Saturday, December 10, 2011

Artful ponderings & Our Lady of Guadalupe


The long view up Canyon Road --Friday 12.9.11

The twilight twinkles with starlight and moonrise and candles fuse with adobe while paper bags placed on the ground light the way, but it is quiet in the gallery.  Only Max and I make the effort on behalf of the Zaguanistas.  Still there are always gifts to be found in the few who wander through the gate and up the path.  A young woman takes off her coat, sips an eggnog and we chat about Plaza Blanca and how to spend a day in Abiquiu, another artist has work in Hahn Ross Gallery where there is an opening this afternoon from 4-8pm.  A fundraiser to benefit "Imagine Forward" a non-profit created by Tom Ross to inspire and further creative expression while addressing crucial needs in our community --in schools.  How do I miss these artful opportunities?  Is there a special mailing list? --this has bothered me since my arrival in Santa Fe.  I seem to be so after-the-fact. The one avenue I have found, with the Santa Fe Community Gallery, has been good to me and I appreciate the themes and the creative challenge.  A few people return who walk Canyon every Friday night.  We appreciate them too for their support and curiosity.  Still after we blow out the candles, close the gates, turn out the lights and I am back in my live/work studio (that I love) --I am overcome with emotion.  At how to be proactive in artful abundance.  The kind that will help pay off the Visa bill that is waning dangerous to out of control as each month I hope for a little extra.  Maybe a painting will sell or a set of three painterly photos.  That $500 would make a difference.  I choose images I think speak to the Holiday Season.  A cross from the side of a church in Merida, a snowfence that borders the El Zaguan garden, Tapa's for the foodie crowd and a personal favorite: Our Lady of Guadalupe, cards ($5/ea) or the kitsch vintage cake assemblage "Eat Cake & Pray" featuring three images of this miraculous female icon.  Though I am not anywhere close to being Catholic I love some of the iconography and adopt it for my own purposes.  And I am fascinated by Mexico. . .

Eat Cake & Pray --assemblage $95
Guadalupe day, December 12, is Mexico’s most important religious holiday. On this day people from all over Mexico travel to the chapel Tepayac Hill in Mexico City, where the mother of Jesus is said to have appeared before an Indian peasant named Juan Diego back in 1531. Mary told Juan to go to the bishop and ask that a church be built on the hill so she could be close to her people. The bishop, needing proof of this vision, asked Juan to have a miracle performed by Mary. Juan returned to Tepayac Hill and found Castillian roses growing where there had only been cacti.  It was winter and very late in the season for any flowers to bloom. He wrapped the roses in his tilma (peasant cloak) and returned to the bishop.  When he opened his cloak before the bishop on December 12 the flowers fell to the floor and in their place was the Virgin of Guadalupe miraculously imprinted on the fabric --the legend was born and the chapel was built.

And so believe --in yourself, in miracles, in peace on earth, in understanding-- when that seems a most formidable task.  All our fears getting in the way of truth and trust and the ability to love and communicate. I have company coming today.  We will feast on food and friendship and artful conversation. I will struggle with intimacy issues pretending to sleep while the ghosts of the past and present walk naked through the night to use the bathroom, and in the morning when I wake in good cheer (because I always wake in good cheer) we will drink strong coffee and I may call my mother or a sister and life will begin again.  As it does.  Everyday a choice.  An opportunity.  A happening.  Go well into this holiday season and let the light shine on.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Deck the Walls, Celebrate Art with the Zaguanistas


Temporary Roomates and Temporary Insanity

An old friend calls, he's in Scottsdale, "I'm having a solo show here, would you mind if I visited for a couple of days?" This guy and I have known each other through a mutual friend in NYC for about fifteen years now, we partied together and worked on several pubic art installations as part of a team. Even though we knew each other for a long time, I was never particularly drawn to him, except in the beginning, and then I got to know him very well.

