Click the Title to Meet:

The thing about the highway, is your always crossing paths with people at random; few stand out. About a week ago I went out with my brothers to a bar in Bandera to visit together. I had felt, earlier on the drive over from Hondo, a little down about going because there was a minor situation regarding my mother and a hospital the day before. She's ok, but I felt off about going that Friday night. I didn't drink anything for the first couple hours, feeling a recent need to break from the pressures of the norm and experience that sort of scene without the use of alcohol. It was rather enjoyable, as I was able to restrain my depth of thought and maintain conversations with everyone and actually have something viablely positive to respond with. I enjoyed it so much in fact, that I fell off the wagon and approached the bar to purchase a beer. While waiting patiently, contemplating my reason for being there, I shared brief eye contact and a smile with a young woman wearing a blue top and skirt. Her eyes were dark and I remember her smile. I thought as I collected my beer from the barkeep, Maybe I should stay sober in bars more often, it's not usual for pretty girls to smile at me there. No alcohol, equals no loss of composure.
Sitting at the long table, drinking there with my brothers and three Canadian couples to my left, I watched as various people danced throughout, this way and that, my thoughts lost into their interactions and movements, calculated, but caotic. The sound of the band and the conversations of the entire room filling into my head for a moment, absorbing space to the point of subconcious awareness, where the mind doubles itself. I had many hundreds of days like that behind the wheel of a machine. Then, out of the blue dropped this face again into my view, smiling, eye contact, she set a beer down in front of me, with a red cheek turn she walked away. "Ohhhhh", to the surprise of my six family kin sitting there with smiles and evil grins, cheering me on as if I had done something great, as if by some means I had tilted the axis of the earth. I didn't have anything to do with it, it was her, I thought. Although, to my best recollection, I don't remember a good looking stranger ever buying me a beer, nope, not ever. I was flattered.
The night continued until around 11:00 at which time my company decided it was time to move on, back to the house. This was the moment of truth, I could just leave with no response but that would've been weak and ungentlemanlike, so I moved forward to meet and speak to the young and bright, Shelley Adelle.



With my younger brother as a trusted and dependable wingman, we chatted and mingled amongnst another group of strangers for a half hour or more. Moving out to the patio I learned that Shelley had lived in New York for ten years and studied acting and dance. Also, she had become a personal instructor for yoga, but after a decade in the city she fled to the beaches of Florida to decompress. Finding no rest there, as beaches appearantly are a favorite location for yoga enthusiasts, she informed me that she was taking a month long vacation of semi-unplanned adventure to reconnect her spirit, beginning with her orgins in Texas.
As it were, that evening, she had stumbled into a Texas nomad whose aim in life was a legacy left in art. Hearing of her quest for adventure, I informed her that I was on my way back out to Redford and The Big Bend. I explained to her that my artistic quest had led me first to my orgins on the Texas prairie and then to the Chihuahuan desert region of Presidio County, establishing a series of work spaces in both places. The talked moved on and was a delight, and before the sun set on the evening of the next day we were both in the truck and headed West on Highway 90.



I learned a lot from the few days I traveled with this free spirit. Moreover, I was energized by her ability to step in from an outside perspective and give me insight on how to cope with things out of my control. Not only in dealing with letting go of hardships, but her offering of insightful approaches toward positive sustainability. All in all, she offered nothing but help. It was greatly appreciated. It's easy to get worked up over little details, but simple to let go of; generally, it's just three deep breaths away. Many in this life will hender your dreams with luggage and conversation about how "you can't", and how "it's too much work". None of that talk applied to the people of where I come from. But, they are of great abundance out in the world, especially in art. It was good to experience the spontaneous flow of time with one who is an overcomer of adverse things. I had much fun on Terlingua Porch, thanks Shelly. You are indeed great at what you do, keep it up.

Slinging Cotton Candy at the Carnival

So, about a month ago, just after the show at Wake the Dead in San Marcos, I was on the look out for some work to help me continue my art pursuit. I talked to a great friend of mine whose inlaws have stock in The Mighty Thomas Carnival. They travel from south to north every year much like a wheat harvesting crew, going from town to town, county to county, zig-zagging here and there for about nine months out of each year, entertaining the quiet folks from all over. What began as a phone call to see one another and visit quickly turned into a "would you like to help us out for a bit?" You see, my friend tore his achillies heel in a basketball scrimage last year and he was getting around fairly well as a "Hop-along Cassidy". I was more than greatful, the bonus was getting to hang out with him and his family for an extended period of time, which helped me decompress from some of the let downs I'd experienced in the desert and with the art show.
First off, they flew me to Michigan to pickup a new truck they had purchased for their business. It's a stretched Freightliner conventional with a twentytwo foot box on the back, used by frieght carriers as an expedited delivery wagon, overnight type of transport vehicle. My friends intended to convert it into a stock truck to carry around supplies they need for their "Candy Land" and "Sweet Spot", which are the names of the refreshment trailers they use at the carnival. It was a good trip, especially since I was thinking about returning to the highway to refinance my art ambitions. It gave me fifteen hundred miles of contemplation and diesel engine to remember that going back out over-the-road was not a heavily favored option. I didn't mind the sound of the whinning turbo engine, that whistle of void made when frieght is in pull, but what made me crenge was the time buckled to that seat, the miles one by one, endless. Reminded me of the time I was playing too rowdy in the house as a young boy, but carried away and having fun at it, and my mother pulled me away and made me sit still at the kitchen table for five minutes. I thought those five minutes would never pass so I could get back to the action. They still linger in the backwater of my mind somewhere.

