It's a fact

It's a fact: Friends save you Money & Time.

Money:

I was going to purchase with my own money some ice cream after work, but a package of Knott's Berry Farm Raspberry Cookies were delivered to me and my hunger quenched itself.

Time:

They have cars.

Thoughts on a dim day

I am extremely relaxed.

From 2-5:30 I worked at the library, from 5:30-7:15 I had dinner (tuna on croisant w/ mustard, chips and granola bar + lemonade/sprite) and then built a shelf out of scrap wood for my storage space in the art department (aka, "Art Wedge"). I had to handsaw everything and use only glue, for I had no nails and with classes going on I couldn't use the electrics. I was a hunched over blue and khaki lump out on the loading docks, holding one side down with my knee and the other with the free hand. But it was finished and all my junk was put back in just in time to work again from 7:15-9:15. And that is where I am now.

My arms and hands are warm, relaxed and my mind is relaxed.

I have created something.

Earlier at work I was feeding my mind, sitting stationary in a chair, browsing the works of Jim Dine, William Kentridge, Ron Kitaj. Their flat-poetry moved me.

I have to say again, I want desperately now to work large, very large and spontaneously. Jim Dine once, for reasons of time, "produced an exhibition of huge, bold charcoal drawings directly on the walls of a gallery in Germany" in eight dyas and "the drawings remained on the walls for only six weeks before being painted over". The proces of the piece was made into a video titled Jim Dine: A Self-Portrait on the Walls, no luck so far in securing a copy.

I love the idea though.

Some of the greatest works of art were not laboured over for months or years, some were completed very quickly, such as sumi-e masterpieces (a matter or minutes or seconds). John Singer Sargent completed masterful portraits of famous individuals of his time all in around two hours. But, this does not mean they were flippant. Years or decades of practice and experience preceeded the ability shown in these works. All works, whether visual, written or aural should be revised/reviewed, seen again, seen afresh/anew. But, the place where this revision takes place, over time moves from the page into the mind or eye of the individual. Less revison will need to be done the sharper the craft/eye of the person.

It is a matter or not merely looking but a way of seeing the world (a much overused distinction, but a valid one). A translation of what is objectively seen into a new language, but one that is capable of being transcribed. One may see, but can he translate well? Both are necessary to be effective. It's as if the individual is a conduit, routing sensory information in and spewing it out again, hopefully in a somewhat intelligible form.

A connection between the Eye and the Hand, run through the Heart and Mind.

Any and all thoughts, comments, critiques welcome (except for gramatical ones).

Some Pieces

(CLICK TO ENLARGE ALL PICTURES)

One friggin' giant eyeball!

About 2'x3', vine charcoal, charcoal stick, black and white conte on blue toned charcoal paper.

I love it, I know I gotta work big now, I've had this feeling before and the feeling is getting stronger. Friggin' HUGE!!! Yes.

This was an extra piece I did last weekend or two weekends ago, I dunno. It was very cathartic.

Roughly 3'x2', printer toner, charcoal, black and white conte on newsprint.

The newsprint was a bad idea, but it began as just a sketch so, I didn't know it would pan out the way it did.

The toner was collected from my job, I work at a print station and can collect the extra from the machine and whenever the cartridge needs to be changed I can get a full cup of toner!! Fun stuff but it takes a lotta fixative to hold it onto the paper. But the effect is fantastic!!

It it meant to represent two individuals in a state of transcendence or perhaps elation (I dunno, Doug?). Either way, these two have seen the same truth or have been chosen to see something revealed. Harkening back to the 1984, Brazil, We mentality. Individuality amongst a throng of bobbing heads. THis would be fantastic with an element of motion. Ah, well.

A close up of the old guy emerging.

The thick black spots near the base of his 'neck' is the toner. Most of it was coming off when I used the charcoal and conte, though.

The second individual rising.

I guess the piece is done for now. I don't know what to do with it so onto to something else until the muse strikes again.

