I recently found some of my old artwork from college. And by “found”, I mean drove to the house of my roommate’s parents, and took them home to my house. The art, not the parents. Why my artwork wasn’t moldering in my own parents’ house, I can’t tell you. All these years I knew I needed to go get them. I planned to go get them. And I thought, when I get them, I’ll flip through them, remembering those idyllic days, and then toss them in the trash. But, you know what? I actually was impressed by some of the pieces. Impressed by my talent and also the talent of my professors who managed to extract something not-bad from that young artist-to-be. Now they aren’t masterpieces, they’re homework assignments. Exercises, practice pieces. But they all have a certain something. A somewhat satisfying quality that seemed to be innately me. Of course they aren’t all the work, in all media, that I produced in those four years, just a mysterious collection that got separated from the rest. I didn’t even major in Fine Art or Painting but Photography. So here is a small random collection of work that I did all those years ago.