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Showing posts from April, 2007

Sunday Scribblings: Wings

When I was old enough to wander outside on my own I became fascinated with lady bugs, monarch butterflies, lightening bugs and beetles. Every year I would wait for the time of year that each bug was proliferate. Mating and migratory season kept me quite busy searching and studying their little bodies. Wings especially caught my attention, how they folded up into themselves or under hard rounded shells. I would try to pry open beetle and lady bug shells just to get a look at those wings all tucked up in there. I loved tearing them apart like little webs or studying the map of all the lines and contours in each wing whenever I came across a dead bug .

In the Fall when the Monarch Butterflies came into town our backyard was filled with thousands of them and I would spend hours creeping up on them and ever so quietly, delicately grasping their seemingly weightless wings with my thumb and index finger and placing them on my arms or fingers just to watch them walk around. A shimmering chalky…
Industrial Stains

Hand in a Hole

Industrial Wall

Industrial Wall

The Goods
Me and my buddy went walking on an old RR track that is now a faux trail. It runs through woods and behind an industrial splotch. Half of the stuff we found along the tracks but the other stuff was given to me by an eccentric man we met. He lives just off the tracks and I was salivating over all the scrap in the back lot. It didn't look like a house but apparently it is, that and a warehouse for literally tons of metal. We went walking by and saw a wild haired man out there walking around and sitting down to smoke. After a brief discussion we decided to go back and ask about some scrap, did he have any round scrap etc. Turns out the guy is/was an artist. Sounded like he has lost his muse...there was some initial muttering about muse...someone cutting out a sculpture he made and carting it off...not being creative...letting it all go etc. Yes folks, another eccentric Vermonter who lives in a large building that …

sunday scribblings: rooted

I've torn up my roots twice in my life. Yanked them from the ground, dirt still clinging and falling as I scurried off not bothering to fill up the hole. I left home when I was 20. I grew up in a smallish college town and found it stifling and stunted. No matter that all the chicago princesses(they were called something else but its a derogatory term ) and rowdy frat boys from around the country came to the nearby agricultural university to let their brains plump up. I wanted nothing to do with it or them. I was an outcast in my own community. I needed to get away to a place that had scenery and lots of people to get lost around.

So I left the midwest and went to Arizona. I had never lived on my own and before I yanked out my roots I made sure I had a u-haul full of seedlings to grow my new roots. The ground was dry. Roots were hard to grow. It took me almost two decades before I felt as if any of the roots 'took'. I moved half a dozen times to varied neighborhoods and neve…

choosing your destiny

I'm not one to talk or think about my past too much, I'm talking about my past as in childhood, teen, early adult years. My life feels like it began when I stopped working and left Arizona in 03. The choices I have made since then are the ones that feel like they impact my life the most now...not the choices I made when I was 21.

Sometimes I relive my journey as if watching a movie. I can see myself driving with my car stuffed with maps and camping gear...I can see myself being very afraid and very tired. I think I was too scared to be excited, those moments were mostly when I was hiking and feeling at peace in nature or stopping in quaint towns, chatting with librarians and feeling no hurry to do anything. Most of the time I was in panic attack mode. The panic came in waves, crashing into me in oceanic form. Like waves of vomit between dry heaves. Bathing my brain in terror, flooding my vision with blur, beating me down into a crippled shaking ball.

Primitive reptile brain is w…

When is an art critique useful? (or) To critique or not to?

Yesterday a blog friend posted a work and ended the post with 'what do you think?'. That innocent question immediately caught my breath because as a viewer and an artist, I think I might be harsher than the normal blogger. The question causes me consternation because I try to be honest and real. I can't stand polite vapid wasted interactions for any length of time. If someone is going to ask my opinion why would I want to lie? So do I risk giving it if it isn't all accolades? The blogger might appreciate it but will everyone else leaving comments think I am a scourge? How do I know if someone is looking to grow or change? How do I know when I am supposed to just say beautiful and leave it at that? And ultimately how can anyone judge another person's work? Aside from technical aspects who can say something should be other than what it already is?

