Thursday, March 31, 2011

doublethink definition

The power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them..GEORGE ORWELL


words of the day

The greatest evil is not done in those sordid dens of evil that Dickens loved to paint but is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clear, carpeted, warmed, well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voices.
C. S. Lewis

update

My deluge painting has sold. Thank you for the interest. It will now hang in Oslo, Norway, the home to one of my art heroes, ODD NERDRUM...I am hoping the collector hangs it in the same rooms as her the odd nerdrum painting she already owns..If you want to see a great artist, google odd nerdrum...I am too lazy to link.

Low Levels of Radiation Found in American Milk

Here is a terrible story. They have now found radiation in American milk. They are telling us it is low level and safe for infants. this is from the same gov. that wont tell you that 31 American cities already have radioactive tap water. I listen to the chattering classes tell me about global warming and then I ask them if they know that 31 american cities have radioactive tap water--of course they dont, they are the brainwashed lemming masses--I call them repeaters, they repeat mainstream media talking points without thought or without doing any research. The globalist wet dream dream-- an unthinking/ uninformed populace. Regardless, that is why I am here to make art and inform the sheeple. Just as the powers that be decided that the fact that all high fructose corn syrup contains mercury and it is okay for you will now tell you that the RADIATION in your milk isnt bad for you..in fact, its VITAMIN R. Here is the new york times article concerning the milk..and the link about our radioactive chromium tap water.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_thelookout/20101220/ts_yblog_thelookout/study-tap-water-in-31-cities-contains-cancer-causing-chemical 

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703806304576233221749626458.html?mod=googlenews_wsj

here comes the flood

I started painting flood paintings as a child because our farm in Texas used to flood about once a year, When it would flood I would walk through our yard with the water flowing above my knees and watch fish swim by my feet---This amazed me to see fish in my yard. When the flood would subside there would be new things that were left on the property that werent there before..this also fascinated me..as an adult my favorite song was and still is peter gabriels "here comes the flood" I still paint to it.

"Here Comes The Flood"

When the night shows
the signals grow on radios
All the strange things
they come and go, as early warnings
Stranded starfish have no place to hide
still waiting for the swollen Easter tide
There's no point in direction we cannot
even choose a side.

I took the old track
the hollow shoulder, across the waters
On the tall cliffs
they were getting older, sons and daughters
The jaded underworld was riding high
Waves of steel hurled metal at the sky
and as the nail sunk in the cloud, the rain
was warm and soaked the crowd.

Lord, here comes the flood
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood
If again the seas are silent
in any still alive
It'll be those who gave their island to survive
Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry.

When the flood calls
You have no home, you have no walls
In the thunder crash
You're a thousand minds, within a flash
Don't be afraid to cry at what you see
The actors gone, there's only you and me
And if we break before the dawn, they'll
use up what we used to be.

Lord, here comes the flood
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood
If again the seas are silent
in any still alive
It'll be those who gave their island to survive
Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Lost Souls: Deluge. by gardega

I let this one flow out of me on my easel tonight, tried to not be heavy handed and just get out of the way of the thing and let it sort itself out. This is the biblical flood but it also the flood that is washing evil away from the earth. a cleansing of spirit. I guess Jung would say it is a cleansing of ones internal soul, or collective soul. It started out as a forest painting but it didnt want to be a forest it wanted to be a flood. It is for sale..18 x 24 oil on canvas with only three colors. Burnt sienna, burnt umber, lamp black. The canvas is a modern 1/ 3/4 tuck so it doesnt have to be framed I love the modern canvases with the big sides, they look nice and dont need frames..sometimes you still frame them though.

