"Creative Detours: Art, Travel, and a Life in Motion"

Discovering My Inner Xenophile: A Life of Art, Travel, and Culture

Recently, I learned a new word that perfectly describes something I’ve felt for a long time—xenophile. Not zenophile, as I initially thought (though that sounds peaceful too). A xenophile is someone who feels a deep appreciation or attraction toward foreign people, cultures, manners, and customs. When I stumbled across the definition, it hit me: That’s me. I’ve always been this way—I just never knew there was a word for it.

The realization came while I was trying to explain my social media feed to someone. It’s filled with videos of people from around the world—talking about their cultures, their daily lives, their traditions. I love it. It fascinates me. It’s not that I don’t love my own culture—I absolutely do. I’m a proud American. I’ve lived in Texas for the past seven years, and I’ve grown to embrace the Texan identity. But before that, I was a New Mexican, raised in the small town of Estancia, and I’ll always carry that piece of home with me, too.

My story starts in Estancia, but my adult life began in Albuquerque. And while Albuquerque has its challenges, it's still a huge part of who I am. I’ll talk more about that place in another post. Today, I want to share how my love for distant cultures has shaped my life—and how it continues to influence who I am.

Honestly, the word xenophilia sounds like some sort of condition, doesn’t it? But it’s not a problem—it’s part of my identity. These days, my video feeds are mostly filled with voices from England, Ireland, and Scotland. There’s a bit of Germany and Mexico in the mix, too—so long as the content is in English. As Bruce Willis once quipped, “I only speak two languages: English and bad English.” Same here.

Right now, I’m completely captivated by Edinburgh, Scotland. There’s something about that Gothic, old-world aesthetic that resonates deeply with me. Ever since I graduated high school back in '92, I’ve been chasing that feeling of faraway places. At first, I thought I’d go into graphic design—but life took a different turn. I ended up driving trucks cross-country for 16 years. It wasn’t the path I planned, and honestly, I regret not sticking with the artist route. But life had its own ideas.

Eventually, I found my way back to art through tattooing. I did that for about a decade before returning to college, this time studying networking. A short stint in broadband led me to my current career as a traveling field engineer. It’s not my passion, but it allows me to travel—and for that, I’m grateful. Through it all, I’ve kept creating. Drawing, writing, and building my own little worlds has always been my refuge.

But here's the rub: art doesn’t typically come with a lot of opportunities for travel. So my creative soul is often at odds with my wanderlust. I’m good at tech—good enough—but it’s not where my heart is. It’s just a means to an end. The road lets me see new places, and in the quiet evenings at the hotel, I turn back to art.

This dual identity of artist and engineer has come with its challenges. I’ve had to figure out how to make a mobile art studio work. My gear includes sketchbooks, pens, pencils, two laptops (one for IT work, one for creative projects), a variety of journals, and two drawing tablets—one standalone and one that hooks up to my laptop for bigger projects. I’ve become pretty adept at working an 8-to-10-hour shift at a client site, then spending another 6-to-8 hours drawing, designing, blogging, and writing.

I still dream of the day when I can focus solely on my art. But for now, that’s not today.

Let me say upfront: I won’t be discussing my day job here. This is an art platform, and my corporate life has no place in it. Besides, I work for a large private company, and like anyone in the corporate world knows, we’re constantly reminded to keep company business off personal platforms. We even take annual courses on it—so yes, I take that seriously.

For now, just know that my studio is wherever I am: a backpack, a suitcase, and a briefcase filled with tools, loaded into the back of my car, an airplane overhead bin, or sometimes even on a train. That’s Artfoul Studios—a name that might sound grand, but really, it’s just me, making art on the move.

It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. But it’s mine. And it’s honest.