PART I
" I HAD A LOVER'S QUARREL WITH THE WORLD"
"I will never let you hang this" is literally what my wife said to me when I defied her orders by purchasing this painting at a garage sale.
Lord Father and Mother Kinkara, representing the purified hell realm(s): it’s said that in "degenerate times" people will inadvertently open the gates of hell by misusing Dharma. So, a direct invocation perhaps. .
Famous.
After the suicide of my aunt, I decoupaged several of her unfinished paintings into, what? a lamentation?... a meditation on her passing; but it was partly fueled by her explicit wish for ALL 4500 of her unfinished paintings to be destroyed, which is a story in itself. it was fucking crazy. However, this painting also features a very old tag. And, if you're ever train hopping in Montana, and see a VINO VINO VICI, drop me a line.
You probably can't tell on your phone, but these paintings are enormous, somewhere in the 8’x10’ range.
A small series of 3 sequential paintings; If it's not abundantly obvious what's under that jar, it's death.
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Hint: that is a jar.
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Six Cents of Humor!
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Kairos, brother of Aeon, son of Chronos; whereas Aeon is the god of "deep time" Kairos is god of the equal but opposite, "indivisible moment". No matter how fast you go, Kairos precedes you, balancing a blade sharp enough to cut the smallest grain of time.
INTERESTINGLY, the photopolymer plate for this image was accidentally exposed to a literal second's worth of light before the image was properly set.
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Consequently, the image started disintegrating immediately. And, sitting next to the drum printer, image after image dropping into the basket, was like watching a slow motion movie of Kairos literally dissolving away from the moment of his portrait.​
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* slightly less interesting, this description of Kairos was taken from "Deep Time" by Zeilinski, and I can't corroborate it elsewhere. so take it with a grain of time.
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PART II
I typically wake up in some version of a Rothko painting.
Each night, I go to bed in a scene that's literally in stark contrast to my wish to reclaim my life
I recently had a dream.
I met a group of people who are real to the waking realm.
and I'm supposed to find them.
but they wont let me find them unless I show my art.
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So here we are.
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The Dream was obviously more eloquent than this, but this is arguably truer to how it felt~ basically "THE GROUP" was accusing me of no longer believing that art can change the world. Which might be true, and I'm working on that. But, in the mean time...Art in America is literally suffering more than healthcare in America.
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In February, I started painting again for the 1st time, in a long time. This was a larger painting that I liked better cut it into tiny 6x6 squares, which precipitated a 1 square a day project. Given my state of mind, I decided to start with painting the literal and mountain that I walk under every day.
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some of these remind me of a lonesome forest that Munch would have appreciated ; the sun's promise of revelation, steaming through the breath, somewhere behind the ubiquitous brambles of multiflora; and multiflora, which is equal parts beautiful, aromatic, relentlessly cruel. or, just invasive.
As for the revelation, living so close to Mt. Tom, it often presents as a bald mountain, prodded by any number of antennas that seems to be increasing daily. And, it typically lays under the busy Jet contrails of a public and private industry that's the real mountain I struggle with. ( these are all painted from memory, mostly omitting the antennas.)
So, for a month I promised myself that wouldnt destroy any art, which, as it turns out, is counterproductive to my method. But a deal is a deal, and as such, here remains my homage to the rage of mediocrity.
OTHER
WE STILL TALK ABOUT YOU EVERY DAY
fini