Mary by de Bayou

 

 

 

Merry Christmas!

Art Show on a Table

 

 

 

 

Art Show on a Table

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dancer in Opal

 

Dancer in Opal

Ink jet print, 24M, 12/2013

Dancer in Opal is an illustration of a transcendental state.  I have had experiences like this since I was a child.  Once I saw a burning bush.  My father, sisters and I were walking in our woods.  A young pine tree zapped me with a full view of its iridescent shimmering aura.  Abruptly, my father whacked my butt, once, sharply,  to pull me out of the "episode".  Evidently going into spontaneous trance states is inappropriate.

 

 

 

 Dancer in Opal Head

 

 

 

On Art Methods

Art has been a joy for me since childhood.  I loved finger paints, and remember being aware of colors early.  Over the years (I am 69) I have made art almost continuously.  Oil and acrylic painting and drawing were enduring loves. 

 

I started doing Photoshop in about 1999.  A neighbor gave me a bootlegged copy.  I was hooked immediately.  Over the course of teaching my self Photoshop I saw that my painting skills transferred to digital painting relatively easily.  Both mediums employ brushes, translucence/opacity, line, volume, color, texture and other creative tools.  Both mediums have advantages. 

 

In Photoshop you can take a finished version of a picture, duplicate it and use it again in a new way.  And make prints of both versions.  Maybe you saw the "Opalescent" picture in the last blog entry, that digital picture evolved into this ecstatic picture.  I drew a silhouette of the dancer, the silhouette was filled with the "Opalescent" cutout.  I may soon use a print of this px as a plan for an oil on canvas.  Or I might adapt the dancer for collaging.  So art evolves and stays interesting.

Digital art has been around for a few decades now.  It is taking time to be a recognized as suitable for fine art.  Just as photography took time to be recognized as a legitimate artistic expression.

I have been rejected for shows because I collaged original digital cutouts into acrylic paintings.  I like the tiny detail obtained with digital prints.  Smaller detail than I am willing to paint with a "real" brush. 



 The current David Hockney, exhibit of digital paintings, at de Young Museum, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, Calf, USA, is a signal that the best digital art is being recognized as fine art.  Hockney has been at the top of the art food chain since the 1960's..  He is called a living master of oil painting.


Tis the season!  Have a loving and joyful holiday seasoned with sweetness. 







No Rules!

Opalescent

Digital painting, 24M, 12/2013

Why do I love making art?

NO RULES!

The canvas is like a small piece of real estate, it is a concrete part of the world.  The canvas is a neighborhood and a series of canvasses can make a city.  Or, a vision of Heaven. (I  avoid Hell.  Why go there?)  (Yes, I reserve the right to contradict myself.)  I can watch the bloom of an imaginary Elysian Fields unfold.  I can, me, by myself, unrestricted by the plans of others, I can populate that empty space of matter with a comic/serious personal pantheon or any other preposterous images concocted by my muse.  Haha, how fun is that?

The canvas allows me to translate the ephemeral landscape of mind, of personal imagination, into concrete reality.  This is a place where I can replace the monkey mind radio with entrancing colors, and occupy myself with the craft of making marks.  My head gets quieter.

 Freedom on a small flat surface, freedom to make a tiny bit of material wiggle in anyway that I can wrangle. 

When I face a white stretched canvas,  I have a space that is not constrained by rules.  There are guidelines.  Yes.  Composition guidelines.  Color harmony theories.  Appropriate imagery is expected, but not mandatory.  All of these guidelines may be broken.  In fact, an artist can make a career of consciously ignoring any of these guidelines and expectations.  In fact, whole artistic movements have centered on breaking the norm.

The best art is subversive.

Creating something totally new on canvas, I am constrained by the limits inherent in the paint.  Paint can do amazing things, but there are limits.  And, I must work primarily within the limits of my skills, but there is also, the challenge of expanding skills.


Making art is the only place where I find unrestricted freedom.

 

Rule Rules, Rules

OK, you get it, I don't like rules.  I have been surprised to find that some people do like rules.  They are relieved to know the correct way to behave.  This discovery gave me food for thought.