It turned out that he is the type of artist that intends to break the system, you know go straight to the top, while burning bridges all along the way. As a performance piece it might work, maybe not. In the art world, definitely not, we've got to pay our dues and it can be years before any kind of recognition is bestowed upon us and our work. While this man, my age, has been prolific and is genuinely talented, there is always something that derails his ambition.

He was out of the city for a while when I was still living there, off to finally get a solo show somewhere in the Middle East, a grand exhibition that would incorporate a huge installation along with his paintings, a really terrific idea and it was executed with finesse, never any doubt about that, but something went wrong. There was conflict and lots of it, his expectations being gargantuan I sincerely doubt that they could have been met unless somehow he magically appeared on the cover of artforum.

Well that is about the time that we started corresponding via email and facebook, with that distance between us I could drop in and out of conversation, offer some level headed advice, I was a gallery director in the city and had a way with calming artists during their solo shows. While the opportunity is fantastic I think that for the most part nearly every artist that I dealt with lost their minds just a little during the process, that's cool, understandable. We are putting ourselves out there, butt naked and maybe just looking for some respect, sales and credibility.

For one's first solo, or even second or third, things may not always go as planned. A gallery represents a roster of artists, certainly they will focus on the exhibiting artist, but there is still the others to deal with, along with maintaining the gallery's reputation, the amount of work the dealer must undertake, the cost to them, and various outside factors, the economy, the competition, and again honing the relationship with the artist on hand. There is no clear single force at work, all the cards played add up to what one has been dealt.

So this fellow has a couple of other shows, and somehow they all end up being disasters, what is the missing part of this equation? Still we stay in touch and when I leave New York we continue our electronic exchange. I have always been the type of guy who would never turn anyone away, so I say sure come stay in Santa Fe for a few days. Turns out we have a wonderful visit and soon my friend is back on his way to Arizona to wrap up his show then return to the East Coast afterwards.

I went to Las Vegas to visit with family, while there I get a call from my artist friend in Scottsdale, everything has blown up, the gallery owner spits in his face, bad bad bad. Sure you can return to Santa Fe and stay at my place till you get your bearings, I'll be back in a week.  I return and he is settled in, certainly not uncharacteristic, he's done it before, and well being so broke I almost looked at it like a status symbol in a weird way, that being that most of my friends can take someone in and would gladly.

This artist friend becomes enchanted by Santa Fe, happens all the time, but he doesn't like the way things are run and he is going to change everything and rise quickly. I am a professional schmoozer and believe me it doesn't happen like that here and it doesn't happen anywhere especially if one is flat broke and does not have any social connections. He grows frustrated and manic, I begin to lose my patience, one week turns to two.

In his effort to conquer Santa Fe he ventures out with a bag of paintings in tow to show the neighboring galleries. At first he sweet talks them, then when they say they don't have time to view work he storms out shouting. There are guidelines and protocol in place, sweet talking a gallery is fine, but they are busy folks and even though their job is always to be on the lookout for a new artist, just dropping in and demanding that they see your work is most likely a sure fire way of never being shown in that gallery, ever.

We as artists surely can sell out of our studios, we don't necessarily need the gallery system to be productive or find buyers, but if one wants to work in the business there are just some things that always need to be kept in mind. The gallery is a business, a contemporary re-working of a very old system, one that has evolved with the times and there is a way of obtaining representation, but one must certainly be aware and not ruin the opportunity. Have a good website, share the link, if the gallery is interested be prepared for a studio visit.

So my friend finally left, not before making me feel like an insane landlord and causing quite a ruckus that left a pall on my place. I have no regrets and I surely will take someone in again, but not this guy, not right now or in the near future.





Zaguanistas, December 2011


Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Death, Birthdays and Houseguests

Fourteen months since I left NYC for the quiet beauty of Santa Fe. How has this time and all that has occurred since affect my art?

My life in the big city was never dull and only on occasion easy, still I managed to paint consistently throughout my time there, with or without money. The support system that I developed grew to be a reliable source of means to keep me afloat.