Ciao for now,

Dan

Mm-yea

I just met a guy named Bak (bah-K).

How cool is that

He had huge, silver sunglasses with a shiny silver coating, matte silver headphones, a black, crinckly beard, recently trimmed, a big, vacuous mouth and lips, short grey shorts and thrown-on t-shirt. He didn't walk or lumber, no..he strutted like a mutha.

A marvelous specimen of black humanity.

"Peace", he said in a raspy voice, coming deep from within, "be to you".

Speaking of dogs

In the Word of the LORD ~


I open my mouth and pant,
longing for your commands (or laws or paws).

Psalm 113:131


*please don't smite me.

Be a dog

I just ran across this poem by Denise Levertov and thought I'd share it with you:

Let's go-much as that dog goes,
intently haphazard....
-dancing
edgeways, there's nothing
the dog disdains on his way,
nevertheless he
keeps moving, changing
pace and approach but
not direction-'every step an arrival'.

from Overland to the Islands

HELLO........ello....lo...ooo!!!

My dependant blogger is feeling depressed without comments. If no one comments in the next few days, I'll developa second, third or even fourth personality and begin posting my own comments! But you wouldn't want that...would you?

Found Object

I am so sorry, but you, Reader, will have to share in my boredom, at least for another hour and a half.

On my mandatory 15min break I came across someone's paper for a class. It was left, presumably outside their classroom, leaning against the window.

So, for your enjoyment, my boredom and the author's embarrassment, I now present nuggets of insight from the unabridged "Bertacco [insert page #]"'s paper:


Paragraph #1:

• Society today is always rushed. People are busy working, going to school, picking up the kids from swim lessons, etc. People have so much on their "plates" that they are not able to make time for others.
• Unfortunately, I am not one who can preach about this for I fall into the same trap as most.

Paragraph #2:

• Showing kindness to everyone is an area in my life in which I struggle.
• I am an extremely easy going person that gets along with almost everyone, for I have difficulties finding faults in people. Unfortunately, when I do find major faults in someone, I tend to dislike that person.
• Jesus clearly discusses how society is to act towards one another in Mark 12:31, "The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself'. There is no commandment greater than these." ( ).
• In order to fix this fault, I will make sure that I am kind to each person that I encounter that I dislike.
• I will measure my progress by making a list each night before I go to bed of who I encountered that I dislike, and whether or not I was kind to them.
• Since my close friends know who I dislike and are with me the majority of the time, I will have them look at my list once a week and tell me if my thoughts of each conversation were accurate or distorted.

Paragraph # 3

• Over this semester, and hopefully longer, I will get to spend an hour and fifteen minutes once a week at the Homework House. There I will be tutoring two children of the Azusa community.
• I hope to obtain this [mentorship and friendship] by visiting them once every other Wednesday for an hour after they got out of school. I would like to take them to the park and then to get some ice cream before I took the two children home.

Paragraph #4

• I feel that by being nice to those I do not like, I might find another side of that person that I did not know was there. In turn, I might create a friendship that would have never been there if I had not forced myself to be kind to that person.
• Overall, I believe that by being kind to those that I do not like and by spending time with the children I tutor at the Homework House would crate a new joy in my life that I will love and cherish.

After doing this I kinda feel bad. Like I was a voyeur, snapping shots and sending them to some European skin mag.

I was also going to make snooty comments on each section, but once again that feeling came. So, I guess I'll just let this be and consider it a view into the grey, soft-shelled mind of another.

Pathos to Bathos

Want something fun to read?

Check out the few citations in this article: Wikipedia - Bathos

Salut! Ce va?

Well, I'm at the library again. I work every Saturday and Sunday until December. So expect a few blogs from me on these days.

