Tuesday, July 18, 2017

The State of the Art... and other things

When the word bucket runs dry and I'm waiting for it to refill it's not uncommon to find me with a pencil in my hand, or working the desktop art software. What's beneath the fold are a few offerings from recent works, marginally NSFW... mostly just filling time and blog-o-space out of boredom. What the hell, it won't hurt to take an easy chuckle from what those with a psychoanalytical bent might conclude...

D Rea J

In terms of something to be called "photo-realism" this is about as close as I've gotten. Not terrible bad, getting there, but still much room for improvement. She's not really one woman, she's actually a composite by memory of two early girlfriends who shared more than just a name in common. Both were tall, and green eyed, both had enough attitude to power Milwaukee. Both were defiantly sensual creatures, hot blooded in the manner of healthy youth. One of them was a preacher's kid.  The other one may very well have saved my life for me by intercepting a level of despair I couldn't even name in the day, bless her pointy little heart and totally round heels.  Here of late I think of them more often than I used to, and wonder what became of their lives.

Then there's the abstractions and surrealism's where raw emotional baggage is what hits the canvas... several of those in the last few days.
Psych Eval via Surrealism
Things like this one that give evidence of how truly weary I am of seeing people being drug under by the bullshit and insanity of the modern world, those who've surrendered to the irrational and the perverse and are, for all intents and purposes being drug down into the bowels of the (earth?) by the conflicts of the social. It's sad to watch a human being turn into a digidrone, or a zombie, or a pervert, or all three, it really is. But you can't defend them if they're not willing to try and defend themselves. You look at a life you were once fond of, and it goes from looking like what's above to looking like what is below...and all you can do is shake your head and go on. Have I mentioned today how much I totally hate what the internet has done to humanity?

The Subduction of Sanity
And then there's those that are total escapism... some dream remnant that lingers into the day to fall of the stylus and get trapped as an image...

Some are just an echo of the dream, one fragment from among a libretto of odd images, the bathing lady on the left a typical example. I was walking on a California beach, just a bit north of where I went as a child, when I saw a door in the sand wall at the high tide mark. Like Alice I just had to know where it went.  It led me into a world of monotones, reality posterized in grayscale where somehow the very bareness accentuated the poignancy of each snippet that passed by my sight. Nothing threatened my passage, nothing impeded me returning to the surface, and yet it was a deeply disturbing walk that on introspection revealed itself as what I've been watching for the last few years... life rendered down to monochrome.

Soap Opera Sex... Cheating on Brillo

Others of course are in color, and of more defined and easily understood nature. For example this one... it has to be in color, the entire joke is in the colors involved. Everyone knows Brillo isn't the blue scrubby... well, everyone that's ever washed very many dishes will recognize that, but hey... in this day of dishwashers and fast food disposable it might not be as obvious to some folks as it is to me. Just sarcasm, that's all, just a bit of sarcasm.

The Ridge
And of course there are those from the rag tag remnants of romance run down into the delusions of slow despair... find me a woman who knows how to make it worth my while (and if you think fuck and suck and ego trip are what I'm talking about then you don't know me for shit) and I'll not only turn back the tide I'll have the Rock Lobster dancing the Quadrille while it happens... just for sport. Like I said, the rag tag remnants.

In some ways my life is full and fulfilled... and in other ways it feels totally and absolutely betrayed, and I'll be damned if I can tell you which is closer to the truth. I have every material thing I've ever wanted, I have my time, and the bottom line truth is I feel homeless.  Something I've discovered about myself in the last six months or so is that for me home has always been a place in the heart of a good woman, and at this point I am homeless. It sucks.

Oh, well. Just like the can of three bean salad and the jar of pickled beets and the entire quart of coleslaw I ate for breakfast today? This to shall pass.

Catch you later.

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