Barry Cohen

On January 1st, 2010, it will be ten years since Barry Cohen passed away. I often wonder how much influence I should attribute to Barry for my interest in folk art and its subsequent influence on my work.
I was just out of art school when I met Barry. He was the close friend of an aunt of my then girlfriend, Barbara. Her aunt Sally asked me if I'd ever had a desire to teach art or do workshops with kids. It turns out that Barry headed an organization (which was actually government-funded at the time!) called Community Environments and sponsored all kinds of teaching workshops for kids in NYC.
But before I got involved with teaching, I was a handyman, building this or that and doing minor stuff for friends or friends of friends in need. Barry wanted a loft bed built for his tiny 1st floor apartment on Sheridan Square. this was no mean task-when I went to size up the project, I saw that every square inch of his place was covered with his collection and his art. This would have been in the late 70's.
There were huge stoneware jugs displayed everywhere. he showed me handgrained doors (I didn't have a clue about their existence before this), weathervanes, decrepit but stunningly beautiful for their simplicity and their very primitive-ness and all sorts of other "smalls". Barry had just started collecting old hand cut valentines and excitedly showed me several of these.What he showed was not lost on me, but it was all fairly new to my eye and took me some time to absorb-but I certainly could appreciate its age and see the maker's "fingerprint".
I wish that he had spent more time in showing me his work, which was almost indistinguishable (to my unlearned eye) from his collection of folk art. What I remember most were some recent drawings he had done using strong tea as pigment. But he never explained his constructions, which to me looked like shelves and containers for holding even more fragments from the past.
The worst part of the job was getting the lumber into his apartment and not damaging anything before it was put into place. I learned the value of his collection much later-after I'd nearly glazed huge stoneware puzzle jugs with 2x4s or almost backed into delicate displays with power tools. I got the bed built and hurt nothing (well, maybe I scraped the bedroom ceiling once).
The image of his apartment has set with me many years. I wish that I'd had more time with him now to talk not only about his work, but with his absolute obsession with collecting.

More about Barry:
www.nytimes.com/.../antiques-just-plain-folk-the-art-of-everyday-objects.html

This one is titled "What Calls You"-I built the figure up from chicken wire and cloth

and the built it up with modelling paste. Trying to break away from the carved head

is tough -the results from the armature/modelling method are pretty unpredictable... is this a good thing or a bad thing?

nothing to report

I've been trying to work out the modelled heads-guess I can't expect success at every turn and I'm trying hard not to get discouraged.

Of course, there is little control over what I'm making-they look like humans alright, but they seem so cartoon-like and I'm really not too crazy about this.

Like anything else, these figures will require time, but I hope to not get TOO tight with them and "lose my lead"...kinda like having your cake and eating it, too. I want that spontaneous product that captures all my preconcieved notions, yet not have to work too hard at it, knowing that the "tighter" I get with the medium, the more I defeat what I'm after. How to keep the elusive lookng and feeling elusive...

This is another skipper. She kind of "fell" together. Wonder if I'll ever learn to skip rope?

A Good Show

Went to Baltimore City over the weekend to have a one day show (Bazaart) at the Visionary Art Museum there. After this weekend, I want to say that it feels like the economy may be coming back-or, at least, folks are less scared (for better or worse) of spending money. Sold a few pieces that were "hot off the press". I'm not going to say that I'm getting sentimental and that it pains me to see work go, but at least two of the pieces will be missed-"The Passenger" and "Pensive"-I'd just finished them and probably needed to stare at them just a while longer...oh, well.

Besides having a good long interrupted talk (darn those pesty folks who don't know that I'm at this venue to yak and instead want to buy my art!) with my friend Bob and his wife Nancy, I ran into two friends who I haven't seen in forever-I lived up the street from the in NYC on Broadway-Carl and Mary were below Canal street-I was above Canal street-talk about bringing back some good old memories AND seeing some really wonderful, creative, good-hearted and smart people...you take for granted some of the folks you meet, thinking that you'll probably have the chance to encounter people like this again. This is simply not true, unless you are very lucky or one of those who lives forever. Carl and Mary are unique-two people who I've crossed paths with and know myself to be the better and richer for it.

Here are the two pieces (boo-hoo) that I sold that were just out of the studio.

On the left is "The Passenger" and the one on the right is "Pensive". Isn't my photography getting a little better? I'll be doing a new website when I figure out lighting-and hopefully, this will be very soon.

Thanksgiving Story

So the lost dog (turns out his name is "little") was reunited with his owner thanks to an ad he placed on Craig's List along with some photos of the dog.
The dog was initially attracted to my friend when he heard the sound of a woodsplitter that a hired man was running out in the yard. The sound was familiar to the dog-as it happened, the dog's owner is a tree guy, who splits wood for extra moolah. Since the dog was almost 20 miles from home, the poor thing truly was lost!
Anyhow, both dog and owner are together again (Jamie said that when Little saw his owner-this big guy-she couldn't hold the dog back and the meeting was especially tearful. I know this situation from "losing" Delilah when she would go on one of her "walkabouts"...talk about emotional...just wathc them waterworks when it comes to anything dog.
In January, so Cara sez, we might get another dog-and probably a cat as well.

This one is called "Almost"-as you can see, an old, cut-up hand lettered sign spells out the title of this sculpture.

A New Dog in Town

Out to try something new-I'm about to purchase some modelling material (not clay, to which I seem to have a real aversion -I may have to take a clay workshop just to see if have good reason...) called Winterstone. What I'm thinking is that I'd like to make this material into the consistency of putty and roll some stuff-meaning bits of lint, dog hair, string, dust-and create some figures-or at least heads with shoulders out of it.

The whole idea is to spend less time with the head/figure and more on my background and the overall piece-so much of my work is supported by the heads/figures and I'd like to take the emphasis and spread it around a little. Barring this, a new approach is needed here as I'm feeling stale. This has been a strong feeling with the coming of the fall and the DST time-change. Along with it came a sort of depression, a feeling that I can get "through" my work much like I could get "through" my house with the lights off (or my eyes closed)-I know things a little TOO well.

We'll have to see how/if this works. It will help that my last show of the season is exactly a week from today...

