When I really found out what American poverty was I decided to apply my lifelong artistic practice to the modern medium. I moved to California with hopes of something like painting pictures and being some sort of...artist I guess. I'm not really sure I knew at the time. But that doesn't really happen quite the way i had imagined and instead I was destitute. The job market looked to be more heavily punished than the one I thought I was escaping back in Michigan. I saw my life headed down the long road of the food service industry (once I would be so fortunate to find an actual employer) if I didn't freak out and more intensively apply myself with my creative endeavors. So in a blur of financial terror, starvation, panic, and a glimmer of hope, I subjected myself to grueling marathons in 18-24 hour shifts of any sort of graphics training I could attain, punctuated by brief stints of street performing in Hollywood as Edward Scissorhands to pay rent. Now, I'm a freelance-artist-graphics-whatever-person and the thing I know best is that I know basically nothing.