Some guidelines are necessary.  But, too many rules restrict us from reaching our full potential.  Rules can dampen the spirit, constrict the soul.

Common courtesy guidelines help with the flow of personal relationships.  Good manners are simply consideration for the other person. 
 
I/you must edit thoughts before they make it out of the mouth. Words can hurt.


Remember all the rules of school?

Sit in your desk. Sit still don't wiggle.  Don't talk.  Pay attention. No running in the hall.  Is the real function of school to mold behavior, put us in a straight jacket of appropriateness? We were trained to follow the rules.  Stop that or you will get detention. Are we molded to be compliant worker bees.  Go to the principles office!  NOW!  Shame!

This is something that I do not understand:  Why do so many children need medication to make them appropriate for school?  Wouldn't it be better if the school was appropriate for the children?  To expect an eight year old child to sit still for hours at a time, is unreasonable and inhibits the free blooming of the student.

 We must follow the rules of laws, of course. Some rules we need, to oil the gears, to keep us from stepping on each other.  But, must we also follow the superfluous, irrational laws.

There are procedural rules.  Like, the procedure for driving a car is strict.  No playing with the rules on that channel.

So some rules are necessary, but many just restrict personal freedom. 









Here are two articles about rule breaking art.  I was confused about the artist who made "Piss Christ".  I had him confused with Damien Hirst.  Hirst floats zebras and calves in tanks of formaldehyde.  I guess I was fundamentally confused, because in my mind urine and formaldehyde both have a disgust factor.  In my mind both zebras and the crucifix should receive some respect.  Or maybe not.  Just another tidbit for thought.  These artists took a sledge hammer to appropriate imagery. 

Rule Breaking Shock Tactics

Blasphemous’ art work is damaged

April 19, 2011

AN ARTWORK depicting a crucifix in a glass of urine, named Piss Christ, has been attacked by protesters at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Avignon. New Yorker Andres Serrano’s photograph was attacked just hours after nearly 1,000 demonstrators gathered to protest over the “blasphemous display” outside the museum. Two people managed to force their way into the museum and attacked the Piss Christ with a hammer. Another photograph, showing a nun’s hands at prayer, was also attacked. No one was arrested but security camera pictures have been passed on to police. The Piss Christ was being shown as part of an exhibition titled I Believe in Miracles to mark the 10th anniversary of the Lambert collection in the former papal city. Catholic activists from the group Institut Civitas had called the protest about the exhibition and general secretary Alain Escada told La Provence newspaper: “We are living in times of Christianophobia. We demand that this work be withdrawn from the Lambert collection”. The abbot of Cacqueray said to the newspaper: “Imagine if Mohammed or Anne Frank had been bathed in urine. This secularism is done against Christ while installing Islam in France. We would be as well to rename secularism as Islamism.” The museum reopens today amid reports that staff have been sent death threats. It has the Piss Christ still in place so people can see the damage. Created in 1987, the photograph has been called the original “shock art” as it predated many of the more modern examples such as Marcus Harvey’s collage of Myra Hindley created from children’s handprints and Damien Hirst’s shark in formaldehyde.

Blasphemous’ art work is damaged

April 19, 2011

AN ARTWORK depicting a crucifix in a glass of urine, named Piss Christ, has been attacked by protesters at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Avignon. New Yorker Andres Serrano’s photograph was attacked just hours after nearly 1,000 demonstrators gathered to protest over the “blasphemous display” outside the museum. Two people managed to force their way into the museum and attacked the Piss Christ with a hammer. Another photograph, showing a nun’s hands at prayer, was also attacked. No one was arrested but security camera pictures have been passed on to police. The Piss Christ was being shown as part of an exhibition titled I Believe in Miracles to mark the 10th anniversary of the Lambert collection in the former papal city. Catholic activists from the group Institut Civitas had called the protest about the exhibition and general secretary Alain Escada told La Provence newspaper: “We are living in times of Christianophobia. We demand that this work be withdrawn from the Lambert collection”. The abbot of Cacqueray said to the newspaper: “Imagine if Mohammed or Anne Frank had been bathed in urine. This secularism is done against Christ while installing Islam in France. We would be as well to rename secularism as Islamism.” The museum reopens today amid reports that staff have been sent death threats. It has the Piss Christ still in place so people can see the damage. Created in 1987, the photograph has been called the original “shock art” as it predated many of the more modern examples such as Marcus Harvey’s collage of Myra Hindley created from children’s handprints and Damien Hirst’s shark in formaldehyde.         Damien Hirst, Reportedly Britain's Richest Living Artist from Wikipedia

