My feet the color of sand dollars, out of hibernation from the northern climate. A wiggly world, distorted underneath the ice cold spray of the aqua green garden hose. Lightly hairy at the ankle and patchy where road work has worn a weird bald spot. With increasing infrequency I feel less like a kid, flashback to munching on Smarties and Jaw-breakers, hosing off in places like Corpus Christie, Fort Walton, and Mystic. Presently however, my old sleeveless Adidas gym shirt a bit muddy from planting the garden at my Mom's. A meandering path of red dog and river rock, accentuated with fragrant woolly thyme, shasta daisys, and black eyed susans. What initially seemed like work quickly turned to pleasure digging around, placing here, placing there, a mosaic of worn crackled stone, textural plant material. A green thumb, a keen playful eye for something that will flourish with plenty of rain and sun, continue morphing eternally, amorphously, beautifully. A feast of blue when the morning glories of late August climb up the lattice framing the statue of Mary that resembles a Florida souvenir.
12:41 PM :
The unusual and charming subject of The Satyr and the Peasant draws directly from the Aesop Fable 'The Man and the Satyr'. An immortal satyr helped a lost peasant find his way in a snow storm, the goat-legged creature was astonished when the man put his cold hands to his mouth to warm them. In thanks for the satyr's guidance the man invited the satyr home to eat. The satyr was further astonished when the man blew on the spoon to cool the hot soup. In disgust the satyr jumps up proclaiming, 'I will have nothing to do with someone who blows hot and cold with the same breath!' Although Johann Liss had no documented contact with the master painter Rubens, and his work reflects that of the Venetian masters: Titian and Veronese especially, the expressions are most definetely Rubensian and shows a familiarty with that of the Caravaggisti, or that which is inspired by Caravaggio.
12:40 PM :
Thursday, May 03, 2001
2:14 p.m. eastern standard: wrapping up some study time on a gorgeous and sunny spring afternoon before summer break. I am da man! Go ahead ask me, Flanders in the 16th century, no problem, United Provinces (Holland) in the 17th century, no problem, patronage and politics, who me? Yea, like I say, no problem, timelines on Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt, Vermeer, Poussin, Velazquez, created and committed to memory, got it, right here under my thinking cap (where does that expression come from?). Omnia vanitas, no problemo, bring it on baby, bring it on! Alright enough fooling around, I must complete my blogging assignment which includes, Ian Roberts, I know, I know, I have been under a rock, but better late than never, so 'scrum as you are' ( gosh, that's corny) and hightail it on over for old articles and provocative pics. Want more click here. Adding to this post of miscellanea: Conversion therapies? Who knew I was going through a life long lapse?! I was just trying to have a quiet day reading up on dear ol' Le Corbusier.
2:17 PM :
Wednesday, May 02, 2001
Me pulse, the saga of dash dot dash, or constructs in gang showers, on treadmills, during car rides. Technology hot spots, mechanizations evoke fragmentations, people compartmentalized, cathode rays bounce on planes where unmodulated nebulous stains form a staccato of bright light, excitement and pleasure. You know there is a cinematic quality to daily life that all too commonly fades into melancholy and stinks of romanticism. Perhaps something is amiss these past few days and perhaps not. Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe, where illusionistically, words and images inhabit the same space. I cannot say what you should take or not take, shoplifters of the world, unite and takeover, betrayers of image warrant discussion? and Jung:
Coming Generations will have to take account of this momentous transformation if humanity is not to destroy itself through the might of its own technology and science... So much is at stake and so much depends on the psychological constitution of modern man...Does the individual know that he is the makeweight that tips the scales? From Carl C. Jung, 'The Undiscovered Self' in The Collected Works of Carl Gustav Jung vol. 10, translated by R.F.C. Hull, edited by H. Read et al. (Princeton University Press, 1970) pars. 585-586.
Yes! smiling, passing through millennia, bending time, play and space. There is no guarantee or authenticity of vision, exciting! Okay, perhaps I am boring you now, but there is love (me as idealist) great friends (me as realist) much beauty (my interest in Baudelaire) and so much fucking passion. Inspiration comes day to day in simplicity, in letters and words, images of maps and dogs, and finally the perpetual Hissing of Summer Lawns.
