Saturday, June 27, 2015


Having four dogs here (two are "borrowed") is the best thing I've ever  known, even tho' these guys get underfoot (not easily moveable at 60, 65, 85 and 90 pounds) and having something to eat always means having to contend with begging (course, I trained them well in this regard). Having them in the shop as companions is also terrific, even though their commentary on my work is usually nil-or at least not at all audible. We will lose Zeke soon, as his owner will return after a two month absence. Rojo has not been around too much lately, either. But i chalk that up to the boiling temperature we've experienced lately.
Thought we might be taking in another dog while we stayed in Taos, finding this black female silky-haired job playing dodge-ems with the cars and trucks on highway 68. Took her home, overnighted her  (a night spent trying to sleep in my van to avoid her barking all night long) and found her owner the next day.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Another stunning, brilliant observation

Lately, I seem to be at odds with people I care about or thought I cared about. Perhaps this latest revelation, spoken of here, is because my sis, Ruth, seems to be fading away. After 90+ years on this earth and many, many years of daily correspondence, I feel as though I'm losing her…we are separated by almost 2,000 miles, so I do not have the full picture. Recent letters from her indicate failing health. This has been tough and the loss, along with other relatively recent losses are hitting me hard.
But this is more about the distant past. I had a friend-or at least she claimed to be and that we were the friends who knew each other the longest…we used to breakfast together or meet and sit and talk. But my recollection of theses meetings was always clouded by this: she was so often distracted by everything around us as well as phone calls, etc. that I might as well have been a part of the scenery. I never took her to task on this,  which is very much my failing, but my anger about this still rises. Many, many years later. We are no longer in communication, partially because of my inability (up to this point) to express this anger.
I'm glad to have learned this lesson late rather than not at all. Enough said: I wanted to put this out there if only to satisfy myself and also to know that -for better or worse- I've changed immensely.

the skinny

It's a matter of keeping the nose to the old grindstone when it comes to painting. This may be SO obvious to others, but I'm just learning it. Somehow, I thought one could sneak by with what worked in sculpture, so why not with painting?
Not so. I've recently"learned" how to get myself in a sort of trance state (or at least some other sort of concentrative place) in order to paint (or paint the way I see fit), but this isn't enough. The knowledge that comes with repetition still lacks here. I feel as though I'm close-really close to where I want to be, but each work is still a hit and miss proposition.
In speaking of wanting to get past this chancy "state", there's also a notion that this-right here right now-is where any artist needs to be. In a place of doubt, unsureness. So the fact that the hand does not perfectly correspond with the brain, even if this is a transient state, may be the answer. This is a place lacking in perfection, but filled with raw intent...

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Re discovery

I just unearthed about 200-or is it 300? paintings on paper from the period of about six months before I was out of my house (and first marriage) till the time after my folks died. Lotsa work, all "off topic" in the sense that this stuff little resembles my sculptural work from the time.
Considering I'm painting again (several years later, after a notable hiatus) makes me wonder just how I've been avoiding it for so long.
Looking at all these paintings afresh is like opening a box of hidden goods, which might as well be treasure for me. You may have guessed that, for the most part,  I'm not unhappy with these works.
I'd like to clap my hands and have them all documented and in other people's hands, but this will not happen by itself. The reality: a lot of photography and mounting ahead. The reason: I don't want to deny that these paintings exist nor leave their care up to whoever is left behind-especially Laura…
Time to show them and possibly sell a few…Below are two examples -they measure 10.5" X 13.75", which is the size of the watercolor pad from which they were painted.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Here's what

Two (ok, three) thoughts:
Reading quite a bit-and all of a sudden have a greater interest not only in procuring books, but in actually reading them.
Middlemarch-ypu, it's taken me a lot to get started with this Victorian novel-which some consider one of the finest books ever written-and i am engrossed in it and almost don't want it to end…this surprising, as for quite a while I checked my progress via the bookmark's trudging through the pile of pages.
I'll begin-once again-The Recognitions-the William Gaddis book, which is another monster which  promises the same sort of conclusions and sense that Gravity's Rainbow held for me (NOT-I never have yet finished that one).
Roberto Bolano lost me with his Primitive Detectives story and I've been swamped even by many short stories-dunno what accounts for this most recent interest in sitting up straight by a good strong light and giving myself to another's narrative.
I'm so fucking disillusioned with my art and the art "world" and what is considered good lately. No, i know I shouldn't be: I'm too damn old and "wise" (or is that wizened?) to mistake that path… how, at this age, could I see it laden with jewels as opposed to the reality, which is to know that it's laden with blood and body parts. S'pose I tired of  the self-admonition this week (Shut up and keep working) and demanded to know why the hell nobody even casts a glance at what i'm doing. Some days it really all is one big joke.
Writing this in order to prime the pump and start writing again- suffering in silence is for the birds and why not turn these black thoughts into words, paragraphs, letters? I still believe that anger is an energy.