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Our house is upside down right now-5 rooms are being sanded and stained and polyurethaned-I'm offering this by way of an excuse as to why I seemed to have slowed in my writings (my sculpture and painting has been put on a sort of hold as well). In a few days, I'll be living somewhere else-not quite sure where-while the downstairs rooms are completed. The rooms that will be done block access to the upstairs, to the kitchen and to the bathroom-'nuff said?

See you soon when I return from my forced vacation.

Planning and Spontaneity

In the midst of all this thought and angst about painting and the making of what I show on this blog, I continue to work on my sculpture. A piece "in progress" involves a variation of the seven deadly sins-a bunch of carved heads showing different expressions...I started out thinking that I'd do just seven heads- this has now become eleven or twelve heads and counting. The reason for this overage is that I don't direct the carving very well-I just "let my fingers do the walking". Three of those heads not only show little of any emotion, but are also remarkably alike. I also wanted more of a serious and dark aspect in the piece, but many of these heads look downright goofy. Not my intention at all- so I'll keep carving.

You probably would say that I need to plan better. The truth of the matter is that as a matter of course, I plan little in my work . I start many artworks with a rudimentary sketch-just a germ of an idea with very simple visualization. This coupled with the fact that I'm not the best draftsman, you get a scribble that means something only to me (very similar to my handwriting). It would be great to be understood, but I gave that up years ago as a waste of time.

Anyhow, after I start a piece, whether I use a sketch or not, the sculpture develops as if it had a mind of its own. Not only am I open to diversion and digression, I welcome it.

I like doing "theme" shows because they provide an opportunity to work differently in terms of direction and discipline. In this situation, fairly solid preconception of the work is necessary to stay on task-diversions become directions to be pursued at a later time. I wouldn't like doing this constantly, but having strictures like this can be a refreshing challenge.

Working with paint has very different aspects for me. I don't "wander" at all-not that I plan the work differently with painting (at least, so far). There is a different sense of time and timing with paint. The whole of what I am working on can change in minutes-usually to transmogrify and turn to waste product. I do not work on several paintings at once, although I do have works in progress-but this is in a very different sense than with my 3D work. The paintings in progress carry a tentativeness not present in my sculpture. My sculptural work always seems to be able to be turned from bad into....something-it's rare that I throw out work-usually I dissect bad starts somewhat and then have a new go at it. Not true with my painting (I have heard of painters who cut out the good parts of paintings and paste them onto other canvases, either as components or as new beginnings). Maybe this will get easier as I go along, but the art of salvage seems a little too foreign to me right now. What would also help is having more of a crystalized objective-not knowing where you are headed certainly reduces (if not eliminates) the shortcuts and tricks available. But this contradicts where I'm trying to head with the work. Again, I'm sure time and experience will help my efforts here, but right now there are so many questions and uncertainties.

Which leads me to another important idea: if process is so important in the making of art, then the foray I've made with painting has lead to a whole new spectrum. Final results withstanding, the cerebral and emotional workout coming out of the process is new scenery to an old landscape. Even physically, the actions alone are so different than what I'm used to (true, those actions are much more sedentary). Whatever artwork that comes from this experiment will share the spotlight with what is not visible...s'pose I could say that the growth is its own reward.

These two guys are called "The Wren and The Sparrow"(and that's a working title: meaning that it can change). I'll have to get the dimensions later-but I will say that each of the separate heads is under 24" in any dimension. They are collage and acrylic on wood and the pair sells for $500.

Grass

A new season out here in NW NJ...haven't felt the bad effects of allergies yet, but today I cut the grass for the first time this year. I hate doing this, but it's gotta get done.

The old mower I have refused the offer to self-propel itself, so, fueled with some very expensive gasoline, my waning strength (I've been painting-no, not that kind (our front porch) all day) and many enriched profanities, I pushed the damn thing over the lawn. Our lawn is 15% grass, 50% weeds, 30% dandelions and 5% clods of dirt. These last items explode into big clouds of dust whenever I run over them. This is fortunate, the dust working as a drying agent. The drying agent is necessary to control the sweat, which has run rampant over me, because I'm pushing this very heavy lawnmower.

Hope things work out as well tomorrow when I will try to start the weedwacker.