We had a little stray mutt-dog in the warehouse/office for the past two days. He must be all of a year old and weighs 27 pounds (we had him on the UPS scale)-we've been trying every possible name for him (he belonged to someone, for sure, as he is pretty well fully trained) to see if he responds-no dice. The group opinion has it that he was dumped and, even though Jamie and Michelle have posted "lost dog" notices up all over, he won't be claimed. I hope that this is so because, despite the fact that they both like big dogs, this little guy is seducing all of us. He can jump straight up in the air pretty far, never mind right into your lap. He seems to love riding in the truck and, no surprise here, loves to play. It's fun to be around a dog that is so different from what I'm used to ...if this dog isn't a Sparky, I dunno what the best name would be for him. But I'll leave that up to Jamie, as I think she has already fallen hard for him.

This one has no name yet, but is part of the big heads, as you can see. I included Raising Doubt here as well, which is uppermost and preceeded the new head by several months.

Sex, Ghosts

I've wanted to write lately, but have felt somewhat stalled out. The past month or so has felt to me akin to running on fumes. S'pose there have been distractions -even my sculptural work has felt shallower than usual. Concentration has been a hard partner to satisfyand even though everything seems the same, it just ain't. There's a great degree of static, both good and bad, running through this here radio program o' my life.

Two forces or ideas seem to pull at me and they both seem to lead to a Marquez-like style when I "pull" back. The ghost and all that is ghostly...and sex, which has always led me around by the proverbial nose. But nothing has so far jelled into product: I guess that this is not so surprising, given the nature of both of these topics and the idea that each can maintain its own degree of cloudiness.

Here is something that is physically real, called "The Courier". My friend, Erica, gave me the beautiful blue chair seat (it's the body/chest of the "human" form). I hope that I've done it some justice-I sure wish I had another chair seat like it to play around with.

Cold

Well, it's happened.

I don't like the cold anymore.

I used to love this season, but things change.

Maybe it's the fact that I hold out on the heat in the studio and turn it on only when I can't take it anymore. At this point, I don't look forward to going down there-the building, which is wonderfully cool in the summer with its concrete floor, is now an icebox-easily 10-15 degrees cooler than the outside air.

I seem to focus more on the fuel bill than anything, which is, considering my vast income, a very real concern.

Yesterday, I spent my time there (about 8 hours) in gloves. I've always hated gloves.

I'll hold out for a bit longer and turn on my heat in December.

My physical discomfort is manageable. But having an aversion to spending time at my work and therefore wanting to put off visits to the studio (consciously and subconsciously) is not a good thing -it confuses this simple mind and throws me into a bit of depression. It also clouds many minute-to-minute decisions as extra static when it comes to making things.

Do they provide grants for fuel bills? Guess I should read more Kafka and stop complaining.

This one is called "The Passenger" and was shot with my new Canon. I will be working more on the lighting (and the "rotation" option as well) and soon, you won't be able to tell my shots from a professional's (yeah, right!).

Somewhere outside

Listen.

The leaves fall outside, all on their own.

We curse them for falling. Leaves. Who said we need to spend this much time grooming our lawns? Are there lawnmowers and rakes in heaven? In hell? Don't we have anything better to do?

I'm not exempt. Why do I bother? Our neighbors and the stigma of having an unkempt yard (a real sign of laziness or other, even worse, problems in the home) keep us tethered to our machines and labors. All rebels are labelled as true pariahs, to be avoided at any cost. Would you want to talk to them about the views on lawn care? Really?

But the sound you hear outside is a familiar one. A signal. The cycle is changing. Put on another layer and ready yourself for longer nights, for shorter days.

I'm working for a company that sells mower parts. Of course, the hottest, longest days are when the place buzzes with activity- the phones ring off the wall-more and better blades for sharper cuts-nothing is too good to defeat our old enemy, the growing grass.

Long grass makes a beautiful sound when the wind whips its way through it. I've heard it whistle. The manicured lawn doesn't even whisper. A four-legged friend can simply dissapear in an unshorn grass jungle, drunk on all the scent in that wild green stuff.

How many insect worlds are endangered because of the false order we impose with all our machinery? Would our world tumble in collapse if we let the grass grow?

Here's a good one for you: I closed this post to edit it and what advertisements d'ya suppose appeared? Make no mistake, we're all about the lawn here.

Here's one I really like-it's called The Sluice. It sold at FolkFest in Norcross this past August.

Trying to figger out the best camera for my needs

Yep-I admit it. I need a tech guru or someone with real experience to help me make up my mind with this camera deal (that is, finding a low-priced digital SLR that will give me better results than my shaky old Nikon). That I'm going to take a shot (pardon the pun) at better marketing is a good thing, but the execution of said plan is quite another problem.

Dave recommended the Canon EOS Rebel XSI, but I'm looking at the Nikon D5000 and the much cheaper Panasonic (Panansonic makes cameras?) Lumix DMC FZ35-Cripes, somebody please shoot me...

This is a piece in progress that started with the title "Rubber Heart" (named for the rubber float in the chest area)-not sure if it's finished or if I need to make more "comments" on it....what's really in question is the area below the heart and above the legs -let's not go into any metaphors here...

New equipment

My old Nikon is not cutting it-it's a good camera, but I am not able to hold the thing steady enough to get good images-especially when it comes to studio shots of my artwork.

My plan is to get a lower priced digital SLR that can tripod mount AND (most importantly) has no shutter delay. If you know me, you know just how little I like to do research on stuff like this, but I'm trying. The eventual plan is to set up a website that features lower priced sculptures of mine. I'll still do shows, but this should create another, more immediate venue to move work.

Tempted by the wiles of a young dog the other day. I met a "Swissy" or Swiss Mountain dog, at the flea market. This guy was 8 months old and friendly to one and all. From what I understand, the males grow up to 140 pounds-just a little on the hefty side, wouldn't you say?

This one I made for two friends of mine who recently tied the knot (this past July). Their wedding was the first real biker wedding I'd ever been to and it was a good one. All the best to you, Jamie and Tony!

Making sense of it ?

Back from the show-this time, it was the crafts event in Rhinebeck, NY.

I gave the windchime-and clock-makers some hot competition...ok, but not really. This was just another show for me-I hoped for the best, but the best never really materialized. I sold all of two pieces.

I stated the fact to myself and others that this is probably the best I'll be doing at any of these events. That I'll never be able to discover vast waves of fans that ooh and ahh and then buy work, because such numbers just don't exist. Or maybe they do in fantasyland. That's not here.

In less than two weeks I go down to Alabama to do the Kentuck show for fun and profit. This show, which I found intrguing in the past, is now starting to feel like any other fine art/craft event. Where have all the original characters gone-the real odd folk? Or is it me that has just gotten jaded to it all? I do miss Bucketman-Danny was a real original and a pioneer with his strange, lethal work. Hope he's still melting his buckets in heaven.

