Saturday, February 28, 2009

the best laid plans...

here is a bunch of scribbles of mine as I am trying to figure out the art show layout etc.

A client of mine just sent me a few photos of some glass stamps I made for him for a stamp society in Pennsylvania. I forget the real name of the place but it is supposed to be pretty amazing. I may go visit soon. These stamps were the hardest deadline I ever had because of time, size (small) and complexity of individual stamps..I enjoy getting photos of work after it is up and installed and all the sweat and tears are just a memory.

Thursday, February 26, 2009


there is many things to be handled by alex person...
invites, wine, emails, hanging, food, commerical jobs and oh yes---I also have to make the art.
I am very stressed to the point of barely eating--- I am living on wine and oil paints. It is all a blur of stress and worry. Somehow it will all come together.

I hope...

Sunday, February 22, 2009

tears of modernism


Out of chaos I make more chaos... I am working around the clock 7 days a week to get my show together. Notice the fan and heater trying to dry my blind cave fish for framing. There is something interesting that happens when you have no time to think things out and your only choice is to attack, attack, attack... It has a good side and a bad side as it forces you to quit noodling about and make art that you dont over- analyze. I have started painting multi plane glass panels which I have been avoiding for a long time but now I have no choice but to "dive in."



It is an ancient mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

"The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, greybeard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye -
The wedding-guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The wedding-guest sat on a stone:
He cannot chose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon-"
The Wedding-guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast.
Yet he cannot choose but hear:
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken -
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross and Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."

"God save thee, ancient Mariner:
From the fiends, that plague thee thus! -
Why look'st thou so?" - "With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross."


"The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Not any day for food or play
Came to the mariner's hollo!

And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
'Ah wretch!' said they, 'the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!'

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right', said they, 'such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.'

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."


"There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslacked, with black lips baked,
We could not laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood:
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, 'A sail! a sail!'

With throats unslacked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! See! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was wellnigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres!

Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done! I've won, I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip -
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly, -
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!"


"I fear thee, ancient mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown." -
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they;
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is a curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky,
And nowhere did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside -

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmèd water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."


Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light - almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessèd ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all 'gan to work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools -
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at a rope,
But he said nought to me."

"I fear thee ancient Mariner!"
"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
'Twas not these souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned - they dropt their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound.
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their rune,
And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion -
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then, like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man?
By him who died on the cross,
Which his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross."

The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honeydew:
Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.' "


(first voice)

"'But tell me, tell me! Speak again,
Thy soft response renewing -
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?'

(second voice)

'Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast -

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.'

(first voice)

'But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?'

(second voice)

'The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fized on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen -

Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread.
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring -
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze -
On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray -
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck -
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart -
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third - I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood."


"This hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with mariners
That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve -
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
'Why this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights to many and fair,
That signal made but now?'

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said -
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks look warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'

'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look -
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared' - 'Push on, push on!'
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips - the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.'

And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The Hermit crossed his brow.
'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say -
What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God Himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company! -

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

Gardega News


credit meltdown explained

Saturday, February 21, 2009


The NYU protestors have ended their strike. It was time to get back to their facebooks and expensive apartments. Now it is also the time to tell your parents that you blew their 48k tuition. I can only imagine a call home to those parents who worked and slaved and saved to put that kid in that college over the years. If you want to risk suspension from your expensive college then that is fine but do it on your own dime. I was too busy trying not to starve as a kid to protest my art schools financial transparency. I have no issues with those who have been born into wealth as wealth is a wonderful tool to help you achieve things in this world. I am only anti-stupidity.

Friday, February 20, 2009


sleep of reason

lost souls----sleep of reason

oil on square canvas 24 x 24

surrealistic morning

this is the rooster that wakes one from the slumber of a million dreams with a dreadful scream one is met with the cold light of a day's reality...Oil on palette paper.

cave fish

I am glazing this piece..that means layer upon layer of oil paint allowed to dry in between. This is
only way to get really deep pure colors using oils. Maxfield Parrish used glazes as did many old masters. 22x 30 on FABRIANO paper


I am working away furiously on my show so I have little time for anything except else reading the nypost. I read today about a bunch of rich kids in NYU, locked in the cafeteria protesting this and that. When I went to art school I paid for it myself by landscaping and commuted in from long island. I usually had to decided between buying pizza or buying paint. If I paid 30,000 dollars a year for my kid to go to NYU and he/ she locked herself in cafeteria to protest a bunch of nonsense my kid would be paying for their own school next year and finding their own place to live. Daddy's gold amex in one hand an no clue in the other---- damn I wished I was born rich. At least in the 60's the kids had some sense of what they were protesting...

