Once upon a time, I lived in Vegas. Once upon a time, my home was burglarized – I came home to find my possessions, my art works and art supplies, gone. Afterwards, drawing became too painful – it reminded me of all the unfinished and finished artworks I’d lost.

Stumbling by accident into an art store while waiting for a ride, I found a small square black notebook and an assortment of gel pens on sale. Staring at the black paper felt so different, so pleasantly unfamiliar that I couldn’t help but make marks on it – letting my unconscious guide my hand.