After Easter weekend in South Austin, I helped them move some things up to Burnet and they recruited me to work in their secondary "popper", which is the machine they trailer around to distribute cotton candy, candied apples, carmel apples, popcorn and fountain drinks. I watched the airshow and walked around for awhile during the Bluebonnet Festival. All in all it was more than I expected. Not to mention that their patronage and favor toward me helped ease my tensions. You've kept by boat a-float, thanks Brandon and Kat.

April 22, 2010.

Tonight I sit here, in Redford, as it were I'm back again, thinking about this ride I'm on in life. My last post was left in Hondo Texas, and to tell the truth, I wasn't exactly optimistic about everything as i ran into March of this year. I guess the studio does that, after awhile, work cuts me off from the world and months go by, whilest explaining my version of it, then bang I get reminded that there's this system I'm expected to participate in. Humanity. I don't always have a positive glass to see the world through, but I do have one, in fact, I have two. Anyhow, I think where I'm going with this is a statement made towards the notion that when everything seems to be coming to complete failure, well, that's the best time for miracles to step in, turn the tides and flip the switch on for hope. I guess I like running this extreme lifestyle. It's a lot of work and responsibility setting life up for it though, and to make it as far as I have and still desire it, well, maybe thats luck or destiny or something...devine. But the point I make sitting here tonight, is, Experiencing life's empty cup is one of the greatest blessings; Because I forget about how life is when the cup's full. Which makes the filling of it back up again, greater each time.

I'm gonna fill in whats happened in the last couple of weeks or month or whatever it's been. tell about the stories I have had on the road. Interesting refills.

see you later,

Justin

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.

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.

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.

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

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:

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.

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 Breaking of the Last Horse

The Breaking of The Last Horse is a 30 x 34 inch oil painting on canvas. Characterizing the Angel of Death as a western cowboy, or the pioneer, the innovative American icon whose history delivered the world into the final act of the current age; He wrangles his prophecied destiny as the inequities of all mankind watch in anxcious torment, breaking seals fortold by God in His Word, fulfilling the prophecy, setting the moment just before the beginning of the tribulation upon the earth.

I revised this post one time. I don't know why. Mustve had the urgency to reduce or re-revise. Wasn't nescessary, 'Cept when your're drowning in waters so deep,
The best thing to do is breathe.
And so I diid, and will keep going.

February 2010

My time in Redford is closing down. Finances are running low and therefore I must break from my productions in order to "refill the tank", so to speak. Hindsight is beginning to set in as I work to finalize a few paintings and bodies of paintings I sought to complete out here in the desert. Of course, through the pursuit of those projects, new and bigger ideas have been uncoverd. New directions. Reflections of premeditations in art, world conditions, and the influences they have placed on my work. I am comfortable with those influences, as I'm aware of how lethal they are, how controversial. I want to stir the spirit from slumber. I want art to make war in the soul. I want to produce situations that raise the human experience to their radical extremes, to heightened awareness.

In the end, here in Redford, I see that my true feelings for art and it's power lay in the extreme. In the power to say to people the words they refuse to listen to. The power to bend minds, the force of nature, the conduit of God's voice.
However, as a mortal being inflicted with multiple flaws, I could still use a lot of improvement. My work ethic has wanned a bit in the past couple of years, a poor attribute aquired from a lacking of spirit and faith in myself as an artist, a regard built up around a social upringing that says louder than anything, "you are a failure if you have no money". That is a lie, a stipulation I have tagged to my success as an artist; But also feelings of inadequacies as an artist that build each time I have to stop working in order to build up finances. Art is so much more that money. These things I will overcome.
Therefore, my next move in this chess match of art and the resources to produce work will not be a return to academia. At this point that move would be no more than an eloborate credit card giving my art some illusion of security and importance whilst plunging me far into the darkness of debt, defeating any successes in my work with a mountain of financial burden that is showing it's strangulation upon my entire nation. No, not that road, not for me. I move my pawns back to the highway. My goal now to become debt free, a small undergraduate loan being the last barrier betwixt me and financial freedom. I'm tired of being a slave to monitary machines, I'm tired of it's parasitic depletion on my art, my people, my country. I will move my work forward without restraint, as art must not be restrained. Just as my immaterial feeings of inadequacy must be extinguished, so must the material also be vanquished.
Checkmate.
image detail from the painting The Breaking of the Last Horse