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.

a (very) human comedy

As if in a TV sitcom, my Mom is being transferred (from the hospital) to the same nursing home as my Dad. Maybe they'll have some good moments together-I only hope this will make their respective stays there easier....that it will make the place seem a bit more like home.
Two days ago, Mom seemed to be suddenly "hit" with dementia-this seemed to come on strong-so strong that it was almost too much to take-one day she's talking normally and making great conversation-the next day she is raving. Paranoid-talking about people listening to her, wanting to hurt her and chain her up. And the TV is talking to her and people are stealing her voice. Cripes-all this coming on faster than a freight train. Since that conversation, she has evened out a bit more-now much more rational and like the person I knew.
Maybe being with my Dad will give her perspective and keep her in a more rational space-at least he'll be there as a check. I hope so.
More snow today-ain't this winter one of the nastier ones? Well, at least it is so far, but that could be my perspective and my perspective only...worries have given birth to more worries and the solutions have all flown south...as those around me keep reassuring: this, too , shall pass.

We'll always have Paris...

And that's where I'm supposed to be right now.
Oh well, this trip is postponed/cancelled because now my Mom is in hospital as she has had a chronic problem with shortness of breath. She seems to be getting better now, but I'm not sure I understand the cause of the problem-nor do I think that the medicos do either. But on my last visit (Wednesday night), she was not wearing an oxygen tube. She was protesting long and hard about physical therapy, but while I was there visiting, we met her therapist and they commenced the program-mostly to get her walking and walking safely. The best part was that the therapist advised from the get-go that she'd need a home assistant. She is emotionally/conceptually ready for this, but not my Dad (he is still in a nursing facility doing rehab with his big-toeless foot-also to prepare him to walk safely...or not). There is so much resistance to change in this little family (I'm an only child) of mine. But I guess if you build the walls of your castle so high (my parents are NOT very social people), the day that they are breached-especially when you are at the BOTTOM of your fighting form-is an enormous shock and indignancy. I feel for them, but, unfortunately, I'm one of the ones who are breaking down those castle walls, so that others can help them: I can't do it all.
Dunno if this is familiar territory to any of you-I sure wish i had a sibling to share all this wonderful stuff with-coupled with the other recent events in my life, this certainly seems to be more of a test than reality-It seems too disturbing and punishing for all involved, yet there is no waking from this bad dream. What's that great but bittersweet line-"this, too , shall pass" -I hope it passes quickly.

Which Way Ya Goin', Billy?

Here's what's new: I found that I can go back to the paintings that I've started and make "edits", which sometimes translate into total white-over re-dos. Previously, I felt as though the whole plane had to be composed, figured-now I find that it's far more plastic and mutable. I don't want to use the word forgiving, because I don't want to be forgiven-there's no mistakes made here, onhly progress. I feel as if this must be a function of a new more secure painter that has emerged out of me-how, when and why I dunno. But I feel the power-not quite a religious experience, thank you very much, but I'm happy with the body of work I've accumulated as a painter. does it pass muster? Only for me. If I get photo or two, I'd be glad to show you, but here's the thing-this is more about a good feeling in the process-a feeling that I am (please pardon how this sounds) more one with the paint, rather than pushing it. Maybe it's just become a friendlier substance to me and, hot dammit, this has taken a lifetime-well, at least 35 of my many years...
Dunno how I'd feel about the whole thing if I were surrounded by a room (I paint in a 8 X 12 foot room) of failures-although what defines "winner" right now is more my perception of how the flow of process is going-especially that it's not stiff. Or that the painter is losing track of where he is heading (not that there ever could be a roadmap for this-unless it centers around the Street of Crocodiles)....
Life here is pretty complicated. My Dad is in a nursing home or rehab center, depending on the mood of the day. Mom is having breathing, heart and leg issues and still living in the big house I grew up in. Every phone call seems to bring bad news. Yes, you are right in assuming my work keeps me going, as does Laura who has been wonderful through all this. We go on vacation this coming week for a brief getaway.
That darn dog and I have become fast friends-I knew from the first time I saw him, he was a good 'un: tail wagging as he walked. Many people have said that he looks at me like I'm his rescuer and saver-I'll repeat the question I saw on a bumper sticker: "Who rescued who?"
Here's a question for anyone who might have an answer-Jhnny/Sock is such a calm dog, but he hangs head in van and gets carsick. Anybody have a remedy besides leaving him at home or "calming" drugs? I've yet to try ginger root extract, which was suggested.

This one is called "Kastor".