this is cherry

Meet Cherry: she's the young adult version of a living baby doll, a cross between a Cabbage Patch Kid and Daria.  She's adorable, but you know she has some dark secrets.  We have two more days together, Cherry and I, and then she'll be deconstructed into something different, a reflection of myself.  That's what goes down between the models and me.  They offer me a piece of myself that I have either forgotten about, neglected, or never fully realized.  While she's nude, I too am exposed, as I create a version of herself in front of her.  When I take the sculptures apart, and then put them back together again in my paintings, I'm exploring that minute relationship that existed over 30 days: a connection that evenutally breaks down but never completely.  Our correlation carries on in the art, which, while not permanent, does its best to capture that moment.  This is my process for now.

this is a candle

Today is my birthday.  Instead of wishing for something frivolous for myself, I'm putting up this image so that you can make a wish.  Of course you'll just have to pretend that the fire goes out.  It actually did go out.  And the proof is my Barbie mascot, as you can see above.  She's still happy.  Like me.  And tonight, when I blow out my candle, I'll wish for all your wishes to come true.  And by the way, it DOES count if I tell you my wish before my actual candle is even lit.  So wish well.

this is my hero

No, it's not Saddam Hussein. It's my dad.

And while my cigarette toting, beer guzzling, fishing father was my hero as a small child, it changed when the world's superficial context consumed me as a pre-teen. He was a blue collar worker, and I suppose the polo images frolicking on classmates' shirts made me wonder why my father didn't make enough to afford me that small luxury. 

My bitterness towards Dad stuck through the years, until just recently when I took up art school and understood that my talent came from him.

You see my father was a painter, but he didn't pursue it. And perhaps my bitterness was just my unconscious lashing out at my father because he didn't put a brush or pencil in my hand to encourage me to make art.

So, be kinder to your parents. Teenagers are assholes, so this isn't really meant for them. But, when you come of age, perhaps it's time to let go of those small (quite possibly bad) choices made by your parents. And own it. It's your life really. Not theirs.

I have this painting hanging in my studio to remind me of where I came from: Joseph Hubert (sounds like a great artist's name, right?). It's curious that his painting has very similar unintentional coloring to one of my collages that features a photograph of my father. It's also quite a coincidence that I'm a bull. My birthday is on Wednesday.  Thanks Dad.

pauses of perusal: woman asleep at a table (this is reassurance)

I've been thinking that the dark area in my new painting might be a problem. I want to paint a sort of matrix over it in another color. My mentor told me that would be a problem. He said I could use white, and then paint on top of that with the new color (red). He also said the red would turn brown in 50 years, and then proceeded to tell me I'd probably be dead by then anyway so who cares.

Today I went to the Met, which I've grown to love simply because of its amazing modern art collection in juxtaposition to a wonderful array of world art history, and landed upon Picasso's Woman Asleep at a Table. The only thing that struck me was the use of white over black and vice versa. Who cares if you can see it. It's wonderful actually, to see the artist's plight and his use of layers. While I'm not a huge Pablo fan, he just received a couple of points from me today.

this is the start of my new painting

I've only really worked on it for three or four days.  It's big....five feet by four feet.  It doesn't intimidate me, but it does feel slightly overwhelming.  And not only that, it's hypnotizing.  I love the ghost outlines I've made next to the head and I fear losing that piece of brilliance.  Happy accidents.  And I love the black and white, but an addition to the palette keeps swimming in my forethoughts.  My intuition led me to make the black area.  I trusted it and that part feels right, but it also made me make that marking next to the crook in the arm above.  And I kind of hate that.  But maybe it wasn't the painting or my intuition speaking to me.  Maybe it was me just reaching or rushing.  Now what I'm trying not to be is ambivalent because ambivalence will kill an artist.  For now I just live with it and watch it and listen.

And wait.

pauses of perusal: the whitney biennial part two

The only other part of the 2012 Biennial I thought necessary to share were the sculptures of Vincent Fecteau. At first glance, I thought the four pieces were typical amorphous sculptures. The color drew me closer and upon inspection I found the objects dancing in front of me like titanic amoebas covered in Easter egg dye. I was transfixed with the architectural yet organic feel of the sculptures. I wanted to run my fingers along the grooves and inside passages. They were both figures and places . . . so exhilarating and very hard to walk away from. So I took photos and then they just became flat objects I could carry with me. Writing this makes me want to revisit. I learned from the museum description that Vincent starts with the figurative, and after some heavy reworking, and casting, and reworking, and painting, his pieces are born. I'm having a little boy crush right now.

this is my process

Currently working on a series of paintings.

I work with a nude model for 30 days (about six hours a week) and create a figurative clay sculpture.

Then photograph the sculpture as he or she is deconstructed.

Finally, I create a painting from one of the images. The colors and composition are reflective of my relationship with the model and the experience of sculpting.

this is full fool fuel

Ever have your tarot cards read? The Fool card is a good one. When you get it, it means a new beginning. It's like starting over again. You get a do-over. Sort of like exiting Plato's cave and being astounded at the remarkable world and its possibilities. Most people these days are concered about age and time. But perhaps neither really exist. And if that's the case, then you can really start something at any age. And if you want to do it, you better do it because if you don't you'll end up being bitter, which makes you hunched over, and frail, and weak.

Pretend that was a moderately long April-Fools-Day-themed essay that inspires you.

Below you'll find my totem for April. I think I've moved on to Phase III, whatever that is, as I float higher and become closer to my creator, or whereever my creator intended me to be. I'll turn these twisted sculpture photos into their own story . . . still working on how. For now, this is my inspiration for my new painting.