Definitions of the Vacuum

Well, not much to say really. Actually, there is more than your mind can imagine. The details of my life are like the sandy grains of a shoreline, desert, mountainline. Like a ship lost at sea with an angry stomach, this way and that, no control if I wanted to.

The abyssal is full of barking dogs that never shut up. Nevermind.



The great difficulty of our time is to discover how to maintain the past course of maps. To not completely lose all that is where we've been. Our history will always and forever define us. Our past, both physical and spiritual, is fact.
Existed as long as the universe. Consciousness aligned with matter on a plane.
Experience is our feeling, our sense of doorway. The door. The connection that binds together two rooms, both powers of the magnetic poles, positive / negative.

This begins to explain the vacuum.


Friends, and Question.
My disparage over the last three months of pay.




After the first month of ranchhand capentry work:



Title LINK takes you to:
Featured Artist, George "Chicken" Zupp and his dog Haas, Redford Texas, 2010.
If you would like to visit my youtube site, scroll down to the video bar at the bottom of the page.

Thank You

le /negete' ~ Negetism

Concerning darkness, or the time period of calender day which is night.






Cotton Module Nocturn, oil on cardboard, "4x6", 2008.

09/2010.

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I am in poverty, but before I choose a real job, I choose art and the suffering that befalls those with no support in it. It is my choice. I choose to continue art. My computer is deficient, weakening my progress in this new world, disabling my comunication to people about what truely it is that is happening here. Click the apple to go paypal and donate!

Calm after the storm

digital image 000537, Terrell County, Texas 2010.
Whew! It's a rough patch going in life after things in which there is minimal security or gaurantee. One thing, keeping up with a blog while living on a skid row situation. I use that term minimaly, I'm not hooked on dope or anything, I just hit a patch of joblessness and monitary flatline, all while pursueing the act of painting. It's a feeling of no control, of extreme disappointment followed by anger and frustration when the life forcast for the pursuit of happiness seems unattainable. For me, that stuff has always come around in my time like a chronic sickness. It doesn't have anything to do with anybody else, it's just a set of obstacles placed to defeat, as they are set for everyone; however, adversity is harder for some.

My tough times always seem to bare the illusion of finacial bust, or an extreme lack of finances to accomplish goals, moreover, the lack of opportunity to find work sufficiant enough to build savings to accomplish goals. This is the social struggle of the American Dream. To come from poverty and stay in poverty. I always hear the critiques; "That white dude ain't got no worries. Shit, he got everything." Why do I use the term "white", because such discimination is real, pegged auto-rich by color.

Anyway, having nothing all the time isn't so hard once you realize that you've been given all you need, and that any extra would be overly cumbersome. I realized this through me talking and walking with God. He told me. Once I came to the notion that it would all work out better from the perspective I was given all the impatient frustration of struggle and the seemingly impossible ability to get in the game went away, for the most part, it still comes around when I wonder too far off, or impatience is allowed to build. But I figured I am in the game, at best I came be for that period of time.

This post is coming from way out in the desert ranchlands of West Texas. An old friend contacted me way back in March when these struggles began. It wasn't till three weeks ago that I discovered what exactly his contacting me ws about. He wanted to offer me a job helping out as a hand on a ranch, a ranch he had been employed as forman to rebuild, a 100,000 acre ranch that had been previously neglected. The masterful thing, and I had expressed this to my collegue, Zupp, was the question about artist patrons. Who are they? Where are they? When will they arrive and why aren't they coming? I guess it takes more of that time? Ironically, it would be that the storm of the last few months would settle away into the blue of the sky with my patrons arriving dressed in the same broken bankrupt suit that I wore also, completed wrags and sunburn skin, worn out boots and tatered jeans. They came back from town with nothing, nothing but heartache and memories of the fast paced flash city life! They came back as broke as I was, dreams that rose up in spirit and topled over, only to understand that they were always there at home, just waiting for them to come back.

For me, the opportunity has been given to help on this ranch with a little pay (security), time and place(to chase my painted vision around in a room), and the revived memory of the old times when we were all children, and we were all as rich as we needed to be with nothing at all, except the people who cared to see us achieve the things we love to do. So if you've followed this writing, and you've read along with me openly in my despair, thank you. It seems that just as the ship is surely sinking into the watery abyssal, that no more water touches the toe before the rescue ship arrives, and with better accomodations than the busted vessel sinking to the bottom of the sea.

digital image 000531, Brewster County, Texas 2010.

