Christmas Eve 2010

I told your Mom you're coming home- nothing else...

~Is she okay with it?~

yes.very happy.  

This was a relief as I had made sucha big deal about telling her I was NOT going to be at Christmas.  We spent the whole day together.  I made dinner.  I told her over tea...She gave me a funeral hug on the way out, you know, the long lingering  type used in heavy emotional situations, as opposed to our usual frat-boy hug - one arm wrap with a back tap.  Ha, all that effort and now I'm coming back.

As my uncle and I text, the sun rises, warming the  Greyhound bus on my 5am ride.  The manajory of bus smells intensifies- tired travelers, stale food, tobacco smoke, body odor, all more pungent.  These observations become overwhelming as I call  DUA to reinstate my unemployment.  I'm in my wallmart sweats that I bought when my friend's boyfriend locked us out of the house two nights before in a fit of rage.  Could I be in a more white trash moment right now?

At least I'm on the bus.  Thank God for Deb! hauling my ass to the bus station at 4:30am!  It didn't occur to me they'd have a security check before getting on the bus.  The line was so long I thought for sure I'd miss it...not to mention I have a bag with snap blades in it.  (I use them to sharpen my drawing pencils.  When it was my turn, I held the mixed bag to the security, pencils on top, blades in the palm of my hand.) 

On arriving, I'm happy to see this bus station has lockers, even after 911.  I call the hostel to let them know they won't have to hold my luggage for me.  I hear the releif in the girl's voice.  She's kind- but noone wants to oblige strange requests on Christmas eve.  I change in the ladies room from comfy cotton and sneaks to spashy polyester and pleather pumps, mash my belongings in the locker, save my wallet, lipstick and  the plastic red moneybag that reads "show me the money".  I pull out my yellow legal pad itinerary and find my way to the local buses. I was glad I chose this outfit over the shiny club dress.  Conservative as it was, the look drew hollers from the locals- the kind that started their drinking before noon.  

It's a straight shot from the station to my destination, but I'm nervous.  I watch the arrow inch up the map's line.  I ask the driver about my stop even though GPS says it's a way's off.  I don't trust my fancy map phone.  Good thing.  The driver immedialtely pulls over.  We had passed it two blocks ago. 

I had a great visit!  All the trouble and money to change flights, find a bus - all worth my little two hour visit.  I leave beaming.  With a good 20 minutes til the next bus, I drop into a bar and trade my story for a beer.  An enourmous black man(very proud of the size of his toungue) and his plain pale girlfriend and I are the only ones.  Timing - perfect! 

I head to the bus stop..search pockets- no bus pass- back to the bar - not there either-- and out the door again to see the bus zoom by- not even slowing down!   Back to the bar, where my latest edition gets me another free round while I figure things out.  The next bus in an hour.  I am now in danger of missing my flight out.  The bartender says a train is much faster.  The station is a 20 min walk.  The next train is in 20 minutes.  So that works out nicely..... I dash out. 

It's not warm. 65 degrees. But it's FLA dammit.

This place is all highway and nothing.  They do provide sidewalks - not a usual highway acrutriment.  I start jogging in my pleather pumps by the side of the highway, polyester blouse flopping about me.  I follow the bartender's directions but  nothing fits his description.  I run in a bar- This one's pretty full for a sunny afternoon...

~Hey wheres the train station?~

 Oh it's through the parking lot, behind the next building.

~ I'll be back if I miss my train~

 We hope you miss your train!! says a chorus.

~Fuck you!~

I dash away.

I see posts!  I hear the train!  I see a cement wall, 5ft high and like amilion miles long.  I grab a tree branch and fling myself over.  The train rolls in.  I'm on the wrong side and there is another wire fence dividing the two sides.  I yell to a very large black woman  "Hold the train if I don't get over there!!"  If anyone could stop a train this chick could.... I dash by the ticket kyosk and into the train.  I sit very erect with my makeshift paperbag purse ready for the conducter...ready to play the dumb card...