By the way, Delilah continues to do well-she has been giving me the "nose" lately. This being a primitive form of communication signaling the fact that the dog wants something. Both dogs seem to do this, but Delilah is by far the more aggressive. She has been known to "nose" my mother in law when she was holding a very hot cup of tea. In this situation, the dog was signaling that she needed to be petted more.

I usually get a very cold (and wet, of course) nose on the inside of my arm that says "pet me" or "treat now" or "food now." Ignoring the dog causes her to go away and sulk. She sulks for about three minutes and then she is back. She brings her nose. And they say animals can't talk.

I did this head about a month ago. It is cut from some sort of primitive large masher and styled after African Tribal Sculpture. It is titled Someone or Other and sells for $175. plus shipping.

More on "Recent Work"

In writing and posting "Recent Work”, I meant to try and explain my engagement in the process of painting. I realized that I left some ideas and issues out of this writing when I talked to a friend about it.

I’ll cut to the chase, as I need to recount details-anything forgotten and relevant is sure to come up in future posts. Besides I don't want to bore the hell out of you.
Here’s what I want to talk about: I am trying to get to (or is it revert to?) a state of naivete when painting. To work on emptying my mind preparatory to making a painting. The benefit? To try and (temporarily) rid as many of the devices, tricks and crutches that I might call on to “help” me out while working on a canvas. Facing the blank canvas is a bit like being in the boxing ring: nothing to do with heroics -what you face in the ring is nothingness. Relying on abilities that come so naturally to me in my sculptural work simply doesn’t work. In this engagement, there is no known language used. There is no up, down, sideways because I haven't invented it yet. I have chosen to work abstractly (although it's damn near impossible to not imply certain realisms) and each applied stroke builds a world and gives the following one reference. The vacuous area of white (canvas) slowly takes on form and meaning of sorts. By self reference on top of self reference, a situation (or microcosm) builds. (Interestingly, I personally don’t think that the process can be reversed. Once paint is applied, whiting over the canvas just creates hidden history.) So what grounds this inchoate bunch of strokes to New Jersey/to reality and how great of a concern should this be? In creating these increasingly complex forms, when does orientation to the picture plane become an issue? Could it be as simple as where the painter stands relative to his horizon as the work is done or is this issue moot?At what point in time, in putting down stroke upon stroke, does the paint take on meaning? Of course, we need to know (or not) what is meant by meaning. Meaning can be personally assigned, like orientation, to some degree. Painting that represents that which we know carries meaning through our experience of that which is represented. Okay, I'm going to stop this because I seem to have more questions than answers. I’ll try and make my point. It's hard to paint. I work myself into a state where I can put down color and use a brush. But then it gets harder: the urge to make the painting relevant creeps into the act. Why? Possibly so that I can relate back to this work after having left the "zone" in which it was created. Maybe to give it significance to others-so it can stand in the "real" world by itself without explanation. There is an urge in me that something tangible (meaning marketable?) needs to be shown-perhaps this is my ego bristling-this seems to be hard-wired in me. As a product of practical blue-collar upbringing, I was taught that yer head should be in the clouds only to pick the best apple on the tree.It would be easier to paint representationally. A lot less doubt and certainly fewer questions.
I give a lot of credit to those who have gone before me, working abstractly and putting themselves squarely in the ring. Standing in front of that canvas can invite madness. Or a lot of anxiety. I’ll continue on with painting (You must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on). I fully admit to not knowing what I’m doing. Although unsettling, this not knowing is actually a good thing. It inspires new ideas and makes me sweat. If you need to see me more self-assured, more developed, than you can look at my sculpture.
But with painting, I intend to do some serious bad work. And grow, I hope. If nothing else, I’ll be asking some interesting questions.

Recent Work

Spent yesterday trying to paint-mostly, I worked on older canvases. I DO like pushing the paint around, but noticed that I have a few characteristics when I work.

I’d appreciate ANY feedback on this as it is an issue that I’m struggling with. Unfortunately, you have to contact me at handmade@netcarrier.com, because I can’t figure out why the “contact” button below does not work.

