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Emidio the Artist
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People know me simply as Emidio the artist and I am a gypsy by nature. I was born in a mobile home and raised on wet beans and dry biscuit. I’ve traveled the roads of the Western US, Canada, and Mexico. From the diners on Route 66, to the cliffs on Highway One, to the dust on the Road to Ensenada , I’ve haunted these roads like a ghost cowboy with a pencil instead of a harmonica.
As a student of life, I’ve sprinkled marigold petals to beckon the dead on El Dia de los Muertos and walked through the mists of Niagara naked as a newborn. The eye is a camera, recording all the singularities of our existence. But the memory’s images can quickly fade, like a quixotic dream upon fully wakening. Sketching is, therefore, a way of recording my experience, not creating it. The way I experience the world is as unique to me as it is to you. I can capture the sound of wind with one brushstroke, or the feeling of serenity in the shade of a cloud. This is the place where art resides; in the eye, the ear, the heart, and the mind.
I believe we are stuck in time, like tiny creatures suspended in amber. Past present and future have already been determined. Ancient Eastern wisdom and science are in agreement in that infinity cannot be divided by that which is finite, or you get zero. Therefore, I believe when we dream, we return to the infinite, like a spoke on a wheel returns to the hub. Each day we awake as a new spoke on the eternal wheel.
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