I’ve always been drawn to the idea of the art collective, not just the work that comes out of it, but the feeling of it. The alchemy of people creating together, side by side. Sharing meals, materials, and ideas. Inspiring each other. A kind of organized chaos that somehow pushes everyone to learn more, do more, and better their craft. I’d heard about places like Black Mountain College in NC and Crown Point Press in SF, but it wasn’t until I began working on the John Cage documentary that I truly understood how special those places were—not just artistically, but culturally, spiritually. Cage. Buckminster Fuller. Rauschenberg. Willem de Kooning. These weren’t just creators; they were collaborators in something larger than themselves. It wasn’t about fame or market value. It was about forming connections, trusted circles where ideas could bounce, bend, and grow.

The City Was Ours

In my early days in living and going to college in Detroit, that energy was everywhere. Ferndale. The Lafayette Lofts. The Art Center Building. Corktown. Russell Industrial Center. Hamtramck. St. Andrews Hall. I went to school right next to the Detroit Institute of Arts, where you could wander through Rivera’s murals, covered in paint and charcoal on your lunch break, and then head back to the studio after taking in the art. In Detroit, right at 5 PM on the dot, the city emptied. Every suit and briefcase went home to the burbs and left the shell of a city to us. The artists. The sculptors. The musicians. The junkies. It was ours after dark—raw, wide open, and buzzing with possibility. The buildings were disintegrating and easy to get into, the sirens and gunshots were loud and abundant. The floors of our warehouse where we lived smelled of chemicals and stained from years ago and were uneven at best. On the day before Halloween, Devil’s Night, we would grab a 40 oz and go to the roof to watch the city burn. That was the real deal and the ideas and energies we created there were real too. It wasn’t polished, and it wasn’t easy, but it was alive. We were alive.

The Ones Who Never Said No

But we also lost a lot of us along the way. So many, gone too soon. They were the live-and-let-live ones. The ones who never said no. Who lit up every room, went all out all night on every occasion, hung with rock stars, lived like rock stars, and made even the most mundane nights feel like grand happenings. Losing those immortal friends was like watching race cars crashing off the track, one by one, losing control. The collective dispersed. And what remained was the collateral damage that rippled through everything, the cracks in connections, silence in once-blaring spaces, moments we didn’t realize were the last ones. Dave, Jimmy, Kevin, Matt, Brad and the rest of them, gone. Their loss reshaped me. It made this idea of building something lasting, something that holds, so urgent to me now. Necessary.

Not Just Reference Points

Movements like Fluxus, Dada, and Bauhaus weren’t just reference points in a classroom; they were our fuel. They reminded us that art could be anything: a poem taped to a wall, (a banana? LOL), a long moment shared in silence. An upside-down urinal. We weren’t trying to get famous. We were trying to be in it. To belong. To close the gap between who we were and what we worked to become. To form connections, creative circles that sparked new ways of seeing and creating.

Dead Center

Although I was in the dead center thick of it, painting, writing, screaming my heart out, always showing up. I somehow felt like I was always orbiting. Not because I wasn’t part of it, although I probably drove everyone crazy. Too much energy, too many ideas all at once, with little focus. I just couldn’t focus, and I’m sure I was a bit much (so I’ve been told – LOL). But I cared deeply. I believed in what we were trying to accomplish. And that fire never dimmed. In fact, it kept me moving forward, searching for the right time and place. I didn’t know it all this time, but I was looking for a way to complete the circle that was broken long ago, to return to that place where connection and creative friction make something greater than the sum of its parts.

The River Aude Artists Lab

So here we are now, with America seething with division and confusion. With news we can’t trust and images that look so real. I’m striving for something true. The non-profit is registered, and the board is set. The gallery walls are waiting. Initial workshops are brewing for the spring of 2026. The studio is ready, fresh paint is in tubes waiting. Canvases are stretched, and a great light illuminates the studio throughout the hot summer days. Residents are buzzing, they’re coming. There’s talk about town, and wine is flowing, and ideas are formulating, and laughter and play are happening. It’s not too grand. It’s not fully baked, but it’s here, now. Not to be perfected, but protected. To make it happen and offer it to others. An idea that had been lost to careers and commutes and mortgages and distractions was really just waiting for a different place, a different season, a different mindset, and a chance to come full circle. Please join me.

Dedicated to Dave, Jimmy, Kevin, Matt, Brad, and all those other creative souls we lost in the “D”.