• Born: Pacific Northwest 1946
• Education: Project Artaud 1971–1987, San Francisco Art Institute 1973
• My contribution to art: Humanity
• My heroes: The guy who likes hemis in his Dodges, the kid in Mad Hot Ballroom, any of the canine species
• Today's art scene: Full of itself
• Promise for the world: Youth and humor
• I'd rather be: Merrill Streep
• Cyber world: The new vaudeville
• On religion: Should be banned
• World War II: Taught us what we already know
• Favorite movie: On the Waterfront
• Least favorite place: Boeing Field in January at 4:00am
• Most favorite place: My basement
• Favorite kitchen utensil: Cuisinart Mixer.

All in all, as it were, I'd rather not say. If it's necessary to write about visual art then it isn't necessary to make visual art.

However, being opposed to not being anti-climactical I will blather on about non-sense that has no significance whatsoever. I was born in a log cabin—at which time I mistook the sullen look on my mom's face for displeasure at my birth. As I watched her while bathing lit by the fire of transcendance and erotic child fantasies, I began to pee and did my first drawing there in the dim fission of the cabin floor. Mom, although a novice at the game of child rearing was quick to spot talent. Slogging across the floor with feet of clay, she threw down the brushes used to scrape away cobwebs and told me to sweep the floor up "Mr. Artist", which I did, working the soil into a loamey, pissy mud. Soon there lay my first bas-relief in the umber enriched organic soil, accented by swaying shadows, a cover of my ma's teet.

Today, when I think back on those innocent times I am reminded of how nature and art are closely linked more fastly than links in a website. As we know, the urge to produce art is mostly about the craving to make money the easy way—what could be more natural? I try to find the signature style that would guarantee my Avery Schwartz logo on each canvas. That is my true dream—to be able to sell my signature. But alas, the work that I do is different one from the next. I start a canvas and there is no telling where it will end up and for that matter where it began. My impulses always are screaming "I GOTTA BE FREE!" There are actually times when I will be cutting a fine long curve with my springiest brush and suddenly I am slashing the painting with the nearest object I can grab. But then art is like music, it comes out of a box.