January 21 2017

The day after in inauguration of president Trump. (šŸ˜³) 

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.

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