zombies don't read poetry
My son Gabriel Nathanael Rossmiller died at the age of 4 and was the inspiration for me to begin creating art. All of my earliest works were on the subject of art as therapy to help me grieve at his loss. My earliest gallery piece was a study in negative space using Gabriel's bike trailer as a found object and covering it completely in white paint with a poem written on the side in red ink which reads:
our last farewell kiss as
i blow my breath into your
lungs. one second. wait.
the chest falls. once more.
collapse. i press my hands
against your heart to make
it beat. thirty times. breathe.
thirty times. breathe. thirty
times. breathe. but the dead
have gathered you,
into their arms.
Another of my earlier works concerning the death of Gabriel is the Red Sea Scroll, which I sent to Martha Miller. It was mixed media on watercolor paper using many of his medical supplies with glue. I painted the entirety with red and white paint and red ink. It was meant to echo the sentiment of seeing my dead son on a hospital bed, bleeding from his nose.
Ceramic: A Love Story is an 8 second performance piece about the subject of divorce. Used in the piece is a ceramic mug which was given to me and my ex-wife at our wedding, and was destroyed using a Stanley hammer.
Signs of Nonexistence, my first solo show in a gallery, took place from March 23 - April 1, 2016 at Christine Frechard Gallery in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA. It featured 24 of my works in digital collage using GIMP.
Between 2015 and 2017, I collaborated in a duo with Renata Solimini. We participated together in a number of shows in both Italy and the United States.
In May, 2021 I began work on a series of digital arts projects after a long hiatus away from much of anything creative. My direction moving forwards is to try to envelope the few remaining connections that I have left in the artist community within a series of easily-digestible and not-so-provacative tangents from my former aesthetical attributes. The below image was stolen save for the word "electronic," verbatim from one of Luc Fierens' rubber stamp designs from the 80's and pronounced in cursive on my iPad with little-to-no effort.