I don't have it in me to move this ball, Rhonda's favorite toy.

I thought about what I would do with this little red ball long before her passing. I wanted to send it off with her, but that did not work out. Now it sits here, waiting for a new owner or in my more pitiful fantasies, to be used when we are reunited. Until then, it'll remain here.

The summer has finally turned hot, just in time for me to venture down to Georgia for my annual FolkFest show. Last year, the show did not go so well for me financially, but I bought a great mask: from someplace in the South Pacific-dunno where (and dunno how authentic it is, but it sure feels right). If I don't do well this year (and, given the economy, that is a distinct possibility), I won't return for a year or so. Sad, since this is my favorite show, always filled with interesting work: lots of inspirational imagery and off-beat ideas...

One week later

I lived, she didn't.

Ain't that the story of our lives? My day to day seems so much more plain without Rhonda-she really added to it in so many ways-ways that you don't commit to paper or need to photograph. Breathing. Walking. She was always there to shepherd me (sorry, folks) and saw all the mistakes I made in the studio and heard all my comments to myself or how pissed off something made me or how pleased I was with the outcome of an artwork.

Just a dog, you say?

Maybe so, but here's the huge hole she left.

Geting ready for yet another show-this one happens to be my favorite: Folk Fest. I always come back from this show fully charged-the energy I find there is palpable. I'm somewhat apprehensive about the show this year as I can't justify doing it again if I don't make enough money there-the fee for the show has become enormous and the amount I sell there has declined. Dunno what my determining threshold should be, but the fact that there is one bothers me. I will truly miss this show if I have to cancel next year.

Haven't worked on a painting in a while-my supplies sit out here and gather dust. I get SO intimidated at starting a 2D piece-worked up a little drawing two days ago and it's really awful-wasted some perfectly good paper on it.

This one is called Lost My Way-how appropriate.

Rhonda

On Sunday, along with our Vet's help and guidance, we put Rhonda to sleep. As many of you can imagine, it was a terribly hard decision. The results of that decision have made this house feel almost empty. My worst breakup never felt quite this bad, but how can I compare? I've lost my best friend and, as another friend has put it, someone who would unquestioningly walk through fire, as long as she was by my side. I feel the part of a traitor, not going with her-sending her out alone and closing the door behind her.

Before Sunday, not a moment went by without wondering if there was some way that I could save her. Again, as many of you know, second guessing our decision has been very painful.

This simple red ball, her favorite toy, with the remains of a squeaker inside, remains in our kitchen, not that I need a reminder of her passing. It's just a physical thing that holds her space. It'll gather dust for sure, as will her memory. If I ever could beleive in the afterlife, now is the time that I'd press for its existence. Just to know that Rhonda and I could play together again.

I'm losing my best friend- Rhonda girl is in some kennel at the vets-she's alone.

I have her leash and her favorite toy, but not her.

I've been looking for her everywhere. In the morning, I have to keep on reminding myself that although it's time for our walk, she's not with me. The feeling I have is empty-I want to say emptier than empty, but I guess that would put me in the realm of the oxymoron. There's our field, there's her favorite spots on the grass, but there's no Rhonda.

Wednesday morning, she suddenly developed a degeneration in her balance and lost the ability to stand (as a result of losing all sense of balance). Her eyes also began an involuntary tic, I guess from her trying to right herself. I took her to the hospital as I could do nothing for her. The vet recommended I leave her there to be treated -recovery was possible. Her prognosis: 50% chance of a recovery (possibly partial, possibly total). Not so hot for a 16 year old dog. My dog.

This dog has been by my side whenever she could help it and whenever I could help it. Guess that she has always loved me-I've certainly always loved her. In her younger days, she was pretty good with a frisbee-she'd want to go at it for hours, only stopping when I got tired.

When we first heard about her, we visited her previous owner, an elderly woman who had just had double knee surgery. Six month old "Princess" barked at me the minute I walked in the door. She would not come to me- she was too busy guarding her family. We agreed on the deal-I'd take the dog, a Shepherd/something mix-but in a few days-I wanted to bring her home at exactly the same time as the other dog we adopted, Delilah.

When we were putting Princess in the car, we discovered who her real owner was: the 13 year-old boy who was crying at losing her. I felt bad, real bad, but I also knew that if we didn't adopt her, Grandma would find another taker and quickly. On the way home, she laid peacefully on Cara's lap, the wee thing that she was when younger.

She has a tiny spot of white on one ear (and one ear only) and a small tuft of white coming out of her otherwise bear-black coat. Her muzzle has now turned mostly grey and white. Her head is still soft and beautiful. She was always bit stand-offish to anyone outside the family: the Shepherd in her, I guess-the one-owner-dog thing.

Today, we go to the vet to determine her fate. I'm not optimistic-the rest of her life can't be spent lying on her side. Other dogs I've had made this awful decision so much easier. Here I hope for the strength to be able to make the right choice for Rhonda. I only wish that I could put it off and think that it matters not-that we'll be reunited some day to go on yet more adventures. But I'm not a big beleiver in the afterlife.

John Lennon comes ringing back into my head with "Nobody told me there'd be days like this".

Teaching others, teaching myself

I'm presently tutoring a literacy student. She is a Taiwanese woman and has a good grasp of English (she's been in this country about 30 years, but always surrounded by other non-speakers). What I'm finding is just how much I enjoy being a teacher-I've taught in the past, but never with the same sort of feelings that I'm coming upon now-this experience is sooo different than the teachng of art (obviously, the rules are set in stone for the most part) and gains can be measured.

Although there is plenty to teach in the way of vocabulary and grammar, we are working hard on pronunciation, as this has been a problem for her. I have to be aware of each and every word I pronounce and stay away from slang entirely-this is easy for our 1 1/2 hour sessions together-as a matter of fact, I feel as if the whole thing is helping yours truly to think more clearly, more concisely. I don't indulge myself in as much fuzzy thinking as I did only three months ago and my writing has improved (at least in my opinion).

I still feel the forces of change at work in my art-this is a positive thing. Although I know the changes are less volcanic and dramatic than I'd like to sometimes see, they are changes nonetheless...Although I think about painting all the time, I've done little of it. I feel as though my sculpture has gotten a bit further away from anything too literal -the theme pursued is the idea that mystery is what keeps me (and my audience) intrigued, much like all the work I recently did in writing a short horror story. Although I am averse to the cheesy sideshow tent idea of "keep 'em guessing" or that kind of showmanship/salesmanship, there are elements of the boardwalk hawker that feel at home in the work...or is it the alchemist in a modern setting?

