Everything is a Path, individually tailored.
What matters is the lesson they’re teaching you.
Love your path for that reason. Don’t fall in love with it.
Every class struggle began as a personal struggle.
Every public paradigm shift began privately…and if truly meaningful,
continues and evolves privately.
It’s easy enough and quite convenient
to join the latest Cause Du Jour.
Know your values.
A boulder in the middle of surging rivers.
I started a painting.
Every time I pick up a brush I am a beginner again.
My one regret: forgetting to clean my brushes afterwards.
” I am writing this in my old age. I used to call myself Hokusai, but today I sign my self ‘The Old Man Mad About Drawing.”
first the phone cracked
then the pc crashed
then work transferred me
and I had to re-adjust.
and an amazing thing is growing. there-
not interested in control,
nor sad and tired powerplaygenderpoliticking;
i’m interested in generosity, courage, Lorca’s “duende” –
i want to draw on the sidelines and simultaneously shout
i want to make bad paintings.
i SHOULD, I ALLOW myself to make lots of bad paintings and drawings.
the problem honestly is i’m afraid of making bad art . it paralyzes.
i need to make a lot of mistakes. it’s ok. perfection is ignorance, immaturity. mistakes are lessons. bridges beyond,
from mistakes- they make you AWARE, they humble…perfection is complacency. smugness.
make lots of mistakes, make lots of crappy art. it’s ok. in the end , it’s all about necessity.
MOST RECENT WORK
several weeks back I was staying with the person most dear to me, and she made me coffee before she left for work.
as I drank the coffee I noticed that the inside of the cup had fine craquelure all over and as I drank more of the coffee until empty the fine cracks got more pronounced and bolder at the bottom of the cup.
it was unexpected. it was a gradual surprise. perhaps unintended. but it made drinking the coffee and the coffee itself 100 times better.
on the outside bottom of the cup it said “Made In Japan”. probably circa 1950’s.
imagine if you will a portrait which is not a semblance, a nude painting missing a body, a conversation without subject and object, a history: of everything.
that. that would be something
so here I am, painting, and it dawns on me that the only way the painting can realize itself is within the painting itself.
let it answer its own questions- don’t get in the way, and bring something from the outside.
in this case, you have to think “inside the box”. the answer is within the box.
fuck thinking “outside the box”. it’s overrated and
meaningless. the problem is literally in the box-
thus the answer is somewhere in it.
to think otherwise is to be tangential- to be beside the point
to be art-ificial
the story ended as it began :
a lone wolf was found dead in the snow
You draw not to copy but to notice
How to find some kind of reasonable balance between life, art, and work…art predominating-
and this thing where one thing ends- let’s say a life, and another begins. I want them both…
if it’s a boy: Lucien Keone ( nickname Luke-Lucien from Lucien Freud the painter, Keone is Hawaiian for John…
and if it’s a girl, Elise Martha ( Elise, from the Cure song- nickname Eli) )
IN OTHER NEWS
the dog of my life, my art assistant Ripley had to go through surgery recently-
and the biopsy result wasn’t good but at least she’s healing well, for now
“Sail on by, sail on by for now
They play naked in the water
You know it’s hard, heaven knows I’ve tried
But it just keeps getting harder…
So won’t you lay me, won’t you lay me down
Won’t you lay me, won’t you lay me down “
this isn’t erotica- this isn’t titillation- this is the rude slap of leaves and branches on your face just before you walk into a forest clearing, or a path- and you see: being. being, being, being: complex, fascinating,multi-hued, shifting shimmering Other
one thing I’m fascinated with are creatives who perform publicly: the singers, dancers, actors. their art happens mostly “in situ”, in the moment, requiring an audience ( and the energy that transfers back and forth), on a stage or under the scrutiny of a spotlight; my work happens in a cave, so to speak- in the dark and relative silence, wrestling with proverbial demons- and then something is left, some trace that perhaps a public ( including myself) will look at “a posteriori.”
I should look into this
I’m participating in a salon show this Sunday, March 8th at 7 pm, at The Living Gallery. There’s a Q&A portion for the artists. Figured I’d do it since I’ve never done this before. My ” do something different once a week ” thing, I guess.
RECENT WORK- 2 MODELS, 2 SESSIONS
sometimes she would crawl inside my skin, pushing here and there, grasping, pinching and poking- stretching me from the inside; and through her I learn better where I begin and where I end, where I break and where I gather up-
she curls up inside me like a curious fetus, a something without a name- my inner cave hiding wondrous images
Altamira caves and Lascaux. And then the Sistine Chapel…I can’t help feeling that between one and the other, something was lost. The Sistine Chapel to me looks needlessly excessive and decadent- crass; not the height but the dregs, like leftover grind and sugar in the bottom of a mug
maybe the best art we as a species have ever made, were created in darkness and silence-fugitive as drawings scrawled on an Australian boulder with the sap of a twig, or eroding under tropical rain
MOST RECENT WORK ( the fluid, less-finished ones are warm up drawings done, with my left hand )