Swaying Masts and Rugged Coasts

Follow the music

Andrew tipton

Savannah Polaroids

Andrew Tipton

Rebelious October

Spend. Life.

Strokes, left. Strokes, right.

Across a sea, a lake, an ocean.

Bow of canoe, inside a kite; blue sky, pusuit of motion.

Swim with horses; Off your knees.

Chase golden streaks through bamboo leaves.

Cannot retame an open mind.

Reclaimed; spirit of childhood time.

October blue, rebelious.





Andrew Tipton

Living the Dream

I am born to live the dream. my own dream.
It is a good dream - it is the dream of deep blue, of a cloudless day. The dream of a smile suicide in an open field - we live and die and cloudless blue days are the dreams that are rarely dreamed. The wheels on my bicycle spin and I ride fast. I take curves and the rubber on my tires growls. I ride. I ride past the American dream, yards to my left - tall white statements of forty-five hour weeks. This is not my dream. I ride. I ride past the dreams of politicians, of lawyers, of nurses, of poets.. I ride past the dreams of Tom and the dreams Jane; the dreams of my parents, and my grandparents... the dreams of presidents, the dreams of husbands and of wives. These are not my dreams. My hands clenched, my jaw determined. This is the road to my soul's pleasure; my shiny spokes glistening against the sunlight, the weight of a bag of thoughts around my shoulders; wind in my hair, sweat on my chest. My own. Entirely.
There is no wealth given to those that live the dream of deep blue cloudless days; no status earned, no glory, no pride, or success to be claimed. There is no one around to celebrate when my bicycle rolls to stop - no banners and no victory cry when I get off my bicycle and lay in grass underneath a perfect sun. But there is happiness. Be it wise, be it wild, be it rebellion, be it sanity - be it the domination of words, or enslavement to a color. Be it the rumbling of thought or the awe of touch, or the calling of adventure - This dream is my own.
Live that dream.


(Andrew TiptoN)

Long Live the Day

Long live the day. Long live the roar of tigers and the thirst of lions.
The sons of roam own the golden edge of sunrise; ancient mornings - the sweetness of wild infinity. Long live the untamed. Long live freedom. We hunt for the feathers of sacred eagles; elusive. The mysteries of our own hearts - secret caves to the liquid lagoons of our souls. Born to bewilderment. We chase the wisdom of oceans, the rage of rivers, the peace of motion. Long live adventure. Long live the curiosity of children. Fascination in the afternoons of summer. The simplicity of pleasure; the pleasure of abandon. Always to run with leopards, always to treasure the sounds of laughter. Resting in outstretched branches - the arms of a thousand trees. Give me brave. Give me the splendor and hope of waves. Long live courage. Long live the fierceness of the young and the beauty of the old. We are the children of supernovas; we are the dreams of fireflies. We are everything as we are nothing. The puzzle of god - of which we are all pieces.
Long live happiness.



(Andrew Tipton)

Painting Waves

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

Fight club

Standing in front of the canvas.. I stare blankly at the paintbrush clenched between my fingers. Drops of indigo blue splatter on a khaki-gold background. Afternoon sunshine beams through the open windows; the hum of the ceiling fan overhead: metronome to my brush-stroke sonata.
I take a deep deliberate breathe, and run my free hand through my sweaty hair.
There are a million things to do.
There are a million other things I could be doing right now.
But this is the most beautiful of all moments; and I am painting waves.
I'm here.. of all places on earth, because I want to be - I choose to be.

Right now.. what is it that you want to be doing?
Where do you want to be?
When you woke up this morning, and climbed out of your hammock.. what did you imagine that you had to do?
Go to work?
Get dressed?
Gather firewood?
Smoke a cigarette?
Take a bathe?
Get to class?
We are one choice away from what we want.

"I Need to.."
"I Must.."
"I Have to.."
Those phrases ring through my mind countless times a day. Without even thinking, without even knowing what we're saying.. we offhandedly lay claim to behavior, whose necessity we have elevated above our own will; we speak as if our actions are out of our hands.. as if our moments are no longer our decision. Our lives seem pitiful and weak.. because we see ourselves in that way. Choice-less, because we have already established expectations on our day.. on our week.. on our life. Pretending to be burdened by an imaginary existence that has not yet played out.
This is your life. This is your choice.
We do anything... only because we choose to.

We assume that because of consequence.. our actions must follow a set of guidelines. If we abandon our 9-5 job, obviously we will not have an income. If we ride a bicycle everywhere, it will definitely limit how far we can travel quickly. If we give money away for no reason, we won't have money to spend on our self. If a decision makes life tougher, or makes us poorer, or takes away comfort, or leaves us hungry.. or kills us.. we do not even register that as a choice. But we still have those choices - At every moment, we still have every choice.
"I have to go to work today.. or I won't get paid."
"I can't go off sailing.. I need to settle down."
"I need more money."
"I need a car."
"I have to save for my child's college education."
"I must eat.. or I won't live."
"I need to get out of this dirt hut."


Lose everything. Lose all ambition and practicality and responsibility.. lose fear and lose anticipation.. lose rationality and then choose what you want to do today - because then you will be free to do anything.
Sleep all day.
Walk around naked wherever you please.
Paint waves on a canvas.
Go for a swim or a hike.
Leave a $10,000 tip.
Write a book.
Chop firewood.
Do open-heart surgery.
Sail to Cuba and become a communist.
Become president.
Starve yourself.
It doesn't matter. Know that choice is completely in our minds.. it is always yours. The ability to own happiness in all places, is proportional to our ability to never "must", never "need", and never "have to", ever again.
That is freedom. That is freedom.




(Andrew Tipton)

Theories on the Revolutions of Lost Planets

Freedom and the price to maintain.
Isn't that a perverted, ironic statement.
How does one acquire freedom?
Can it be purchased or stolen or shared or sold?
Where does it come from?
When is it lost?
What does freedom have to do with peace?

I would ask myself what real freedom is. Not the freedom that we read about, or talk about, or the freedom to rights or the freedom to own anything. The real freedom, the freedom that knows the perfection of water in rivers.
I don't think we even know freedom. I don't think we are aware of how insanely deep and interwoven it already is in our lives. Not even close.

Born into freedom we were - as tiny helpless babies. We were naked, bloody, uneducated, weak and owned nothing - and we were free. We had nothing. Nothing tethering us to a false existence. Nothing burdening our minds or souls. Nothing keeping us from dying, or from living. Nothing covering our bodies, nothing hiding us from the world. Nothing, is an enviable pursuit.

I listen to ideas.
The distraction of comfort, the distractions of wealth, and of security.. paint shades of gray over our beautiful sunrise - it grows dimmer.
Chris McCandless, where did you get lost brother?
Absolute freedom: Being able to abandon all but peace.
Can you give up everything owned?
A man who will not put down his rights, is not a free man.
A man who will not give up his wealth, is not a free man.
A man who will not take off his clothes, is not a free man.
A man who will not endure, is not a free man.
A man who will not be still, is not a free man.
A man who will not die, is not a free man.

Freedom comes when there is nothing left that I am afraid of losing.
A naked child, that is what I become. A child that can do anything - because all there is to live for, is life itself.



(Andrew Tipton)