~I'd like to buy a ticket please.~  to a perfect vision of a train conductor, white man in his late 50s, thick perfect mustache, the whole get-up, hat and all...His slight wince and tight smile calls me on my attempt.  

Thats not how it works Dear.

~I'm so sorry. I'm a little flustered today.  I've been traveling since 5am, bussed down from Orlando, to fit a visit in to a friend in jail before he gets deported and I fly back up to Boston.. They're predicting snow storms too...(exasperated sigh)  How is your Christmas Eve?~  His face softens and he sits down across from me.

Oh Dear!  You must have gotten on at the Myrtle stop...

~No.  I got on at the last stop.~

He sighs and with an exagerated air 

I said you must have gotten on at the Myrtle stop...The one with the broken ticket printer

~No.  I got on at the - ohhhh. Yes. that's exactly where I got on.~

A smile of aproval and we fall into a pleasant banter.  He is from Oregon, did plenty of military service traveled to Haitii and other places and retired to FLA because he loves the weather. 

 " You have to love the weather... The people are assholes.  No one told me I was moving to South South Jersey."

He flirts a little, as a rougish older man will do, telling me to stay and if only he were younger and this and that.. I had to shake a bus # out of him.  I need a bus to get back to my locker and then to my flight.  Nothing's far away,  but I'm unfamiliar and a misrouted move can jeapordize my plans.  The jog to the train was my one mishap.  I can't afford another.

I get to a line of buses, all with closed doors and no #s.  I looked so visibly confused one of the doors swings open.

I jokingly say "Are you my bus?"  A thick island accent says, " I'll take you where you need to go."  He says the bus station is close-by, no problem.  Others get on, about five others.  He drops each one off.  I feel the panic of time passing.  I am the last on the bus.  "Is it up here?"  " Why do you want to leave?  Boston is cold.  I don't want you to leave."  I realize this bus driver may not be as helpful as I supposed.  We seem to be driving in circles. Now I'm pissed.  

I lean over him and say in a low voice, " If I end up missing that flight,  I'll make you wish I hadn't"  I'm not very big, and I don't think that even made much sense...but I was menacing enough that he "remembered" where the bus station was pretty quickly. 

Grab my stuff...grab a cab...add some whiskey to my travel mug of tea.  Get to the airport with 5 minutes to spare.  It doesn't take me that to finish my tea and go through security.  Yes.  They pull my empty travel mug to examine it for what? I don't even know.  

~It's not a bomb !!- It's a toddy!!~ 

They don't put whiskey in their tea in Florida.

I made it back in time for Christmas brunch and mass.

A WORD is Worth Thousand Paintings...Saudade and other untranslatable words

My posts to this point focus on images.  Today I write about the word.  

We rely on language for all transactions, emotional, business and everything inbetween.   Written or spoken, the word can fall short sometimes.  Delve into something beyond banter, something below the surface of social interaction to emotions deeper felt, those driving forces of our daily actions.... This is when verbal communication lacks the accuracy to articulate emotion.  This is when the artist (visual or audial) reaffirms a hold on a deeper type of communication.

This thought is indebted to another's search, posted publicly:

I've been hunting down this word for years... And it's finally in my grasp. This is a perfect word for how this reality makes me feel most of the time:

Saudade
(The definition is mostly from Wikipedia)

Saudade is a Portuguese word that has no translation in English.  Saudade describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing/yearning for an absent something or someone that one loves, often one whose whereabouts are unknown, a lost lover or a family member gone missing.  It carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing will never return. 

Saudade describes "the love that remains" after someone is gone. Saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again. It can be described as an emptiness, like someone or something should be there in a particular moment is missing, and the individual feels this absence.  One can have 'saudade' of someone whom one is with, feeling a loss towards the past or the future (e.g. unrealized/unfulfilled expectations).  While saudade conveys longing for a past that can never return as well as a future that will never happen, acceptance of the reality is also built into the word.  It embodies all that is positive of a time or feeling that is no longer, while deeply acknowledging the sadness of this truth.