Easy enough to start, I work the canvas without a sketch. Throwing down paint, any color paint, starts the process. I work from within the brain and hope for shape/form to emerge. Yes, I have a real issue with the fact that establishing foreground and background is a real problem-in this I have realized just how important this is (and in that, the true face of wishy-washy painting-of work that is non-committal/shy/the opposite of self-assured). Working on small (24 X 24) canvases, I work on them flat on a surface. Although this is comfortable, I turn the work freely-I do this until much later:I sort of work into an orientation (or NOT!)…I think that this might be both helping and hurting me-on one hand, it’s not real easy. On the other, it lets me pick and choose the most advantageous orientation-of course, this can change from moment to moment.
The splashing around part is really fun. So different from working in hard surfaces-but also much harder to back-pedal and change stuff. Sure, the paint dries fast but the mind is going even faster and to wait for something to dry so you can effectively white it out and start over takes TOO LONG. The wisp of a thought which somehow can be transferred to a brush (if you’re quick enough) can be just as easily lost. Dunno how weird this might sound, but it seems as though I work with lots of half formed stuff while I’m painting:I really like this about painting-it’s just not that present in sculpture, my medium of “choice.” Painting is doing construction with the ethereal and elements only gel (and gain a history) when the paint is dry. Thereafter, those elements can be painted over, new elements may superimpose, but the evidence of the past remains. Maybe this is more in my head than in actual fact, but this is how I think. Kind of a strange attachment or quirk, but I see no parallel to this in my sculptural work. Ghosts in the paint. (If you have never read Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper,” try this one-it is an amazing spooky, metaphoric, 6000 word short story, first published in 1891…)
One device that I have used once or twice is to paste down a paper element that can be recognized-i.e., it comes with a built-in up and down. Also, this is a hard, committed element-so even if I’m wishy-washy with my paint, this thing will remain an anchoring point. When this works, it’s great. But I dislike being committed to where the pc is going before I lay down any pigment. I could just paint over this little device, and treat it like a launch pad…
Subject matter has been another problem point for me. I want to stay away from the head-I know this subject pretty well and find myself (much like with carving) almost in knee-jerk fashion, making the same head over and over. If I try and get “creative” with this, it becomes a head shaped canvas with floaty stuff going on inside. Not good.
I’m going to shoot 3 paintings-apologies for the photos (I am supposed to get a copy stand and hope this will help me to make better images, but I don’t have it yet). One I think of as relatively successful (not that the fact that I like it makes it better) and another (which I started yesterday) is still a bit lost in terms of just what it’s trying to say. The third is even more mired in doubt, although I’ve worked on it longer-this one was started a while ago and I reworked it yesterday-I felt as though it was going somewhere, then I just lost it. Again.
See what you think. No titles (yet) for these 24” X 24” canvases. The first (blue) one is finished (well, it is as of today-that could change!)

Using Objet Trouve (Found objects) and the Risks Involved

Marcel Duchamp had the right idea. He carefully chose his readymades and, with intended irony, put them on a pedestal and displayed them for general public inspection. At the time, the audience was shocked, but that’s another story. Our society has gotten over the surprise of found objects and their incorporation into art.

Today, we repurpose.

I use many objects (found and otherwise) in my work. Many of them fit right in and work well. I select my found objects with care, usually fragments that are not particularly striking by themselves, but that will work well among other elements. I suppose that some would say that there’s an art to that. Maybe. But, here’s the thing: if you don’t have a talent for choosing your junk well, you might find yourself with something that will not only speak, but could become obnoxious… and possibly take over your work, steering it away from your original intent. Don’t laugh–I speak from personal experience.
As jolie choses (beautiful things), found objects can stand boldly on their own. Chosen correctly, you have, presto, strange and powerful beauty. Chose badly and your guests will question your taste (and possibly your sanity).
To try and incorporate these found beauties into one’s artwork is just wrong. Sell this stuff on eBay, if you must, but don’t put your whole career and credibility on the line.
The lesson here (are you listening, artists?) , is to choose your junk wisely. Anything too unique, too beautiful, with too much character and you’re screwed. Go for the lackluster and dull trash rather than objet such as the rusty can resembling the face of Jesus. The use of driftwood is a prime example: what’s worse than taking nature and trying to combine it with your own cheap shot at creating a masterpiece? Better to use cat food can lids, building with them to show your genius (careful-edges are sharp!). And leave that now formless lump (trophy?) your Grandfather shot ages ago alone-the desire to use unique trash like this can easily be supplanted with a box of macaroni and some glue. You can achieve results that can be….Magnifique!

