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".









 

 

 

 



Guano Crazy

Skull Clown

Digital 2550X3330 pixils

 

 

 

 

 

GUANO CRAZY

 

 

 

You may or may not have noticed that I have that, rather epidemic, disease called Irony Disorder.  I do hope that you picked up on the irony, because other wise you might think that I am Guano Crazy.  I am rather off beat in the head, (a touch of ADD, Attention to a Different Drummer),  you know, just the normal confusion of living in an upside down culture.  Slightly demented but not Guano Crazy. You believe me, don't you?

 

There is normal crazy and Guano Crazy.  Guano is bat shit, it collects in the bottom of bat caves and makes excellent plant fertilizer.  I try to avoid the bat shit crazy people, because, crazy is contagious.  Having a few crazy as feces, work mates, neighbors, family members, and living in a social milieu of folks just hanging on by their fingernails,  means that I do have contact with rather high levels of psychosis.  When the stress level gets toxic, I get in my car, drive around and scream. I stay on roads that I know well, without too much traffic.  That is pretty effective, it lets off steam and in the car I will not disturb the neighbors.  I reserve the screaming for when I need to exhale some very unbalancing vibrations.  For just plain, I cant take it anymore crazy, I work in my garden.

Well, at some point I realized that I had to put up with some guano or I would be really lonely.  What is the point of being sane if you cant share it with anyone?  You believe me, don't you?  Mostly I am happy.  Positive thinking with a healthy sprinkle of denial helps.

The one thing that I really do believe in, the one principle that clarifies my mind, is the  practice of compassion.  I think too much and cant really pin down any other ideal.  Compassion says it all for me.  Simple but not easy.  If I find myself being judgmental, I think about all my stupid mistakes.  I have a more than few memories that put me right in my place.  That place not being very high on the well adjusted list. 

It is spring here in the Louisiana boonies, so far in the sticks that we pipe out sunshine.  I over ordered from the plant catalogue.  So, I must get dirty almost every day, to get seeds and baby plants  in the ground before it gets too warm. My garden is where I feel most peaceful. 

Oh, wait, I remembered another principle that I Believe In.  That makes two principles.  I try to practice gratitude.  I do have so many things and people who make me thankful.

 

 



Victory

 

Two Riffs on Winged Victory of Samothrace

Recent digital paintings



Victory!  Victory! Winged Victory makes visible the elation of overcoming obstacles.

The beautiful statue of Victory of Samothrace celebrating the Greek Goddess Nike, is justifiably one of the most recognized and admired art works in the world.  In the Louvre she is stunningly placed on a majestic marble stair landing. She can be worshipped from a distance, from below and from above. Look at the movement of her.  Stone made into ideal flesh and blood.  An emotional epiphany.  She is both gliding, flying and at the same time grounded.  I am grateful to be able to compose a riff of this beauty.  It is a pleasure to study her masterful drapery, and her body language. Spending time, painting her, stimulated my mind to contemplate the delicious promise of victory.

 

Victoire de Samothrace

Photograph of the stature in the Louvre

 



Little Ole Man

 

Little Ole Man

 

 

 Sourpuss

 

 Here sits the pensive child.  Two years old, he has been on Earth for 730 days. He suckled mothers milk, then was prodded to graduate to  cows milk in a cup.  Perhaps suckling is the most comforting of human activities.  Could it be that in his short life he has already lost the most satisfying gem of experience?  Did he find nirvana at his mother's breast?  He will have no memories of very early age, but may spend the rest of his life with nameless longing.

 

And before that, before the breast, floating the womb, what were his feelings?  Is it true as Otto Rank theorized that uterine life is blissful, that the pain of squeezing through the narrow vaginal cave is the original fall from grace?

 

The ground of the px is a tangle of twigs.  A map of life full of dead ends, cul de sacs, and proceeding the wrong way on a one way street.

 

Over his right shoulder levitates the cherubic Balloon Girl.  Yes, there it is, love and joy, awaiting the right time, the right action, the right person, the right mental attitude, and a lot of luck.

 

Woman Poem

The mouth of her womb

her pleasure center

is a bleeding wound.

 

Each of us entered Earth

through this door.



 

 

 

 

 The little Ole Man, seven hundred thirty days his handlers have molded his behavior. 

 

 Looking like a wise and discouraged old man.  Looking thoughtful, pensive.  How many lives has he lived on this twisted planet?