In Brazil, the day of saudade is officially celebrated on January 30...

(I admit I am most curious about this holiday of heartache.)

Communication is a tricky game.  Similar background provides us with the same set of words that we combine in different formations and toss back and forth to each other.  We agree on meanings for all of these words, though different interpretations are inevitable.  There are times we search for just the right word.  Sometimes we never find that word.  It may not exist in our native language.  

A list of 20 untranslatable words gives more examples of things missing from our English.

(I really love #2 as well - Mamihlapinatapei)

The continual hunt is a constant for any artist.  They say the painter paints the same painting his whole life.  Like searching for the right word to convey the thought, the artist searches color, composition and subject to find the most powerful presentation of the idea.

The idea behind this one word, Saudade, is the source of hundreds of artist.  Hopper comes to mind quickest.

A painting may be worth a million words, 
but you can make a million paintings from the seed of one word... the right word.

Gift Given, Gift Received

The Blind Drink, the Seeing Hold Sky

The Gift

A recurring theme in my images is The GIFT... most plainly expressed in the Vessel series.  It took me a while to see the recurring part until my dear friend and artist, Soapheap Pich, moved back to Cambodia.  His last painted works are a Sacred Vessels series.

His idea of the vessel stays with me, Greek burials, alms bowls, the Grail.  I revisit my flower sketches.  I notice how my people clutch things, like the potted orchid in my "Gift".   The idea is already there... It's in the damn title for Christ's sake!

I ran with it.  I veer from flower paintings in favor of the pots and bowls that hold them.  Oranges are a traditional gift, for Buddha, Chinese dragons, good children, monks, and travelers.  Many of the images have a perspective that flattens out.  This is something I love in 4x5 photography, changing the plane of the negative.  It stays with me in painting still.  I love qualities of the two dimensional.

One Gives, One Recieves

Receive a Gift with Grace

A gift...Give and receive, the action between empty and full embody these images.  Release something to another and make room for something new.  The physical action: one extends something into the personal space of another, one takes something in allowing another's action to impact them.  We are in flux.  Every moment we have something to offer another and we are in desperate need of something just out of our reach.

There is vulnerability in needing.  It is a harrowing terrifying humbling place to be. Even in deepest moments of need, we are so full there is always something to offer, to give to another.

Evolution of Studio Space

Establishing a studio space after college means something at home.  To make art between the waitress shifts, art shows, and general mayhem of daily life on no budget, my home needs some type of extra corner, just an extra something... and low and behold, I come across an apartment with a walk-in closet.


The closet is cozy to say the least.  A fan is always on so the oil fumes don't make it into m bedroom.  I have to step back into my bedroom to look at my paintings...But if Weegee used the trunk of his car for a darkroom, then I have no worries. (more details in "Artist in the Closet" post)                                                    

So the roof fell in and I fell into a beautiful new apartment with room in the basement for a studio space.  It's so much larger!  I was excited... So  excited I gave it a good cleaning, a special "anti-moisture" paint job and spent the next two years rearranging things.    It never quite took off. 

I thought I was just being spoiled, wanting some kind of natural light...I mean if Monet can have a boat studio, why can't I have a basement studio?

It turns out, general consensus says basements are challenging studio spaces.  Apparently dark and dank is tougher than wind and waves.

On a random day filled with random tasks, I drive down an unfrequented street.  There is a huge brick building, door propped open with a small handwritten sign: "studio sale".  I stop for yard sales, tag sales and church bake sales.  This fits right in... I use the opportunity to ask about renting studio space... "..two year waiting list..maybe try your luck posting on the bulletin board.." 

I did.  Just as I poked the thumbtack in, a voice from a man trotting down the stairs- "Hey what are you doing? Are you looking for space?.. This door shouldn't be open.." and he pulls the wedge. 

The door locks shut. 

 But I am already in. 

Now I have a beautiful sunny spot at 6 Vernon Street Studios in Somerville...Let the painting begin.

