Saturday, September 24, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
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
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I've put off writing because I've been busy with odd jobs and booksales and a fun friend in town, but mainly due to too much contemplation and not enough focus. Initially I wanted to respond to the 9.11 anniversary and connect it in some way to the memorial dedication at the Encaustic Art Institute and a new sculpture garden where my piece "A Poet's Heart: Reflections on Compassion" has come to rest, but I think I'm still thinking and now that day is past, and on "US time"that means it's old news anyway-- until it becomes a marketing tool or "in our best interest" so I'm moving on: to apples and autumn and a tarantula hawk that I observed in the wilds of Cerrillos Hills State Park on Sunday.
spider wasp which hunts tarantulas as food for its larvae. The more familiar species are up to five centimeter (two inches) long with a blue-black body and bright rust-colored wings making them among the largest of wasps. The coloring on their wings warns potential predators that they are dangerous (Aposematism). Their long legs have hooked claws for grappling with their victims. The stinger of a female tarantula hawk can be up to 7 mm (1/3 inch) long, and the sting is considered among the most painful insect stings in the world.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Imagination: 1) the act or power of forming a mental image of something not present to the senses or not previously known or experienced 2) creative ability 3) resourcefulness 4) a creation of the mind (Merriam Webster) or something I was told I did not have as a child. Basically I was a bookworm. Boring. Uninteresting. Quiet. An introvert. And of course I was all of those things and more. Or less. Contemplating that belief recently and whenever anyone tells me the opposite I marvel how it has resided inside me all these years. "you have no imagination. . ." Words so formative yet untrue, and it didn't really matter that I didn't know what I lacked (since it existed all along), but strange now to hear that same word from complete strangers in a variety of diction --all glowing and somewhat incredulous. A compliment. In response to my art. "I want to get inside your brain" or "you have such imagination" or "how did you come up with that idea" or "you have such an eye" and well it is rather stimulating. In contemplating "my normal" I have to surrender to sometimes social misfit. That's okay. Sometimes I play the role of the happy extrovert. A delicate dance. I do not exactly marvel the masses on the think index. It also makes my art less accessible though I don't equate that with less important.