   

Damien Hirst
Hirst in a still from the movie The Future of Art
Birth name	Damien Steven Hirst
Born	(1965-06-07) 7 June 1965 (age 48) Bristol, England, UK
Nationality	British
Field	Conceptual art, installation art, painting
	Damien Steven Hirst[1] (born 7 June 1965) is an English artist, entrepreneur and art collector. He is the most prominent[2] member of the group known as the Young British Artists (or YBAs), who dominated the art scene in Britain during the 1990s.[3] He is internationally renowned,[4] and is reportedly Britain's richest living artist, with his wealth valued at £215m in the 2010 Sunday Times Rich List.[5][6]

Cardinal Woman

Cardinal Woman

Ink jet print, 12/2013

 

 

This recently completed painting speaks for itself,  I can't think of any words that would add anything to its beauty, except maybe "Death is the beauty of the rose". 

 

 

 

Pajama Friday at Barnes and Noble

 

I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday.  B+N is one of my favorite hangouts.  No matter what city I find myself in,  (haha, that makes it sound like I get around a bit, when in truth I have become something of a recluse) the comfy environment and the pleasure of scanning books while drinking coffee and eating a croissant draws me in. 
 

I browsed the books.  I thought about buying a philosophy by  Neitzsche but the jacket quip emphasized nihilism, a perspective that rejects all moral principles and holds the belief that all human endeavor is futile.  This was not for me, I have decided to hold only those beliefs that support happiness or promote compassionate love.  I would rather be happy than right. Especially since the pursuit of right beliefs has only left me confused by all the contradicting information.  

 

I found the book, "Depression for Dummies", and thought about reading it but then I thought, I can do depression all by myself, I do not need to read a how to book, I can do sinking into a mudhole of despair without any instructions. 

 

I can also pull myself out of the mud.  All it takes is a little denial of the facts of life.  Positive thinking works but since it is so difficult to frame the facts of death and injustice in a positive light without turning summersaults of irrationality, I just call it denial.

I saw a perky person wearing cartoon printed flannel pajamas standing between the paned glass doors and the magazine display, she was amusing.  Then I saw two other people wearing apparel appropriate for couch potato time.  I guess it was pajama Friday.  Very interesting.  A kid in a grey onesie checked me out.  I bought Dave the book, "Exceptional Chickens" and a jigsaw puzzle of a world map.

But wait, in this one blog, I posted a picture of youthful bloom/cold death.  I wrote, death, beauty, rose.  And, I wrote that I deny death.  I guess that you can see the problem here, confusion?

Bye now,  gotta go watch my favorite new TV channel,  it is called "Crock A Shit Chanel", have you seen it?  My fave program is called, "Composting for Doomsday".









 

 

 

 



Opal Dakini

Opal Dakini

Inkjet print created recently

 

 

Lets see, what should I write about this?  Well, it sure is a sexy picture.  This Tibetan Sky Dancer is full blooded, both ethereal and earthy.

 

Sex is essential, I believe that joy is our true and rightful goal.

 

Not porny sex. Not the mechanical production of sticky bodily fluids.  Not puritan sex.  No repression or guilt. Culturally we went from one extreme to another in the last half of the nineteenth century.  Prude sex to porn sex in fifty years or less.  Is it possible to be sane about sex?   

 

We create joy by  truly, softly and fiercely  connecting with another person. Letting down our guard, opening the gates to another being.  Shedding the carapace of ego and stroking a cascade of pleasure chemicals.  And don't forget to enjoy the afterglow.

 

Here we are, bound up in these flesh bodies, bound by social rules, bound and determined to come out on top. Constricted by the binding of sad little egos.  Our spirits bandaged with fear. 