The collage/assemblage above (yes, trash was used) measures 18” X 26” X 2.5” and is entitled “Learn to Sing.” The price of this piece is $325. plus shipping.
Contact me through the email address (within my profile) if interested.

Too Much Information

Does the incoming flow of information and visual stimulus ever stop?
For me, I’m thinking that it could be time to restrict the flow. This is not simply distraction I’m talking about, but a true bombardment.
There are no fingers to point. Everything is so damn instant –not only is stuff coming at you too quickly, but there is tons of material among the cerebral junk mail that truly merits attention.
I will not fall on my sword here and take the blame…I’m not that young nor am I that facile with electronics. Keeping yer mind and you senses in one place for more than seconds has become a real challenge. Granted, there’s a lot of stuff that can be taken in and filed or discarded at a quick clip. But what about real personal interactions-like opinion formation, comparative criticism, meaningful dialogue (whether internal or social)?
Seems to me that the faster you go, the more numb you get. On Friday, not only did I take in the springtime beauty of Central Park, see hundreds of photographic images at the Armory, look at hundreds of books at a multi-level Barnes and Noble Bookseller (I thought about buying quite a few of those books), engage two friends in complex conversations about the future, visited at least 20 Chelsea galleries and read about the process of writing while I was traveling to and from NYC. Jeezus.
Unusually, only a small part of this day involved electronic interaction, but I‘m starting to believe that there is level being set by the use of computers that’s causing us to speed our lives up. The concept of multi-tasking is by no means new, but there is a real difference between this as a physical concept and a cerebral/emotional one. After all (here comes something obvious, so hold onto your hats), we’re neither robots nor computers and will never match their speed and efficiency.
But we can try and therein could be a real problem.
Here's some advice: Slow Down (just watch out for the thorns when you smell those roses).

On another note, Delilah is plugging along, just like nothing ever happened. Yesterday, both of them (Rhonda is my other dog) were ready to romp (well, as much as 15 year-old dogs romp!).
Life goes on.

Birds (and more about writing)

I see a lot of different kinds of birds every day. The area where I live, Northwest New Jersey, seems to be ideal to support them with food, shelter and suitable climate. Since moving here from the city, my interest in birds has sharply increased because of their omnipresence.
There's all kinds of Hawks, Woodpeckers, Orioles, Owls-you name it (that’s if it’s not a tropical, western or extreme cold weather species), we got it. I spot one of my favorites, the (shy) Great Blue Heron, on a regular basis. When I was a kid, birds just seemed boring- or maybe it was it that I was just too preoccupied with growing up?
To me, they manifest personalities. Spend some time watching a sparrow or wren-you’ll see what I mean. At best, they are strange creatures-made more of air than of substance-bones thinner than splinters, flitting around like motorized (but jerky) bundles of lint. They are so jumpy, so nervous- is it that their movements are in perfect proportion and rhythm to their size? With every second there is a different twitch, a new titter. How many sounds do they make that just aren’t audible?
They are responsible for eating a lot of the tiny insects (imagine the insect population without them) unless you’re talking about buzzards, hawks or crows. Bigger bird, bigger food. I once saw a big woodpecker (he was hard to miss-a standout in bold red, black and white) rip apart a tree hunting for grubs. A regular Avian chain saw. The Turkey Buzzard - so huge and so ungainly on the ground-but what an efficient eater. Since we lose lots of deer (and other critters) to automobiles up here, I see lots of them. Many times, I’ve seen them almost join the road kill-too absorbed in eating to notice the shiny, speeding SUV overtaking them at their dinners.
Recently, our yard has been commandeered by a family of turkeys for use as a byway. They take the same path across our lawn to the adjacent farm field almost daily. Amazing animals-the adults have an odd shape and subtle yet brilliant coloration. The chicks all follow each other in a line marshalled by the hen. I saw a family of wild turkeys cross Route 280 last week, about three miles out of Newark-since they were big enough to spot from far away, drivers slowed down for them and they crossed without event- a strange and funny sight.