Over the past several years that support system would be marked by loss, death, people losing their jobs, a relationship that ended and collectors who just stopped collecting. So like a mad man I put on my sales hat and voraciously approached any viable collector, often working with them and their means in order to get the cash that I needed to leave and start fresh somewhere new.

The transition to New Mexico came easily at first, found excellent housing in a wonderful neighborhood, was situated quickly and began painting immediately. Then the reality shock kicked in and I found myself in a place where the social terrain baffled me, where employment seemed unobtainable, regardless of my having been an associate director in a contemporary gallery for five years.

Through all of my first missteps here, what did take place was a renewed source of inspiration, the landscape, the light and the natural colors. So while continuing to be a starving artist, struggling to pay the rent, I painted, and painted. I was in the studio at least seven hours a day, this new body inspired new buyers, and soon enough I was able to sustain my life as an artist.

The job search became depressing, I would go through periods where I didn't even bother looking, developing some kind of mental block to the humiliating process. The list of new buyers dwindled, I was back at zero. So I painted.

I became a caretaker for an elderly ill neighbor, the money was enough to sustain my needs, food, lower shelf vices and art supplies. Life on the edge, not an unusual predicament for me, one that I feel is necessary in order to have my time to my self to paint. I had to borrow money to pay the rent, still owe a couple of friends, and then questions, should I stay? Should I go? Where to? How do I get there?

Mother died, she had been sick for a while, still quite a shock. Upon my return from her deathbed I found myself alone and lost, she did not have much, in fact very little, and there was no real family  home, but without her here I just didn't feel like I belonged anywhere. The process of mourning took some time, just logistics and not having the opportunity to be where my family was in order to grieve together. We did finally accomplish that though, and once that was taken care of, I thought to myself, I want to go home, to Santa Fe.

So now here, with all of the negatives and positives, I find myself renewed and energized, its like I feel the need to stay and cause some change, minor or radical. Just paid the overdue rent, am working on the next payment, which is due in ten days and after that we'll hope for the best.

In the meantime I have recently celebrated by fiftieth birthday and have a fellow wandering starving artist staying with me. The Artists of El Zaguan have a group show opening this coming Friday and a pending snowstorm. So now it is time to paint.






Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Deck the Walls: Celebrate Art with the Zaguanistas


Adam Eisman


OPENS:  Friday December 2, 2011, 5 to 7pm
WHERE: El Zaguan (James L. Johnson House)
               545 Canyon Road, Santa Fe
HOURS:  Monday - Saturday 10 - 4pm
                Friday evenings 5 to 7pm
                Studios by appointment

We invite you to celebrate works by Greg Tweed, Max-Carlos Martinez, Brenda Roper, William McLane, Bethany Orbison, and Adam Eisman in a variety of media including painting and photography.  For more information on the artists of El Zaguan or the Historic Santa Fe Foundation please contact: cara@historicsantafe.org

Holiday, ART, Joy, Celebrate, ART, Holiday




Max Carlos Martinez "Blue Hill"

Brenda Roper "Merida Series"


Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Winter is coming or maybe it's already here. . .

I go too long in between writing and then there is too much to say.  Too many thoughts.  And a belated photo to thank those of "occupy Traverse City, Michigan in front of the State Theatre on Front Street resurrected by Michael Moore -- and thank you too. The job thing (for me) is evolving quite nicely.  Two new jobs mind you not just one.  Back to my normal three (3) part-time somethings.  Hopeful it will cover the bills, pay off the Visa, the loan to my sister, and maybe a little extra at the end of the month.  If not I am having fun, meeting interesting people, meeting  my patterns face to face (oh my!), walking across town in the dark (at 5:30pm) --yes winter is here.  I love the light in the morning but too early this darkness.  It is a difficult adjustment.  I start a fire, crawl into pajamas, a glass of wine, swiss chard and chicken.  Sigh.  Maybe no Mexico this year and I suppose that will be okay though I haven't ruled it out completely.  Open. 

