A fridge away...

Nothing like a few dozen hurricanes (and an big earthquake or two) to strip away the collective myth-veneer of civilization with its attendant ideas of "nature conquered; defeated once and for all - held not just at bay but emasculated thoroughly; permanently by big technology"...

Why, we're really just a fridge away from the jungle, my little friend.

(...i feel an existential pause on the way. Not a long one...this one will be short...time for a small cappuccino only!)

Wrecktangles & Rectangles

The perfect artworks I create in my dreams. Hundreds of them - replete with color, design, aesthetic concept and execution... sometimes with added musical accompaniments. Full-color, totally ready to hang in the galleries of my inner self.

Or, often already hanging in the sanctum sanctorum self-galleries created, I assume, by my own creative machinations. Recently I even was privy to an art critique of my own work, which was rather interesting. Two bas-relief paintings, which gave me a choice of directions, in my sub-conscious opinion. The direction I picked could be a direction for my up-coming series of paintings perhaps soon to begin. The dream had an invisible art "professor." Who could it have been?

At any rate, the extremely loud background music finally woke me up. If this interested the reader, it was Dance the Night Away, from the Disraeli Gears album by Cream. I do recommend it. Perhaps it will assist in choosing between artistic directions, if only when in REM sleep!

The two choices of art, in my dream both reflected my artistic direction of a (so-far) creative lifetime. Of course, many artists (most) can't be neatly fit into art historical categories and still remain living human being artists. Not all art historians might agree with this but some do, i.e. Doris von Drathen.

I won't delve into the mysteries of art criticism...that is for the intellectuals...I make the objets 'd art to hang on walls, etc...

Rectangles descending into Wrecktangles...or something to that effect, in my case.

In my artistic pseudo-intellectualizing brain, I have these perfect rectangles floating around, and I wreck them. This is the creative process at work. It sometimes has a certain methodology to it, which can be rather methodological, but much of the time it has a strong sense of the car-wreck experience, I believe...if you have ever been in one, you know what I mean...

That sense of feeling out of control, and feelings of anxiety and not being in control...

Like the last two semi-paragraphs...they went far out from where I intended, but I think I will leave them in the blog-stream for now...

If there is an uber-controller mechanizm at work when I am about the creative work, well, maybe there is, but often I rely on various means of breaking out of the various perfect rectangles of geometry, thought, life, ego, self, etc., to make the unusual happen.

This often needs to maintain a balance with the order of the rectangle, or I fall into the now passe' mushism movement. This is not too much in vogue anymore.

But...the thing that I was referring to at the beginning of this blog-a-thon (will it ever stop?!) is that ever perplexing always vexing phenomenon of the dream art world. How does that artwork get made so damn easily? Like the recent art lesson I had in the dreamworld.

I can see those two bas-relief artworks in my mind. Not as clearly as I did two months ago, when I had that dream, but clearly enough. They were finished pieces. Looking very good, indeed.

Well, no need to spend too much time on that. Real world art always has the one advantage over the dream art. I can show it to other people much more easily. And, when my Rectangles > wrecktangles painting mode is working well, I get that order > chaos effect working for me. Do I get thjavascript:void(0)
Publish Postat in dreamland?

Well, yes, sometimes I seem to.

THERE IS NO JUSTICE!

Golden Reverie

acrylic paint on wood
44 x 42 x 3-1/2 inches
2002
Art Archives

Love's Keep

Who soundly sleeps?
I watch enraptured...

my heart
Love's Keep
in silence captured.

Silence Captured

Love's proffered wound, a heart soft-spoken,
desires in grand attire emerge anew,
inerts react, known realms fall broken!
mere relics for an off-world xanadu.

      who touched this heart beyond love's token;
      gave mind clear voice, love's silence broken?

bright word and love events assure the night
but walls creep 'round the wounded one's distress.
though filled to brim with life and light
can love be Coaxed from fear's dark fortress?

      who made this wistful day kneel down before?
      what made this fallen idol dare adore?

in standing ears love sounds die Distant,
below the threshold, noisome howling dreary,
unheard but by desire's own misfit,
ranging far Beyond itself grown weary.

      who spun love's fleeting, graceful trance
      then dimmed with fear it's dreamy countenance?

too quickly wings of Passion arch to fly,
wish-laden schemes promote the grieving.
time counts by tears its lonely, furtive tries
to balm heart-schism scream bereaving.

      what love requited ends with doubt
      that hides in full-view, feeling not without?

quietly, the mind cuts grooves root deep,
resolute within to Yield no outward trace
yet, yielding all the dreams we long to keep.
i raise the glass of adoration in their place!

      as this sweet dream devolves about,
      will faint hope-futures cloak and couch?

love's spirit stands, and will abide,
released, all hope-asides above,
when Parting comes new dreams will guide,
and always all was meant for love.

Totem

dancing
gate locked with chain
two old-fashioned women
Shaman
child sitting on the dock, by the sea
setting sun

Unoccupied, hazy Liverpool

window open, with birch trees
Totem
chess - knight takes queen!
pensive, hopeful young woman.

Mighty man standing on goofy gus.

Magnified, all, from thin air.

Through Gaia's Window

He left his ship and took the one, small, step
The silent witness roused from dreamtime
While her bright crescent filled with dark, she wept
and cursed misfortune's child, in the meantime.
Earth music caught her ears and, up, she sat
She listened closely with misgivings
No curiousity could kill, her, cat
Its nive lives long forgotten - but still living.

How could she raise, the dead world from his hold
and move her waning bright, out, of his shadow?
She let her supernova heart, explode
and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

The big thought traits disturbed - the quietude
The dream wrought state was lost - with much lamenting
Intentions failed and he fell back, into
His altered X of Evehood - unrelenting.
From grey to red his loyalties were switched
The Martian mindset grew - with such impunity
Her mystery was burned - as though a witch
Remains sunk to the floor of her - Tranquil Sea.

How could she raise, the dead world from his hold
and move her waning bright, out, of his shadow?
She let her supernova heart, explode
and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

Sea
Tranquility
Sea
Tranquility
Sea
...Tranquility
Sea
...Tranquility

How could she raise, the dead world from his hold
and move her waning bright, out, of his shadow?
She let her supernova heart, explode
and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

How could she raise, the dead world from his hold
and move her waning bright, out, of his shadow?
She let her supernova heart, explode
and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

and shine forevermore, through Gaia's window.

Emergence

acrylic paint on wood
18 x 36 inches
2004
Cityscapes