Hi. My name is Rich and I'm a tortured artist.

The Confession

Well, really, I'm more tortured, than artistic. And it may be argued that the artistic is more artifice than artful. But I try, nonetheless.

Folks who don't know me well (meaning just about everybody) don't realize I have this creative half that doesn't wield its powers in the company of friends and coworkers until long after we meet. In fact, not knowing myself as well as I ought, even I remained largely unaware of this need to create until the beast was unleashed during my final year of high school. My more "public" facing personna tends to be bookish, I suppose — and there's a good reason for that: I'm rarely without a book. Even in good company.

Not quite a misanthrope…

As long as I'm in the

Happiness is finding beauty in unexpected places.

I try not to post too many things close together, but I was too excited about this to let it slide without posting.

No, I didn't get a job.

Tonight I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. At first I thought it was a reflection off the rim of my eye-wear. Then I thought, Wait, is that a spider dangling in mid-air? So I looked, and I saw what I at first thought was the hugest arachnid I'd ever seen clutching the wall of my house.

But, no, after I stopped screaming hysterically (at least, in my head), I looked more closely, adjusted my spectacles, and realized I was seeing a beautiful dragonfly.

I gently encouraged the little critter up on my finger and, cupping my hands

Here are a couple unrelated shots that I took in the last 24-hours or so. The first one here, I took today at lunch. I usually head out from the office for my noon break. I am an introvert, so while I'm friendly, I need a lot of time alone to recharge my batteries. Plus, I love to read, so I like to take advantage of my lunch hour to inhale a little fiction.

So, anyhow, I often ask myself what I can find in my normal habitual environment that could prove visually interesting in a photograph? I'm always asking myself this. It forces to me to look at my comfortable—even boring—surroundings with a new interest. And after all the hours spent in my car, what’s more familiar and un-artistic than my car and the keys