I wanted to be an artist since I was probably four years old. I say probably four because I don’t want to sound like those people who brag that they “did gymnastics since they were one” or “played the oboe in the womb”. We all know that’s not possible, and those people are liars.
My experience with writing started, and has developed, in the out-of-left-field realm of comics. To cope with my vanished spot on the only-child throne, I’d draw pictures of my baby brother laying out in the backyard, or in a jail cell, while my mom, dad and I smiled and hugged off-frame. (My parents and psychotherapist have since monitored my sociopathic tendencies and I’m proud to report I’m in the OK Zone.)
When I was bored, I would ask my dad for “assignments”, and so he’d return with a list of random topics, and I’d Mad Lib them into stories that he would later help me staple into books.
Comics became an outlet for me to cope with the woes of being a teenager, and eventually gave me a voice as I navigated the art scene in college. I realized I could make those same books as an adult, only exploring real world and sometimes heavy topics. If the world was lactose, comics was chewable Lactaid tablets.
And as for music, my taste has ebbed and flowed. Britney Spears and The Jonas Brothers may have snuck their way onto mix tapes from time to time. But like nearly every teenager, music rescued me, especially in art classes. Late nights in high school of gluing hole-punch portraits, sculpting plaster ice cream cones, and painting priests on bicycles were made easier by so many artists: The Swell Season, Jenny Lewis, St. Vincent, Lucius, Talking Heads. They made me realize that art and music could become synonymous. In class I’d tote around David Byrne’s book “How Music Works”, and in my senior lit class I gave a speech about Talking Heads’ ability to rethink the visual subtleties of live rock performance. In study hall I’d sneak past the school’s computer safety settings just to watch La Blogothèque Take Away Shows. In retrospect I might have just seemed like an asshole, but I was antsy and inspired and stuck in a town named after corn.
In college I kept up my family’s marathon concert mentality, and met friends who are just as bananas as I am about shows. I worked the box office at the Orpheum Theater in Madison for a few semesters and got to learn how a venue operates. I’ve survived the Pitchfork monsoon of 2015. A year later I made a gig poster for Max Jury’s performance at Austin City Limits Festival. I also scratched my musical itch by working with Vinyl Me, Please as their online store copywriting intern. 
I'm currently working on art commissions, practicing voice and guitar, and trying to perfect my chocolate banana bread recipe. And I’m always producing visual art that has the ability to intersect with music and storytelling.
If you'd like to reach out, swing by my Contact page. You should take a look at my Instagram while you're at it. It's a hoot and a holler. 
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