To keep you up-to-date, I am currently reading a book called Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy by William S. Rubin. It was suggested by Ed Knippers and describes the genesis of the aforementioned church, specifically it's decorative arts. Including artists such as, Bonnard (post-Favre), Rouault (one artist I was looking at this summer, one of his works was at the TSCPL show, the B&W Christ figure), Lurcat (a Marxist), Leger (Communist), Matisse, Lipchitz (Jewish), Chagall (Jewish), etc.

So, basically, it was the first real attempt to include the ever changing artistic expressions in a church setting. A real big step.

All of this is to say, in one part of the book it makes a sideways comment that the "Red Sea Passage [is] a familiar Old Testament prefiguration of the sacrament of baptism", say what you will of sacraments, it is still a connection I never saw before. Also it was pointed out, "It was simple liturgical logic for the two Jewish artists participating at Assy to be originally assigned the baptistry, for this section of the church is associated with the transition from the state of Law to that of Grace."

Needless to say, it's a good book.

Still bored

I'm going to try something:

Tommy:
determined, motivated, intelligent, incredibly sincere, but I have a feeling you ought not mention anything to him about his body. He has those arms like 2" plumbing pipes strung through with rubber bands, connected though hanging from a tall, lanky frame. Two little twigs protruding on either side. He seems a little depressed when engrossed in his work. He's a senior graphic design major, great guy, fun to talk to and just so damn smart. Always reading, but my guess is he is now realizing that he's missing out on half of life. His brain is full but his heart is dying. He needs contact, interaction, but is afraid that he repulses. Why is he afraid? he has everything going for him.

Some time this summer he switched from glasses to contacts. Perhaps he thought this may help his image, but I thought he looked great with glasses.


Well, that was a little wierd!

Boredom

Uh...I...am...boooooore.....duh...out...of...my...miiiii.....nnn....duh.

I started work at 8:45am, it is now 1:15. I have had two small glasses of water and about 9 buttery crackers. I desire food.

But, you know, I have rediscovered something. I loooooove the smell of leather. Especially leather that has been on a person for a while, it's warmed up, softened and just exudes the most pleasant of aromas. I can still smell it.

I need lunch. This deprivation is going to my brain.

An Update

Sprawled on the couch, all alone, listening to Nora Jones, working on a project and once again I'm reminded of my not so clever saying of last year:

Art is a harsh mistress, but love, my friend...love, is a *itch.

There, I've posted it. Take it or snicker at it.

It feels like I playing see-saw with my serotonin. (can you tell I'm taking psychology this semester. there will probably be more of these cracks, here and there)

When souls collide

What a life to have a relationship, in whatever capacity, founded on and through art. When viewing a work of art, both engage the piece in a way foriegn to most. The piece becomes a third person, communicating or rather lighting truths found in each of our selves. We are no longer empty vessels, we are being filled with each other and the art. When listening to music, the same reaction takes place. What a joy when not 'we' but ours souls are so opened as to communicate as nearly one. Like neurons in one brain, the myelin links and accelerates us. Our only hindrance is the english language.

O'God, bless the souls we share. Let them flourish, be nurtured for your perfect and elusive will. For this I pray.

At work

"Art, in O'Connor's view, is rooted in the stuff of reality, and thus being a bad artist while trying to be a good Christian is no more excusable than being a bad plumber or a bad accountant or a bad driver while trying to be a good Christian. In all of these vocations, one can only be ethically responsible before God and toward one's neighbors if one is properly engaged with reality as it is, whether it be leaky pipes, arithmetic, traffic patterns, or story telling."

When bored at work, this is what I do: Find quotes. This is from an excerpt of a Mars Hill interview, though. Ooooh....aaaahhh...mARs!!

Interesting quote though. Kind of, "yea, okay", but still good to have in plain words.

One purpose of Art

"The poet rubs his fingers along old wounds, makes them burn" ~ Robert Frost


From A FEW WORRIES ABOUT BEING A POET by David Wright (see side bar)

Reminder to Self

Having a good spirit is a conscience choice. Like Augustine's 'tolle legge', we may hear this all the time, but until we do it/internalize it, it's just a noise.