09/2010.

Who is this watching my passwords?

digital image 000251, Floyd County, Texas 2010.

Well, the Panhandle still defeats the desert by a grande means.
Better light, for starters, but definately for the abundance of life.

September 26th, 2010 Issued Correction. by J.W.G.

"I can understand why they each are considered West Texas. Each abundant in life, each beautiful light...

Traveling

Passing Sign, digital image, Dallas Texas, 2010.

Dallas Skyline from IH35N, digital image, Dallas Texas, 2010.
Randomly searching for finances the last couple of weeks. Nothing great to tell. Painted a few pale horses here and there, light poles, trees; acrylic on wood. Back and forth on Highway 90, Uvalde, Hondo, San Antonio. Always did love the capital. Think It needs to remain Texan. But I enjoy passing there. I've got to go to Sioux City, post pictures when I find availible wifi next.


Texas Capital from South Congress AVE, digital image, Austin Texas, 2010.

First Friday, San Antonio ,Texas, May 7th 2010.

Questions regarding the Hypocrisy of the Portrayal of Truth in Our Time?

This past weekend I made it into San Antonio for the First Friday exhibitions at the Blue Star Contemporary Art Complex. I have a friend who was exhibiting a multimedia installation at a Blue Star location called Three Walls.

Who knows what motivations Derrick Durham (the artist) had behind building a replicated blue dumpster filled with garbage, electronic equipment and himself, ominously titled "Ghost Receptacle", but the responses ranged from the dumbfounded to the suprised. The opening exhibit offered viewers a chance to see the artist at work inside the refuse container via a peep-hole located at the front of the installation, a view into a metaphorical studio, perhaps. The term "Purity" was dressed throughout the exhibit and even offered guests the opportunity to scrap away at two charcoal drawings of the dumpster, hand drawn by the artist, with hardwire brushes, the instructions "scrub until pure" annointing them in small lettering on the wall. Occasionally, the viewers, standing within the vacinity, were startled by the ejection of crushed beer cans and even hand drawn messages of artwork by the hidden artist, dispersing them from a trap door. In the finale, the artist himself was ejected in a climax of volcanic porportions which sent garbage of all classes spilling into the gallery floor.

The intent of Mr. Durham's Ghost Receptacle appeared to be a charge of awareness in the importance of recycling, a necessity within the maintenance of purity, a noble earthly cause. For me, I took away a different notion. A notion that seemily states, regarding our times of instant want and gratification, in our quick fix it and think of it later world, which is: If the artist manifests himself as equvilant to garbage, what might that say about the viewers of the artworld, whom are ultimately, for artists, the representation of the greater good? Are they able to comprehend good art from bad art? Moreover, what does it say about the spirit of mankind who makes bad things good and good things bad?

All in all, I believe great art raises great questions. Great art, like a great question, challenges the psyche of the mass public to comprehend not only what is being said, but what exactly the future holds, a sort of tuning fork or compass, for example. Derrick Durham's exhibition of "Ghost Receptacle" at Three Walls was layden with such analogies, for those who can tolerate art long enough to interpret it.


"ART is like tobacco, take a pinch off and chew."

First weekend in May

After my brief stay in Sanderson, I headed down the road to Del Rio, Texas. Every year, for 33 years consecutivly, Del Rio has hosted an event which rounds into one place a particular group of subjects I'm interested in pursueing with paint, solely for the display of courage, chaos, and exhibition of spontaneous energy. The George Paul Memorial Rodeo, a.k.a. "SuperBull", was a primary objective to hit on my pass back into civilization. If I am on a quest to redefine my West Texas heritage in paint, the subjects here are contemporary cornerstones for that description.


The thing about a man latching himself down to a 2,000lb creature, a creature untamed, with no desire to be domesticated, with no real desire for man at all, is that it is absolutely crazy. But that's exactly what it takes to break boundries into a void where men figure out just what the universe is made of; to take the ride. For each time they climb on and the gate opens they are off into the place where time doesn't exist. Where sound fades out and only the slow description of action takes over. Every detail stops, and amidst the chaos and explosion of energy peace of mind is achieved. It's an addictively gratifying sensation, coupled with accomplishment, competition, glory, danger and death. It is everything men strive for. And for me, seeing the actions, the space tearing energy, hearing the crowd respond to a successful 8 second ride, is everything the act of creating a successful picture accomplishes. It doesn't make sense, and the experience generally doesn't last for long. In the end, my experience at the Del Rio SuperBull rodeo was a good one. I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of art I can produce as a result.

