Tag: books

Alien Nation: Existing Among Them or Living As One

There is an ongoing debate regarding the presence of life on Mars and/or other planets. 1996, scientists announced that they found evidence of ancient life on Mars in the meteorite ALH 84001, which was collected in Antarctica. We hear of these findings and relegate them as background noise to the sound track of our lives. We simple don’t believe or won’t because of how we have been instructed to believe. What if there are “99 other unfallen worlds”? What if we are not really living our own lives? What if we are living this life on someone else’s terms? What if we are just falling into line based on patterns set by algorithms and social conditioning? The aptly crowned father of Afrofuturism, musician and philosopher Sun Ra, also from Alabama, spoke of being from another planet, of visiting other worlds. Many if not most of us would dismiss this idea or ideal as ridiculous or delusional at best. Take note that Sun Ra’s drummer, Marshall Allen is still touring…at 100 years old as of May 25, 2024.

In one of the X-Men movies, Aurora and Jean are having a hard time accepting what Kurt is telling them about himself. He responds with these paradigm shifting words, “Most people will only believe what they see with their own two eyes.” How limiting that is. This leaves no room for faith or knowing outside of the box. Often when people dare to veer outside the box, they are alienated. Few things are taken into mainstream belief until accepted and coopted by the status quo. So most people shuffle through life in quiet desperation sipping on the tea of forgetfulness sweetened with a heaping spoonful of groupthink.

The other day I wrestled with this subject and the alien nature of it all. I know where my feet have trod and my mind has traveled. It’s been a journey I tell you. How many others must also experience the same revelations only to shut them down by the voices of reason encroaching from the outside. All the way home, the ideas of martians, aliens or whatever else might be out there, here with us or be us, orbited my mind. A short while after arriving home, I received a call from my first born daughter asking me to go outside and look to the sky (she lives around the corner). I did, and there loomed a luminescent starry light. First, I went through every logical explanation on what it could be. It sat beneath the heavy cloud bank and never moved. It was not a plane or satellite. I finally came inside, knowing what the title of this blog would be. The idea of alienation is inseparable from the idea of living life on our own terms.

What if being alien wasn’t about being apart, but being apart from fear? What if we chose courage over comfort, purpose over approval? What if we chose to live on our own terms breaking free from the quiet desperation of fitting into lives designed by others. Instead of surviving on what’s “dished out,” we take the raw ingredients of our existence—flawed, messy, miraculous—and create something true and relevant.

The bottom line is that we are all aliens here—strangers to each other, to ourselves, and to the dreams we’ve been handed like unwanted but accepted old hand-me-downs . Personal alienation feels as vast and cold as outer space, where the rules of survival aren’t written for us or by us but imposed by someone else’s limited idea of life space. Are we willing to go where no man has gone before?

Imagine no longer waiting for permission to dream your dream, to love, to thrive in your own rhythm. Imagine a life where alienation isn’t exile but liberation, where we reclaim our space and write our narrative among the stars, rather than shrinking into the dark corners of someone else’s dream…or nightmare.

To live fully, boldly, is to embrace the alien within—odd, radiant, and untethered. Life isn’t meant to be spent in the shadow of someone else’s vision. It’s meant to be lived, fully and unapologetically, in the brilliance of our own light. On this planet, where the dishes are often unpalatable and shaped by others, let us become the master chef of our own feasts, the architects of our own worlds. I’ve caught long glimpses and I know they exist…

Would you dare to be alien enough to live your dream?

A Timely Investment

As an artist, my life revolves around the creation of beauty and meaning. I pour a part of me into each stroke of my brushes, mark of my pen or pencil, and every conceptual decision. Art is timeless. But ironically, the pursuit of creation can sometimes make me lose sight of something even more precious than creativity: the value of time itself.

Time, unlike money, is a finite resource. No matter how much money we earn or what we achieve, we cannot stretch the hours in a day or rewind the clock to recapture moments we’ve missed. As a family man this reality hits close to home. Especially when my daughter walks across the room and I see that she’s a foot taller than she was two days prior. Sometimes she will ask whether I have to go to work that day. Of course my answer is always yes. But will I really remember that I missed that day off work just to hang out with her? While I strive to honor deadlines and push boundaries in my practice, I’ve had to confront the moments when my family and friends—the people who ground me most—felt sidelined by my work.