Narcotic

I write this not condescendingly but reflectively, for I too am guilty.

I can see blogging as becoming something like a crutch. An addicting habit of release, which is not at all bad, but can perhaps become a dependacy. "I can't get through my day without letting others know just how so-miserable I am" or "I am a wise sage. Every word out of my mind is a drop of pure gold. Heed it well" or the lollipopped "I had a good day"/"I had a bad day", etc.

But, the fact is, none of this is real/tangible. I am not really talking to a friend or anyone in the 'present' sense, that is, engaging face-to-face, reading the facial gestures, tone of voice, pauses, witnessing the errors/corrections. Is he tired, excited, bored, does he want lunch, are we silent and need to be alone, apart? I guess I'll leave these problems up tp the writer's out there.

What if...Blogger.com crashes. All blogs are lost forever, the hardrive was burnt to a shiny-black crisp.

Now, enter the dependant blogger. He relies upon this as his only form of communication. He finds blogging as the only way to vent his frustrations with life, love and hippies. He has tried keeping a journal, but this depresses him because even though it is a release, it lacks the social support. He can't talk to people, though. He finds them wierd, fake. There is no way to 'figure them out'; "why are they so complicated"?

Netscape is executed, his blopspot routinely opens:

'Due to a massive failure, Blogger.com will be offline for an undetermined time. We are terrible sorry for the inconvenience. Please check back in a few months.

~ Google Blog Team, 2005'

What does the vulnerable blogger do?

no title

Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick - movie reels spin
Transparent making flick-flicker on the wall.
Up above groove pulses, resting it's heavy,
Sticky fingers over me and my friend.
We have one glass left. The night's almost over.
But so long as his ever-drifting finger harmonizes
With the rhythmn in my shoe, we are at rest.


~My take on what it would be like to be in this club a friend told me about, it's called Recline. In it, old movies are shown on reel projectors on the walls, the best relaxing and beatnik music is played, the lights are perfect, wine is served and all one does is recline.

Once again this proves to me that inspiration comes best from experience. God can inspire you but I think you've gotta give him something to work with!!

Daten-Upen (backwards & pseudo-Swedish)

So, I'm sitting upstairs at the library. I've just come from the 'Art Wedge' and having left, I have washed my hands once, walked through the Art building, walked through a bathroom, not washing my hands, stepped outside, walked around the Art building, stepped back in, climbed up some stairs, plopped down in a comfy chair, checked my e-mail's, read the blogs and comments, tried to take a nap for about 90 seconds and started writing this blog, all to tell you this.

And now I have made a blog entry for Monday 12, 2005.


BTW: I am going out of my mind. I have to complete 50, yes "five-O", sculptures by tommorow. They are very minimal though. Stipulations: THREE (3) THINGS MUST BE 'STUCK'/'PUT'/'PLACED'(?) TOGETHER. It's not much, but myslef being a perfectionist with mild-to-strong overachievement tendancies, does not make it easy. Luckily I only have 14 left.

O carp (that's a mispelling I have to leave in, I busted up laughing inside for a few seconds. It's a quiet library you know, no sound), I forgot I also have some sketching for figure drawing tommorow. I'll git'r done.

I'm out. Peace. (I'm also feeling a little black)

Criss/Cross

In reference to a film called Ivan by Eisenstein:

"The film is a massive, fluid system of interlinked dualisms [via montage]* that collide in various directions, forward and backward in time, and across layers and themes."

*my insert

Neat.


BTW: this is what Eisenstein looks like -

"No, that's not hair. That's BRAIN, baby!"

- no relation to Tim Burton -

When souls collide

I like the title...we'll see where it goes.

untitled

Well, today is a pretty good day, I can't say "good" because 1) the days not over yet and 2) yesterday was a "good" and there's some rule about having two "good" days in a row.

