24.10.17

One looks, looks long, 
and the world comes in. - Joey Campbell

                                                        - hollywood cemetery • VA

When I see a head from a great distance, it ceases to be a sphere and becomes an extreme confusion falling down into the abyss. 
- Alberto Giacometti


                                                                        - biltmore • NC 







I have the feeling that I've seen everything, 
but failed to notice the elephants. - Anton Chekhov

 
                                                                                                                  - obama • Japan

The problem turned out to be 
that I was never that kind of artist. 
- Todd Rundgren


15.10.17


Apologize, but —
I’m seeing businesses on line, in brick and mortar shops, in boxes; offering the commodity of  creative. Being taught the craft of being creative. Costing and tricking and people into being creative. It’s yummy time - get those creatives juices flowing = GROSS! I get that it’s a tribe. I get that some people need to be pushed into a directive. I get that some people may be busting numbers around all day, dreaming of being artistic. But, numbers and paper-work sound like a break to me! Im looking for ways to get out of being creative.
                     
Actually that will be my next gimmick. 
                             Ask me for an uncreative solution.  
                                        Break it completely and throw it away.


                           Whoa, did I just write that out loud?
Working for, working with, working through —  it's all the same energy. 
Just sometimes someone is looking and paying, sometime not. 

If I ever felt like I didn’t have a purpose … I would need to work harder. 
We all chose what we do, and we pay for it … or, we should have chosen something we imagine to have more purpose.
                                                                                                                                -— I'm sticking to it.

15.8.17

If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research, would it?  
- Albert Einstein

   ... 


Never mistake a single mistake with a final mistake.      
- F. Scott Fitzgerald

   ...

Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.
- Peter S. Beagle / The Last Unicorn

4.7.17
















Yay, for Non-Descript Robes Gender Neutral Color Bland.

A teacher in yoga-wear crashes the party in my dream, gains everyones attention, and begins to show us dance steps.

Soon, he becomes exasperated and angry, "Don't you know this by now?"

"You haven't taught us this, so don't expect us to be off-book."

Then I realize he doesn't belong, and I told him so.
"You are in the wrong dream, go down stairs and see if you belong there."

Angle primary. Thinking single directive.
Walking down the street I cant help my mind. It just goes there. Lengthen for X-long sleeve there — hem up a half inch — long waisted / adjust pattern —tilt hat froward.

Settle everything by throwing it all away.  -Alan Watts

While dangling from a glacier, mapping her way up in to the clouds, she dropped a treasured trinket into the void of chasm. Her mind calmed as to always knowing where it would be.


19.12.16

Finding a logic that feels like trust.

N. Gaiman walks in and has a sit. After thinking for a bit he councils me:
“You can’t do sentimental,  and you definitely can’t do horror. So don't reinvent the wheel; do your drawing-words gimmick.”

Literary devices, or, when projects list themselves.
• Non-sequitur - write a story of a man flip booking through a encyclopedia or switching the screen from channel to channel at jiffy speed.  
• Build a trilogy that goes together kicking and screaming.
• Arrange someone in the next room trying to get all the attention. 
My attention.



















Did you hear?
It all seems miles away.  

Life changes fast. Life changes fast.  Life changes fast. 

When it comes to date and time, close enough if often okay with me.

Sometimes, I do not think people need tattoos on their faces. A face is busy enough with what’s already going on.  Sometimes I don't.

I’m hoping to have focus and something planned by the time the sugar spikes.

8.12.16

It becomes harder and harder to speak without a pencil and paper in hand.
Un-pragmatic and non-linear. I do that real well.
So, how far have I ever been able to throw myself?

I feel the pull of retreat, every time this time of year. Not that I’ve been much out and about - but more or less. The shorter days call me indoors - to have longer sits and write meandering  sentences with bigger words. 