turpentine for the soul

I have made more art in the last six months than I normally do in two years..huge square footage of murals, large glass window installations etc. When you work so much you can actually feel your hand eye coordination improving right in front of you..when I first started the mural I was battling a bit and then I got my hand and eye up to a speed where there was a flow that almost impressed me a few times because generally as an artist you are fighting a battle with your own limitations and it is frustrating but ongoing. You never get to where you would like to be. My point is after all that work I was feeling good about working so much but something was missing and I realized I was very stressed because I wasnt making my own personal pieces for myself. I love my mural job and my window glass etchings but there is a difference in that work and sitting at your own "getting yourself off." (pardon the term I dont know how to better describe it) Your greatest art is made when your are just enjoying yourself and living for the joy of the piece in the moment. This can happen in commercial work but that is more of a 60/ 40 ratio of work vs. love. Today I forced myself to go to the art store and buy new paints (all my thousands of dollars in paints and brushes are on mural locale. ) I bought a sweet canvas and only three colors--burnt sienna, black and burnt umber. Tonight I will paint for myself, for my soul...If you dont feed your soul as an artist you will grow bleak like a winters street inside. Commercial money hasnt the nutrients you require...Save some turpentine for your own soul.

The Little things

I was walking to my studio from the subway in Brooklyn today to etch and I was in a crappy mood with a sinus headache. I was silently cursing the bleak cold and I walked past a group of people who were from a local agency I often walk past, a place for mentally challenged adults in a wide range of ages. As I walked past them one of the older people in the group came directly up to me with a big smile and coke bottle glasses. The two people watching the group started to rudely yell at him. AS he approached me he looked me in the eyes and put out his hand with a big smile, he just wanted to shake hands. It was a moment I cant explain because I looked into his eyes and I got a sense that he knew he was trapped in a certain world and it was like he was reaching out into the "other world" In his eyes there was not a single hidden thing, he was just a wide open book, simple and pure and smiling. He just wanted to shake hands with someone. As I walked away it was like my channel had changed. I couldnt stop thinking of looking into eyes that seemed to just be exactly what they were, no hidden panels, no sliding doors or deception. I couldnt stop and cant stop thinking that maybe it isnt such a curse to be in the place that he is at because as I journey my life through the streets of Manhattan I see the eyes of worry, of stress, of hurry. All I know is it changed my entire day. I still remember the person in charge of the group yelling at him...all he wanted to do was shake hands with a stranger. God bless that guy.

Libya

I watched a video of a bunch of talking heads discussing libya. They failed to mention the simple little fact that to go to war without congressional approval as per the war power act is unconstitutional and should be an impeachable offense. Our president isnt a king. Even the Bush idiot got congressional approval. Keep watching TV as your country and future is slowly stolen away from you. Return your peace prize and one of your two faces and enjoy your one term. I cant believe the media isnt focused on the issue that yo ucannot start a war without your congress. We can afford another war like we can afford to pay a 14 trillion + dollar deficit...


I think so you dont have to.

Leoanrdos geometry explained by gardega

update

Lots of work to do today. Etching then painting then some other busy stuff. I am so sick of the cold weather..Al gore is a lying creep. There is no global warming,  come live in NYC for a year ya blob of protoplasmic fraud. I just want some 60 degree days, thats all.I updated my art lesson below as well.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The adoration of the magi by leonardo explained (UPDATED)




Okay, first notice that Leonardo uses a burnt sienna colored wash (transparent) as his base tone. After getting his figures sketched in he start s to unify his darks...this helps the picture to have unified feel,a focus..notice the darks surround the central figure, thus drawing the eye to her. The strongest diagonal is from the lower right to the upper left, it starts with the foot of the kneeling figure and is further backed by the diagonal of the twin staircases. Using my own method to figure out how he spaced the figure in geometric space, one can see he probably used the same geometry..I figured this out by studying his last supper for a few months. Notice there are no lights added, yet... they come last. if you look at each triange the figures and forms often even creep over to fit into them. 

gardega newsletter

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/News-from-gardega-studios.html?soid=1104954455372&aid=imRnGoLPTTw