(just to let you know, I had already typed something up, punched the publish buttom, but, lo and behold...blogger was under a "temporary maintenance" or some jabber like that, so I'm trying to retype it 2 1/2 hours after the fact. I had a meeting for work.)

((side-side note: "jabber" is a neat word))

cont.
You know when you haven't seen a person for a long time and when together you most always had a really good time, but now you're not sure whether you can maintain the same level of friendship. You want to fire the relationship up again, but your out of tinder and it just rained. Well, that was me yesterday.

So, there's this girl...("a-ho!" an a "woot-woot!", comes from the self-satisfying crowd). First though, a little about me:

I'm 5'9"

150 lb when I skip breakfast and don't eat anything for a week an a 1/2

greenish-brownish-yellowish-ish eye/s

with a Romantic locked in my coin pocket

A professor once told me that two things come onto a guys mind when he first meets a person: 1) can I mate with them and 2) I can't remember this one.

This is basically true for me, but to take it a step further, I convince myslef that I am willing to make any sacrifices for that person whom I think I "love". This "love" though is often confused with another type of love, "friendship". I want to jump the gun, but the simple truth is, I would probably shoot myself! I am finding that I am inept (to put it more charitably, "inexperienced") at most relations. But, I'm improving (a pat, not too hard! though, on the back, a look of deep understanding and apathy (hate that word by the way) in your eyes but soon to look away, ground or feet.).

I done with that discussion, and I don't think I want to write about the girl right now. Still in a fluid mode, no real solid base. Time will tell.

Also, I am almost done with Lost in the Cosmos and I must say, IT NEEDS AN INDEX!!! The book is a marvel. It is really going to be a great joy to read through parts of the book years from now. And it is incredibly diverse, or I shoudl say Walker Pecy is. To cover all of the topics he does, I don't even know all of them, is just amazing. It is a treasure. Such great insights into human behaviour and I know that there are so many times his visuals will pop into my mind during really odd times. So if you see me staring out at something and snickering for no aparent reason it is probably because of him, or my own bent humor, either one.

I am now officially rambling.

Doug,

a) as you can see I copying people ideas, the listing thing
b) "If I die today please tell my wife I said, 'hello'." - roommate just quoting Futurama. He's interrupting me, sorry
c) I know I read a part in Lost/Cosmos about looking into another's eyes, but I can't find it (it's disappeared). If you or someone else knows, please tell me where it is.
d) Related to that, does Percy's write about transcendence as a result of self's engaging each other.
e) How does Percy define Immenance?, that which follows re-entry. Or does one ever fully re-enter and land? Are we continually in limbo, at various stages? Where the hell do you land? When did I take off?
f) What do you, or others, recommend I read next. By Percy or another. Remember I have a maliable mind and are prone to fits of artistic depression. So, please be kind.

Ah! It kinds reminds me of naptime in preschool. No one may say anything, but there's something that comes over everyone all at the same time. One person hears the call and gets on his computer, begins a game, another gets the unspoken message and engages his own machine. The odd ball who was too busy munching on cheetoes misses the message, suddenly realizes how quiet it is and emerges from the cabinet. He is a floating spirit, gliding between the limp, hunched mounds of his once inspired friends. All is quiet. He becomes increasingly tired and grabs his laptop. Plopping down on the couch he considers gaming. He considers to himself, "perhaps they aren't so bad, after all we do need some time to ourselves, but games don't really allow time for yourself, alone". Give in or resist. Be in the culture or resist. Do what you like. 'All in moderation', except, of course, for the phrase itself.

Ah well

I was going to write and complain about video games, TV, our need to be entertained, self-gratification/medication through various means just to pass valuable time...but I'll wait.

Off to play a videogame.

Join the club, everyone's in.

Cubism

As a poet makes use of a dictionary, a painter turns to concrete material.