The good news is that I was accepted into the juried show Odes & Offerings at the Santa Fe Community Gallery for 2012.  Excited.  I will be paired with a poet and create a work based on his words.  This is who I am.  A poet who paints.  A painter who poets.   A good ending to a day that started with tears because a neighbor is grieving and I am too organized or something like that.  Everyone is a relationship and we give and we take and at the end of the day there is an exchange --an understanding and it is okay. 

This is the final week of Assemblage & NarrativeConversations with Bones & Barbed Wire. My solo show currently at 545 Canyon Road, Santa Fe.  No sales -- well a card or two.  This the primer when people ask "how was your opening?" --"it was good." I say.  "Great attendance for November. . .image in the Pasa."  Supported by neighbors and family and friends far and near. I am happy but always feel the need to placate "no sales" because that is what they are asking.  That is the barometer.  They want me to succeed.  And I have.  The bravado of putting "it" out into the public.  Of digging deep in a subconscious/intuitive way --that is the ease of art for me, and bravo I suppose.  Process.  Executing an idea.  It is a marriage.  A relationship--in sickness and in health til death due us part kind of thing.  Some interest.  A couple from Dallas.  A couple from Santa Fe.  I give them my contact information. A woman reads all the words.  Aloud.  A friend documents.  Flowers.  Donuts. Time.

I am busier than I want to be and grateful for the evenings where I am not --well except for tomorrow when I'll walk with a friend to the Lensic for a lecture.  A workshop over the weekend.  Not a day to myself until the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  Life is like this sometimes.  Everything all at once.  I need a massage but haven't had one since my 50th birthday 3 years ago.  I buy a vintage sweater from a charming Frenchman at the recyled show on Saturday.  Just like that. A perfect fit.  It is pink and he tells me I am beautiful and I hand him my Visa.  Life isn't always rational.  I am grateful for art, for phone calls from sisters, a conversation with my mom, sunshine on the walk to work and even the clouds hanging over the mountains on Sunday to remind me of those long winters in Alaska where I no longer walk along the coastal trail or witness the moaning of the ice, a moose at the mailbox, the memories that make our lives a life.  I'm surprised at how long I lived in the grayness.  Though it was certainly beautiful.  I could not go back.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Computer, candlelight and decisions

It's not a seance.  Well maybe.  Trying to figure out whether a "work at home" job I manifested is really an opportunity  Or not.  The gut is sending signals while self-doubt is raising her voice to compensate for the bewildered interview, throw in my tolerance for eccentricity and quirky and all the projects I could do at 6:30 in the morning while waiting for the phone to ring (on commission): study Spanish, write a blog, start a new painting, etc.  Yes.  Still it comes with the feeling of entrapment and undervalue.  Who is paying my social security taxes (well me which is the point at 15.what percent).  And no training in sight since the software is "very intuitive" --well so am I but a little practice  might be good.  Is it just me?  This is like the third tourism job or maybe the fourth since I've been in Santa Fe.  It isn't like I don't have a lifetime of experience working from home, running an office, planning itineraries. . .but none of these make the mark of the past.  Maybe that's all I need to know.  Maybe it's simply time for a change in aptitude. 

Attacked an old painting yesterday and wow!  it looks amazing.  Painting with my fingers, scratching, dropping gesso all over the place (picking it up) applying pearl iridescent as if I were on fire --which I was of course.  But can't burn out.  A release to be sure and this morning a warm nervous swelling in the chest of joyful surprise (not unveiling yet).  I love that.  That calm that comes after the flame but not without the confusion of self-esteem.  I don't want to become the girl who just gets a job only to quit a week later but what is it here?  No direction.  No one taking charge.  No information.  Okay gut.  Do your work and I will go forward into this brilliant Monday morning all systems on.  The decision will become known when I access what I have to lose.  What I need to keep.  What is sacred.  How much I value myself, my time, my art, my own life.  Because I am the one to decide.  Really.  Right?  