I’ve done a lot of installation work ... I’ve been inspired by great sculptors and their huge crafty ingenious works, … then mentally backing up, remembering - I’m sort of wanting to make something nice and smooth with the smell of ink. I’m hankering to make  an object I can pick up easily and read without getting splinters. The dream is to sit down at the same time everyday with a beautiful blank book. Without hesitation I will draw an inspiration and write something profound. Too often I’m writing while driving, scraping into the dust, or drawing hits with only a bad pen and a ripped receipt. Train myself to turn on inspiration by calling up a moment.

Art, then, is an elaborate dance around something that can’t be made. 

Add a muffled boom and a ring of smoke appearing at the bottom of the cartoon canyon. 

14.9.16



















A Catholic friend told me: 
"Always pray to Mary, because when you get to the gate, if St Peter wont let you in  -
 Go around the side and she'll pull you through the window."

8.8.16
























Pie? Who cares about pie, when there is Russia? -DV

Burrowing into what matters. Or, what I learned today.

• Not much gets accomplished at 3am when you’ve already been awake for 72 hours.

• A tiny brush holds very little  paint.

• Bad things happen when you are trying to be very, very quiet.

• Making pancakes is much easier than how I make it look.

We were ooowing & ahhhing over an acquaintance’s book of poetry that had been begrudgingly lent and was now being carefully handled. KB set it down on the papered work table near our 8th floor open window. In one very foolish elbow move, by me, it disappeared. There was a cursing of bad luck in twain. In our mournful anguish we looked out the window expecting to see the book free falling eight stories with the binding bowed and pages stretching wide, liberating themselves, fluttering as to say I’m ‘this’ free. Down, down  to the pavement and crushed underfoot by a New Yorker who was sipping hot expresso making a guest list as he hurried to secure a newspaper and check into the weather for this weekends family holiday on his home out in Montauk ... We focused nearer and saw that the volume had landed in the plastic flower pot in the window apartment just below us, 7D. Being less petrified by whomever lived there, than what would  happen to us if we reported the lost book, (Yes, stolen!) we ran down and stood there, before the door, listening intently to the quiet and what lie beyond thinking; who would have a plastic flower pot in Union Square?

• Oh yah, and, setting something on the floor so it wont spill, is not always a good idea.

17.2.16

RoM 07 - #9/9 This is Only the Beginning.

I had come a long way to claim what would have been mine. It’s an orphan’s prize and didn’t expect any competition. It has always been a long distance. It’s only one beginning lying somewhere on a horizon that does not look like this one before me. That calm is the line that separates way off on the horizon, not front and center. 

It is another smoke sky cloudy day. You can't see the sun traveling so it remains a vague daytime until it is dark enough to be called night.

I quit chasing the horizon today.
RoM 07 - #8/9 The Voice of Angels

Does it matter what sky I wanted yesterday? At this minute it is over the Atlantic. Tomorrow that patch will be on a latitude unknown to me. Daylight is easy time. Night is simply closing your eyes. It is the creep transition of twilight when the changelings sparkle in the barren mist, one has to watch for. Transition is a hallway, the next door is the opportunity — often opened with momentum. 

Winging through as the twilight grows deeper, I listen now to the silent accord of wings flapping — I notice that silence has become the cadence note coming around again and then again. I have a tough time shushing the angels’ voices that stretch out of the sky that is alway changing. 

As the dark finally did, Bug’s voice breaks the spell, I knew I should have made that left turn at Albuquerque

The  car’s headlights dropped out of site. I pulled blindly off to the side roadway, popped the hood, got out of the car, and walked to the front with sand stinging my cheeks and hands.

The battery wires resented being connected properly. After a struggle, the power caught me by surprise. The radio's loud fuzz was torture and the light so sharp and bright I felt like I should be admitting to something. Indeed, I’ve never enjoyed talking to the police because of an uncanny impulse to admit to something I did not do. This was not that. 

I stand on the outside. I’m no longer included in the maharaja effect.