I'm still up to my eyeballs documenting the provenance of my collection. I've been peeling its layers with the care an archeologist might take. Geesh - that makes me sound like the Getty or something and I'm not at all at all... yet I will divulge that midst all my sleuthing, I've discovered many, many wonderful surprises. I'm such a sloppy collector. I acquire what I like without giving a whit to any other possibilities. My walls are a cacophony of colors and sentimental journeys and boisterous revelry and laughter wet with bourbon now and then. One day I started collecting and many days later I'm so grateful for the passion.

Documenting takes time and lots of patience.

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Several years ago I spent Thanksgiving in Washington DC with David. He was affiliated with Teach for America. David knows DC well. Over the years he was a Page for the House of Representatives and an intern for a Congressman. As expected, he'd had lots of friends and family visit, so had become a seasoned guide.

When I arrived, we embarked on a whirlwind tour of the city, I asked David to pick something he hadn't seen yet... to make the guided tour more of an adventure for him as well. He chose the Smithsonian's Hirshhorn. Per Mr. Google, I found this information about Hirshhorn's history: The Smithsonian's Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden was established by Joseph Hirshhorn who was a financier, philanthropist, and well-known collector of modern art. His gift to the nation of nearly 6,000 paintings, sculptures, drawings, and mixed media pieces helped to establish the art museum which is named after him.

The day we visited the Hirshhorn, a woman mysteriously appeared and offered to give us a personal tour. I was in a wheelchair so maybe that's why she sought us out? Or maybe it was my chatter that sounded like I had some sort of expertise? Nonetheless, we were given a great tour with insider info I'm sure Mr. Hirshhorn would not have approved. One tidbit that shocked my naive senses: Mr. Hirshhorn was known for simply entering warehouses filled with art, and waving his arms as a signal he was interested in acquiring it all. I was appalled, but kept my yap shut. Where was his passion? I could no more do that than fly to Pluto. I didn't consider his actions that of a true collector. In my opinion Mr. Hirshhorn was just interested in *owning* art. There's a big difference between collecting and owning, per my sensibilities and passions.

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The other day I suddenly stopped cataloging. (I'd put in at least 30 hours over three days.) In my tired brain a revelation started to grow, which gained momentum with a rub that ignited. I suddenly realized the reason my primary passion had been focused on Outsider Art.

In addition to taking photographs of my collection, I've also been doing extensive research on each artist. The discoveries have been over-the-top remarkable.

I acknowledge that all artists start *someplace* humble. Not all emerging artists are starving, but they do start humbly. Creative people usually have reservations and low expectations and insecurities and oodles and oodles of angst. Well... I do.

The thing is... I've recently read a lot of biographies and many of them reflected Herculean leaps. There were homeless men and women, and prostitutes, and single parents who didn't know how they were going to feed their children. There were dreamers who scavenged through city dumps for discarded house paint and scraps of wood or metal. There are so many in my collection who have struggled, were humanity's losers, scraped to find discards to use as a canvas, who peddled and begged and peddled and begged some more in order to pursue a muse. *sigh* I suddenly became overwhelmed and my eyes teared to realize the pilgrimage many creative people have made and suffered and rejoiced for the sake of ***ART***.

Take the Florida Highwaymen for example: In the 1950s these were poor black men who started painting back-country scenes of Florida. Racial barriers existing in Florida during the 50's prohibited the artists from displaying their works in traditional galleries. This was the era before interstates. These men would stand on the side of state roads/highways holding up their canvases. I happen to have a Highwaymen painting by one of the original men... Charles *Chico* Wheeler. He's one of the highly regarded originals inducted by the State of Florida into the Florida Artists Hall of Fame. It's not a Picasso or Monet or Dutch Master, but in all truth, it's the art I want on my walls, in my heart.

I used to think I collected emerging artists and Outsider artists because of the affordability, but I now also think I was drawn to these artists because of what they represent to me... they are survivors! They inspire me to chase my muse.

Chris Johanson is another favorite find who has been wildly received and successful. Rather than me ramble, you can Google him if you're inclined. He hails from San Francisco's streets. His story is riveting.

That's all I have tonight about art. Thanks for stopping by.