I have started a newsletter that is mailed out monthly via email. if you would like to receive it, simply send me an email. I hate spam mail so I try to keep it to once a month to not clutter people's email boxes. The link above is the first newsletter, still figuring out the program so it is a bit clunky

alexgardega@gmail.com

Saturday, March 26, 2011

tough day

Today I installed the top portion etched window in a mausoleum. 12 feet high on a sketchy scaffold lifting  two 75 pound pieces of glass that are handed to you from below...My nerves are still strung tight from what we had to do today. I need a glass of wine and to chill on my couch. on a good note I am almost halfway through my screenplay..going to work on it tonight and tomorrow and my nude watercolor raised over 300 dollars for a brooklyn school in an auction so I feel good that I could help out a bit in this world. If everyone just does a few little things outside of themselves they can really add up and help out this sorry old dog we call earth. Glass isnt something you mess around with, it can take your hand and fingers off in no time. I dont like precarious glass situations, not at all.

kudos to the japanese

I am amazed the way the japanese are handling their crises...stoic, no riots, terrible and harsh reality...actually makes me appreciate the things I have, clean drinking water, breathable air, warm bed...a damn good testament to their character. Troopers through a hardship of history
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update

today I will etch a panel and install a mausoleum window. try to photograph if there is time...tonight I have a lot of writing to do..tomorrow a three foot by five foot canvas as a favor to a friend. Art favors are a bitch but they are part of life. If someone is good to you, then you best be good back. That is how I see it.

Friday, March 25, 2011

shepard fairey trades for a gardega

Shepard is a hell of a nice guy...I even forgive him for supporting our retard in chief but he has awoken to the scam that is Obama. I give this kid a lot of credit, he was a real street artist, arrested many times...out there making the WORK. He was busting his ass before anyone knew his name...god bless the kid and his success. I have an original he traded me for that picture..I can retire one day with no worries.

the blogosphere

Today I went and looked at other blogs by humans...(aliens dont blog much) Here is what I have noticed, most people start a blog and soon abandon it like a drooling stepchild...If you start something then you get in there and you do the damn thing--- I dont want excuses. Get it done...the same with your art, you get out your damn paints and pencils and draw and paint everyday like it matters (because it does). Life is not a dress rehearsal, you are either all in or all out. I think I am creeping up on 5,000 entries on my blog soon. Do not dither, do not dabble. Your life will be much richer if you put your guts in the game.

the frick museum

http://www.frick.org/


I am going to the Frick museum on sunday to view the Rembrandt exhibit. If anyone wishes to attend I will be happy to oblige...I love the Frick, it is a wonderful place, the fountain room is a mini paradise.


alexgardega@gmail.com

beauty queen kills intruder

Latest and greatest favorite news story. A beauty queen shoots a felon who breaks into her home..dead, gone..I know the powers that be want us to be victims and unarmed but she can still watch the sunset thanks to her little pink handgun (yes it was a pink gun)  No public tax money will be wasted on his trial, no funds spent to put him in a cage for 40 years...done, problem solved...I dont own guns but if you break into my apt. you can be 98% sure that you wont leave my apt. on your own two feet. I dont play the whole victim game. 

art lesson by gardega

Here is a quick little art lesson. This is part of my latest mural. If you are going to paint you want to have a base tone..here my base tone is a wash of transparent burnt sienna...my base of choice. I have come around to a great lesson in art and life. I prefer to sketch things in with a brush and not with a pencil, there is a freedom and flow to a brush that you wont find with a pencil. If you look at rembrandts sketches of genius he did those with a brush and wash and they have more life than I can even discuss here. after you get your base tone down you want to start with your darks and shadows and work up to your whites...do not hit the whites or lights until the end, sell no wine before its time. All posed figures have a rythym, a soul..what is your pose about? never paint stiff figures, even the dead should be alive.

murals NYC by gardega




for js




and someone runs to make a phone call...

talent

this blew me away and left my jaded ass speechless.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

the tide is turning

I used to think the world was flat
Rarely threw my hat into the crowd
I felt I had used up my quota of yearning
Used to look in on the children at night
In the glow of their Donald Duck light
And frighten myself with the thought of my little ones burning
But, oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
The tide is turning