Mural in a day

With the help of two stellar painters, Lori Horushka and KTron, the task of monster window mural in a day becomes an enjoyable challenge.  A vacant greenhouse becomes part of the celebration - Faneuil Hall opens the holiday season with the grand tree lighting and Blink!


I am not sure what the whole program is, but I'm happy to be a part of it!

Winter mural

Faneuil Hall called for a holiday window mural.  They need it done for Saturday's tree lighting.  That means one day to paint out "the small greenhouse"... Sure. No problem.  How about a polar bear n a snow storm?

The Theater, The Theater...

It's funny where painting will take you.  My artwork got me into the film industry.  The film industry made a house painter out of me. This house painter learned installation and fabrication and then somehow I stumbled into the theater. It was like stumbling back into art.  Actually that's literal... I was invited to work at the ART in Cambridge.

I was unfamiliar with many of the processes of theater painting.  It took a little a bit to master drawing and painting with bamboo.  there is something fantastic about the history of such tools and methods.
The high definition of film technology demands we copy from life exactly on the film set.  The theater set takes a scratchy sketch and makes it life size, marker coloring, strange perspective and all. 

Working job to job can be nerve-racking, but the great experiences are worth it!

 To all those along the way who asked "What are you going to do with art?"  

I say:  More than you can imagine, because I had no idea myself!

Flashback... 2010, An Honest day's work

Duchamp's Christmas

2010 was a tough year.  There was not a decent job to be found.  Those who did hire took full advantage.  I poured an epoxy resin countertop at a lower hourly than the Brazilian cleaning crew got.  Other jobs that year involved asbestos, rat shit, and a drunken plasterer.  It was the year I perfected the persuasion of payment by implied threat.  

By August, I finally found an honest day's work in the business of Christmas decoration refurberation and installation...Go ahead say that 10 times fast...

It's a job that rings with sentiment and delight.  I know there will be fond memories years from now, when I have forgotten the dank basements, filthy garages and critter-full cavities we worked in.


Just as things were looking up, the roof to my apartment gave way.  The roofers didn't check the weather that day and left the roof open during their lunch break... There was a flash rain storm exactly then.

My roommate and I moved within a month.  I hoped to make a getaway during the holidays.  A wonderful man offered to take me to Fla. to meet his family.  Two stops from our destination, he was pulled from the train and deported back to Argentina.

2010 was a very tough year.
 

Picasso as a Kitchen Towel

My first introduction to modern art happened in the kitchen at a very young age. A kitchen towel with the Picasso's "Bouquet" print always held my attention. I wanted to like the towel, who doesn't like flowers-right? But I found the image strange. At the age of 6 or 7, Picasso bothered the Hell out of me.

The hands are disturbing. The grip is a strangle hold. The flowers are sparse and sad. The thin stems have the delicacy of a tree trunk.

It's funny what sticks with you. Another thing Picasso rolls through my head is his quote, "Good artists copy, great artists steal." What a jerk...

The culmination of these two Picasso thoughts jumped onto a canvas when I was asked to paint a purple orchid series. I was stumped at first, not because of the orchids, but because I never really work with purple. Thanks for the help Picasso!

I don't steal...I just paint what I wish other artists had done. My "Bouquet" is still in the works.

Sketches to Paintings

Sketches come from bold, reactive play with simple carved form into the oils with charcoal fast and dirty. The palette is less complex than the painting. But don't kid yourself, I can fuss for days on the sketches too. I never know when my next studio time will be. Some of the sketches are precious to me and wait for years before a more substantial object is made.

Sometimes the painting is a close reinterpretation. Hummingbird Girl sketch and "Hummingbird Halo" have many of the same elements. The palette and lighting are deeper. The hummingbirds achieve a different spatial tension and movement. The painting also introduces a woman with smudged lipstick. It's a small detail. The little details are gifts to the viewer who keeps looking. It broadens the story.