Friday, November 4, 2011

The hours before the opening. . .breathe

Thank you Pasatiempo for including my image in Exhibitionism, a peek at what's showing around town. TONIGHT from 5-7pm at 545 Canyon Road.  Left-handed secret is about finding my biological father --rather meeting him I suppose since he is actually a man I've known (of) since I was a child, though not in that context. . . such is life.  Oh and about being left handed which I was and now I'm not, but he is. And more of course.  It is about combining words and images to find a balance of identity, joy, questions and answers and what has been lost and found.  The players.  Death and birthdays and in sickness and in health.  So much unknown.  I am grateful for the unconscious, for dreaming and the struggle for love but I can barely breathe in anticipation.  It is always this way before "exposure" --the unveiling of more self to a public view but such is the path of art.  For me.  If you live in Santa Fe please follow the farolitos and stop by for a look, a cup of cider and if I haven't met you I hope you will introduce yourself.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Winter Coming

A brilliant Friday morning in the making here in Santa Fe but don't let the sunshine fool you --winter is coming.  I am trying to embrace this fact with comfort food like squash and swiss chard from the market, homemade corn bread and learning how to make some New Mexican favorites with red chile (still on the list) --that and company coming for Christmas, and a solo show opening a week from today are keeping me on my toes.  Still when I sit surrounded by books and a cup of tea in the darkness of too early to go to bed I wonder if I'll make it without getting fat on too much. . .that reminds me of a poem I wrote once so here I share it even though a wee bit premature since it isn't even Halloween.  I actually sat down to write about "Bombay Beach" the movie and the Village @ Grand Traverse Commons in Traverse City.  Funny how the mind leads one astray.

The poem from Alaska of course, where I spent over 20 winters, but as I ponder other cities close to the water, far from the sunshine of Santa Fe  I contemplate how to manage my sometimes limited and unreliable artful resources to spend part of the winter south of the border, part of it closer to family, art, travel, etc. but I'm optimistic.  Life is good.

Thick With Cream

Windows across the street read them like words: 
loose, not connected, solid, not square, rectangular. 
A billboard of darkness endorses a simple statistic
of life by north:  November, December, January.

Not wind hurling from a frozen sea but a soft gray stillness
uncovers winter bones layered inside cold blue denim.
Cowering beneath silk underwear doughboy skin:
pudgy, cracked, already thick with fat.  Itchy,
before the holidays. 

You celebrate by drinking coffee thick with cream
and green tea with cake late into the afternoon. 
You honor a social moment, a conscious thought,
a ritual to commemorate decision.  Light a candle
to acknowledge life inside this blackness

that brings stars too brilliant to count.  At times
the ocean wind is still as death but often it blazes,
not flame but a severe penetration of memory. 
To remind us, the lazy and the sane tucked indoors,
beneath our covers thick with too much that has been lost. 

Many survive intact with sameness. And others do not. 
Those angels of risk that walked to the edge of the east,
and waited for sunrise.

                       

Friday, October 21, 2011

Provincetown to Portland and other endeavors


I am back from a wonderful two week foray with friends and family.  East Coast time zone, the Outer Cape, Crane's Beach, the Isabella Gardner Museum and the gritty working waterfront of Portland which is really not all that gritty --lobster benedict at The Porthole sitting outside on the wharf on an October morning for breakfast --wow! I actually had the Florentine but yum doesn't lobster and hollandaise sound good?  Also a visit to the Portland Fine Arts Museum which was quite fine. I scored a great argyle sweater from a local consignment shop for $13.13.  Other highlights included dinner with friends at Vignola, ice cream from Beale's and the Standard Bakery. . .Did I mention it was 80 degrees by day and people were still going "to the beach" --from Provincetown to Portland.

We spent two nights in Provincetown on the Outer Cape.  A small seaside town with a rich artistic legacy including Robert Motherwell and Hans Hofmann, among many others.  I am interested in the Fine Arts Work Center (FAWC) which provides a 7 month residency for visual artists and writers in the quiet winter months.  What a privilege and experience it would be to be selected.  Wish me luck.  Commerical Street is alive with galleries, though some are seasonal, but the Provincetown Art Association and Museum (PAAM) is open year-round as is Angel Foods a fantastic deli grocery in the East End Gallery district.  I think I could be happy here-- with paint and poetry and a bottle of wine when those cold ocean winds begin to blow. . .

