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

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.