Monday, February 16, 2009

Bethesda Vandalism

It seems some lowlifes have vandalized my favorite area of nyc with graffiti --the Bethesda Fountain..I run 600 stairs there every other day. I am disgusted graffiti is not art and defacing other people's property is beyond the pale. I think they are going to give these kids felonies. GOOD..I always made my art on canvas as a kid, I didn't make slip shod scribbles on walls I did not own. Notice the carefully crafted classical murals behind the graffiti--they took a lot of time and skill to make, notice the graffitti is devoid of any talent or work --this is the perfect example of classic versus modern..I think It would make a nice painting to paint this entire scene as a statement regarding the issue. I may actually do it...

Saturday, February 14, 2009

the first rainfall

on the tall cliffs--- they were getting older, sons and daughters...

16 x 20 oil on canvas

Friday, February 13, 2009

I rant and rave



I am the pyramid of trilateral genius that is required by modern art and life to save us from the utter hopelessness of nothingness and empty creation which is the equivalent of pet photography and the lowest common denominator of crap.

Thursday, February 12, 2009



-- $100 million for the Lead-Based Paint Hazard Control Grant Program
-- $200 million to the Leaking Underground Storage Tank Trust Fund Program
-- $300 million for "Violence Against Women Prevention and Prosecution Programs"
-- $900 million for the IRS for the "Limitation on Administrative Expenses"
-- $1 million for the Railroad Retirement Board for administrative costs
-- $2 billion for the Drinking Water State Revolving Act
-- $50 million for Health and Human Services to carry out injury prevention programs
-- $1.1 billion for studies on the effectiveness of different medical treatments -- $200 million to upgrade labs and facilities for the Department of Agriculture "to improve workplace safety and mission-area efficiencies"
-- $10 million for urban canal inspection
-- $16 billion to pay for student financial aid
-- $1 billion to pay for the U.S. Census
-- $600 million to pay for a fuel-efficient federal auto fleet
-- $650 million for the Digital Converter Box Program to help the constantly delayed transition from analog television
-- $485 million to the Forest Service for "hazardous fuels reduction and hazard mitigation activities in areas at high risk of catastrophic wildfire"
-- Up to $1 billion for "summer activities" for youths as old as 24
-- $40 million for the occupational research agenda
-- $3 billion for the Centers for Disease Control wellness programs and vaccinations
-- $410 million for Indian health facilities
-- $2.4 billion for carbon-capture demonstrations


when I picked the name transference for the show I was only thing in terms of the idea of transferring emotion or mood through art..I was not thinking in the Freudian term etc..but it is highly interesting from both angles.


One of the most important concepts associated with the psychodynamic tradition is the idea of transference. Transference is a simple appearing idea that has to do with the way people understand one another and form relationships with one another. As its name suggests, it involves the idea of transferring something from one place to another. What is being transferred in this case is an understanding of a person. Where it is being transferred to is onto another person. When transference is occurring, basically what is happening is that we are trying to understand someone (usually someone we don't know very well) by making an assumption that they are similar to someone else, and will thus feel and behave in ways that are similar to how that other person would feel and behave.

Transference is a very fundamental process that human beings are constantly doing for better and for worse. Like most fundamental things we can't help but do, such as being hungry, communicating via body language even when we do not speak, or finding one's self sexually attracted or repulsed to another, it is not at all dangerous in moderation, but can create problems when done to excess. More to the point, the act of transference, like these other fundamental human processes, reveals and illuminates our motives and our thoughts; thoughts and motives that would otherwise remain hidden away from others and often even from ourselves (especially from ourselves Freud would say). Our acts of transference provide an information rich window into what we are desiring and what we wish to avoid. What we read into other people reveals our secret prejudices and our unfulfilled wishes. What is particularly wonderful about transference information is that it reveals or illuminates motives that people are often themselves unaware of having, or loath to fess up to. Part of Freud's genius was to recognize not only that transference was something that occurred on a regular basis, but also to realize that the information about personal motives that a person's transference activity revealed about him or her could be used as a therapeutic tool to promote self-understanding and healing.

