|This is a sculpture I did of a piggy figure with an empty belly.|
Tuesday, August 09, 2016
I have just returned from Mexico City. I was doing personal research on a crazy piece of jewelry I saw in a shop window five blocks from the Aztec center of the world(Templo Mayor). I began to make food and ritual connections with not only contemporary Mexican but older Aztec traditions. The pendant was a depiction of Santa Muerte. Only the Santa Muerte I saw carried an AK-47 instead of a scythe. My research led me to candy skulls or alfeñique. I also read where in pre-colonial times the aztecs made figurines with amaranth for their altars. In general the day of the dead rituals feel like an open grimace to the false pride that accompanies materialist culture. The artist Posada's depiction of pre-Mexican revolutionary high society couture with "La Calavera Catrina" really drives this point home for me.
Monday, July 18, 2016
|By happenstance the helmet is activated, another fool liberated.|
|Tears of blood,crystal clear mind|
|Double agent Debbie, activated. The helmet must be retrieved.|
|Methods questionable, results guaranteed.|
Saturday, July 09, 2016
The "Object" is a hot topic with philosophers. It is because the "Object" presents a crisis in the way we construct our worldview. The "Object" is a false receptacle of permanence in a system of systems. The most elegant answers to life's questions proposes that these systems do not exist in permanence but in constant flux. The relationship of the "Object" to our sense of self should not stay fixed. But no, by our simply believing in the thing we aspirate these carcasses of will. The "Objects" are given life through the emotional placeholders we proxy about their false concreteness. Desire is a complicated emotion. Whether that desire is between people or people and the objects we build our sense of self around. I find well made shoes to be particularly strange objects. So are beautiful cars and beautiful boats. Within the infinite diversity of the mind nothing is immune to the persistence of desire. I don't know why I pour so much into these particular categories of objects. I believe it is that there is a peculiar scale and relationship to one's humanity in these objects. One notices an efficiency of line, form, and silhouette. Svelt transitions of planes are hallmarks of these peculiar objects.You see them and if you are lucky you can put your hands on them. I will admit to casual groping the occasional Porsche Targa in the grocery store parking lot. I was convinced this abhorrent behavior of mine was a personal querk. A behavior that is harmless, but borderline anti-social if not slightly psychosexually sociopathic. Then I noticed someone else doing it and they did it to an object of personal pride. I am currently riding a Cannondale road bike. It is an object of some material worth. While waiting for tacos to go one crowded busy evening, I noticed a man leaving with his order, cross the parking lot to where my bike was locked up. Without even pausing to see if he were being noticed the man leant down and casually squeeze my back tire. I then watched the man drive away in a recent model Range Rover. This object evoked risk of confrontation in a man with a steamy brown bag of burrito the works in one hand and the keys to a 80,000 dollar SUV in the other. Objects can do this. Or rather the projections we hang on them have the ability to possess us. In this sense objects are peculiar. They are objects that are and are not at the same moment. The shoe is there and its shape is pleasing to the eye and to the touch. That is, it is pleasing until the desire to own it takes control over you. Then it becomes a beast. Then it will subtly haunt you in all the objects that gave it form. All the shapes that inspired its genesis will serve to remind you of that object's absence. That absence will grow. The object has now become a phantom in your mind. That object has become a monster of the unobtainable. That creature does not obey your will. That sublime grotesque taunts you from a vacuum.
Tuesday, July 05, 2016
Here is a pretty picture. I think it is an impression of Keats and Yates, but I have yet to understand why.
Here is a pretty poem by Yeats
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
...and here are some pretty jingles. The first because it was a new moon this last monday and I am told it was in the sign of the Cancer. My sister is a Cancer. She is ferociously protective of me. I think she can be a she-wolf. She could probably nurture a whole Roman empire.
This second music selection comes from the seventies. The band is the silver Apples. I think they are named for the Ray Bradbury story which is probably named for the Yeats poem above.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
I was drawing a photo published on the USA today site today. I was going to share the photo in a social network. I decided to process the news at a slower pace. The ink spilled as I was drawing.