Satellite buzzing through the endless night
Exclusive to moonshots and world title fights
Jesus Christ, imagine what it must be earning
Who is the strongest
Who is the best
Who holds the aces
The East
Or the West
This is the crap our children are learning
But oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
The tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning

Now the satellite's confused
'Cause on Saturday night
The airwaves were full of compassion and light
And his silicon heart
Warmed to the sight of a billion candles burning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
The tide is turning Billy

I'm not saying that the battle is won
But on Saturday night all those kids in the sun
Wrested technology's sword from the hand of the war lords
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
The tide is turning Sylvester
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning

...

roger waters

communicating, like the good old days




Roger Waters 


You wake up in the morning
Get something for the pot
Wonder why the sun makes the rocks feel hot
Draw on the walls
Eat
Get laid
Back in the good old days
Then some damn fool invents the wheel
Listen to the whitewalls squeal
You spend all day looking for a parking spot
Nothing for the heart
Nothing for the pot
Benny turned the dial on his Short Wave radio
Oh how he wanted to talk to the people
He wanted his own show
Tune in Moscow
Tune in New York
Listen tot the Welsh kid talk
Communicating like in the good old days
Forgive me father for I have sinned
It was either me or him
And a voice said Benny
You fucked the whole thing up
Benny your time is up
Your time is up
Benny turned the dial on his Short Wave radio
He wanted to talk to the people
He wanted his own show
Tune in Moscow
Tune in New York
Listen to the Welsh kid talk
Communicating like in the good old days
Forgive me Father
[Welsh Policeman:] "Mobile
One Two to Central."
For I have sinned
[Welsh Policeman:] "We have
a multiple on the A465
between Cwmbran and Cylgoch."
Father it was either me or him
Father can we turn back the clock?
[ Find more Lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.org/H76r ]
[Welsh Policeman:]

"Ambulance, over."
I never meant to drop the concrete block
[Welsh Policeman:] "Roger
central, over and out."
Benny turned the dial on his Short Wave radio
He wanted to talk to the people
He wanted his own show
Tune in Moscow
Tune in New York
Listen to the Welsh kid talk
Just like in the good old days
The good old days
[Radio announcer:] "Do
you really think Iranian
terrorists
Would have taken Americans hostage
If Ronald Reagan were president?
Do you really think the Russians
Would have invaded Afghanistan
If Ronald Reagan were president?
Do you really think third-rate military
Dictators would laugh at America
And burn our flag in contempt
If Ronald Reagan were president?"
[Concerned Citizen:]

"Well, it might
work!"
[Hostage:] "We as a group
do most importantly
Want to beseech President Reagan
And our fellow Americans
To refrain from any form of military
Or violent means as an attempt
No matter how noble or heroic
To secure our freedom."
[Concerned Citizen:] "Sure!
Only it's going to be mighty dangerous
For you, Cassidy
Hoppy's faithful sidekick
Guess you don't know
Hopalong Cassidy, mister.
Adventure's his bread
Excitement's his butter
And danger
Why to him that's like
Strawberry jam to top it off."
[Jim:] "This is some live
rock and roll at KAOS
Where rock and roll comes out of chaos
And a song called..."

my gmail

I got a warning today from gmail...my gmail account is 97% full...only I could fill up a gmail account.

visitor 90,000

If you are visitor 90,000 today, I will send you a free painting. I started my counter late and this is my second blog after I abandoned my first like a three legged cat on the info. superhighway..I feel that that is a lot of wasted times for a lot of people..sorry, you cant get that time back..suckers

a day off

I am taking today off. I am feeling the grind pretty hard..weeks without a day off, some days were 18 hours. I cant afford a day off but I cant afford not to take a day off. It doesnt do me any good to try and work and screw something up or break a piece of glass art.

nude by gardega

Returned from long island, ate dinner, got drunk in some israeli restaurant..slept on couch--- woke up...drew a model...not bad for foggy drunk artist. Sold, but I have a whole series coming soon..my 12 women series is back on table...If anyone wants to be one of the twelve of the zodiac please contact. 

mural update

The dancer slows her frantic pace
In pain and desperation
Her aching limbs and downcast face
Aglow with perspiration

Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire

With just the briefest pause
The flooding through her memory
The echoes of old applause

She limps across the floor

And closes her bedroom door...