Other times the essence of the sketch sketch evolves dramatically. "Eaglehandler" portrays a very plain girl with an enormous, rather well behaved, eagle on her ungloved hand. The sketch does not have the visual tension of the actual scenario.Eagles are big raptors that should not perch on anyone's hand unaided.

The following painting, "The Facilitator", creates a more engaging situation and the title adds nicely too. The woman is more refined, the eagle, more raptorous. Adding the titmouse in her right hand would be trite if I kept the eagle's original stance from the sketch. It would have been titled "food chain". Eye contact is skewed between the main players, so motives remain veiled.



The talon to bare hand reveals the nature of the relationship between woman and eagle. In the sketch, it is also the weakest point...It's a mush of charcoal and pretend. The painting shows less mush and more pretend.

In the works..

The back is key--It must show tension and strength without being over-defined or "muscly". The back must portray the emotion, give as strong a visual cue as the face...so the hair is short. In combination with the passive hand, the message is mixed. I'm still working the nuances. Then, back to the herons...

The subject is Eve. I didn't know it when I started the painting. It was just some odd idea of a nude woman surrounded by herons. I liked the ambiguity. It was a little too ambiguous - so I set it aside for awhile. During its quiet time, I finished many other paintings, including "Exiting Eden". The man's back faces us, shoulders rounded, as if he just heaved a heavy sigh, or got the wind knocked out of him. The emotion is in the posture. I didn't know it was Adam until I had to give it a title.

The seed for this painting is a little note I wrote many years ago... "Where does a good man go in the face of a gathering storm?"..but I don't feel like going into that when someone asks what the painting's about.. Both painting and note work well with the biblical themes. I like to think the Bible's first couple were good people. Good people make crummy decisions sometimes...sometimes it happens when they think they're trying their hardest.

"Exiting Eden" brings me back to the Girl with Herons with a new understanding of the dynamics of the image. She cannot be languid, the birds too romantic. The posture is the expression of a greater story... Almost the opposite of the "saint" series, which are all about the serene face.

In the works...

Here's a painting that's been lurking in the studio for a while. The image shows a group of herons surrounding a nude woman in the soft light of dawn. It is part of the "Exiting Eden" series.

The first incarnation, on the left, has "morning colors" that are almost too soft... It seems too fluffy and romantic for the theme.

So I visited the other extreme with harsh lines, muted color, and high contrast...that's the disaster on the right side.




Going from one extreme to another leads to a beautiful in between. Scrubbing out layers, re introducing line, and reshaping form, all bring movement into the composition and reveal the character of the medium... The paint has probably set enough for me to dive back in now...

The Copenhagen Neuroaesthetic Conference

The philosophers and psychologists all talk about the beauty and pleasure art brings. They attest that pleasure is what drives the production of art. Where can my send a letter of dispute?...after I wrote this I realized I had more writing to do...

This past Sept 24-26, 2009, the University of Copenhagen hosted their first Neuroaesthetics Conference. I found out about it last March and went through a lot of trouble, ie. reading, to put together a poster submission. My reading was unstructured and all over the board. I made it fit.

As the second week in September rolled around, I knew it wasn't happening. Understandable. I haven't written a science anything since high school. Of course I was out of my league. They were rats for not at least sending a rejection letter, just for courtesy's sake.

Late Tues. night, Sept 15th, I get the e-mail: Congratulations. You're poster's accepted. The conference is next week. We had some technical problems..Sorry. !!!
Sept 16, finish painting living room/juggle Credit cards, buy a ticket, Sept 17 finish painting the livingroom for real, take down my largest art show, Sept 18, pull out notes from March, relearn, Sept 19, borrow a mac, learn mac, make a poster, Sept20 print poster, pack. Sept 21, leave.

What follows is the most wonderful time of my life, which is why I have no idea how to write about it properly. The conference organizers are Soren Kaspersen, Jon O. Laurig, and Martin Skov. The quality of company and conversation throughout the presentations and into the pubs is of a rare caliber.

