Morning Fog

It's been a bud for over a year now. I'm not even sure what color it is. Or its fragrance. If any. But it sits there, promising, mocking. Threatening to wither before witness. Forcing me back into the morning fog. A chill I'm used to. So accustomed I never put the blanket away. In case. And it's always the case. Safe and warm but hollow. Again.

my song

Relentless tainted whispers

I heard and absorbed

because you held the authority.

Mishandled with blackened fingertips.

I don't agree. I never did.

Bare skinned and shredded knees

reveal a truth,

but, sadly, only to me.

I rewrite the notes and sing a new song.

My song, carrying full sails,

salt spray in my face and loft in my dreams.

Cow Graveyard

Of Dinesen

Life has made a nasty face at me. The dank atmosphere quietly corrosive. I used to meet boys with all of my soul in my eyes. I used to meet all of it that way. The optimism of a now withered youth. If I had some indication of even a change in direction, I could better endure. I would welcome any diversion from my own thoughts; a reprieve to pour some kind of spirit back into me. The sun has the audacity to pierce the comforting gloom. I want to draw the shades against it. I only feel right in darkness.

His loneliness matches mine. It’s a mournful dance. Both of us are creatures of charm and playfulness as well as dark blue tears. He’s looking for solace from lost success as am I, but I have also lost my trust in the future. There is no shortage of helpful advice on cures. The mortal bacterium is in my blood. Only god can make alterations. I'm waiting. Waiting with him takes the sting out of it.

The black tulip is light in my hand. I hardly notice it. There will be an unremembered moment when I've put it down. But for now, I am enthralled in its beauty, helpless in its unhappiness.

consort

storm brewing

shall I be lawless and rude?

yield to the greedy gnawing

bringing sweet warm wine to lips long parched

orange peels and cinnamon, damp wood and moss

I'm consorting with nature's princes

how long will I be fooled?

 I court deception to please my soul

aware of the loss that hasn't flown yet

coaxing unaccustomed honey out of comfortable bitterness

will the taste linger long enough to justify the forfeit

I hear his pulse inviting me to swim

in the cool green blue

*post script: I bought a new laptop and while moving files over, I found a couple things I'd written for another blog I've since deleted. The intensity of the compositions surprised me. I have three entries. I'll start with this one. It's the lightest of the three.

**photo was taken at the cottage as a storm was building in the northwest. No filter.

Afterlife

Afterlife I and II
20x20 each
mixed on canvas

After the Fall, season and Wall Street, of '08, Hollywood delayed my collapse until 2012. I staged a brief period of success repositioning Reel Art Detroit and enjoyed several large commissions for abstract paintings. That was 2014. And the End. It became clear last Spring I was not going to return to pre-2008 income levels. Saddled with an uncomfortable debt load, partly due to launching RAD only to have the industry removed a mere 8 months later, I decided to stop deluding myself and call it. By early December, it was over. The business was closed and the debt removed.  

The Universe gave me the opportunity to tear the veil off another fantasy. A boy who truly loves me, was once my lover, but never will be again. I'd been hanging on to that one for a while, too. It turns out 2016 was the Great Housecleaning. Reality can be rather harsh. Although everything that was stripped away was negative, it still created a profound sense of loss. I'm leveling off enough now to notice the vacancy. The Universe abhors a vacuum, so I'm waiting to see what fills in.

While I wait, I did some actual housecleaning and stumbled across all the evidence of my "other" career. For a fabulous 17 year run, I worked with Interior Designers. Faux treatments, murals, hand-painted embellishments. Whatever they needed. I made a pile of money. I bought a house, went to Europe a couple times, started an IRA. It's over. Gone. There isn't much call for faux these days and when there is, housepainters learned how to do it and siphoned off my business. I'm teaching, writing, some front end tech work. I've been making and selling a few paintings. These 2 pieces aren't the greatest, but they are cathartic. Using archival materials from jobs long gone, collaged then obliterated, I'm putting the final nail in that coffin.

Feels very strange to experience so much blank space. What to do with it? I'm resisting my compulsion to push myself, mostly motivated by financial fear. The Universe is providing enough. I have the chance to breathe for a moment. February's bizarrely warm weather allowed for a hike in the woods yesterday. Went with some good people. Ate a spectacular meal after. I'm supremely grateful I have the capacity to change and adapt. Can't go back. It's why the windshield is so much bigger than the rear view mirror. It's an open road. Roll down the windows and crank the stereo. It's a gorgeous day.

*both paintings are currently at Galerie Camille. I'm clearing the decks so these are ready to move.

Random Negotiations Toward An Unreasonable Happiness

There's so much going on now I've become very particular about which shows I'm willing to pry myself out of my blankie for. That last two shows at Hatch have been worth the effort. Mike McGillis had a pretty small space to work with for one of his installations. It was brilliant. I don't spend too much time overthinking a show. Even the high-brow ones at museums. I like the simplicity of a visceral experience. Or not, if it doesn't create one. Shape, line, color. That's about it. Then, if interested, I might consider what explanation a maker has provided. Mike said, "I'm interested in what we think we see when the lights are dim, or in that moment we squint at familiar things and they briefly shift to something else". One of art's jobs is to get us to see something we would otherwise dismiss. Stop. Breathe. Look. I definitely notice a change at dusk, or when lights are dim. Familiar objects shape-shift. As a kid, they are monsters under the bed. Am I sure they aren't still there?

Michael McGillis

Ryan Standfest opened this past Saturday. It was seriously frigid that evening. Someone's car needed a jump directly in front of the gallery forcing everyone to distant parking spots. This better be good. So good, my comment to Ryan was it was too creepy and smart for me. My frozen brain didn't have the capacity to decode his cryptography. He assured me it was only frat boy humor anyway. Just enjoy the shapes and colors. I did. 

Ryan Standfest

Truthfully I've seen most of these people's work before. I already know I like it when I go. The best part of an opening is hanging out with other creatives. Making art is mostly a solitary activity until an exhibition. Sitting in my studio alone with my materials, my brain can get the better of me. Mixing it up on a Saturday night with my colleagues validates my weird existence. It is one of my not-so-random negotiations toward unreasonable happiness. Not entirely sure what defines unreasonable happiness. I'm pretty content with regular happiness. Which generally means the bills are paid, the car runs, a couple good friends and some art. 

Check out statements, pics, etc at Hatch Art