The writer stare with glassy eyes

Defies the empty page
His beard is white, his face is lined

And streaked with tears of rage


Thirty years ago, how the words would flow

With passion and precision
But now his mind is dark and dulled
By sickness and indecision

And he stares out the kitchen door

Where the sun will rise no more...

Some are born to move the world

To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee...


neil peart

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

nobel peace prize found in crackerjack box

AP Toledo, Ohio: It was a Sunday like any other for James Gunarz, a cab driver in Toledo Ohio. After dropping off one of his fares to the local mall James decided He wanted a snack. "I usually go for the pork rinds" he said. "But today I felt I wanted a change..I had a box of ringdings in one hand and Cracker Jacks in the other. I thought about it for a moment and I said to myself----aint no prizes in ring dings! So I bought the cracker jacks with the little sailor dude on it!" After his purchase James pulled over and got his snack on, wondering the whole time what prize awaited him in the bottom of caramel popcorn heaven.. would it be a decoder ring? A plastic monkey? A kazoo...as James found and opened his gift he was Amazed, it was none of the above, what james found astounded him and his wife. James found a Nobel Peace prize! "Yes, A spokesman at Cracker Jacks said "there are a few out there, but they are rare, you have a much better shot getting a plastic pony than a peace prize. He got lucky" James is mailing it in with a photocopy of his idea so it can be personalized with his name. "Image this!" He smiled in the cold toledo winter " I am a multiple felon, thats why I am a cabbie and this is a game changer" he added "My bowling buddies are gonna start calling me sir" When asked what he thought of the tasty snack "They were kinda stale, Im going back to ring dings" No word if he has received a call from the whitehouse.

Staff reporter Toledo Star alex gardgea
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update

Today I return to my beloved NYC. Five days iin long island will try a mans soul, plus I am out of clean socks. I kicked some major art rear out here, long hours, took names. I went out to dinner with client, his wife and kids. Never realized the amount of work taking three kids out to dinner. By the time we finally got to the restaurant my nerves were already looking for some chianti. God bless parents and patience. I think I know why america is on anti anxiety meds, children, however sweet, are a test (but a good test) Tap water in Tokyo is radiocactive. I knew this would happen, the majority of the water in japan will be readioactive. In twenty years the cancer rates will be post chernobyl levels. Radiation now in california and seattle. Mainstream media is now saying 7 out of ten people favor dumbama attacking libya. I guess liberal wars are good but when dumb W started wars they were bad. Also, when the american f 15 went down 7 villagers went to help the pilot and an american helicopter machine gunned them. Main stream gov controlled media wont speak to this but I will. We are there for humanitarian reasons, they say...we only care about humanitarian issues when there is oil under their feet or poppy in the fields. Mass slaughters like Rawanda? Not so much....the fix is in and where is spring...wheres my train? Home again, soon. Will post mural photos...
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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Bartender: Alex, why do you live on the upper east side? Dont most artists live downtown?

Alex: Yes, that is why I live uptown.
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my sons wants to be an artist

Parent: my son wants to be an artist, any advice?

Alex: does he draw every day?

Parent: No, well, sometimes...

Alex: have you tried the fish tacos in this restaurant? They are excellent.

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sing along america!

I voted for obama
Because my brain dont work
I couldnt figure out that he's
Just another jerk
Just another liar
In a cheap and rented suit
Just like the one before
And the one before to boot
And all my friends were cheering
That hope and change was here
I told them there were suckered
And they said kiss my rear
And now they are a scrapin'
The stickers off their cars
And all that hopey changing stuff
Just dead bugs in a jar
My ex told me Im stupid
And just I wait and see
He's gonna save the planet
He has integrity
And still the wars are raging
And the country now is broke
All that hopey changey stuff
Was some kind of ugly joke
You cannot fool gardega
His brain is sharp as steel
The good ship of his brain
It keeps an upright keel
And all the sheeple gathered
On that novemeber day
A mass of protoplasm
On some laboratory tray
Your brains have all been rotted
Fom a lifetime of tv.
Something I dont watch,
So I can think like....me.