"You see these discards in front of you-now WATCH! I'll wave this here wand and throw this here cape over them and VIOLA! Now you see these rusty elements reassembled-you would have thrown them out, but I...I have brought them back to life..." and so on.

As Kurt said..."so it goes..."

This sculpture is called "Soldier of God". The body is made from the base of an old porch column that Steve gave me.

Philip Guston

Reading a book on the later work of Guston by William Corbett-

In one of the passages, Corbett talks abt how excited and serious Guston was abt his work-he says that Guston's absorption in it was an inspiration and, after late night talks with the painter, he awoke in the morning with the desire to get to work. "His commitment to his art was so great that he lifted yours to his level. In his presence there could be no question that making poems matters..." Wow-to be able to impart this degree of enthusiasm and love and excitement through what you are doing is amazing. It gives more substance to the idea of artist as trickster, as a shaman who has powers beyond the pedestrian.

I feel as if (though only on occasion) some viewers face my work and come away with something more than just visual bytes to be stored in an already overfull brain. My biggest charge is to see someone visibly excited by the work and want to go off and make something-no wizardry here, yet I'm at a loss to describe the chemistry that seems to go on between these people and my work. Not to get corny, but I am humbled by it. I've experienced something similar only once-at the Hirschhorn in Washington, DC, I saw several Matisse bronze heads -these images were in my head since I was very young. Seeing them in person was very powerful, bringing emotional reaction that took my breath away. Never has a work of art gotten to me in such a way...

Apropos, the one is called "Trickster"-it's one I just showed in Philly and came home thinking it needed more work-so it has been recently reworked. Much like the rest of my life, I can't ever seem to be satisfied. That is a good thing-well, if it's not good, it most certainly keeps me from sleeping at the wheel....

Bacon Bits

I have stolen the title phrase from friend Steve, who sent me a link to a site on Francis Bacon that is so HUGE and brilliant I want to keep it all for myself. I read the following this morning and thought it was terrific. I can't say as to whether it's an excerpt, or a stand alone essay as this was not mentioned. The author is Mark Cousins.

"I can’t remember now whether it was in the catalogue of the current exhibition of Bacon or whether on it was on one of those panels but at some point there was a quotation from Bacon saying “I suppose in the end we’re just meat” and I wanted to try and start off, as it were, some thoughts about both texture and also materiality by considering some of the problems, what we might call the aesthetic problems, of meat especially in that difficult area that we call ugliness or which other people call ugliness, I want to try and suggest this evening this is not how it’s normally portrayed and if properly handled is an extremely powerful and valuable artistic and architectural instrument.
Let me invite you first to engage in a thought experiment. You look at some ones face as we scan some ones face we look, as it were, for signs of expression, in some sense for the way in which the face is thought to be able to represent emotions or states of mind or whatever. As we do it invariably we have a fantasy that this expression does not simply belong to the surface but it has a depth and we frequently actually experience that as a depth but of course it has this peculiarity because the depth is not remotely localised.
If we say he looked sad we don’t say it looked about two centimeters deep in the sadness of it. Now nowhere I think is it more remarkable than if you add in to this picture of a face which you experience partly through the dimension of the depth of its expression then imagine suddenly in some process, the face suddenly manifests a wound and you suddenly see that underneath the infinitesimally thin layer of skin there’s blood and there’s flesh and there’s bone; normally people have a kind of visceral turning away from this experience. Now if you try to follow through this action of turning away, we might wonder: what is it that we’re turning away from?
The appearance of the wound indicates suddenly the collapse – a collapse of what; I mean, I’m going to say representation but I don’t mean it in a representational way. It’s as if I can’t continue having a fantasy about the depth of your sadness or the extent of your pleasure; I can’t do it any longer because, as it were, it is disrupted by the appearance of a wound. Essentially unless you’re medically knowledgeable, what you’re seeing, and I think Bacon was correct to use it in a general sense, is what he calls meat. Let’s kind of make a formula in some sense as saying: what meat is at a kind of level of experience is almost the collapse of representation or of signification…
This collapse of representation is I think part of what we might call the experience of ugliness, the turning away, at which point we might begin to hypothesise that this is not what I think it is, it is what I think people experience it as; an experience of the ugly in that sense is this: it is without signification it is without being a part of the a space of representation, it is stuff, it is meat… People’s experience of the ugly - again I’m not saying that’s what it is - is a defense against this moment - a moment which is too raw and is too, almost, unnerving; we might say that the popular experience of the ugly is: it’s that which is there but at the same time, is perceived as it shouldn’t be there - or sometimes it’s the same but the other way round: it’s that which is not there but should be.
In Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera there’s a wonderful moment when the scene shifter describes to the girls of the corps de ballet that he has seen the ghost in box five; he describes the ghost to the girls and he says, in a way in which logic itself can’t tolerate, but clearly we know exactly what he means, he says: and the ghost has no nose and that no nose is a horrible thing to look at. It’s something that isn’t there but should be… I want to suggest that one dimension of the achievement of Bacon is in a sense to take this problem on board directly and, in a way that it is very difficult to describe in his achievement, but has the achievement of as it were, bringing back meat into our understanding, bringing back meat into a kind of poetics, that which is always, as it were, normally excluded; I was at the exhibition on Sunday and it’s not just a question obviously of meat, it is those strange puddles of existence which you see so clearly in the three triptychs in homage to George Dyer - it is, indeed, a sublime moment…
Now in a sense all I’ve said is an attempt to say that what people describe as being ugly we should consider it a defense and if you can undo this defense, if, like Bacon, you can propel the spectator into the midst of meat and find it not only human but essentially human, then, as it were, you remove some of the defenses which so often kind of disable, I don’t mind putting it bluntly, disable public taste. It is a struggle. Now if something like this is the case, that I’m more than aware that I haven’t said directly anything about architecture and texture, then one of the ways we might consider the issues this evening is to think within the scope of Bacon’s adult career what also happens within architecture to be able to do that: at the level of a certain materiality and at the level of texture, that is to say, to undermine the public defense against the ugly and actually to propel it towards something new and powerful and human not in a humanistic way but human almost in a somewhat unnerving way. "

The sculpture inset is called Blinders. I started this Blog to have another avenue to show my work as well as to occasionally stand on a soapbox or just yap on about whatever I found interesting. I got both birds with this post: mission accomplished...

drama

I suppose I could have gone upstairs and checked to see what Chaplin film it was that I was watching, but the image had me glued to the television. Also, it was time for me to get to work (I have a real job now, none of this artist crap!).