~ paraphrased Apollinaire

Epiphany

I just realized after writing that last, drooling blog, that when I draw I don't feel so alone anymore. There is something about the act of creation that fulfills a person (not that this is all one needs, I do not agree, but it does fill some void for me, a need). When I see an idea I have being fleshed out by my own hands it gives me joy and something kinda creepy, like company. I could say, "Hey, how's it hanging there mr. pastel on paper?", he'd reply, "Well, not bad. I could use a little more fixative on my bottom right though, you kinda skimped. And I'm blowing away a little cuz you put me so close to the A/C, but I still love you. But...wh...why won't you sign me? Am I not good enough?", and I'd reply, "No".

I guess it's like giving birth. I wouldn't know though, so nevermind. There is something to taking the ideas in one's head and forming them, giving them flesh. I not sure how far you can go with that metaphor. You could chose to give them a mouth to speak for themselves, or not. A thick skin to resist easy interpretation or penetration (sex with are is very creepy, creepier than talking to it and it/he/she replying) or thin skin that makes the work easily accesable. Or some kind of jello-ee skin that looks a little opaque at first, especially if it's fresh from the frig, but when you shake it up and down you begin to see it really isn't all that stable. I need to get some jello for the apartment.

I need lunch.

An update

I just got back from spending my hard earned coffee cash. The good thing is that I now have nails so that I can hang some pictures and thumbtacks for smaller/lighter things.

I think I have a problem with cluttering. I like things clean, such as the dishes and shiny surfaces, but I can still let things go too long and be fine with it. But, perhaps I am just deceiving myself and the negligence is attributing to my crappy attitude at the moment.

Now I looking for something to propel me, to excite me, to get me motivated to do something, be it worthwhile or frivolous.

Last night I tried watching one of my favorite, campy but funny westerns called My Name is Trinity (oh, yeah!). "They call me Trinity. Right hand of the devil!" - his brother is, guess what, "left hand of the devil." The devil is their mother, figuratively speaking of course. Trinity doesn't have hooved feet. So, after giving that about 10 minutes I then watched Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave. This was far more entertaining due to actual craftsmanship and a few more than two days spent on the writing+camera work.

This helped a little, but I still need to start something.

Also, I am still looking far to much at other artist's work and not doing enough of my own. I thought about going out again and 'wandering', doing sketches, but I don't want to try and force something. Maybe I'll try it again tomorrow. Just do it.

And another thing, I need some sort of back story, truth or not, in order to really get me going on something. It need not be elaborate but it must have some meaning. Drawing a figure or object without a reason is great practice and can still convey some message depending upon the environment or position, etc. But with a story the piece takes on a whole new meaning.

I wish I could think of an example, but say you see a piece for the first time, you haven't edged close enough to see the title yet, all you are confronted with it the work, and it is speaking for itself. You are moved by the image, perhaps the contortion of the body, the agony or joy in their expression. Although not noted always at first, the space in which the object occupies informs you. He is cramped, too close to the frame, he can't breathe, she is distant, near, intimate, personal, leaving, arriving, just bored, staring back. The colors instantly convey their own emotion, before your eyes had drifted from the previous work to this one, your peripheral had registered the colors: their intensity, dullness, light or dark value, warmth or chill. The proximity or distant of each of these qualities also informs you. Finally, the scale either makes you stand back or close in, peering for details.

All these things and more give you information about the piece, perhaps symbols in the piece give something away, the inclusion or exclusion of something that should be there for historical reason, tradition, the story you believe it is retelling. Finally, you have a good impression of the work, it takes you back, there is something about the work that resonates but you don't know quite what it is. You read the title and suddenly the emotion you have about the work begins to drop into place as you realize what this work is about, you have a personal connection, a religious one. You are in awe. Someone has recreated an experience, not by direct translation, but instead by creating a new experience (See David Wright's article on side). It seems fresh but grounded at the same time.

I need lunch.