A whole review is being written by a much more knowledgeable participant. I will revisit different aspects of the trip in a more stream of conscious way. The speakers are amazing. The subject matter is intriguing...and sometimes a little over my head. I will start with Helmut Leder's talk...tomorrow.


My reading:
My favorite, Gerald Edelman, neurobilologist writes on "Neural Darwinism" and consciousness. Denis Dutton is a philosopher whose book, Art Instinct, is a dry read with ideas that stick. James Elkins, an art historian delves into the element that triggers people to weep before works of art in Tears and Pictures. He came up w/a tidy list of visual triggers which I reviewed and discarded as I welled up at the MET in front of a bunch of Monets... so irritating... Jonah Lehrer has great articles in SEED magazine. Of course it all starts with Semir Zeki one of the forerunners of neuroaesthetics.

Old Sketches, New Saints

I know a woman who works every day. She ends her shift by taking her granddaughter from her daughter. So her daughter takes up where she left off...and vice-versa. She says identity theft was the best thing ever happened to her. The culprits took out a loan, paid it on time, and for the first time in her life she had good credit.

I know a man who bets on horses based on their horoscopes and the stars (the horses' horoscopes-not his.) I don't think he gets accurate birth dates as he still works at the lot.

I worked with five brothers from Brazil who couldn't get back home for their mother's funeral.

My bank tellers bring their kids to work on Saturdays.

Life is a challenge daily, here. These are the people I gauge my perspective by. During the time around Katrina, these are the people I really started to watch, mostly because we were all in the same boat.

Painting Fly Away in response to the Katrina Disaster got me looking at Medieval woodcuts. I felt like I was living in the New Dark Age. I blamed the government for a landscape of fear, war, misused religion and unchecked business. Working in the airport didn't help matters. (At the airport, there were a lot o people in my "boat".)

The cool expressions of individuals in peril, suffering for their belief repeat throughout medieval texts. (Such familiar faces like those I work with) Thick lines of the wood cut and the stain glass window create bold simplification of both the serene face of the saint and the symbol of the story. Out of context, it's anyone's guess what dangers the story holds. I like this aspect quite abit.

This group of sketches use the idea of the saint and symbol without a back story. The placid composure of the subjects make potentially alarming situations ambiguous. They are contemporary subjects, those who take on any challenge and make it through the day and keep a poised demeanor for the sake of those around them, their children, job, for their own sense of control. They are not allowed to panic.

Slowly but surely these sketches all became paintings. You'll see why I couldn't leave these guys alone.

Fly Away Fly Away, Weathering the Storm

Many artists pick one subject or style and "explore" it to death. The galleries like this. Retail says, if you sell one thing, have similar stuff for people. People like familiar.

My paintings share themes but are often different in content and style. Painting time is lean. My work schedule has never been pretty. This leads to small paintings, slow evolutions for larger pieces, and ideas that sit in wait.

I revisit an older painting for the path that leads to paintings I've just finished. Even if I have new ideas, the older ones demand completion.

I am wary about telling this painting's story. It's not pleasant.

Aug 2005 Hurricane Katrina-(you see?)
Me - working a restaurant beyond security in the airport- Logan Boston Int.. All four TV screens on CNN's blow by blow Katrina updates.

The Delta jet shuttle between Boston and NY is the regular audience...very nice business suits. I go home via Paul's Parking Shuttle...very different shuttle... sometimes the breaks don't work. At home I continue to watch and cry for a hopeless situation. How terrifying - no escape!

I begin my painting with a bird on the wing with the storm at its back and a woman gathering unripe oranges from a potted tree. Birds and flowers are the key in many of my paintings. Wild vs. Tame..The wild can flee at least.

