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

Married to Art

Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce S2 Ep8

Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce is a tamer Sex in the City. LA instead of NYC. Bravo instead of HBO. Still painfully skinny, lots of money and great shoes. Not my reality, but in S2 E7 Phoebe meets an artist. Legit, since LA's art scene is vibrant. He takes her to sort of a rave art thing. She's hooked. She's a former fashion model so he gets her to pose for him. Only it's not him who does the drawing. An overworked pathetic looking man with some serious eye baggage draws her image. It's as wonderfully sad as the executioner himself. He explains that he does the drawing, then the artist photoshops it for the end product. Phoebe asks if the entire art world is this terrible? The former brush cleaner, now first assistant says "not at all" commenting his arrangement isn't that unusual. The scene at the preview opening of the work is pretty on point. The bullshit language the artist uses to make the work sound more important than it is. The collector who's looking for something in the 40x60 range for his super snotty walk-in. The artist spots Jeff Koons in the fray and disappears into a schmooze haze.

Art is similar to stock in that it's only worth what someone is willing to pay for it. Art is particularly tricky because very few actually know what's worth all that money. Marketing and perception. Blue chip artists' messages get lost, if not completely obliterated, in the pursuit of recognition. Justin Giarla took advantage of that ambition combined with new money's insatiable appetite for just the right bling to cement their status. His Geary Street scam made him rich and the artists he made promises to broke.

So what's a true art lover to do? I'm happy to report integrity in the arts is alive and well. Painters, sculptors and photographers are genuinely trying to show you a different way to look at our world. Every piece I've been given, made or acquired makes me happy. GG2D S2 E8 "One of our buyers has a Picasso displayed with a black light to bring out the colors. Another one has his Basquiat hung upside down."  For the love of god, black lights went out with the '70's. If you don't know what your looking at, find someone you trust to help you. I only buy work I have a visceral reaction to. I still get that sensation when I look at any one piece. I'm perilously close to running out of wall space. I got 99 problems, but my art collection ain't one. 

EVOLUTION

Drip and Pitch
20x20
acrylic on canvas

This is the image that started it. Just appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Posted it on Facebook unsure of where it was going and sold it. The buyer said it was dope. He bought a second one. Guess it's ok then. Kept painting. New pieces from this series are included in a four person exhibition at Galerie Camille opening October 14. 

I valiantly attempted to reposition Reel Art Detroit after Governor Snyder pulled the film incentives and killed the industry. I was unsuccessful. Time to call it. Time to call it on a bunch of things. Life is forcing a profound evolution. Stripping me down to the bones. So I can build anew. 

I'm continuing to write the art column for DDEAF magazine (cover story this issue!) I have been approached on another writing assignment, but it's not confirmed yet, so hush hush for now. I am enjoying teaching at the Birmingham Bloomfield Art Center going into my fourth year. Working with a new collector and helping to curate an impressive collection of local talent. Pretty stoked about earning my living through so many creative avenues. 

As I begin what appears to be my third career incarnation and because I'm passionately involved in Detroit art via several mediums, I needed a brand that covered more than just painting. Presenting "detroit art junkie". Started with an instagram handle and went from there.  In marketing and branding terms, it's great if everything matches. One thought, one name, one purpose. So new domain for the website, email, cards, the works. Detroit is staging a fantastic comeback and I'm thrilled to be riding that wave right along with her. 

There's some crazy lawn equipment harshing my mellow right now, so I'm out before I can really edit/polish this blurg. Y'all understand. 

Using the Whole Chicken

Rick Vian

The abstract painter is held to the same rules of construction as a representational one but doesn't have the luxury of an obvious subject to lean on to compose and create a space. I'm generally suspicious of an artist who uses loads of paint to persuade the viewer the work has value. Here, Rick Vian uses heavily textured layers to add depth to his magically lit, rollicking descriptions of trees, water, fire. The grids he's introduced in this series seem to hold back the furious brushstrokes from leaping off the canvas. Glimpses of his subjects are expertly revealed in mindful compositions. It's the emotional blast of color that really knocks me out. This is what the Expressionists were aiming for.

I'm more than a little biased on this one. Not only is Rick Vian an abstractionist and one of Detroit's best, he and his brilliant wife Sue Carman are friends. Spoken as objectively as I'm able to, this show is fantastic. On view at the Robert Kidd Gallery in Birmingham through December 19. 

Btw, the second issue of DDEAF comes out next week. I'm thrilled to be asked back as an art contributor. This time it's local sensation Scott Northrup. Hope y'all like it.

*post-script: DDEAF comes out online first week of December. Print January 1.