The truth is, you can always create more wealth in terms of dollars. A new commission, an additional workshop, or even a clever pivot to monetize your creative skills can generate the flow. But no amount of money can bring back any of my children’s first laugh or bike ride, an easy like Sunday morning with loved ones, or the quiet joy of simply being present for the people who matter most.

As an artist, my work is rooted in storytelling and legacy—in capturing essential moments that transcend time. But if I neglect the life around me, I’m failing to honor the very inspiration behind my work – my why. Art imitates life, and life is richest when we’re fully present in it. Yes, that may be a challenge to do but it is doable.

I’m still learning and yearning to embrace a feasible balance. That balance may never be evenly distributed. Some days, it may mean saying no to a project that doesn’t align with my core values or stepping away from my studio at a reasonable hour… to stay later another evening. Other days, it’s finding ways to integrate my family into my creative process, allowing my daughter to paint alongside me or sharing my vision with loved ones. These moments remind me why I do what I do in the first place.

For anyone struggling in the balancing of work and family, particularly in creative fields where the demands can be unpredictable, I encourage you to reflect on what truly drives you. Our success is not solely defined by accolades or financial milestones. It’s about the quality of your relationships, the memories you build, and the integrity you bring to your life and work. Really, time is the most valuable currency. Let’s invest it equitable with those who inspire us and for the moments that matter most.

And The Goat Said To The Kid…

A few years ago, I had the honor of meeting and investing time with Kerry James Marshall, inspiration, fellow Alabama native son, luminary, and artist extraordinaire. Stay close with me now, because there are layers to this…

How I came to the meeting is a story all its own. When I arrived just before summer in Chicago that year, I intended to find and meet Kerry James Marshall. A day or so later, a friend shared with me that he would be speaking at the Art Institute of Chicago on June 21. At that moment, I knew I was in. I had already spoken and would consequently bear witness to the manifestation of my intent. Just go online, book my ticket and boom, done, ha.

That night, I settled in front of my computer musing over the fact that what I wanted had come so effortlessly and quickly. I followed the link only to find, at my dismay, large words across the screen that read – SOLD OUT. No, no, no I thought. I’m supposed to be there. I asked for it and the door opened. I’m supposed to walk right through. What is trying to be going on here. I felt anxiety mounting to frustration. Then I checked myself and found calm in the idea of just asking the program director or a professor about comp tickets. There had to be some…right.

The following morning I approached a professor and inquired about a ticket to the event. He was a major league gallery director, he had to have some horsepower. I saw his lips move but didn’t want to hear the words that came out of his face. After telling me what I already knew about Kerry James Marshall’s rock star status, he went on to tell me that there were no comp tickets. They had sold out in record time. No more tickets. My head spun a minute, then that thing kicked in. You know that thing in your gut that says, I hear you but… All I knew was that I was getting in. I’d called it. It had come. I was not going to miss out.

For the next few days I shared my resolve with everyone who would listen. I told a group of my cohorts that I was getting in even if I had to sweep the floors backstage or carry out their chairs. I was going to be in that auditorium, and it was no secret. And I kept saying it, every chance I got.

It was Wednesday, my bEARTHday, the day before the Kerry James Marshall presentation was to take place. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that he would be talking about another one of my favorite artists, Charles White, who in fact was my first inspiration in undergrad. Charles White’s 100 year retrospective exhibit was on view at the institute and his son was going to be on the panel. Man, If I didn’t get in… I hadn’t fully fleshed out my plan on how I would storm the Bastille. I just knew, by hook or crook, I was going to be in that building. I showed up early at the weekly Wednesday night artist talk and made my way down the center isle toward my usual second row from the front, to the left, middle of the row, seat. That generally put me square in front of the podium. At this late date and time, feelings of defeat were tugging at the hem of my faith. Tomorrow was the day…

TO BE CONTINUED…