My friend Diane and I played tourist one morning by taking a tour with Art's Dune Tours.  A very fun way to experience some of the history of this place.  Our driver Barb, think Kathy Bates in an SUV, was a character and a wealth of information.  First thing is to deflate the tires to 14 PSI which allows the vehicle to maneuver along the beach and through the dunes.  Still one steep hill I was holding my breath.  Along the way she pointed out the historic dune shacks --no electricity, running water or toilets, but an amazing setting.  These small structures with scenic vistas were built by the Life Saving Service to house seaman --forerunner to our current Coast Guard.  Sometime around the 1920's, long after the dune shacks ceased housing life-saving personnel, many of the community's creative and/or eccentric characters began using them as retreats and hideways.  Now they are part of an artist residency program during the summer months. The shacks are set along the part of Cape Cod National Seashore known as the Province Lands.  Only a handful of applicants are admitted each year.  If you like rustic, solitude and seek inspiration this might be for you.

It was a whirlwind but an excellent itinerary with food and friends and art and ocean.  The week to follow was equally fantastic.  One rich with family and celebration and worthy of a blog post of its own.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Some roads lead to art, food and friendship

Just back from coffee at the Subscription with fellow neighbors and artists, surrounded by dogs and the silence of Sunday morning purusing the news, borrowed chairs, sunshine, conversation of place and "how to" success, winter coming and finding a niche.  Nice. Yesterday I ventured north then right on Hwy 554 to the El Rito Studio Tour.  Stopped at the community artist mercado.  Walked away with beeswax candles and "no bake cookies" --a childhood favorite at only $1/bag.  Then to the wonderful hacienda style adobe gallery of David Michael Kennedy, longtime fine art photographer, working in silver gelatin and palladium prints. . .


I've known of El Farolito in El Rito since my first trip to Abiquiu in 2007.  Didn't venture inside then but it has been on my list of "places to eat" ever since.  I understand it is on the green chile cheeseburger trail and I couldn't remember if it is best known for red or green but I went with green.  Next time I'm choosing the red.  An open sign beckons but standing room only.  Still it looked possible so I headed in, through the small long room passing tables already taken, to check it out.  A tall young man asked if we wanted a table for two, my friend Nancy and myself, then just as quickly offered to sit us with another couple --did they mind?  They were already sliding over on the picnic style bench seat.  Thanks.  And so it was.  A lovely beginning to friendship ensued as we made easy conversation between ordering and the (lenghty) time it took our freshly made New Mexican creations to be served --a basket of sopapillas on the side. We covered states and adventures from Alaska to Texas ending exchanging names & numbers, what a beautiful day and hope to see you again.  And we did. At Studio 16. . .

Sparksville I call it.  Larry Sparks on the brochure. He has a studio.  Well actually two studios but the entire compound is artful and well worth a visit.  Found objects and mixed media paintings and sculpture. . .even a view of Pedernal greets those that venture here.  We had to pass on the invitation to stay for the chili feed but all in all a lovely day right down to that amazing light casting across the late afternoon landscape as we chatted our way back to Santa Fe, where "still much to do" on my mind.  I am leaving on vacation next week.  A week with a friend to walk along the ocean and explore possible artful communities south and north of Boston.  To linger with wine and contemplate the possibility of change and meander the pathway of friendship.  And then back to my midwestern roots. To family. Pause. A wedding (niece). Joy. Doubt. Words and silence and golden moments.  Smile for the camera and go well into all that is offered.  I have some aniexty.  Breathe. Mostly excitement.  And so quickly it passes.  Laughter. A hug. A tear.  Remember when?