 

Good love making, creating cocktails of pleasure juices to wash the body from inside out,  can loosen and even break the shackles constricting our being.

 

 

Ro Abreu Poetry

Here are two beautiful poems by my friend Ro Abreu.  She says it so well.

 

 

Tantra

I am holding out my hand to you.
I am the Earth…
I am your Goddess Lover
I am deep, and warm, and as fertile
as the longest of your full night dreams --
naked as the Moon,
blinding as the Sun,
more intoxicating than swallowing Stars.
If you touch me,
you will know what it means to be alive --
you will understand how the rhythm of your breath
is the axis upon which Eternity spins.
The fire of inspiration
waits, banked, to light our joining.

RCGA, 2010

 

 

Elixir

I have wanted you
like cool water
and you have been
that draught for me

You are a shiny thing
hidden in the bottom of the glass
that hypnotizes me
and makes me forget
where I am going

For a moment
I can imagine having you
I can indulge myself in the fantasy
before what is interrupts what might be

I have told myself again and again
to open up my fingers
even if the glass breaks
and yet, I keep drinking
because you are the elixir and the jewel
so satisfying, so beautiful

RCGA 2010

 

Here is the link to Ro Abreu's blog:

http://the-mystic-fool.blogspot.com/



Conspiracy of the Gods!! Prometheus Tells All!!, part two, Stealing Fire

 

Prometheus in his Sean Connery Incarnation

Archival Inkjet Print

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Conspiracy of the Gods

Prometheus Tells All

Part Two, (part one starts with post on September 30)

 



Prometheus Tells ALL!  Red Hot News!  As told to hot shot reporter Cherry Belle of the Natural Inquirer, for immediate release, all wires. 

Luxuriously ensconced at a dimly lit table, flipping my red curls gracefully, I mean with a nervous jitter, I stared at Prometheus and tried not to drool.  I pulled my video cam from my Ultra High End Bag.  My pen was topped with a pompom made from the tail feathers of hummingbirds.  I was nervous, but at least, I knew that I looked amazing. 

 Swishy was giving us entirely too much attention.  He was a fabulous fairy and I adored him, but I had work to do.   "Thank you, dahlin," I told the gaytor kindly, "we have everything that we need, our drinks and this snazzy little snack that you brought, now we have to work on the interview."

Prometheus sipped his Evian and began to tell his story in a hypnotic cadence.  I closed my eyes and I was there, I was then, back in the beginning of time.  I visioned it all, the strong hero, the sweet smell of fennel burning, the gut gobbling eagle. 

Prometheus Tells ALL!  Red Hot News!  As told to hot shot reporter Cherry Belle of the Natural Inquirer, for immediate release, all wires.

 

Sean Connery's voice!  OMG!  That throbbing bass!

"I strolled along the seashore, glorious day, light played on storm clouds. Bare feet in the shallows.

I worried about the plight the of the people. They lived like animals.  Ate raw meat.  Shivered, exposed to the elements.  The mighty control freak god Zeus would not allow them to progress.  Some old grudge gnawed at his gut whenever humans were mentioned. I wanted to help humans rise up.  I needed a plan.

Zeus was against you people, Cherry Belle, you and yours, from the start.  He restricted you just to get even with me. He and I had been going around and around from time immortal. The last move had been mine, when I tricked him with the lamb bones wrapped in fat.  He was always trying to outsmart me or get revenge for imagined offenses. 

Let me tell you about Zeus, he rapes virgins, he steals, he kills.  He decrees harsh punishments for slight disrespect.

One may wish, all one wants to wish, for a loving, compassionate god, (like Buddha), but what we got is Zeus.  Selfish, egotistical.  It is all about him, all the time.  He decreed 'there shall be no other, gods before ME!'   He cannot see beyond his immortal nose.  Just try telling that asshole that everyone would live better if we all cooperated for the good of all, just try telling him that, good luck with that.  People have been turned into stone for less.

