Faced with the decision of either tackling important tasks and making sensible decisions or staying comfortably numb under the influence of alcohol and never-ending white noise that’s hidden behind music and mundane TV shows, one may or may not choose a road less traveled. Knowing that going with the obviously easier one of the two ultimately won’t get you anywhere, you convince yourself that you’re not a lazy piece of shit by begrudgingly attempting that thing that is in this day and age often referred to as ‘adulting’.

The problem with the term ‘adulting’ is the fact that the spectrum of its definition is way too broad. It’s all about perception, which is skewed one way or another based on where you’re standing and many other factors. Much like with a mirror, you’re not guaranteed to see a perfect reflection of reality. Some mirrors are more flattering while others make you question your outfit and/or showing up in public at all.

Granted, unless we’re talking about a museum of mirrors filled with ones that are specifically designed to alter parts of your body, the changes in your everyday mirrors are minute. And still, when looking at a mirror at home, a department store or even on the street somewhere, you never really know if what you see before you is an exact replica of that which others see with a naked eye.

This leads me to my latest art project. I often turn to painting when I can’t muster the strength or mental capacity to be super productive in other areas. I figure it’s somewhat justified because it’s certainly less destructive of all the other things I could be doing, while actually giving my mind a sense of freedom for a change, which is nothing if not beneficial. Usually I’m so preoccupied with the random clutter that is life that it’s nice to get away into the world where nothing has to make sense; it just flows and it just is.

So I purchased a giant mirror on Craigslist especially for the occasion, and I went to town. All sorts of crazy colors were thrown on the pallet. At one point I felt too much of the actual mirror was covered so I scraped it with a metal scrub, which in itself turned out to have a really cool effect. I swirled, blended and blotted; I dabbed and splatted. Finally I looked at my scratched up, colorful reflection in the mirror and decided that the only way the image that was looking back at me could look any better was if it was illuminated. So I dug up some battery operated lights and staple gunned them to the frame. The rustic look of the copper wire couldn’t be a better fit.

Perfectly imperfect, my Distorted Reflection was complete. Thus came the title.