Jesus House

I've lived in Los Angeles for awhile now, so long, that you might mistake me for a native. But up to my sophomore year in college,(the first sophomore year, not the second one), I lived in Ohio for the majority of my life.

My parents met in Bible college, in one of the Dakotas, (I can never remember which, but does it really matter), in the years after the sexual revolution. Worried for their mortal perverted souls, they became Born Again Christians and studied to be a pastor and missionary. But soon after they met, they dropped out of college, and moved back to my Dad's home town of Cleveland, Ohio to get married and have a bunch of babies.

Even though they abondoned school, they did not abandon their beliefs. Well, not for many years anyway, but I'll save that story for another day. In short, if you have ever seen the documentary, Jesus Camp, that explains a little about my childhood. I lived it, not just a few weeks in the summer, but every GD day. It wasn't the kinda church where they drink poison and snakes bite you and stuff, but there was lots of speaking in tounges, unsupervised children, bigotry and trying to convert me.

My sisters and I attended the Christian elementary school that was in connection with the church. A few years ago I found this booklet of artwork I did when I was in 1st grade.

I couldn't decide which one I wanted to do.

Oh no! Look everyone, Gilbert wants to help!

Yes, Gilbert, you are a very handsome man.

and very helpful.

I leave you with an apocalyptic message from 6 year old me. It's something about Jesus and giant worm cats.

J

Where to Begin?

Well, I have so much to share with yall, I don't even know where to begin. I guess the best place to start is at the beginning. I've always known since I was just a behbeh that I wanted to be an artist. But being an artist isn't just about being a skilled technician, it takes years of observance, with some successes and a s*** ton of failures. This is not an easy road, but I wouldn't travel any other way.
Here's some things I did when I was a youngin:

On the back of this paper my mom wrote the year, date and my name. According to this, I was two years old. I believe this to be my first attempt at portraiture.

In these next few I think I'm exploring the range of human (and animal) emotions.

My mom accused me of tracing the Big Bird, (like that Mad Men episode with Betty Draper and her son), saying that it was "dishonest to trace a picture because it's someone else's work." While I do remember having a reference picture, I distinctly remember being offended that she thought it was traced, because it was not...So there!

J