Here's another abstract I made yesterday. It's forged with flames, ink, and the vitriol of a soulful black man and his sweet, sweet voice. I've been running low of my usual art supply stock, so I cracked open some new ideas, including a can of spraypaint just to see what I could come up with. When most of what I do is based off improvisation, setbacks and failures don't really surprise me. An old professor used to have an acid hippy philosophy that anything and everything can be art, even something like a wad of spit. And while I'll agree that spit, although fleetingly so, is beautiful, sometimes something just looks like crap.