Since the story was set in a cold climate and involved the staking of a gold claim, I assumed that the setting was supposed to be Alaska. Two guys are inside a rustic cabin that is teetering on the very edge of a precipice. The inhabitants are scrambling for balance so that the entire house doesn't go over the edge to doom and destruction, taking them along.

All is filmed in stark black and white.

Great image, so apropos of where I stand (teeter) in life. Dramatic? Maybe, but that teetering feeling is pretty unsettling - it's a daily battle to stay on the edge. Limbo land.

Notice that the image is also tilted...I wish I could tell you that I did that on purpose...

Re: abstraction

I take this excerpt directly from Robert Genn, who sends me a twice-weekly "Letter to Artists".

Abstraction ranges from the meaningless abuse of paint to the most lofty and exciting of surfaces. Each effort can be a creative event--a vehicle for the mysteries of the subconscious mind and an opportunity to flirt with pure forms, symbols and metaphors. It's an art of hiding and disclosing. More than simply playing with the materials, abstraction is a discovery of motifs that happen to be part of a painter's personal legend. Personality counts. Abstraction also holds the promise of dreams, fears, fetishes, fancies, intangibles and wills.The wilful artist marches to his own drummer. As in the composing of music, in pure and practical terms, the resulting work will be the painter's own composition.Perhaps one of the best understandings came from Marc Chagall: "Abstraction is something which comes to life spontaneously through a gamut of contrasts, plastic as well as psychic, and pervades both the picture and the eye of the spectator with conceptions of new and unfamiliar elements." Abstract art has the power to show us something we may not have seen before. It implies both thought and no thought. Thriving on unconventional tools and a unique sort of energy, it's also a collaboration of mind and spirit. As a form of wizardry and magic, an abstract may speak both to you and for you. More than anything, abstract art can be a conversation piece."Abstraction is an esoteric language," said Eric Fischl. It is a language unique to the individual artist. In a way, it can be more unique than the similarly legitimate language of realistic work, because no matter how realists pull Nature's reality this way and that, they still have Nature's reality, however nuanced. The more modern idea, however it may be seen by some as flawed, is to be the inventor, creator and patent holder of your own Nature. Painter and art instructor David Leffel regularly asks his students a simple but profound question: "How do abstract artists know when they're getting better?" The answer lies in whether the artist is able to express will. Artists without the ability to express will will never know.

PS: "Abstract art requires something of the viewer. It demands contemplation. Study. Flights of fancy. Feeling." (Svante Rydberg)

What I feel a need to add is that abstraction and I was reading this letter: Looking at abstract work can be like overhearing someone on a cell-phone talking about a recent visit to their shrink. Too much information?

Yes, that is one of my abstract paintings. Should I turn up the volume?

One Tough Dog

On Saturday, we took my old friend, Delilah, in to the Doctor here in town. After a brief consultation, it was agreed that the best thing would be to put her down. She had not been eating or taking water for 2 days previous and, although she presented little in the way of visible signs of suffering, I had no desire to see her starve to death. She was still doing her best at walking, usually aided by me bracing her by her harness and tail. Getting up and laying back down was no picnic for her-if I wasn't there to ease her down, she would land on her butt with a painful thud.
But the past two days saw a change- she was so much more out of it and taking only the occasional treat-and then only half-heartedly.
She was amazed at the attention being afforded her, with me, my wife and the Doctor all crowded round her. She went very quietly and quickly. She was the best dog in the world.

God be between you and harm in all the empty places where you walk.
(Egyptian prayer)

How is yer handwriting?

After so many years of being a scrawler, I'm thinking that I might want to go back to school to learn better penmanship.
What has inspired this is my drive to become a literacy tutor-I'm determined to bring English (or at least, better English) to one or more people on this planet. You simply can't scrawl and put it off as calligraphy to someone who is oh so innocently trying to understand this (complicated) language...it is just not fair.
Todays world is all about rush: when I think about writing more clearly, the first thing that pops into mind is that I
n e e d t o s l o w d o w n.
(this past line was supposed to look somewhat retarded and slow, but this program keeps "correcting" me...)

Sure.
This unit did not come with a variable speed feature-I mean, isn't it all or nothing?
Well, maybe not: this very well could be the clue to (re) learning how to write clearly. Slowing down and experiencing the thought that goes into each letter and its sound-teaching yourself how to give style and grace to the movement in your (writing) hand as each leeter is formed. Is this the key?
Sure.
This is really easy to reason out, but the clock keeps on ticking and, after all, who wants to put so much extra time into forming letters?
To teach writing you have to consider your student first. This hypothetical being is seeing the English language the same way many of us see Greek or Sanscrit or-even better-a reverse mirror image of this here text. Could you read this if it were reversed? I tried this on a bit of text and gave up almost IMMEDIATELY...what a great student I would be!
Anyhow, the point being that I need to put on the student "hat" and reverse my role only shortly to realize just why I need to slow down and start making handwriting that looks like that of my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Williams. She took the time to slow down for me.

more random art notes

Lately, or so it seems, I find myself so much “smarter” of a painter than I was before.
Is it age? Or has my folio of images of work painted by others before me just enlarged to the point where, given the great material stored, it’s just impossible for me to miss. I sure don’t feel as if I’m borrowing from life experiences when I paint. It seems like much more of a personal, juried art history, gained through years of looking at other’s work. Maybe the real label for this is appropriation? Anyhow, I feel a bit more rocket-fueled lately-no more plain ole’ gasoline.

Chalk-ain’t it lovely? It’s the ghost of the mediums-ok, I guess all “stuff” that makes up chalk that comes from the earth has a loooong, but the stuff looks so much like our Caspar and other cartoon ghosts-and makes a stroke that is unmistakeably wraith-like…and can almost be whisked away with a swipe of yer hand…now you see it, now you don’t…a perfect medium for those in doubt.

The painting process seems so much to me like blood-letting-not to be morbid, but when things are going well in the studio, the process can be described as a flow (awful to use this clichéd word especially talking about art, but it just fits SO well). When the flow is staunched, so ends the spontaneity. So ends the flow that mixes color, physical and emotional reflex and visual prudence (you know, what stops us from outlining a black painted object with a painted black line…) When things are really moving, there is the hope that if you don’t have to stop, you can recreate the world. The brakes do come on with certain distractions (hunger, for one: damn me!) and with that slow-down comes
self-consciousness.

