Balls

Re painting-the secret:

Balls to the wall-No hesitation, no fear (the bumpersticker I used to make fun of...) -lay that brush down and lay it down hard. But know when to stop or what color not to use or when you have a balanced composition or when you look like you're copying or when the painting is looking TOO simple...or TOO complex.

In short, don't ask me-finding my way with paint and brush still seems to be a matter of luck. Some times, you get the right combination, sometimes not. I can understand why Bacon needed drink to achieve the "correct" attitude (altitude?)- the mood that fit him the best for brushing out his works. There is a certain feel and feeling that seems to fit me as well-for instance, there are days when I know painting is off-limits-a potential waste of pigment and paper (I presently paint on paper). Other days, my hands/brain/eyes can be coaxed into formulating images, lion-taming the color at (or on) my fingertips. But in no way can I tell you what will ensue. Exciting-what an adventure for this artist.

Saw "You're Gonna Miss Me" last night-a bio on Mr. Roky Erickson-there was a bit in there- by who I do know remember-on the idea of a young disturbed and beautiful Roky being loved by his fans versus the older version, who is far less charming, scarier and sad. There was a sense of love here on the part of Roky's brother, Sumner, who stood by him through all the schizophrenia and the bad times. This was bracketed by the admirers of Roky (including myself) who stand in awe of his work, but are maybe a little bit less enthusiastic about the actual person, who now stands hunched with his long stringy hair and looks prone to flights of not-so-charming madness.

One thing must be known-the man is/was unique and his music stands in amazing testimony to this.

No name for this one yet-for the red covering, I used what can only be described as rubbers for 1940's high-heeled shoes-beautifully aged and colored.

Marks on a bit of paper

So this is what it's all about, this thing called painting?
A struggle to put down some colored scratchings on a paper plane. Of course, that plane (whether paper, wood, canvas or wall) needs the credibility of thickness (a surface that will not easily slip away) and some sort of defined border to signify an end to the marks made (this is only a personal choice/condition).
The first colors and shapes seem to go down easily, in an almost subconscious manner. This is structure enough fo me to build on-or should I say, to erase, to add to, to paint on, to glue to, to white over-however and whyever that surface gets "built". This part gets easier or more frustrating for me-my shapes and colors slide around looking for anchors-those anchors being other shapes and colors that work well together...but the frustration (as well as the challenge of working with the unknown, with the unplanned) comes in when nothing gels and masses float around the paper plane, lost-looking for a likewise mass to relate to, to anchor to, to formulate what might be called a painting. How easy it all sounds, but how very tough the going can be.
What comes to mind is a weaving process, retelling tales until the story is somehow complete, whether meant only for the storyteller or for his lovers and strangers.