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tattoos: the new fingerprint

I once told a friend that I thought the reason the media etc. Is making it so cool to get tattoos etc. Is because it is pretty much the same as stamping yourself with a barcode so the powers that be etc. Can use it to ID people. He told me I was nuts. Its just a thought, I said..we are sheeple and cattle and they want tags in our ears. Well lo and behold the FBI has rolled out a new ID system for the sheeple that stores your tattoos. So now you have a barcode, an artsy barcode but one nonetheless. I predicted this 6 years ago. Call me crazy, I prefer the term, astute. Biometrics is the future to keep the sheep in line, you will scanned like a loaf of bread every time you walk into a store to buy a taco. Its already happenening and the only people afronted by it are "the crazies" the low IQ sheeple, they cannot compute the math, 1984 to them is the year they had bad fashions. The funny thing about all these books about these facist utopias is that the sheep not only welcome their servitude, they bleat for it.
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list of supplies

A full range of acrylic paints
Full range of oil paints
Wooden palette
Paper palette
Burshes all sizes, wide range
Turpentine
Linseed oil refined
A t square
Large metal ruler
Flexible curve
Tracing paper large roll
Tracing paper pad
Bod paper roll
Sketchbook
One dozen pencils 2h to 9b
Triangle
Sea urchin
Tape measure
Gesso
Masking tape
Blue lo tack tape
Projector
Sharpies one dozen
Camera
Ben gay (after 18 hours painting ceiling you will need)
Reference material
Rags rags and more rags
Music and incense
Red bull..large cans
razor knife
Photos of don knotts..when you lose hope, break these out.
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art lesson by gardega: set up

Before you start your day of painting it is 100% crucial that you set up very carefully. I usualldy spend an hour setting up. It is a zen thing to get your brain calmed and ready for work. If you have sloppy paint all over you will cause much headaches. I am not neat by nature, I tend to paint order out of chaos. I force myself to be neat. I stop at noon and reorganize and then again at five. A full cleaning. If you cant find the right thing you need you will waste a lot of time. Your paints should be grouped by color, your drafting supplies should be grouped..etc. my palatte us always a mess I accept that on mural jobs. On paintings I keep it neater. I know super anal artists with no life in their work and that is worse than being messy. Have some damn personality in your work. You arent bean counting. After spending a week banging out 70 square foot walls when you go home to sit down in front of an easel with a 24 by 36 canvas it will seem about as threating as a goldfish. It took me a long time to embrace scale. There is something to be said for hitting a large scale painting. It is a freedom that is hard to describe but there is also a time to paint little 8 inch by ten inch "gems"... for the amount of money I spend on art supplies I could have a wardrobe of expensive clothes or a sports car...neither would make me happy. I dont need to impress other people, only myself.
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the universe in a grain of sand

When was eight all I wanted was paint. I got my first cheap paint set when I was eight. I still have the tackle box I kept them in. In the local safeway they sold art books, these oversize paper back books. Each one featured either rembrandt or leonardo, instead of a toy I would get one of these books and chew through over and over. When I found rembrandts painting of the men doing surgery, my life changed. I fell under the spell of th old masters. I was also convinced at eight that modern art was crap, a con, it held nothing for me. It is crazy to think that all these decades later I still have a box of paint and I make my living with it. The world has tried a thousand times to tempt me away from my paints and there were lost weekends without my paints but the gods of art favor the bold and despise quitters and hedgers. If you stay true to the gods of art, they wont turn their back on you. If I died tomorrow I can dying knowing I stayed true to my inner being and what matters to me in life, circumstances be damned.. Time and the devil are twin thiefs who work to steal your dreams and passion in life. Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind. You can create a universe from a box of paints. The universe in a grain of sand and eternity in an hour as william blake once said. Take care of your paints and they will take care of you and make sure to own naples yellow.
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Monday, March 21, 2011