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Art, imagination and obsession

A preview of upcoming solo show at El Zaguan opening November 4, 2011 entitled  Assemblage & Narrative: conversations with bones & barbed wire --about identity, family secrets and a homage to my sister Cheryl though her inspiration may not be evident in the ironing board.  It became my obsession yesterday when I attempted to document it in my studio.  First carried it outside and placed it against the worn adobe and then back where I rearranged the table, the rug, anything in the way (and everything is in the way) and then I surrendered to happenstance and light and delved fully into the magic of imagination.

When I told her about finding an old wooden ironing board at a antique/thrift store in Madrid she wrote me of her childhood memory of ironing.  "Iron the flat things first" she was told.  Sprinkle them with water (from a coke bottle with cork placed nearby): pillow cases, table cloths, sheets, etc. then roll them up and place them in the basket.  In those days even bras were ironed (can you imagine?).  I am five years younger and no memory of such a task, but her childhood was more adult than mine.  She took care of me along the way too and I can't even remember though I'm grateful.  At seven she dressed us for church and there we walked all alone, so grown up but without our mother.  Where is she?  the other women asked.   And so this piece contains a deconstructed coke bottle though likely no one will notice.  Doesn't matter.  I don't have a title yet because somewhere along the line it morphed into something else.  As art does.  Life.  Love and intention.  The lasts on top are walking forward.  One back --I think that might be me.  Or you. 
My work often uses buttons and thread.  Those common themes of domesticity.  Dresses.  Gloves. Perhaps to honor the women of earlier generations.  So many women, their choices and fears. So many children.  A man to take care of them.  Or not. Wifery.  No judgment.  Contemplation and scenario.  I read recently that "making art is inherently risky.  You're exposing your imagination, the most private thing about you" --and I love that.  Naming imagination as the most vulnerable thing.  Though I have an entire closet of "most vulnerable" it comes down to self-confidence & a ridiculous need for approval.


Thursday, September 22, 2011

September Song


I need to figure this thing out, what is eating at me, no not that crazy stomach bacteria and the fact that I have to wait three months to get into the clinic here, no what is it in my head, what is making it so goddamned difficult to paint.

Photography? I am really getting off on taking pictures, I mean seriously enjoying the hell out of it, but if it is this much fun can it really be considered art? In the past nine months I have taken close to two thousand pictures, large format, eating my memory on the computer, who cares, I am compelled, driven, forced by some instinct, some urge. And the thrill of it, intoxicates me, satisfies me, pleases me greatly, like any good muse should.



The interwebs? Hell today I spent more time on line that I did with the brush in hand, why? I read and reload the same twelve sites hourly, sometimes every half an hour, looking for what? More news on the evil diatribe against Gays, more bad news about the global economy, another impending natural disaster, one that would make the last one seem like Oz? I do try and balance this lust for information with the occasional funny kitty video, and then if I am really horny for journalism I will read Al Jazeera.


My dire straits? I've never had any money, never had a credit card, never had credit. But I have really never been this in debt and it can really fuck with my day. I owe the landlady $500, and today I mistakenly looked at the calendar, oh shit, rent time coming upon us quickly, my stomach bug has great company with the growing ulcer, think I'll call them the twins.


Is it the sparsity of paint? Well one of my best friends just sent a gift card for art supplies, the truck should be showing up any day with that sweet delivery. Is it my horniness? I mean really this dry-spell is record setting, especially for me as a Gay man, and that is hard to beat. Well still I do paint everyday and even though this has been a very challenging year, yeah I've been in Santa Fe a year now, I have also painted like a fool, been consistently productive and there for my friends, so while I may need a break from the stress and day to day, September, November and these few precious days I'll spend with you,  these precious days I'll spend with you.






Monday, September 19, 2011

Monday, Santa Fe

Seems like I have something to say, at least it feels that way. Is this happiness? Am I bored? The ceaseless clouds  have given way to rapturous sunshine, the light is perfect for painting. So why am I not painting? The flowers are fading, a few remain here and there, then there are the waves of blooms on this and that other weed, soon these too will fade.