As the newscasts continued, the line between survivors and sufferers was clear. It is money. Apparently birds aren't the only free things...so are the wealthy. A new heightened awareness of such divisions filters into my daily life. I watch the business shuttle crowd back and forth, blithely batting at their blackberries waiting in line to jump to the next city. And the airport workers, many from hard luck parts, thinking an airport job was golden... it had benefits ..but fighting every day for that extra shift, figuring out child care or bills or how to change their life either by school or a race horse. I am one of them. If anything beyond the regular happens- our lives turn upside down. A missing babysitter or a car problem puts a job in jeopardy. The job is everything, no matter how horrible it is.

My painting grew business men...and a plane.

I don't think I finished this until 2007. Touching the painting made me sad. The philosophers and psychologists all talk about the beauty and pleasure art brings. They attest that pleasure is what drives the production of art. Where can my send a letter of dispute?

I often wonder why I paint such things. I called on a higher power for a proper finish. The painting emerges from a watery wash of bright reds to rich dark earthy tones, thick lines, ...Diego Rivera used these heavy lines in his paintings of peasants, farmers, business moguls, politicians, the poor and the powerful...It is appropriate. I think he would approve. I wanted him in on this painting.

On the way through this painting all related things showed themselves. As I watched some struggle, I saw strength. As I watched others create turmoil, I saw their weakness. The political system in place did homage to the Dark Ages with Intelligent Design and religion as righteous mask to underhanded business.

This painting leads me to ideas of medieval thought process in contemporary times. My next paintings lay in wait of a day off.

Holiday shopping that saves the community

One of the coolest organizations I work with is Somerville Local First. Their mission is to create a financially stable, self sufficient community by strengthening support for the local business owners.

The 10% Shift idea states that if everyone in a community shifts their spending habits a little, employment, wages, and local output will increase by thousands without a cent of tax relief help. The statistics seem unbelievable!(but they're published in Business Week.) It is not about spending more, but buyng everday purchases at locally owned shops instead of huge corporate shops...and no everything- just 10%.

I know my weak spot is Home Depot. I have also scouted out a small hardware store near a locally owned coffee shop I love - Perfect! That's all we have to do - find those small businesses, adjust our habits, and keep our money in the neighborhood instead of tossing it all into giant faceless heartless corporations.

If you have questions, 10percentshift.org, or visit Joe(and some of my paintings) at the SLF's "pop-up" gallery space/office, the Prospect Gallery in Union Square, between the post office and the Independent Pub. Please come celebrate the gallery's show closing at the end of December, the 30th, 6-9.

This is especially important this time of the year. Your gift shopping can make or break a business. Lets keep our money where we can see it...in our towns and our independent businesses.

Why I'm a crummy blogger

I'm a crummy blogger because I actually have great adventures all the time and I have a really wacky job too. I just don't follow up with the writing part...no tiny laptop, no i-phone, no attention span for computer glowing screens. In between adventures I clean my apartment (because adventures inevitably lead to giant messes) and try to paint or at least organize the next adventure...

For the past year and a half I work as a scenic painter for film and TV. This is very exciting to people who like celebrities. It is exciting for me because I get paid a living wage to mess with paint. I won't go into any job details as I am forever signing contracts with threatening verbiage in them about the consequences of leaking important confidential information about their top secret projects... like the next "great" re-make or the latest chick flick...very important stuff.

The top picture is in a Navy yard studio in Brooklyn. Behind me is a classic water fountain they imported from Italy for a show. The middle picture is a carpet of plastic green turf, thousands of dollars worth, that covers a naturally sparse Essex County lake front. The turf will be lightly shredded to make it "naturally" uneven and then sprayed w/shades of green and brown to make it "naturally" toned....naturally! And lastly-a big fake tree.

Bouncing between NYC and Boston, 12hr days, sometimes 7 days a week is tricky. Reading takes the place of painting. Not best sellers though..Things like Dr.Edeleman's Wider than the Sky about consciousness, D.Dutton's Art Instinct and E.Dissanayake's HomoAesheticus. An LA boss of mine loved to give me shit about being smart at coffee break(of course I corrected him...It's pronounced "Smott" around here.)

