|6"x6", oil on birch, framed|
$150 plus $10 S&H in North America
People pray. People meditate. People take antidepressants. I inhale helium.
I also clear my head and ground myself by running up and down mountainsides, in canyons with diamondbacks and coyotes the size of Great Danes, or in ravines—sometimes. Mostly though I run on more accessible concrete-covered, smog-filled streets, dodging suburbanites in SUVs. Which squares with one main reason for my art in the first place: to look reality's big nose and saggy cheeks and lopsidedness in the face and make something good out of the situation.
One of my greatest pleasures aside from eating rhubarb, which is impossible to find in California, is running around with a pad of paper and a pen somewhere I haven't been before. It's like having a coffee after trying to quit for a while, and there's nothing like a good sweat to make you feel like you belong. This is why they invented the sauna.
I was at a show in Palo Alto recently and back at Frank's Motel, after a day of talking, I laced on my sneakers and followed my nose to the edge of a park on San Francisco Bay—San Francisco Bay! But rather than bump into Mark Zuckerberg, I came across this amputated eucalyptus. Wow, the sun hit it perfectly, highlighting every imperfection, I thought. And the shadow of a railing even rose up to tuck it in.