Good Party. New lil painting. Beckman. Not in that order
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Not super bright.
It flew into the kitchen through the back door. It flew around for hours banging its head on the ceiling. I tried to guide/chase it out with a broom. I tried to lure it down with an open honey bear to the window sill and then, theoretically, out. To no avail. I left it to fly around bumping its head on the ceiling for another couple hours. I felt bad for it. Then I caught it using my laundry hamper and a baseball hat, and I took it outside, and it flew up to the jasmine flowers and took a long drink, really, that I deserved. But I just watched it, and refrained from drinking, and refra ined from smoking cigarettes, and got my camera and took a picture of it. I realized yesterday that hummingbirds are not super bright.
Making Lists
Only works if I can remember wher I put the goddamn thing....Sigh...then I jus go ahead and go back to making strange pictures. So much time flying by. T or F ? Art is about organizing information. Love
From the Brain of a Fevered Gringo
Mi compadre Hal se escribo Amigos Y Amigas: As night falls here, Nanny and I sit ensconced on the sixteenth floor (or dies seis piso) of the Islas del Sol (Islands at the bottom of my foot) the panoramically fenestrated palatial view stretches from the towering ramparts of the Sierra Madre Occidental in the northeast all the way to the glittering ocean (or mar) in the east that washes the room in a magical dying light. Yes, the sun is setting in the Sea of Cortez like a radioactive peso in a liquid piggy bank. Directly below our room a vast stage has been erected, buntings in rojo, verdes Y blanco, (the national sauces) have been draped across this magnificent proscenium as spot lights are switched on to cross-like light swords. In the velvet night military helicopters patrol the sky above while the gallant Mexican navy patrols in sinister grey battleships for contrabandidos. The compensidados, Mazatlanecos are gathering in the thousands (or mils) at the foot of ...
We Are Nothing
Terrifying and wonderful, no? Humility, and a recognition of one's relative insignificance in the meta scheme, is central to an effective Spiritual Practice or to maintain Psychological Equilibrium, or what have you. We are so inundated with the messages "Work" "Act" "Be Like This" "Consume" "Feel This" "Feel That" "Pay No Attention To This" "Freak Out About That" and other existential solicitations (and, frustratingly, often (perhaps only) nothing more than fevered sales pitches of the ambitious and over anxious) that the absence of these directives (try being homeless, or just turning off the internet and your phone) can induce schizotic or even ruptured egoic responses. It can bum you out that your not part of the mad human race, even if it's only for an afternoon, or for a fleeting few minutes when you feel like no one ever returns your calls. It also feels really good to let go of it and ...
A painting about the madness to create
Homunculi are little creatures that alchemists in the 1800's (alchemists are prototypical mad scientists) tried to grow in their laboratories (get it, Labor Interests, Labor-oratories), creating life from inert matter. I feel that, as a visual artist, I'm interested in doing the same thing. Taking an inert material and breathing life into it, to extend my life, and to conquer the world muahahahah. (It's kind of sick but who am I to judge me, man?) Anyway, these little guys embedded in the crazy experimental matrix are modeled on these mutant oranges I found growing on a tree in Oakland close where I live. Mutants are oranges, too, I suppose is the point of all this.