TUESDAY NIGHT, 7-10

I have more interesting things to write about than openings, but my beloved day-job as a scenic painter is keeping me very busy.
And, with Diesel Cafe hosting my paintings through September, my walls are strangely naked. I've started to spackle and paint my apartment, one naked room at a time.

Please come visit me...

OPENING: Tuesday, Aug. 25th, 7-10, 27 Elm Street, Davis Square, Somerville MA 02143
http://www.diesel-cafe.com/

It's great to show all of the work in one space. I'll bring my latest sketches too, if they're dry.

Why art...

One question that haunts the painter is, "Why?"...Why the effort, the allocation of money, and energy? It is the question that leaves every art student speechless and every professional stammering about feelings. Every once in a while I take a break from the studio and tackle the question.

What type of vocation is this, an artist? No structure, save the restrictions of the medium and the voice in your head that says “Stop, before you ruin it!” There is certainly no financial security. Making art is scary. The artist creates in pursuit of the perfect translation of information, from the intellect to the physical. There is only the drive to reinterpret life.

There are the life basics: food, shelter, reproduction. This is survival. For most animals, motion deals strictly with acts of survival. For the human animal the drive to create products outside of a given natural environment seems both unnatural and human at the same time. This strange use of energy defines the quality of life, how one survives and grows. The artist observes the existing structure with a critical mind, internalizes the experience, personalizes the idea with an individual voice. The input transforms into the idea. The idea evolves into a plan. The plan sets the cue for motion. The motion results in the creation of a product.

The product is a visual constant with an emotional trigger. Art introduces emotions, ideas, and experiences that open up new paths in ways of thinking. Visual experiences create a space for emotional and intellectual research and reevaluation of hypothetical experiences.

As an artist, I am not a natural. With each painting comes more experience with the medium and new visual possibilities. The new possibilities make a beginner of me all over again. A successful image needs balance between message and medium, familiarity and ambiguity. This balance allows my voice and the viewer’s own interpretation to be equally valid. The figurative nature of my work makes it accessible. Subjects such as birds and flowers are traditional visual symbols. Where subjects portray ambiguity, a figure looks away, the medium gives direction. The character of the charcoal and the color of the oils offer a distinct voice and tone.

Part researcher, part storyteller, I offer my personal vision to the community. The work does not demand a one-sided spotlight, but invites the viewer into an intimate exchange of ideas. The work invokes participation and interpretation. It is a dynamic visual dialog. This is a special type of social interaction, one that looks for immediate emotional and intellectual response.

Emotion controls attention. Attention controls sight. Sight controls movement and action. Every action is proceeded by motivation, a plan. Every action brings one into a new environment. Every environment induces a flurry of thought, recall, mapping, and adjustment. Art provides a stimulus different from those in the natural environment of survival. Art invokes social interaction different from the interactions of basic survival. If emotion drives our thought process, art brings it full circle. Art is not a decoration. Art is the equipment that aids our evolution and provides a higher quality of life.

Avalanche Phoenix

Anyone who does any type of business with me knows that I will not take calls on a good beach day. I owe any shred of sanity to quiet beach days alone. Friends know to invite themselves only if they can wake up early enough. I don't wait around.

My winter sanity, however, became an issue until snowboarding saved the day! Even in July I like to slip back into winter memories of snowboarding. Maybe because I've only eeked in two beach days so far(and one of those days involved a hoody and pants.)

Core77's competition for snowboard designs didn't help. This is my design submission. The phoenix is a great beast, a bird that incorporates themes of death and rebirth from fire and ash. This design takes the idea of the phoenix and replaces fire with snow and ice... the avalanche phoenix.

The most important part of the design is that it works in both directions. If the rider has the bird in front, it seems that the bird is diving down the mountain, or better yet, flying off the the half-pipe. If the more abstract avalanche side of the board is the front, the powder kicked up will meld with the nose and it will look like the phoenix is actually breaking free from the snowy mountain.

This design is a bit of a tribute to those who have been taken by avalanches. It is not anything I could even imagine.