Zeus, well, Zeus,  I tell you, Cherry, that Zeus is one mean and power hungry God.  He wanted to keep you mortals ignorant, groveling in the dirt.  I saw that earthlings could be shining beings.  Zeus was preventing your potential of near deity super powers. Zeus stood in your way. He was jealous because you would be god like if you were given knowledge. He was fearfully motivated to protect his King of the Gods position. Beings from all the kingdoms, upper to lower have suffered from his petty jealousy.  I could see how beautifully and capable you are made. Zeus obstructed me at every turn, but I had checkmated him before and knew that I could do it again.

On the beach, I searched for a plan as I wadded in the shallows.  A bruised storm cloud moved in from the west.  The wind smelled of fish, like sex juices.  Positive ions charged the bracing air.  Overhead the sky stretched,  divided into highly contrasting colors, dark purple out to sea and sun kissed blue nearer shore.  Dramatic lighting reflected on a roiling ocean with white capped highlights.

I looked toward the dunes where sea oats danced with swan necks.  Was it a play of light? Or just a subtle tingle that caught my attention?  It was the size of the fennel, standing taller and broader than the other dune plants, that is what drew me to it. 

 The giant fennel stalk bowed to me and I snapped it smartly off from the root.  I could see inside the hollow tube stalk a soft, dry filling.  I knew that the inner substance would burn slowly, for a long time.  This was the tool that I needed to smuggle divine fire out of Olympus.  Now I had a plan. I zoomed back to the heavens in my flying object.

Since the Olympus parking lot was filled with many chariots of the gods, I did not attract attention when I parked. I entered the heavenly castle through the service entrance, and ascended the back stairs, my head held high, as if I had all the rights of the universe to be there.  I did have rights, I had the right to do the right thing. 

Zeus was passed out on his diamonds and gold throne.  Luckily for me, the King of the Gods had too much ambrosia intake, again.  He was snoring loudly, (it sounded like he was stripping his gears), so I was not concerned about awakening him with noise.  However, I did cat foot it to avoid alerting his attendants.

Zeus' lightening bolt, belching holy fire, was ensconced in the golden charger between the windows. When I touched the fennel stalk to the flame it sparked easily. Wrapped in my tevlar cape it was quickly smuggled out of the castle.  I walked casually down the stairs, past the cooks and maids, and out to my flying object.  So far, things were proceeding without a glitch.  So far.

A short, smooth ride in my bronze chariot, and I landed at the Earthling encampment, located in the area that is now Africa.  The humans were huddled together in a cave, naked, shivering and hungry.  They were little more than animals.  They deserved better than this miserable borderline existence.

They were well made beings, I made them, your progenitors, from clay, I sculpted you, myself.  Your high potential was obvious.  Physically, you are beautiful, intellectually you are more than able, emotionally you are a sphere of storms and sunny days.  Creatively you are capable of inventions that the universe has never seen before.  You are so close in being to the gods,  creatively you are superior to the gods.  All you needed was fire, enLIGHTenment.  The savior of humans, that is me, I knew that I could save you from a lowly existence. And here you are, thousands of years later, moving creatively into the unknown.

I taught you mortals how to use the fire for warmth and cooking and light.  With these tools earthlings were able to progress through their amazing history up to the present milieu where we now find ourselves,  in this hypnopompic lounge, with Swishy delighting in meeting our every need.

Zeus punished me with eternal torment.  Of course.  You know, he turns on his omniscient power, and he knows everything.  He watched me, after he came too, the next morning, with a pounding head, but still able to tune in, he watched me.  On rewind he saw it all.  How I had stolen his fire for the mortal human beings, to help them progress towards their amazing unknown potential.  OMG he was so pissed off.

 Human history could have worked out even better, (you know what your faults are), but that is another story. Revenge is a tempting rollercoaster,  an exciting but endless trap.  Try to avoid it.  I can see that now.  Zeus got even with earthlings, he unleashed Pandora on your race! Like I said, that is another story.

Me, I was chained to a rock in the Caucasus Mountains.  An eagle devoured my liver everyday. Everyday it grew back to be eaten again.  Oh yea! That Zeus, do it his way or go to hell!  I suffered hellish punishment for almost, for close to, eternity.





....continued... to part three.....