WELCOME HOME

I stepped into a time machine the moment I crossed the threshold of The National Veterans Art Museum. Immediately I was 18 years old again and not only the spirit but the horror of a young man returned. 

A quick stop in Chicago on my way to the promise land of the off road adventures I was seeking turned alarmingly real life and brought me back to reality for an afternoon. Suddenly my past was starring me in the face as I was trying to move forward with my life. 

I painted Why? Years ago at a time I was trying to understand a time and place I needed to get a handle on. The war experience of my youth had come full circle two decades after my trauma. My PTSD had surfaced big time and luckily art was my escape. Unfortunately other veterans were not as lucky. Drugs, alcohol, homelessness, and of course suicide

were other outlets. 

But there I stood, in front of my artwork, once again trying to understand. Suddenly a gentleman about my age approached me with his grandson. He began to cry as he starred at my painting. When he realized I was the artist we began to talk. He was not a veteran but he brought his grandson here today so he would understand the reality of war. The three of us walked around the exhibit talking but mostly I was answering questions. It was a very emotional experience. 

When the director realized I was there an interview was set up and taped. It was a half hour piece that was taped and will air. next week. We covered art war and politics. I will keep you posted. 

By the end of the afternoon I was emotionally drained. My youth and all the horror and demons that plaiged my thoughts were readily available to me. Yet I stood steadfast. In my youth never but I am not young. I am older, not much wiser, yet I have learned how to cope. I can take my trauma tie it up in a neat little package and put on a shelf. I know where to find it.