Inspired by the sudden appearance of a white flash in my peripheral vision while driving down a one lane country road. In such a claustrophobic stricture, even a slow moving vehicle appears to be hurling past things dangerous fast.
Highly stylized drawing of an early morning scene from several years ago. During this time my father was receiving treatment for a brain tumor, and the whole year between diagnosis and his passing was an exercise in “being present” and compartmentalization.
I’m beginning work on a new series that I’m pretty excited about. It’s too early to put into words as they have, at least the way I use them, a way of limiting and misdirecting content which might otherwise find a wonderful new home in the mind of the viewer. So I will fight the impulse to ruin it for you. (Insert chuckle) I will say that I feel a voice emerging here and am starting to understand and appreciate my own methods and style. I have also come to see the importance of working ideas through in the form of a “series”. (Art speak for and idea that is examined at length within multiple works.)
In the coming weeks there will be more posts containing this new work, and at some point my resolve will collapse, and some sort of thesis will emerge…sorry. Until then, I’m happy to let the language of images suffice!
The day after in inauguration of president Trump. (😳)
There’s a dusty little sheet of ice/snow on the ground outside my window, and every time I look at it I expect it to be deeper or gone. Its been trying to snow for days, but the best we’ve been able to eek out looks like the frozen remains of a pillow fight. It’s 7:00 A.M., it’s Saturday, and its very still, very quite. Outside.
I have had a love of drawing, of art in general, since I was a kid. (Not really a writer, so I skip like this a lot. It’s either crap, or a bold new aesthetic.) I grew up drawing things, from pictures mostly. I taught myself. Since then I have had quite a bit of instruction, much of which reinforced what I had discovered on my own, so when people ask if I’m “self taught”, which happens a lot, I say yes…because, yes. (The self taught thing is often mentioned in conjunction with, “uses only ball point pens”, “works entirely with eyes closed”, “uses only non-dominant hand, while riding a unicycle”, in other words, it’s offered as proof of some concept of…quality doesn’t seem quite right, that’s not what educated people expect from
a…Art now. It’s a PR device, it’s like saying, I know it’s just representational, but yoiks!, the conditions under which it was created. (Does THAT make it Art?) Parden the deafening roar of scarcasm, but the whole question is beyond it’s time now and was NEVER really relevant.
I make art. It’s mostly representational…quite often narrative. That said, I do love a mystery, and I try to keep the natural mystery of, as Tina Turner sang, “things and stuff”, alive and in your face. I told a teacher once that it was my intention to be the Radiohead of people who work a full time job, maintain a household, and make art in the diastole between responsibilities. She got a bit of a look on her face, I got the feeling that she thought my audacity lacked a hope! Still, I AM audacious AND hopeful. I have an idiosyncratic idea off what kind of artist I am, and this should go without saying, I represent no one but me.
Drawing done of a small fish found while kayaking across Lake Heron in New Mexico. Boats are intended to insure that the passengers will not break the plane of the waters surface. Why is it that the allure of that which lies beneath the surface is so strong. The thinnest of membranes separates our world from his, but beyond that barrier the conditions differ so greatly that life for each is unsustainable in the realm of the other. Along with that is our humanness. I am an individual, look at that fingerprint. We have our concept of our utter uniqueness, it feeds our sense of superiority. I am Me, he is legion. It’s a perception. It’s part of what we tell ourselves and each other about…everything. That is what my art has a tendency to be about, the membrane.
If you always look down, you miss the beauty of what's around you in each of life's fleeting moments. The precious experience of simply being in the moment. If you never look down, you won't see that five dollar bill the guy in front of you dropped.