early early Sunday

For no apparent reason, I've been up since 3ish and gave up getting back to sleep.Could be the horror issue of Granta I picked up at Barnes and Noble yesterday. Got up and made coffee, wrote for an hour as promised, made bacon in the oven, fed the bewildered cat herd and came back here to share a couple of diamond links.

Fair warning; do not have coffee over the keyboard - you may spew some out your nose laughing, and hit the loo first lest ye pee oneself in hilarity. I did both.  Here and you could substitute the word "artist" for "writer" in most of these items but I won't quibble.

I finally got the tree undressed last night too.

Love and anger @ the Painter's Keys

This recent topic in Robert Genn's Painters Keys came at just the right time for me.

"As yet Unbaptized"

I answered one of my own recent questions "why we do what we do" and they published my response to the article. I was tickled at the image the editors elected to use (my header is a detail from it) and mildly mortified at the title they gave the post (not mine I assure you) "What I did for Love". Jeez Bob. Thanks. I guess.

 Before the holidays I treated myself to a subscription to ART IN AMERICA magazine and after reading the first two issues I've been overwhelmed with the general tone of nihilism and anger that so much of the art conveys.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not looking for puppies, poppies and sunsets - I'm just repelled and bored by endless depictions of mutilations, gore, chaos, mayhem and horror. If I want more of that I'll turn to current pop crap-culture now infested with vampires, zombies and similar escapist nonsense.

All of these genres and their spawn illustrate my ongoing complaint with society in general- the abdication of personal responsibility for one's behavior. None of the heinous acts are anyone's fault because they are afflicted somehow and compelled to act the way they do because of the affliction. No one is responsible for their actions.

I'm convinced that none of the problems of our society will change until people own up to the fact that they constantly indulge their own slightest whims or desires without a thought for the consequences to themselves or anyone else. "I was high. I was drunk. I was a vampire. I was a zombie. I was from the Jersey Shore." Give me an effing break!

 It looks to me as if this magazine and the Art Machine in general is simply pandering to this segment of the population, a segment, I might add, that (despite current economic conditions) seems to be able to indulge in those whims to the tune of thousands of dollars for art that I would bury in someone else's back yard in the dark while wearing a string of garlic.

I can only hope my attitude forever keeps me from being "mainstream" because the mainstream is a polluted sewer.

Ahhh. Feel better?       I do.


PS..HUZZAH  June!

wayfinding

I know you'll pardon the sloth. Now that the detritus is getting up to level of my design wall, it's probably time to do some serious housekeeping.

But the purpose of this shot is to show the progression in the series I've been working on.


Some of the elements in this largest one  bother me and will be changed as the work progresses. 

I missed the morning light window in the studio this morning because I was hunkered down in the still dark bedroom working on the beginnings of a story.

Writing is an entirely different creative process from working with cloth - everything is happening behind your eyes instead of in front of them.

A whole 'nother part of the brain must be engaged and being one hundred percent present in that place is most important. 

There's no mindless stitching  (that I can tell so far) in writing although I did delete as much as I finished up with...akin  to ripping out?

hardbooting the muse

Acrylic paint sure is more expedient than cloth. Knowing when to put on the brakes at speed is an even bigger challenge. I think I like working with oil pastel on canvas better but then, these are small, 8x10 inches.

There's a thirty-six inch canvas gathering dust in the other room that I'll attend to soon. Jim, I may finally use that easel for something other than a craprack.

Yellow Peril

errands

Out and about doing errands today. Beat feet to whatever brick & mortar bookstores are still in your area! All the calendars and day books were on sale at the local Books A Million. The selection is still good and 50% off is very nice indeed. I got a plain, small lined notebook for work stuff, a wall calender and one of those page-a-day ones..

I usually get the Wysocki Cats but this year they creeped me out.  Sorry Mr.W.

dreaming on

I spent some time with the big one this morning. I'm starting the construction stitches phase, small mostly invisible stitches with 12wt sulky cotton to anchor and stabilize the many "tender" pieces of cloth that tend to shift, wander and shred even with the rayon basting which gets picked out as I go.

My mother is the "Rose" and this is a bit of one of the many handkerchiefs that she received as gifts from her customers at the little post office she worked at for 23 years. She gave me a big box of them and they have all gone into the dyepots - linen, silk, fancy and plain - they all loved the color.

party time

Yes, it's party time up in the studio. my three constant companions have joined me for an evening of fun, frolic and phone calls from fools.

Karma carries on in her 16th year on the planet. In her dotage, she has lots of demands and her every whim is indulged...I think she putting one over on us and by me, it's okay. Caviar and ice cream..right away madam.

That black void you see here is Voodoo curled up in a ball on my new chair from Ikea. He continues to work on his Thug routine, menacing all who show any signs of believing his posing. King of the couch, Lord of the Lounge gave us all a bad scare this past fall seemingly cashing in 7 of his nine lives but now fully recovered.

Sweetie has taught me to look down at my feet with every step because she is quite likely to be right there where I was planning to move to.
Although always within arms reach, she'd rather not be fussed with or petted much and will let you know with something sharp when enough is enough.

They never question, never criticize, don't care if I swear,  keep any secrets offered and are great company.

Happy New Year!

this works for me!

rooms with no view

"You need a room with no view so imagination can meet memory in the dark." Annie Dillard

Does anyone else compose or design while doing repetitive physical tasks?

I had to do a lot of errands yesterday and while I was the driving familiar neighborhood roads I spun myself the ground work for a new short story. Once the tasks were completed, I went to the Aquatic Center at Bethesda Park not five minutes from home and swam in the gigantic indoor heated pool for 45 minutes.

My stroke closely resembles a manatee in search of the dessert cart but it still taxes me if I keep at it. After a lap or two, seventy five meters worth each way, I stop, hang on the tile lip and stretch this and that before I turn and head back to the distant shore. A few times I put on the steam and swam like I was hearing the Jaws theme music, impressing myself with the pace I was making. The lithe, young lifeguard piped up "Best lap this morning!"- poor thing, she must be bored to tears. Did I mention that I have the entire pool to myself?It seems like the best kept secret in the county. No one else showed up before noon.

Back and forth, over and over, while other chapters of the story began to make themselves known. I tried to stay away from sharp details, descriptions or feelings, as these can slip frustratingly away with no pen and paper on hand to take notes (note to self - devote that new blank notebook to travel, even poolside) but it was a productive swim.

No visual expressions are coming from this activity so far. It's a pretty mundane setting even with one entire wall  of glass looking out into the Georgia piney weeds and winter sky.  That activity seems to live in a different place in my head but now that I think about it there is a huge wall on one end that begs for a mural...

Ocean Homes

scale

It's been nice to pick up the needle and get back to work on this piece but I constantly have to step back and remind myself to keep the scale of each element in keeping with the overall piece.


It's very easy to get myopic. Already there are two that I have over worked early on and will probably have to pick out.

Helen Frankenthaler died in the night.

She was one of the (many) reasons that I do what I do.

When I was in art school in NY,  I was once present when she was marshaling an exhibition of many enormous canvases, her work, giving orders to a group of assistants ..what went where, etc. It was quite overwhelming and I remember being terrified that my presence would be noticed. I felt like a spy in the camp.