let my work speak for itself. I was a street kid in a cement jungle. It was a sometimes lonely, surreal existence. Beautiful though. Sometimes a little scary. We were poor. Never lived in a house. Always apartment dwellers. I use ordinary objects like toilets, bowling alleys, sidewalks, buses, trains, laundry rooms, bar pool tables, etc. As I remember them to hopefully convey that lonely, surreal feeling through the eyes of a young boy lost in the city. May you connect in some way.