These are shot in a sophisticated manner-notice the shadows of the branches on these works on paper!

bargains for your printer

Just a"hint from Heloise" aka Billy- try www.101inks.com for cheap printer cartridges...after thinking that I might have to take out a small loan or sell one of the dogs to buy a printer cartirdge, my firend Ruth told me about this place in California. Let me say before making a total recommendation, that I've not used their product yet....as in, how long does it last? and what is the quality of the ink, etc. But they sure were cheap-less than half of what I usually pay at a discount store...

Using Used Stuff-on my soapbox with a question

With the economy the way it is, how many people have a positive response to art made from trash? To work that uses "recycled" material (such as my own): discards, broken things, old and scarred items.

Do the people who like "found object art" themselves collect found objects? Are they flea market junkies or maybe those that comb the trash piles on "big trash item" days?

Is it true that as our "recession" deepens, folks find themselves more repulsed by items reminding them of just how close they are to living on the street? Or is the reverse true-that people find it easier to identify with work that uses recycled material because in fact they're being pressed by their wallets to "reuse, repurpose, recycle"?

Although never a "hard core" (read politically active) recycler, I feel lucky that I can reduce the waste stream somewhat and do so as aggressively as possible. For me it's simple logic that you should do so by any means available: we'll probably be swimming in our own waste soon enough. And future generations will drown in it. Just a fact -it takes no real genius to figure this out.

So back to the original question-d'ya think we "found object" folks are gonna look to be the good guys or the bad guys given this current economic atmosphere?

That's the Trickster god, Mercury...The title of the piece is "Moik", as I always did like a good nickname.

The Sleepwalker's Backside

As promised!

This hides the natural split of the log used for Sleepwalker's lower torso.

Cheating

OK, so I haven't written for a while. Have been writing some poetry, but most of all, have been enjoying writing letters, notes and missives to friends via email. At first, I begrudged the time it took to sit and write a letter...I enjoy it now, writing with a great degree of the fervor I used to use when writing acid letters of complaint (I'm still pretty good at that!).

So, why cheating? Well, I figured I'd share this here list with you, written by Irwin Greenberg and brought to my attention through Robert Genn's letters (Robert Genn Twice-Weekly Letter ), which I've subscribed to for a few years now. Genns' compilation of art-related quotes (http://quote.robertgenn.com/) have been inspiration for me as well through the years.

OK, so some of this may be a bit corny to you, but, hell, whatdya want, I, too, am a bit corny.

Anyhow here goes:

Words to paint by (Irwin Greenberg)
1. Paint every day. 2. Paint until you feel physical strain- take a break and then paint some more. 3. Suggest. 4. When at an impasse, look at the work of masters. 5. Buy the best materials you can afford. 6. Let your enthusiasm show. 7. Find the way to support yourself. 8. Be your own toughest critic. 9. Develop a sense of humor about yourself 10. Develop the habit of work. Start early every day. When you take a break, don’t eat. Instead, drink a glass of water. 11. Don’t settle for yourself at your mediocre level 12. Don’t allow yourself to be crushed by failure. Rembrandt had failures. Success grows from failure. 13. Be a brother (or sister) to all struggling artists. 14. Keep it simple. 15. Know your art equipment and take care of it. 16. Have a set of materials ready wherever you go. 17. Always be on time for work, class and appointments. 18. Meet deadlines. Be better than your word. 19. Find a mate who is really a mate. 20. Don’t be envious of anyone who is more talented than you. Be the best you can be. 21. Prizes are nice, but the real competition is with your performance yesterday. 22. Give yourself room to fail and fight like hell to achieve. 23. Go to sleep thinking about what you’re going to do first thing tomorrow. 24. Analyze the work of great painters. Study how they emphasize and subordinate. 25. Find out the fewest material things you need to live. 26. Remember: Michelangelo was once a helpless baby. Great works are the result of heroic struggle. 27. There are no worthwhile tricks in art; find the answer. 28. Throw yourself into each painting heart and soul. 29. Commit yourself to a life in art. 30. No struggle, no progress. 31. Do rather than don’t. 32. Don’t say “I haven’t the time.” You have as much time everyday as the great masters. 33. Read. Be conversant with the great ideas. 34. No matter what you do for a living, nurture your art. 35. Ask. Be hungry to learn. 36. You are always the student in a one-person art school. You are also the teacher of that class. 37. Find the artists who are on your wavelength and constantly increase that list. 38. Take pride in your work. 39. Take pride in yourself. 40. No one is a better authority on your feelings than you are. 41. When painting, always keep in mind what your picture is about. 42. Be organized. 43. When you’re in trouble, study the lives of those who’ve done great things. 44. “Poor me” is no help at all. 45. Look for what you can learn from the great painters, not what’s wrong with them. 46. Look. Really look. 47. Overcome errors in observing by exaggerating the opposite. 48. Critics are painters who flunked out. 49. Stay away from put-down artists. 50. If you’re at a lost for what to do next, do a self-portrait. 51. Never say “I can’t.” It closes the door to potential development. 52. Be ingenious. Howard Pyle got his start in illustrating by illustrating his own stories. 53. All doors open to a hard push. 54. If art is hard, it’s because you’re struggling to go beyond what you know you can do. 55. Draw everywhere and all the time. An artist is a sketchbook with a person attached. 56. There is art in any endeavor done well. 57. If you’ve been able to put a personal response into your work, others will feel it and they will be your audience. 58. Money is OK, but it isn’t what life is about. 59. Spend less than you earn. 60. Be modest; be self-critical, but aim for the highest. 61. Don’t hoard your knowledge, share it. 62. Try things against your grain to find out just what your grain really is. 63. Inspiration doesn’t come when you are idle. It comes when you have steeped yourself in work. 64. Habit is more powerful than will. If you get in the habit of painting every day, nothing will keep you from painting. 65. There are three ways to learn art: Study life, people and nature. Study the great painters. Paint. 66. Remember, Rembrandt wasn’t perfect. He had to fight mediocrity. 67. Don’t call yourself an artist. Let others name you that. “Artist” is a title of great weight. 68. Be humble; learn from everybody. 69. Paintings that you work hardest at are the ones you learn the most from, and are often your favorites. 70. Read values relatively. Find the lightest light and compare all other light values to it. Do the same with the darks. 71. Grit and guts are the magic ingredients to your success. 72. Let your picture welcome the viewer. 73. Add new painters to your list of favorites all the time. 74. Study artists who are dealing with the same problems that you’re trying to solve. 75. Have a positive mind-set when showing your work to galleries. 76. Don’t look for gimmicks to give your work style. You might be stuck with them for life. Or, worse yet, you might have to change your “style” every few years. 77. If what you have to say is from your deepest feelings, you’ll find an audience that responds. 78. Try to end a day’s work on a picture knowing how to proceed the next day. 79. Don’t envy others success. Be generous-spirited and congratulate whole-heartedly. 80. Your own standards have to be higher and more scrupulous than those of critics. 81. Pyle said, “Throw your heart into a picture and jump in after it.” 82. Vermeer found a life’s work in the corner of a room. 83. Rembrandt is always clear about what is most important in a picture. 84. If, after study, the work of an artist remains obscure, the fault may not be yours. 85. Critics don’t matter. Who cares about Michelangelo’s critics? 86. Structure your day so you have time for painting, reading, exercising and resting. 87. Aim high, beyond your capacity. 88. Try not to finish too fast. 89. Take the theory of the “last inch” holds that as you approach the end of a painting, you must gather all your resources for the finish. 90. Build your painting solidly, working from big planes to small. 91. See the planes of light as shapes, the planes of shadows as shapes. Squint your eyes and find the big, fluent shapes. 92. Notice how, in a portrait, Rembrandt reduces the modeling of clothes to the essentials, emphasizing the head and the hands. 93. For all his artistic skills, what’s most important about Rembrandt is his deep compassion. 94. To emphasize something means that the other parts of a picture must be muted. 95. When painting outdoors, sit on your hands and look before starting. 96. Composing a picture, do many thumbnails, rejecting the obvious ones. 97. Study how Rembrandt creates flow of tone. 98. If you teach, teach the individual. Find out when he or she is having trouble and help at that point. 99. Painting is a practical art, using real materials -- paints, brushes, canvas, paper. Part of the practicality of it is earning a living in art. 100. Finally, don’t be an art snob. Most painters I know teach, do illustrations, or work in an art-related field. Survival is the game.

