Monday, March 29, 2010

Spring of 2010

Hmm. Let me see... At this moment I am in Hondo, Texas, visiting family and helping them clear rocks off of newly broken ground (bother's place in Bandera), and helping my mom with her place in Hondo, (repairing a fence). When I left Redford in late February, 2010, I was on my way to San Marcos to commit a body of artwork to Wake The Dead Coffee House for a March show with George Zupp. Prior to leaving the studio in Big Bend, I was about eight hundred dollars away from being completely broke and my computer, a pc, was crashing and rendering itself completely useless toward my efforts to keep up with video logs and my youtube broadcasts. Needless to say, my frustrations were mounting. When I left I was convinced that my only option was to return to Redford and clear out, back to the highway, or some job somewhere.

It's now nearing the end of March, and I am barely hanging on to the notion that I will be able to continue making work this year. The Wake the Dead show was a fair exhibition but towards the time of the opening things went wrong. My computer crashed making my presentation go sort of lousy; George and I presented a series of videos to document our efforts in the desert. One picture sold to a new woman I had not met on the sixth during the opening. That was a relief because my failsafe out of Redford was now accomplishable. Many people were interested in the statements my work was making, even in the handling of the media but most were not serious enough to buy. It seems still I am only worth compliments on my use of line and color.



Death's only friend was a Dog, oil on paper, 14 x 17 inches, 2009.


After the Wake the Dead opening I was down and out. Mad, angry, frustrated that the core of my vision would once again remain unfinished, not even close to being realized. I struggled internally with terrible feelings, trying to figure out just exactly how to engineer a break. It seemed my only option was going to be a return to the highway. Driving a semi truck 24hrs a day, seven days a week. Back down to the mortal jail cell of Hell. I had done that already, it was destroying me physically and mentally. But it appeared there would be no other choice.

A week or so later I visited some very important friends around the Central Texas area. They are a fine couple whom recently had a baby, a girl, who is absolutely fantastic. They have a business that involves driving and offered me some employment to retrieve a tractor in Michigan. It was another positive my way. They flew me up there and I drove the 1459 miles back to Roundrock, Texas. They paid me a handsome fifty cents a mile to do so, beats the heck out of the over-the-road companies who pay about thirty cents to kill you slowly with muscle atrophey and diabietes. That was a cool drink of water to my finanial siuation. Gave me some breathing room in the ole back pocket. I t also was a good two to three days worth of reflection on the road, enough to remember that truck driving was cool for the first six months, gettig paid, seeing all the sited of the road, visually documenting the skylines of America. But after six months every road is the same, and each mile comes off the odometer like an eternity. It made me sick to think of going back, even cringe, but if I had to, to keep the vision of art alive, then that's what I'd have to do.

The wake the dead show comes down on Wednesday. I've had a few calls of interest since the opening, people want to know more about me and what my story is. They say that they are interested in the subjects I'm depicting, the dialogue, the issues raised. I'm no good at talking to them, I can never verbalize the right words with my mouth. I don't like to talk about it. I'd just rather show them.

I've got a bit of odd job work lined up moving into April. That's a good thing. I'm even considering participation in a pharmisuedical study, where you take medication and they study your body's reaction to they drug. They pay well, and in a short amount of time. My computer is fried, I need a new one, not to mention that I'm in a desperate hour, and willing to do whatever it takes to see my work through. On the bright side, this post has got me to thinking; about writing up the story of my life to now, about my perspective and the towering, unmovable post of influnce art has had on it. I'm better at talking about things this way. There is no one to interupt me in the middle of progress towards the answer with questions about when the answer will come. At this rate, however, it seems the same thing keeping me alive, will likely kill me. Sacrifice = Message = ART. Words to both live and die by.

Adue, there is more to be written.

Friday, March 26, 2010

A Prayer to my LORD, the King.

Father God.
You know of the things You have laid upon my heart to accomplish.
You know the things in which You have shown me.
The tools given to use in order to teach, or to pass on Your promise.
You know the things I need in order to accomplish this.
I ask humbly today that You forgive me my weaknesses,
The things which stand in the way of Your progress in me and in turn Your progress to the world.
I cannot see the path in my head or how to achieve it.
This often knots me up and confuses me.
I am unable to understand the ways in which You bend together destiny and fate.
But understand that Your course for me exceeds my own imagination.
I ask today that you put these things together for me.
Your achievement in me is far greater than my achievement without You.
Set my feet to the path, to the direction of the accomplishment of these things in which You have shown me.
So that they may be done in Your due appointment.
Thank You for discharging me from the worry of their achievements,
For Your grand forgiveness,
For the sacrifice of Your Son, the King,
Jesus Christ the Messiah,
AMEN.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Light Pollution, and the Return of the Absinthe People.



Well, I know what I don't want to be in life. Something along the lines of what the human senses might determine finally as sound or light pollution; water pollution, poisoning the content o the soil. Maybe thats what the last aquarians did, just before God wiped them off the face of the earth with a flood. Maybe water is the only thing capable of returning balance to the planet over the shortest amount of time. A washing machine will get regular clothes drenched clean in a matter of a few short minutes, more like forty five.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Adding more info the the Wake the Dead show


New install at WTD, Resurrected Mothers with raptured saints and The Spear of Destiny.

notes and a pricing list

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Old computer

Austin Texas, March 16th, 2010.
After reviewing my interest in working art I've found some current deficiencies. Not a deficient failure in my work as paint or tool or medium is moved, but in the computers and electronics necessary to compete wholly in today's atmosphere. To continue a necessary avenue I am going to have to depend on the foundation of art in which there is no doubt, the pictures. Today, my hope is, that before returning to the studio of Redford and beyond, I will be able to raise all the money necessary from past pictures to meet this need. In short, I'm looking forward to owning my first mac. Now I just need a good picture of an apple to go here:

Sunday, March 14, 2010

A New Post

A meek attempt to document formalities.



Who knows?


Questions arriving in the minds of ALL. Lovely answers.
Received.
Great are the gifts of the LORD.
This I say, when it is that I find greatness of hospitality before me as I go. About the things of true importance.


That is where those are stationed.
That Handful.
AMEN.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Thoughts at Wake the Dead

The diesel engines roar through the back alleys and aquaducts of my mind. I hear them calling out, echoing as they pass on the
highway, each climb through the gear thundering like the terrible lizard. Roaring. Howling. Pushing the winds together. Each wheel in their mechanism speeding forward the times, faster. Faster. Everytime, even with the quite ones, the sound of the friction of the rail or highway pierces through into the gap, releasing nothingness into the pits of my mind, into known space. Laughter, as they seep into the shadows to hide, to wait until the time. I don't care too much. They've been breaking through since long before I was ever around. And I know for rock solid that once it's over and we're all out of here they won't be where we're going. And so I smile, and I forget about them, for they are no harm to me. But nevertheless, I can hear them, ripping through sound as they pass.
I am optimistic. Clarity from the Lord. Breaks in the cloud producing possibilities, rising up at the last possible moment to save me from the loss of progress concerning the continuation. How the Lord keeps me in His hand? What quickly annoying a little critter I must be as He scoops me up each time only to watch me scurry like an ant or crawling bug to jump from salvation and back to the lowly and dark places of the ground. Beneath the trodding feet of those whom would destroy me.
Breaks in the clouds, as work begins and ends, providing the pulse of an art continuum in which I repeatedly have little faith. Forgive me for that. AMEN.

The Thoughts and Times of

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