Humble Cottage

For A & N

Humble Cottage

You took me by surprise
Though you shouldn’t have
Clad in warm cedar shakes
Your modern white belly soothed me
Antique America met anew

Riding high set above
Long Island Sound
North Fork rocky beaches
Soft saltwater cool
Full of good taste and grace


Fresh cut grass and lush trees
Supersweet Corn and Rosé
You were in my dreams
Books upon books and smiles
We laughed and were merry

Humble Cottage you
Be less humble
You home full of love
Happy ghost
Till then

1-29-09-

1.29.09. N. A.M. NYC.

New York City. Say it again slower. New York City. Never gets old. Or does it? Helicopter flying high over Midtown observing traffic developments on the West Side Highway and FDR drive. Police sirens, fire-trucks, cabs, trains, buses, people, cellphones. It's 5:02, time to roll on out of here. Make your way down the street to your train. Swipe it. Transfer at 34th St. Herald Sq. to somewhere. It doesn't really matter because your train line is unattractive no matter what time you ride. Once in a while a gem surfaces, makes bold headlines across your short attention span and fades back into obscurity faster then whence they came. The tragedy of a glimpse. A diamond in a passing train breaks your feeble reality and it's only 5:09. Women read a gold jewelry catalogue fully illustrated lusting over the gaudy lumps of yellow metal. Good, they leave. Off to spend. But what you ask am I left with? Alone in a packed train car of tired people after a long day's struggle. It's only Thursday. At least it's the same day for everybody. So then again you're not that lonely. A college student pours over her text book. The oppressive weight of an object of distant memory with their low budget design, awkward layouts and outdated graphics filled to the brim with stock photography and jaded illustrations from artists who used to have dreams and aspirations to attain much more. She hauls book and all away. Why? You ask yourself do all Chinese markets seem to use the red plastic bags exclusively. 5:51, you've reached your Brooklyn time zone. You notice Avocado green velvet track pants, you suddenly remember this is why you moved here. New York City, New York City. Living in the land of Kings.

__________________

Holding the train door open he stepped into the car laughing. His cousin followed. They chose a place to stand. Though choice is used sparingly, after all it is rush hour. He took off his fur-lined hood revealing an enormously large scar and pronounced veins in his forehead. As he smiled they bulged as if he was lifting strenuously. He wore an aquiline nose and a sinister smile. Proud machismo. His hair glossed with whatever gel suited him, tied back into a small tail. He glances about the car looking for what cannot be discerned. Chewing gum he rests against the do not lean on door. A large bag in hand, black and red with a shoulder strap. It’s been a long day.

Art Notes: 11-2-08

Abstractions- Intuitive and non-narrative, they maintain a slight degree of motion not like animation. The vocabulary of elements that have been used are thought of as parts like those found in erector sets, legos or machines. These parts are tinkered with into the various apparatus constructions you see. I have a tremendous interest in engineers and their ability to take parts, tools and knowledge to develop and create functional things of value. The film projector is an item I find to be as interesting as the film or the art form. This sadly is true in many instances though the projector has fallen to the wayside as an antiquated piece of technology. For sake of point, the projector if it were to cease it's harmonious operation you would not have the film. I think of machines, engines, stock material, distribution, warehousing, manufacturing, production, not always in this order. The ideas they generate help in translating my experiences into a painting language.
I am interested in living a kind of pre-industrial revolution life style of the singular artist in the studio. Then again I like Andy's factory. How does does human experience of time and space change through the machine and info-tech ages into 21st century culture? There are indeed numerous connections that can be traced back into history many strong comparisons but what for the mutations of both individual and cultural value systems? Our sense of time, space and data is drastically altered from those of old, and this is what shapes our reality today. We are different people with the same internal hardware but with different external pressures. If we were cars, we'd be scrapped for better models by now. So much for intelligent designers tinkering the universe into harmony. Someone somewhere along the way through a fatty wrench into the machine if there ever was one to throw.

Art Notes: Rectangles 8.08

The floating rectangles. They seem to be very much like projections on a screen. Projectors and images of that sort are large, light and sometimes heavy, they have interested me as objects and ideas since childhood. People project themselves in every act of looking, it is a way to prepare putting your body out into the world. As in James Elkin's The Object Stares Back, what is seen is not what it seems. Vision as it turns out to be is not a passive sense completely within our control. This is comforting. It means we can question, reason and question again. Even question the question. If we have an idea we project that idea out before it can be realized. These projections can take many forms both material and cerebral. My interest is in the aperture. The framed image of the view finder. A prerequisite to the moving image, we experience the world this way. Framed in a generous field of vision yet we have a narrow focal field. If I look at one building closely in Manhattan off the bridges I cant count the windows in another especially the closer I get. This I suppose is a built in editing mechanism that is engaging. It is revealing, in image making it can act as an obvious demarkation like the yellow National Geographic box. It can be made as a subtle hint of blocked out paint rolled over graffiti pieces on brink walls that is a shade too light or dark, but always slightly off.