So now you know how to become a famous artist-or, at least, a real artist.

What's the phrase that sums it all up?

Make it up as you go along...

Here's another one of my bad photos-this sculpture is called "Sleep Walker".

You can't see what I didn't shoot-this chunk of log that is his lower torso was pulled from a bonfire pile. Typically, the log showed a big split in the back. I covered same with an old tin "Lucky Strike" box-faded deep green with the circular Lucky Strike logo in the center: it makes for a really cool patch.

I'll try and photograph it today (I don't have much like with dark details) and post it later.

Running at the mouth about credibility

Wish that there was a formula to make artwork (paintings, sculptures or whatever) that were more self-satisfying and meaningful.

Would it be too easy then? Would the work seem shallow, despite the content or the hard work (in making the thing) involved?

There is that annoying issue about process and just how important it is. I, in fact, am willing to work hard-real hard, if it comes to that. But where's the guarantee that the end product will amount to more than just another tchatchke needing only to be dusted?

Here's a quote from the Robert Genn collection (http://quote.robertgenn.com/):

Rejection is a speck, like a bit of unwanted debris, imbedded like a pebble in our psyche, and it stays there niggling away and undermining our self-confidence until we feel strong enough to pull it out. (Janet Warrick)

Hah! Now we are on to the real issue-yep, I got passed over for a grant. And, yes, this little bit of rejection bothers me. Somehow, I was basing a lot of hope (counting my chickens before the hatch) on the idea that I'd ace this thing (I did ace it about 5 years ago: my ego made me say that) and have money to spend on art supplies-in fact, the money was already spent-I sure as hell needed more paint for my recently renewed "passion"....and then there's more plywood and hardware and -well, you name it, I needed it.

Since I'm really wandering in this writing, here goes another thought: I know that new supplies don't make the art, that only the artist can. Which leaves me high and dry, without square one, stuck inside of Memphis when it comes to the written word. I seem to be really great at putting down all kinda random thoughts, as long as one breath lasts. But anything longer becomes one tough challenge. The thought of writing a novel is not daunting to me in itself-I can do the work(if my hands could survive my nimble but inaccurate typing), but my brain just does not seem to encompass thoughts that are somewhat contiguous-how the hell could I ever stay on topic?

I'm also feeling that I can't seem to do this in my artwork, either...thankfully, this can be hidden with "style"-in this sense, "style" becomes continuity, which in turn, becomes credibility.

Or is this my problem? Is there quality and credibility to be found only in work that has continuity, in work that moves in a linear fashion (let's stay away from any idea about the stream of consciousness "format" here)? Or can I write in short paragraphs and one-liners only. A book of quotes perhaps? Worlds shortest art-crit essays-three sentences or less?

What is brewing in my mind, dear reader, is a project that William is creating up for Bill. One that will involve writing something lengthy (which, for me, would be more than five pages) and that does not "wander" (well, not TOO much). As for the artwork, I seem to be able to pull off (or at least feel ok about) making works that have recognizable style, but not necessarily conceptual linear continuity. Perhaps the credibility factor that I get from continuity comes about in the fact that I work on so many sculptures and paintings at once. each of these works stays with me physically, mentally and emotionally until its completion. It's interesting to

note that I put finished work in a different place-either on another floor or stacked somewhere so as to be accessible, but not necessarily visible. The official stamp of completion, to be followed eventually by photographic documentation.

This one is called "...And how."

(While we're on the theme) Bitchin', Moanin' and Bitchin' More

"We" didn't start out too well today. Before I had my first sip of coffee (aka universal starting fluid), I had some dog accidents to clean up. Both dogs were running for cover: I just lost it and my temper hit the wall (not the dogs, but I might as well have-they were pretty rattled).

Almost instantly, I mentally plodded through all the reasons that life just ain't so great right now -I'll spare you the details which (for me) read like a long laundry list.

So let's just say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Given my resolution for the year, I'm trying to paste on a smile, but the results of my efforts are rather anemic.

Today is a snow day: a"wintry mix of precipitation" has been ordered for the entire day and that means I'll probably not take the "shoebox on wheels" nor myself out. I'll be working inside the house, which means making painting for the most part.