From the Highway

Well, I'm back in Hondo again, trying not to spill coffee on my mother's carpet floor while walking from the kitchen to the computer. My grandpa Keeter would respond to such an endevor with a comment like "You ought to have the red whooped off your ass" for even attempting a move with such a full cup. I'll get it there.

It's been a week since I left out of Redford, back onto the Texas Circuit, as I like to call it, a triangle of points on the Texas map I've come to frequent over my life, Redford being the newest favorite. Anyway, I need to update my travels.

In my last blog post I wrote out some idea poetry, which is how it comes usually, without all the filler words, about some abstractions I worked on in the begining of the mellinia. I use the term mellinia because I like thinking in the thousands, and this all began on a turn for a new one thousand years. Anyway, these abstractions were ... undefinable with words for me for a long time. Only now is my primitive brain coming to grips with what was being said. Partly due to book reading and research about artists from a hundred years ago, artists and thinkers who were breaking the world into abstraction, and partly because I've sat and pondered so much time away in the captain's chair of the great machine's.
If I knew then what I know now, in my financial desparations of those times, I wouldn't have given the originals away for next to nothing. All the reason to make them bigger and better, for the final round. In short, I'm spending this highway time to write and resolve, then start it all over again, planning for a big revival with exhibitions beginning in "11. That's a good year.


Anytime I'm traversing East or West on the Texas Highway 90 trail, I stop in Sanderson and visit a friend who is always welcoming and hospitable. I met Tex Toler in 2009. He is a journalist/editor/writer/producer who has a big passion for Texas glory. He's one of those fella's who has a lot of energy for labor and hard work. Each time I see him he's working on some new project to help out existing folks, revitalizing structures exclusive to West Texas and Sanderson, or even stretching fence on local ranches. In fact, he has become so fond of the area, he has positioned himself to run for Terrell County Judge. Having seen the fruits of his labor first hand, in professional publications, adobe home restoration projects, and just plain ole hospitality, the man has my support. I think he is a youthful visionary ripe to wake the spirit of the pioneering old west in Texas. Goodluck Tex. Be sure to visit his website "TolerforTerrell", the title link should get you there.

El Polvo

It was windy today in Redford. Which lives up to the spanish name it was given, "Polvo", meaning dust; getting real hot and dry, too. I had hoped to get out and work on some new landscape paintings but only got as far as drilling the brace holes in the stretchers, they help keep the picture on the field easel.

Instead, this afternoon, I took my bike and "Coyote Cheggs Reincarnate" (the new local dog whose been hanging out and following around) out to the Rio Grande levy to do some recon. I wanted to see for myself how badly the breeches were in the levy system here. See just exactly what was keeping this place from really living again. It was bad. Aside from one gapping hole
where the river penetrates into farmland completely, there was at least a mile of levy area that was shotgunned with holes. Bad shame, this place green with farms and functioning properly would be a real paradise. I'm sure there is something can be done.
This last piece was an interesting find, but Coyote Cheggs wasn't too interested.
He doesn't seem too interested in anything other than following me around. Guess he knows something I don't. Headed out of here soon, Keep up on the highway.

Back in Redford

What's been going on here at the Redford outpost studio? Well, when I left in February for the Wake the Dead show I didn't recall what a mess I'd left in the studio. It was in complete disarray when I got back, a normal studio symptom, so I spent the first couple days doing some spring cleaning and reorganizing. Once that was through I needed to reaccess where I was with work. What projects I need to finish off, and what new works I want to approach. During the two months I was away, I was continuosly reflecting on the work I had made out here last year and the work I felt good about progressing.