So here is the thing, this isn't really about their work so much as how that question brought up more issues that lurk…

Photography instead of Painting

I've said it many times, 'I am not a painter'. I have tried a few times to sit down with a canvas, brush....easel.... I do this or that and come up frustrated that it looks flat. I know you can build up paint and add things to it. I have in the past even attempted sticking things on the canvas. Ultimately I get more excited when I take a picture of something that looks to me as if it could be a painting. If I could paint, I would paint THAT photograph above but I would want it to come out looking just like that. Meaning, I would want to make it into a mixed media piece that had the same objects etc. Not all flat. Not on canvas. I'd need the wood and the mold (okay not the mold, I would have to re-create it). I would want to make a hole in there like you see on the left side. To me, that picture IS art.

Since it is still snowing up here in snow-globe country, since I still have snow tires on and poor gas mileage with said tires on. Since I am waiting for nice warm hazy s…

eye opening art openings

Okay, not really. More like I don't need to keep going to openings to see that some key ingredient is missing and I've yet to put my finger on what it is that would make an art opening more intimate or accessible.

It was the Fri Art Walk in Burlington. My friend and I went to four different places, and since we are rather numb to most of the art that gets shown here in Vermont, for the most part we found ourselves observing things about the work that quite frankly still surprises me - that is, poorly constructed work. One of the most top notch of art museums in the area is the Firehouse Gallery, the works were large scale C-Prints, which at first looked about as nice as a framed photograph can look but upon closer inspection it was obvious the prints were not dry mounted, rather they probably used corners or tape to affix the photo. Not a good idea with large scale prints because guess what they do? They ripple. And it was a blight to our eyes to see these large photographs rip…

selling & hoarding

Dare I write a post about making art and not worrying or trying to sell it vs. making art and wanting to live off of it?

I dare. I dare .

I want to be careful here not to look like I am pointing fingers or saying one way is better, because I have blog friends and artist friends out there in the world that are not doing it the way I am and I don't think either is better or worse. BUT. I have personally experienced from artists face to face a sort of holier than thouness with their attitudes of not 'peddling' their wares. My head goes to to Lisa Call's Blog, because she recently has spoken about her making art and making it for the sake of making it and not worrying about selling it. I get what she is saying and I respect her to the utmost. (so you know Lisa I am not pointing a finger at you but your post did bring up some latent issues I've had with other artists, so your blog reminded me about this issue) I'm not talking about anyone I've met online in fact, …
Apathy can be overcome by enthusiasm, and enthusiasm can only be aroused by two things: first, an ideal, which takes the imagination by storm, and second, a definite intelligible plan for carrying that ideal into practice.Arnold Toynbee (August 23, 1852 – March 9, 1883)

4 fotos

all reject photos taken my first winter in vermont.
for some reason i think of music and death when i look at this

snow on sand

i call this the human nest.
it was huge. i think a feral human lived there.

following a dream

the whole stuck thing is starting to alarm me
you don't want to know the things
that go through my head
you don't want to hear the hisses
that reverberate in my eustachian tubes
and the doubts
that have almost twisted my body
into its very own question mark
drama? probably
i know i am not alone
and i know this isn't life or death
even if it feels like it

sometimes i do wonder
about the dreams we have
the real life dreams
the conscious soul searching dreams
that pull and yank us
towards directions that seemingly make no sense
i wonder if our dreams collide
with other people's dreams
and create new dreams
that billow like smoke
towards unknown destinations

i feel useless right now
this isn't self pity talking
it feels to me like
i've been on a trail
hiking alone
following a faint path
that really wasn't
a path at all
it feels to me like I might need to turn around
retrace some of my steps
and change direction
but a persistent force
keeps beckoning me forward

and its tiresome to kee…