Since I started dividing my time between the sculpture studio and painting at the house, my whole schedule has been whacked. This has been an uncomfortable time for me anyway (see above), but this way of working has managed to bring about a serious rupture in my schedule. As a matter of fact, most everything seems upside down as a result. I did choose to do this, however, as I felt myself sinking into a rut.

You might remember how very grateful I was when my Dad came home from the hospital and my parents resumed their "normal" schedule. For some, a schedule like theirs might resemble what Hell would be like. Ironclad. What was done yesterday at a certain time will be done today in the same time and manner. I am the proverbial apple that has fallen not very far from the tree. Attempting to buck the system with its rigid order has been tough-to some degree like quitting smoking or dieting. There has also been a sense of being adrift, accompanied by a great deal of insecurity. This has been coupled with a physical failing on my part (the back issue) as well as a continuing look into my own mortality, brought on not only by my failing dogs, but also by increasingly frail parents. The process of change is never easy, as I've heard droned all of my life.

The artwork that I've been making has had a less welcoming look to it. By this, I mean that it has become more foreign to me (and ain't that the point: not to be making objects or images that bring discomfort or pain necessarily, but work that challenges that which has gone before).

I wish that I could more effectively separate the bad from the good-it seems as though I'm already too busy trying to greet the stranger now at my door. Guess that there has been a lot written or at least quoted on this:

"I always doubt my paintings can hold together. I'm trying to get to the point where they carry the sense of doubt that is one of the most engaging things about painting." (Mark Schlesinger)

"Change occurs in direct proportion to dissatisfaction, but dissatisfaction never changes." (Doug Horton)

"As an artist, it is central to be unsatisfied! This isn't greed, though it might be appetite." (Lawrence Calcagno)

Anyhow, this is all yadda yadda yadda to an audience. Somehow it felt better to commit it to "paper", but I'm just not sure of the benefit of reading it (now he tells us), outside of the fact that it draws my readers closer to me (just what you-all wanted).

Another tin head that sorely tried my hands and their toughness-sharp edges everywhere!

Pinching and Biting

Pardon the assemblage of notes/somewhat scattered thought here, but I seem to be running on and on, with no appreciable continuity in sight.

My work (painting) seems to be solidifying-that is, in terms of looking unified. Spose I come to this conclusion as I'm about to haul a bunch of it off to the photographers' to be shot...am I ready to commit this stuff to "film"? Probably not, but let's bwe bold and brash-there's always plenty of time for regrets later!

What the act of (sucessful) painting can bring about is a vista at once suggestive of reality-the hard and true-and intersperse it with mystery-that that is half-known or veiled. Isn't this what (good) fiction gives us? Mystery: the adventure, the unknown. Maybe when I learn to paint, I will also have a clue as what and how to write. Following a metaphor here, I find that I use erasure in my painting often. Although I don't know how to paint a partial something, it is easy enough to paint (or at least suggest) it completely and then erase it.

I can only define my experience while painting as trancelike-more akin to a semi-conscious state than not. Turning some channels off and pushing others quite hard, my eyes and hands hold a dialogue as I paint. Since I "stumble and fall" frequently when painting (which can be good, which can be bad), maybe I should consider painting with a list or drawing-a map, which could be vague yet informative.

Decided to photograph Rhonda, before too much time passes. I'm not a great fan of snapshots, but since I'd miss not having these shots, I made a few snaps of her, the dog that is velcroed to me.

My Father leaves the hospital in two days - I hope he restores the faith my mother and I so recently feared lost: that we return to the status quo we knew so well, with all its comfort, ease and sleepy boredom. Bring on the old tried and true routine, for the opposite seems a bit too harsh for us chickens: if we have our say, we chose the path where the grass is already trampled, for it is soft and soothing to our feet.

Through Purgatory

My friend Ruth said that I am no longer just my parent's son, but their guide through all the mystery and terror of old age. I'm no Virgil, but the simile is not lost on me. Those in pain, those lost in confusion, those too frail (who face only ghosts of their former self), those crying in witness to the collapse of their bodies and their souls are all here in hospital. The complex equipment here (either comfort-colored or fleshtoned) fool no one and speak to the fact that this land is foreign and dark and strange -there is no hiding their mission here. Indifferently penetrating flesh and organ, they remit cold reports and advance like picadors to the next patient. Headsmen.

Confronting a Gorilla...or two

My 87 year old father was rushed to the hospital last Friday with a choking cough-he simply couldn't breathe and that scared my Mom enough to get him an ambulance and a hospital bed. An extreme case for my parents, self-suffient (almost) to the end.
He's got the usual gear in the hospital, the breathing tube (optional), an IV, and all the bells and whistles that modern science uses to gauge a person's life. He gets the meals, which are just fine (although a little short on the sodium side) for him, his only problem having to get all the disposable lids off the containers. What is lacking is the ordinariness of life-there is no such thing as rthe security of a routine for him, or for my Mom or for myself for that matter. Our tiny family has lost its bearings without the sameness of everyday life. We look for it in the closets. on the television, in the food, but it's gone. It has, for all intents and purposes, flown the coop.
Delilah, that faithless hound of mine, has also lost the routine she had (if you don't have pets, you have no idea how well they keep time and monitor your movements) along with the better part of her breath (she, too, is suffering from a condition where her esophogeal tract is spasmodically constricted: in essence, her airways seem to shut down periodically). Taking her out into the cold air seems to exacerbate this condition, sometimes leaving her gasping and sometimes completely unaffected. She seems to recover and transform back to her normal self, which is a 16 year old well-loved member of the family. I crave these moments, but they are becoming less and less frequent and the gasping episodes more frequent. I have the power to end this animals life-how the hell do I know when this should happen? Of course, I can consult the vet, but it truly is up to me-to work as a monitor and a gauge to "feel" or "intuit" when the bad stuff outweighs the good-or when the pain (which is not so easy to see nor can I petition the patient) seems to be too great...but what about the suffering that is done in silence....or is it really suffering or just silence? How to know, how to know...
I know that there is a little rambling here. Please forgive me this. But searching for some kind of reason and reasoning for both of these beings is difficult. Granted, they are both at the end of their lives. But what to do for each of them. I know my Dad is getting a lot of medical attention, but the constant nag of internal questions as to whether he's getting the right care is twisting me. Delilah, one very tough dog, is a more immediate issue for me, being a cute old beggar one minute and a gasping creature in agony the next-what do I do for her? How do I know when I'm keeping her alive for the wrong reason?