but what about?
have six minutes to kill.
my colleague the punk rocker putting on a show, thank goodness, in front of the green screen in the video department? Kill it, Moustrap! (very cool) Taking my Perspective class to Cap Park out and D y i n g in the heat/weird humidity. Some thoughts about learning perspective in, not Assisi, what the hell - the other one. Anyway, drawing and erasing as I walked and drew - getting it, totally, on the spot. Thrilled with what the concept could do.
No. The masking tape that fell off the mic stand that rolled and settled and as it settled, before it settled, knowing exactly how it would look when it did, because of the simple rules of shape and perspective. Was thinking, this is how déja vu feels. Thought then that déja vu might be just then a inkling of an understanding of how things simply work. What must happen next. What is happening now. How that is connected inevitably, in some rule-based fluidity of dimension, to what happens next.
Anyway. Those are my fast thoughts.
Fennochio.
no
Ferrari.
no.
Perugia! ah!
no F involved.
Perugia. gelato. cafes. the cocker spaniel. god we were young. later then. the outdoor cafe. Roberto.
such a crush. but more, a real love: Perspective and the fourth dimension. Not four point perspective. Just. erasing. walking. understanding. Wish I could get anyone to get so excited about it. will keep trying. time's up.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Wax on / Wax off • Art on / Art off
had a good time this weekend at Chalk it Up. I'd been asked by my old gallery dealer to do a memorial 'whatever you want' in honor of Betty Mast, my previous art dealer. I was happy to do it because she really was always very good to me and it helped me to try to ignore the meaning of the rest of this blasted weekend.
I didn't know at all what I was doing. Haven't spent much time with chalks and sidewalks beyond scratching out the hopscotch perimeters and a few large-scale tick tack toe victories. Why not learn with three hundred people watching?
Had a really super sweet girl next to me with a memory disorder who worked at a morgue. It doesn't get much better than that.
The medium is not too too tough. Not too too easy either. You could tell the professionals who were laying down a gesso base, expertly making colored paste mixes in spectrum-arranged cups, painting, not drawing, protecting their work in plastic overnight. I didn't and it looked like somebody had been practicing their rollerblading stops on mine or like a small windstorm had hit my square alone. Mine was all just directly applied to the sidewalk. I'd blow on it. Oops, sorry to the girl next to me, my dust settling visibly on the giant portrait of her son (lost in a custody battle because of her brain surgery, I guess). Everyone thought it was a girl, but loved it. "Ooooh, this one's awesome," they'd say. If I didn't look up, I didn't have to know they weren't looking at mine. "Thanks, that's my son," she'd say.
The second day I was introverted, not affable, not available. I waited forever to come out. The shadows were long when I got there. I tipped my Van Gogh hat low enough to say for me, "Don't talk to me. I'm ignoring you. Move along." Of course it was packed. It was fine, fun, but I really needed more time. The light changed on it every twenty minutes - which is more the challenge than any before you when you are painting outside.
Anyway. Good bands. Good fun. Good to be oot and aboot.
I was reminded kneeling there (thank goodness for the kneepads!) and covered in colored dust from one end of myself to the next how much I had admired these guys when I was falling in love with art in Florence at 14:
I didn't know at all what I was doing. Haven't spent much time with chalks and sidewalks beyond scratching out the hopscotch perimeters and a few large-scale tick tack toe victories. Why not learn with three hundred people watching?
Had a really super sweet girl next to me with a memory disorder who worked at a morgue. It doesn't get much better than that.
The medium is not too too tough. Not too too easy either. You could tell the professionals who were laying down a gesso base, expertly making colored paste mixes in spectrum-arranged cups, painting, not drawing, protecting their work in plastic overnight. I didn't and it looked like somebody had been practicing their rollerblading stops on mine or like a small windstorm had hit my square alone. Mine was all just directly applied to the sidewalk. I'd blow on it. Oops, sorry to the girl next to me, my dust settling visibly on the giant portrait of her son (lost in a custody battle because of her brain surgery, I guess). Everyone thought it was a girl, but loved it. "Ooooh, this one's awesome," they'd say. If I didn't look up, I didn't have to know they weren't looking at mine. "Thanks, that's my son," she'd say.
The second day I was introverted, not affable, not available. I waited forever to come out. The shadows were long when I got there. I tipped my Van Gogh hat low enough to say for me, "Don't talk to me. I'm ignoring you. Move along." Of course it was packed. It was fine, fun, but I really needed more time. The light changed on it every twenty minutes - which is more the challenge than any before you when you are painting outside.
Anyway. Good bands. Good fun. Good to be oot and aboot.
I was reminded kneeling there (thank goodness for the kneepads!) and covered in colored dust from one end of myself to the next how much I had admired these guys when I was falling in love with art in Florence at 14:
You'd never know what they felt about there lives; they were just working, making the eyes look wet and the lips. Astonishing. The street sweepers would wash the drawings off every night and the chalkers would be back in the morning laying out the grid.
I loved being covered in dust. Walking home like Michelangelo, (not making art like him - just walking home like him) some filthy tools over my shoulder, some aches in the back, pigment ground deep under all fingernails.
Well, thank you, Betty Mast, for my first shows - for letting me have the whole damn gallery to control like nobody does anymore, for being so supportive and a little fearsome - but in a good way. I'm sorry you smoked so much. This town still needs you. Thanks to Alan for the opportunity. And to the girl next to me for being so sweet. And for all the people who didn't ask, "What IS that??"
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