…and on to writing.

The need to write has overtaken me recently (part of the reason for this blog). I can’t help but wonder what’s driving me as, although the idea of writing has always appealed to me, I’ve come nowhere close to really doing it on a steady basis at any other time in my life. When I was a kid, I wrote a “novel”, filling a whole spiral pad (said pad was 4 X 6, maybe 80 pages)-just to prove I could- based on some WWII cliché of a movie…you know, the squad has to travel through enemy lines, gets decimated, only a few guys make it back alive. I had some sort of admiration for the written word back then, however nascent. My Dad read a lot-I always went with him to the public library on his quests for more reading material. He’d bring home a stack of books (Spy novels, as I remember…) and I would always grab something from the shelves of the fiction section. No kiddy books for me. I’d search those shelves for anything that looked interesting. Occasionally, I’d be rewarded ( I found The Hobbit by JR Tolkien that way), but I brought home a lot of dogs (pardon my French) as well, which went back, when due, unread.

I’ve always practiced writing down random thoughts (as was suggested to me time and again), but never with any kind of order. I’ve always kept a sketchbook (a necessity for the visual artist), but this was always a bit skimpy when it came to the written word-my scrawls might translate well into three dimensions, but they were never literary material.
The computer has helped to mold my random thoughts into form. The PC makes it all too easy to combine snippets that can not only be edited freely, but cut and pasted around to (my) heart’s content. The other great thing is, if you are not sure whether to delete something or include it, cut and paste it into a “storage” document.

A side note: Remember all those beautiful handmade journals? I stopped buying them after realizing that I was petrified of making the first mark in them. Even if you got the first drawing or paragraph right, the second thing you wrote was sure to be a horror, not even fit for yer all-forgiving Mom to see! Christmas carried the dread of getting one of these beauties as a gift…Can I see what you’ve done with your journal?...Cripes!

But here’s the point in my writing about my writing.

Why question what you want to do when you have the drive and the ability? Like our sportswear friends say, Just Do It. I’m writing because I can... and because I always want to.

I have to add that reading folks like Annie Proulx (The Shipping News, Accordion Crimes and –oh lordy–Brokeback Mountain), Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale), the poetry of Anne Sexton, coupled with Anne LaMotts’ Bird By Bird (subtitled Some Instructions on Writing and Life) and Stephen King’s On Writing have made for an inspirational trip into the eye of the proverbial literary storm. It has been said that the more you read, the better you write. In my case, it has been the more I read, the more critical I have become. Nothing seems to pass by me without edits these days. Now onto the next dilemma: what about plot and/or a point to what I choose to write about.
There’s always something….

The above collage/mixed media piece measures 26 X 16.5 X 4. It is titled “The History of Birds”. I completed it earlier in the week.

Early Memories About Art

One of my earliest memories (Alfred Adler would approve) of doing anything remotely connected with art is one of being in my kindergarten classroom in front of an easel. The easel was adjusted way too high for me to actually use (strange to think back to being a smaller size), but this was not an issue. There is beautiful natural morning light streaming in to the room (light plays an important part in my memories) and the instructor is tall and close at hand. This is a Saturday, so this must have been something special.

The instructor is showing off little lumps of clay (a.k.a., sculpture done by the class) that are embedded in shoe boxes. He is talking but I don't recollect the content. There is construction paper involved (is there any childhood art experience that doesn't include construction paper?)somehow and my parents seem to be at hand, waiting to take me home and get on with thier weekend.

That's it. I just remember this to be a positive experience.

This memory came back to me this morning as I was thinking about how hard it's been to start drawing and painting. Dunno about the subconscious relevance-perhaps it's a "sign." After spending part of yesterday agonizing about HOW to start a drawing, I guess bringing forth this memory makes sense. I'm not being smug or anything, but my sculptural work comes so easily to me-how could it be so damn hard with a pencil or a brush?

This past week, I attended a life drawing class. It has been a long time since I've drawn from the figure, maybe 16-17 years. It was a good experience in that I needed to think about nothing while moving the pencil across the paper. I was here to draw from the figure and from the figure only. Easy.