First off are my video documented art burial performances. I got these going right away last summer as an attempt to reach the viewer through the experience of the hunt, or discovering a treasure in a rugged environment. My intent is to parallel the experience of the artist into the void of discoving art with that of a viewer literally experiencing a voided or unknown landscape to discover art. Over the last four years I developed and researched how such an endevor could be achieved properly, settling upon detailed map information, gps logged coordinates, correct and durable art containers, and lastly, a documented video of the burial itself. I'm going to do more writing on these in the future. They are a huge amount of fun and are a fulfilling experience. There is much ground to cover here in Texas as Big Bend offers two large parks to participate in, and another in Mexico. Here's one of last year's videos for now:



Moving on, I had to get some more landscape panels built. I've decided to double the picture plane and reveal more of a panoramic view of this mountainscape region. Leaping Lizard Gallery in Terlingua has been showcasing a few of the landscapes from last year. I like the challenge of painting on site, the harsh conditions can speed up the process of delivering a picture, insert a few unexpected accidents, and gives me something to use oil paints on. Not to mention, it's one of the best ways to broaden the possibilities of color.



Lastly for this post, are a couple of acrylic cattle I needed to finish off. I left one alone, and reworked the other all while building up frames for both of them. They are the product of an interior studio campaign involving acrylic languages. I'm intending on pushing them forward into paintings done for prized cattle and rodeo bulls. I got my first commission piece for Benita, The Field Lab Longhorn, courtesy of John Wells. I'm looking forward to getting that started soon. For now I've got to travel back into civilization, stopping by the George Paul Memorial Bad Company Rodeo in Del Rio. Talk to you soon.

The Field Lab

Next on my trip out for the month of March and April was on the way back into Big Bend. I stopped by for a visit in Terlingua Texas to meet with a local friend by the name of John Wells. John is an interesting character with a good conservative story to tell. He moved out to Terlingua a few years back and set up for himself a lifestyle lived "off the grid". Just a few miles off Texas Highway 118, you'll find his place settled in behind Packsaddle Mountain. Experiencing John's Field Lab was something I recall out of a movie, remniscent of the magician who goes to meet Tesla in the movie title "The Prestige". In fact, John's whole existence out in the middle of the desert is supported completely by renewable energy. And, seemily, on any day of the week you can find him out there working on some mysterious invention built and designed by him to harness these resources for everyday life. He gave me a tour of his multiple projects which included fresh water re-supply and direction, or harvesting rain and creek water, solar panel and wind energy arrays for electrical supply, solar bakery and ovens, a large green house and secondary quarters, even an insulated box cooler run the old fashioned way for cold beer storage.



The primary purpose for the visit was scheduled to be a mingling with the locals out at John's place, locals being a herd of Longhorn cattle. Throughout the afternoon the herd stayed a mile or so away from the field lab, grazing and moving about like spots of color on the desert in a stop-film annimated movie. Over John's time out at The Field Lab, he has become acquainted closely with a twentytwo year old Longhorn cow he's affectionatly named Benita. The owner of Benita, a local rancher, deeded the cow over to John as a gift on his last birthday, which is where I come in. John has commissioned me to paint a portrait of his favored Field Lab side-kick, and being a Texas painter of subjects such as cattle, a true Texas longhorn is just the sort of undertaking I've been looking for.

The afternoon passed by and by, yet no longhorns made their way toward a field lab visit. It wasn't till the evening, on the way out that John coersed them near the pickups with some sweet pellet food. Longhorns came from all around, circling, moaning, calling out long hellos to their bearded friend. I nelt down near a pile of pellets just off the road and calmly studied and photographed these massive creatures, swarming around me like schools of fish near a reef in the sea, their long pointed horns spaning distances of four and five feet, eyes watching me closely for guarantee of trust. I was almost able to feed from hand the bull of the bunch, Otis, as John refers, whom was also a target of study, but wiley and elusive, as most bulls are.

After a half hour of mingling with Otis, Benitas daughter, Carmela, and the rest of the group we moved on down the road as Benita herself was still a no show. We stopped at a point in the road where we could see another group of Longhorns off in the distance. John bellowed out a few calls, "Benitaaaaa". We waited, but still nothing. About the time we were going to call off the search, Benita shown herself in the distance. Making her slow conservative path through the desert she shown the enthusiasm of a lost dog who'd once again found her loving master. Shortly she approached, smiling all the way to sweet pellet rewards, ear and head scratches. I could see the twentytwo seasons marked on the condition of her horns, in the slow graceful patience of her chew, back and forth, like an old farmer with his tobacco, watching the sun go down. I'm glad we waited around, and she decided to grace us with her presence, the personal exchange made the importance of an accurate portrayal all the more important. All in all, the Field Lab experience was a well rounded one, my full gratitude and thanks are extended to John Wells and Benita for having me out, and showing me around.



Click title for a direct link to John's Field Lab blog