Snips and snaps from 30 years of art hoo-ha, unrelated to His Room as He Left It, in no particular order
Lots of images! May take awhile to load. Thank you.
The Partial June 2015
Goatheads June 2015 Tribulus terrestris
Don't Drive Drunk, Kooky Zebra 2005, 2015
Foxes & Rabbits, and one in which I Am The Fox This Time April-July 2015
Organic Machine-Sad Horse-Snow Truck-Rabbit Teeth-HER LIFE WAS SAVED BY ROCK N ROLL February 2015
Rabbit Storm April 2015
I painted these one night while thinking about the many sad shits shat in fear and horror in war or privation. they're rather melodramatic, but it felt good to do them.
Red Weights painted clay 2007
This is a sketch from 2002. I was going to make a bevy of tiny glass rabbits, held aloft by silver wire, seemingly hurtling through space like a comet.
"Feel So Sad" 24 April 2014
103 South Street February 2014
Trumbull Rd, Elm St nutcracker with eye and lava lamp (for SLS), double american falls, niagara (for DLD & MF), my eagle, eagle (for JBr), magnificent frigatebird (for DEK) 2013-2014
margalo with thermometer in an atmosphere of diamonds June 2013 (after e.b. white and garth williams)
Pretty Money Collection Not art. Just some pretty coins I found on the ground.
Rough-legged Hawk (for RA), Vivienne's Birds, Red-Tailed Hawk with parting clouds (for Jessi), Goose in Snow, Goose in The World, roaring tiger (for DEK) Elm Street & Trumbull Road 2012-2013
Painting on the Furniture 2009---->4-evah!
Treefrog with Destroying Angels 2012
A short story I wrote last year
Here I lived. Piss and cement. An attempt at habitat: those few treed spots in the corner. The iron door, the sloped roof. Black paint peeling gate, flakes against my palms as I push my lips and mouth through when I try to kiss the females. It's folly only, I know they can't handle me.
Albert was my companion. We'd arrived together, my relation and intimate. Our parents old and grey, gone; our siblings, Lilla and Fred: taken to Berlin or Bucharest. Albert and I grew up and older. We shared little secrets, saw to each other's toilette, and fought for food when it was brought, to the delight of our guests. Years we lived like that, and a deep love developed between us. We were fine.
Youth gave me an energy which I used to swing from the bar and kick at the gate, holler and yell, and spit fruit seeds back at Ernesto. Growing older helped me realize the worthlessness of these acts. It is one thing to be under another's control and fight it. It is another to know your place and commit to it. I calmed. Albert and I calmed together.
Were they poisoning the peanuts? Albert was lethargic, Albert was ill. Albert was lying in the stubble grass for days. No coaxing of mine could arouse him, no whispers of private jokes or body massage could break his thin circling breath into conversation. Ernesto and others arrived, surrounding Albert with talk and grievance. I stayed away. I picked at my fingernails and toes. I washed my face and body. I folded myself around a tree. There were guests. I faced away.
At night, we breathed together. I finally fell asleep, and he finally fell dead.
I was lost.
Soon afterwards, a female arrived. She was jovial, had an easy sense of humor, and made good-natured jokes about Ernesto and our guests. She was a veteran as well, and took this place as her assigned domain, as she had done in her previous location. In her, as in me, had grown and taken root a sturdy acquiescence. Here we were. This was it.
It's not that I didn't try. I tried. But I had no endurance, and after a year they removed her (without notifying me in advance) and replaced her with another. Likable enough, we got along, but there was a discernible emotional distance. We simply weren't each other's type. After her, there was another, and one after that. I suppose it was my fault. I didn't have enough to give, or perhaps the memory of my life with Albert still weighed on my soul.
A noise in the night. The usual noise, the key, the bell, the door. They were bringing someone else in, another try. Enough. Too tired, too old, go away. My new mate loped over and occupied the far corner. I pretended to be asleep.
Cockcrow in the aviary. One eye open. Something is different. Of course! Last night. But... I smelled a male.
I avoided him at first. He was young, his eyes set deep back in his head, aware, and while I secretly watched him watching, mostly I ignored him. He can go fuck himself, I thought. He'll be out of here in a few weeks anyhow, why they even brought him in is a mystery.
Days passed like the peanuts passing through us. I was in a foul mood. I made no jokes, I refused to play host, show him the ropes, or any of it. He can break himself in. I've lost the need for friends. Ignore.
I pretended to ignore. I watched. I peeked discretely through my hair while sucking on a peel. I looked askance while evacuating. I kept one eye open and gazed at his sleeping body at night.
He was new to this, I could tell. His motions were hesitant, yet held a confidence which, I must admit, held me captive. He'd never greeted guests before, it was clear. I watched him learn the limits to which he could take it. Because, believe me, there were limits. I watched him enjoy the small pleasures. I watched the large tiresomeness of it become revealed to him. This only took a few days.
I slept quite a bit during Hola's stay. The one and only direct contact we had was over orange peels. He had sensed I was in chronic ill humor. I had sensed he had sensed this and tried to avoid him more, for fear he might strike up a friendship. Nevertheless, one day at the bucket, as we sucked sweet orange in silence, I chanced to look up and there it was: He had lodged a peel between his teeth and lips, displaying it to me with a wide open grin. I glared, hostile, angry. He rolled with laughter and his body collected bits of peel and straw from the cement. I sulked. He tittered. I longed to groom him, but I kept this to myself.
Ernesto was his pal. A high-five here, a bear hug there. Teasing his string of keys, Hola fingers each one, different shapes, different markings: Lion, Seals, Gazelles, Us.
Ernesto leaves the door hanging, swinging for a moment between water and food, a block of sky-light, unobstructed, a cloud. He is casual with his keys today, yesterday, for months now, confident in my resignation. I had not paid mind. I considered myself out of the game. What came to me, hours later, half in sleep, was that Hola had paid mind. He had working eyes. Mine were retired.
Wake. Shake. What?! It's cold and dark, it's concrete. Leave me asleep, you stranger, you siren. Let me alone. Soft big foot pads press against my knees, my legs. Wake up! Upright then, with a start, and a blow to the face. Why are you near me! What do you want! I think of Albert. You are not Albert. I strike Hola again. A fall to the floor, but no anger? He shows only tolerance, and urgency. What is there to be urgent about? We are up now, the two of us, face to face, he, point to my counterpoint, leaning, letting out small quiet syllables, and pressing his fist into my belly. I am abashed. And then he opens his hand: Us.
smoke n' fire doubles as thinking cap December 2010 (for jbr)
Queensberry Street 1989
Birds, Boar, Bobcat 2010
7th Seal 1998