The problem is that I can't translate this ease of movement to any concept other than
drawing shoulders and feet. I've never been moved to drawing the landscapes or the objects around me...or portraits or any of that. Sitting there with blank paper and pencil in hand
is so unnatural. There's a lesson here somewhere for me. I just hope that it something as obvious as sticking to what comes naturally and leaving the rest alone....fuggeddaboutit.

Delilah, my very old puppy dog, has rallied. Although definitely less steady on her feet, she has been eating and getting herself outside. The past three days have seen her steadily improve-not only physically but in her attitude as well. She won't be chasing rabbits anytime soon, but at least she shows all the signs of wanting to. I might add that my dogsitter, who is a terrific help to me, suggested a harness as opposed to the collar Delilah wore most of her life. This has been a boon to me(not to mention to the dog), as it is easier to help the dog without using her neck for leverage. When she needs to be steadied, this harness is key-it's also easy on-easy off . Do yourself a favor if you have a geriatric pet and try one of these.

This is an older collage (January '08)-the bottom board is cut from an old cheezy pressboard print. It measures 9.5" X 12.5" and is titled "Playing to Birds" and is $125 plus shipping.

A good dog

A note of explanation: I didn't intend this blog to be diaristic. What is going on with my dog has become my main focus. Cormac Mcarthy says:"Things happen to you they happen. They dont ask first. They dont require your permission." (Italics are mine)

I had a great morning in the studio yesterday, despite the fact that my old hound dog is fading fast. In this life, you get searing tragedy one second and then events that make you choke with laughter in the next. Damn strange: absurdity and grace in the same breath.

We just returned from our morning walk and I spose Delilah was exhausted. Rhonda (my other mutt) gets to run around freely off leash on these walks. We three enjoy them and it keeps the dogs in better physical shape. When we were done, Delilah simply stretched out in the van and refused to move, so Rhonda and I went inside to work. Even though my concentration was a bit broken (I had to check on D every 15 minutes or so), I had a really good breakthrough on a piece that's been bothersome. This one had "worked" pretty well, but just wasn't as good as it could be. We'll see how it progresses.

I spent the afternoon trying, with no success, to put together some collage and drawing work. Tons of stuff cut out, not used. Ripped up three drawings that I had underway: these were mercy killings, believe me. This part of the day was tough-D was on the couch (I boosted her up there-she can't make it herself any more) and I monitored her constantly. she can't be blamed for breaking my concentration-I just didn't have any at this point to speak of.

Went out to a friend's opening in Bethlehem later (and to dinner in Nazareth!). Upon returning home,D refused all food except for a little gravy. I've been hand feeding her for the past few days. Since she was down all day and weak as a result, I had to support her almost entirely during her walk. Lots of stumbling and stopping.

I slept by her side (death watch?) and the evening passed without event. It was just as hard to get her outside this morning, added to the fact that it was raining. Somehow today, she seems much more alert-almost perky. We'll see what the rest of the day holds.

I'll leave her on the couch for a bit-I'll take Rhonda out (she will insist on it) and then I'm going to a figure drawing class in Easton (we end the biblical travels here). This will be the first time in years for such a class...I'm dreading what the results will look like, but the whole idea is for me to loosen up and use some of the dustier lobes.

The photo is of sleeping dogs by Djoser's step pyramid in Saqqara.

Delilah

Forgive me if I wander off topic a bit (I suppose the real topic is art), but here is a bit of my life.

I have two old dogs, both adopted-one from a family who had to give her up because of extenuating circumstances (Rhonda) and one who was found as a stray-her origin unknown (Delilah).

Delilah is a big dog, 70 pounds of short-haired mixed breed (labrador and some other kind of hound in her) with a bony head and a good disposition-towards people. In her eyes, other four-legged creatures (besides Rhonda, the alpha dog) are either for sport or food. She has never been good with cats and she once not only chased a bear from the yard, but eye-witnesses said she bit the thing on the ass. This dog was muscle bound and built for speed.

Anyway, from the moment we met her, this dog staked out property in our hearts.