3:24 PM :
Tuesday, May 01, 2001
Night falls, and I wonder what quiet looks like, it feels like rain and even more like solitude. I close my eyes and fade into my paesetto, ever so aware of the changeability of the skies, of forces that are extreme and uncontrollable, like passion, like angels, like devils. The theorists whisper in my ear as I scrumble paint, letting it glide to the edge dropping off the corner. You see, I have no Book on Picturing, no Iconologia of 'speaking otherwise than one seems to speak'. No scholarly advice from Alberti to guide my hand to Apelles, Venus, Cupid, Minerva. I am stubborn and strong willed, of blood well acquainted with Mars and with Bacchus, of presents and pasts and futures that are forward. I long for paintings like Draper's Lament For Icarus, a contrast in weight and in volume, endlessly inspired by the cosmic erotic dynamo of Jacopo Tintoretto's Origin of the Milky Way. Would you not expect this of me, I swagger with bravado, and laugh out loud at my own macho bullshit. Faster I say, to push my life into overdrive, transformation and seduction, a reflection of hunger, burning steel that blurs this silhouetted city and endless loop of film like montage. I wish the day would never end, so much seems like morning, creation and night, fall. To take heart, to transform is to transpire and to possibly transfigure. If you see me blazing late at night just be wise if I say, 'Noli Me Tangere'!!! For now, I must lay my head here on my pillow and rest, the spring heat induces dreams of Jupiter and men, vices and virtues.
9:04 PM :
Down the road, in a gym far away
A young man was heard to say,
'No matter what I do, my legs won�t grow!'
He tried leg extensions, leg curls, leg presses too.
Trying to cheat, these sissy workouts he�d do!
From the corner of the gym where the big guys train,
Through a cloud of chalk and the midst of pain,
Where the big iron rides high, and threaten lives,
Where the noise is made with big forty-fives,
A deep voice bellowed as he wrapped his knees,
A very big man with legs like trees,
Laughing as he snatched another plate from the stack,
Chalked his hands and monstrous back,
Said, 'Boy, stop lying and don�t say you�ve forgotten!
Trouble with you is you ain�t been SQUATTIN�! recycled link via a squat convert
10:15 AM :
Monday, April 30, 2001
Ben Sherman is the epitome of modern style and cosmopolitan cool taste. It represents a global uniform of individuality. "Adopt the stance and adapt it to your lifestyle," is the Ben Sherman mantra. First produced in Great Britain, the Ben Sherman style was quickly adopted by the rebellious British teenagers of the 1950's and 60's. By the mid-1960's, a 'Ben Sherman Original' had become a status symbol as the 'in-shirt.' The company describes its clothing as stylish, tough, hard, smart, streetwise and good looking. That's why today, I am the Mod God! OP ART: term coined by sculptor George Rickey in 1964, from a conversation with MOMA curators Peter Selz and William Seitz. Term used as an abbreviation of �optical art� to refer to painting and sculpture that exploits the illusions or optical effects of perceptual processes. See Anuszkiewicz, Poons, Riley, Vasarely or Josef Albers course on Color Theory. OP TART: sexy, tough, stylish, hard, smart, Op Art inspired Ben Sherman shirts.
9:53 AM :
Sunday, April 29, 2001
You feel the flava, yes, that's right 'FLAVA', as in Flava Flav. 1:20 this afternoon, tearing ass through city streets, feeling as if I have been granted asylum from research and the Art Museum-the sun, the heat, the spring that is all too quickly turning to summer. The ladies of the Pentecostal Church exiting in a parade like fashion, shining like Mavis, looking like Mahalia Jackson, brightly spiritual. Their cocoa brown skin, and hats, plenty o' hats, like birthday cakes, and towers, big spiral coral colored flowers teetering ever so fashionably on their proud black heads, raised high and their steps full of plenty of the spirit, makes me smile this sundayland.
3:52 PM :