Some therapists would disagree with the characterizations I'm about to make, but this is how I see it: transference is something that people do most all the time. It is itself an instance of a more fundamental and general process of perception that all people do which is to read patterns into things that aren't there in an effort to make sense out of incomplete data.

A Relationship Illusion

Consider the following illustration which, for those of you listening to this via podcast consists of the following things. Three circles are arranged so that they are more or less equidistant. Each circle has a pie-shaped wedge cut out of it so that it looks like a pac-man, or a pie with a piece missing. These circles are oriented so that the missing wedges face each other. That is the visual description of what is in the image, but that is probably not the first thing you see when you look at the image. The first thing you are likely to see is a single triangle. There is no triangle really there, however. There are just three circles with wedges cut out of them. Your eyes see the circles with wedges too, but your brain interprets these three independent things into a single instance of a triangle; in doing so it adds things into the mix that aren't there so as to organize a familiar pattern.

How is it possible to have such a strong optical illusion of a triangle present in the image when there is no triangle there? Basically, what makes this possible is that people viewing the figure have a lot of prior experience with triangles, and "instinctively" or reflexively read the whole figure of the triangle into existence based on features of the image that suggest features of triangles we've known in the past. This processing occurs at an automatic, unconscious and non-verbal level of perception within the brain; you have no choice but to see the triangle, just as you have no choice not to understand the words on this page (or the sounds in your ear). Optical illusions of this type illustrate what the brain is, which is a sort of pattern matching and pattern generating machine. Brains basically find patterns in the world and when things aren't already in patterns we recognize, we try to fit patterns that are familiar with onto the data we have in an effort to make a familiar pattern appear. This automatic tendency is the basis of optical illusions, and it is also part of the basis of paranoia and a whole lot of interesting psychological phenomena, among them transference.

If seeing the triangle is an example of an optical illusion, transference is a kind of relationship illusion. It occurs easily and effortlessly when we first meet someone and try to form an understanding of who they are based on first impressions. It is an unconscious process, in that it occurs without effort, and does not announce itself. You only know it has happened when the person you thought you had a handle on goes and does something completely unexpected.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

silver moonrise

here is another silver point drawing...very hard to scan these images as the line is very light and reflects light..


I recently bought the materials to make silverpoint drawings..silverpoint has been around since the renaissance, it is a method of using a silver pen (actual pure silver point) on a prepared ground. This is my first attempt at a silverpoint drawing, I copied a Leonardo drawing. I made three more drawings that will post later. S.P is very precise and I understand it changes color and ages with oxygen overtime...drawing is not great but it is more of an experiment than anything else.

Monday, February 9, 2009


The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends

a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white

-- William Carlos Williams

words of the day

Saint Francis de Sales - "Be who you are and be that well."

Sunday, February 8, 2009

song for a sunday

book cover

My friend is an accomplished book cover artist..He does a lot of science fiction covers etc...Sometimes he gets in a pinch and asks me to pose for a cover. This is me as a "renaissance, brooding vineyard owner" I got no pay except for a couple if drinks after wards---- I think my lawyers are going to shake him down for some real money. I am not sure why they chose me for a tragic renaissance drunkard but it works!

Friday, February 6, 2009


reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I am locked in a vicious race against time to get a show together by march 13th...I will post updates.. the show is 100% on---- march 13th 632 on hudson in west village will send out evite tonight to everyone.,..please contact me if you are coming---- RSVP!! I have been painting cave fish--- a lot of cave fish, not sure why but I like cave fish. By the time the show comes I will look like an exhausted and worn old man...

Monday, February 2, 2009

update---art show--in progress

I decided to do some variations on a theme for my show, this is Athena..a piece I have explored numerous times but continue to have a relation with--- great myth/ story.

oil on 22 x 30 fabriano uno paper

Aeris said...

Bonjour Alex,
Je te souhaite beaucoup d' inspiration pour ton exposition du mois de mars.
A bientôt,


sneak peek

here is a glimpse of a piece that will be in my show march 13th..all my works are available for pre-purchase but cannot be shipped until after the show--about the 20th of march..this is a cell phone photo--hence the distortion...

Sunday, February 1, 2009


I have finished the statue of liberty and my westchester bookcovers..will post both when I get them back from publisher. Today I am doing some watercolors for my show, will give some sneak peaks.

Alice in Winter Watercolor

12  x 16 inches on arches paper to purchase