When she would get off her lead (I've never been one for letting my dogs run free, especially since people can't seem to leash their cars), it was apparent how she became a stray. When I tired to catch her, she would toy with me, letting me come somewhat close, then taking off again. Many dark wintery mornings I drove around the neighborhood in pursuit of this dog, only to find her waiting for me at home when I returned. Quite unlike her "sister", who never lets me out of her sight (Rhonda is your one-owner type dog). Once, when Delilah got loose, I saw her jumping up on cars that had stopped (so as not to hit her)-it looked as though she was pleading with the drivers "please, they are hurting me here...please take me with you...anything but this...". Right.

It is really hard to see her slowly and inevitably slip away-this past year she has been in a gradual decline: loss of eyesight, partial loss of hearing and of the ability to firmly stand. She is in no pain that I can see-I ask other people about this all of the time (I'm too attached to trust my own judgement). She still seems to have a hearty appetite, loves to go for car rides and still begs for attention (oh yeah, and food as well).

But last night, it was all I could do to get her to stand up and go outside. She was listless-what really put me over the top was that for the first time, she refused her food. I wound up feeding her by hand-she seemed to eat everything, but this was a lengthy process. I was not so steady myself while I was doing this. She is at least 15 years old-we don't know her exact age-but she has lived a good life or at least she has while in our hands.

I spose that she and I know her time is almost up. Someone once told me that the dog will tell you when it's time. I'm afraid that that time is coming very soon. As prepared for this as I'd like to be, the thought of losing her is agonizing.

And about hardly working...

Let me start off by saying that I'm not justifying what I do (I'll just keep doing it anyway). I can only speak from personal experience and maybe with some help from those people who I've identified/commiserated with in my travels.

Being a creative type is not a smart direction to chose in life. It chose me, rather than the other way round. It should be obvious that there is little money involved and there are days when I'd like to squeeze more out of it if only in terms of self gratification. Bad days in the studio really make you wonder. It's not a job for the meek. You are a bad artist if you can't take the criticism and an even worse one if you are not self-critical.
Working alone means that you face little in the way of feedback. Working in a void is a way to end up crazy. There are times when I think back to being in school and just how much of that experience was taken for granted. Words of advice: a person or persons who comments on your work honestly and clarity (although the clarity part is is above and beyond) should be treated like a true gift.

I use certain tricks when I'm stuck on something or feel as if I'm not getting a true read (Istill like to think of myself as my own worst critic, as the cliche goes). More and more trust of my intuiton has come with age and this has been helpful. I use the mirror trick to see something in a somewhat fresh light-or, I hang it upside down. For really problematic work, time is the best critic. I'll occasionally put a pc away, in theory to rethink it visually. But rarely will it stay undisturbed/unseen-I obsess over pieces like this-sometimes I'd rather destroy them than let them sit (they "sit" for me much like a splinter in the hand would sit, which is, not at all!)

Francis Bacon, who I guess is a bit of a hero to me, would have his problem paintings slashed and destroyed-he had true grit, I say (although I've never learned why he had others do it-was it too painful for him? Or was it that he could afford to hire the job out?)

I get up early every day (I do my best work in the early morning which, by the way, is when I usually write) and I'm in the studio by 8 am. I never know what the day holds for me and always look forward to starting something new (don't get the wrong idea here-I finish most all of my sculptures, but creating some of them is painful and slow while others seem to make themselves). Dunno if I'm alone in this or if other artists feel the same way that do. I consider myself somewhat blessed (or maybe just blessedly naive) in looking forward to each day of creating stuff. If the day were to stop holding promise for me, I'd stop holding promise for the day.

The mixed media piece at the top is called "The Younger Napolean", measures 10" X 12", is done with acrylic, pencil and paper and sells for $175. plus shipping.


OK, and after all that, a poem on the same theme-and, since you asked, it's called:





Untitled



(drawn in)
by unknowable forces

A magnet under the water
A magnet under my skin

not seen not heard not touchable

A slave am I (I am?)

muse
she (trickster)
stuck like me
stuck like me

the weaver’s temple
the old glue trap

bound together

to be
thrown into the fire?
drowned in the sea?
helpless
stabbed with pottery shards
belonging to dusty museums ?

no

simply stuck

twin stiff compasses
foot fix’d