on the radio

I am listening to some geek on the radio named mark davis. He is talking about how it is good that we attacked libya. By the sound of the guys voice I can tell he has never seen combat and he probably has never even been in a fist fight. And he is going to sit on the radio with his geek voice and tell me it is good we are starting another war. I would like to take the guy to a bar make him drink whiskey, smack him in his geek head and then take him christmas carol story the ghosts of wars past. Let him see some dead children and families and ruined lives. There should be a law you cannot vote or cheer for a war if you dont have flesh in the game. It reminds me of fat bloated idiots in bars in sports jerseys cheering for war when their bodies are so warped they couldnt never pass a physical. They shouldnt be allowed to have opinion. I respect soldiers, i have friends who are soldiers. Geeks with big mouths should keep them shut. Ivory towers...wheres my paintbrush?
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a hopey changey war

For all the sheeple who bought the big lie that was packaged in a slick suit, I am thinking his latest war should pretty much wake people up that our prez is a bigger warmonger than our previous moron in chief. You were sold a madison ave goldman sachs puppet. I saw through him in 30 seconds. Where did all those bumper stickers and shirts go?
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done

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update

16.5 hours, not quitting yet. Trying to finish laying out a wall. Pretty worn. Home stretch.
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Sunday, March 20, 2011

art lesson by gardega

How to scale up a drawing to fit into an unusual shape
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mural detail: by gardega

Ceiling bird.
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update

Hit the 12 hour mark. Took shower now Im ready to paint again..im going until midnight at least and anything after that is up to god. It is easy to lay down your brushes after 12 hours and call it a good day, it is hard to go hit a ceiling ornament after 12 hours. All hope lays in doing the hard thing. Ceilings are hell, unless you lay on back on scaffold you have no hand control. Ornament requires more hand control than even a figure. Spent a total of ten days battling this and it never gets easier. Stencils are for hobbyists, not professionals.
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updates

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update

Today I decided that I was going to see how long I could physically paint for until I can paint no more. I am on hour nine and I am amped up. I feel like the day just started. I am going to see if I can paint all night long and finish a major wall over the course of a night. I am sure I can paint at least 16 hours today but I am going to see if I can hit my record amount of hours painting which I believ is 24 hours. Red bull and turpentine is the wine of tthe gods.
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progress

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mural progress



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Saturday, March 19, 2011

Rime of the ancient mariner

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798

PART ONE 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, grey-beard 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 choose 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 an 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 mariners' 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 Moon-shine.'

'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.'

PART TWO
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,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a 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, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
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 assur'ed 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.

PART THREE
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 unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor 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 unslaked, 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 well nigh 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 Night-mare 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 horn'ed 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!

PART FOUR
'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 the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where 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 charm'ed 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,
Then 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 self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

PART FIVE
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 bless'ed 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 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 one rope,
But he said nought to me.

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

For when it dawned--they dropped 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 sky-lark 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 tune,
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 cross,
With 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 honey-dew:
Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.'

PART SIX
First Voice
'BUT tell me, tell me! speak again,
They 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 fixed 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 light-house 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.

PART SEVEN
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 marineres
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 so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said--
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked 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 dead:
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 woful 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 seem'ed 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. 




image by gustave dore

supermoon

tonight is a Supermoon. The closest the moon has been in 18 years (and its full as well)...

Full moons come in different sizes because of the elliptical shape of the moon's orbit -- one side of the ellipse is about 31,000 miles closer to Earth than the other. When the moon is closest to Earth (at its perigee), it is 14 percent larger and 30 percent brighter than when it's farthest from the planet (at its apogee).


Some people think the supermoon can cause earthquakes etc. It certainly can effect the human brain as there are more arrests/ crimes during full moons. I think the moon is fascinating to us because it may just be a chunk of the earth. This is like meeting a long lost relative...something familiar but one would hope your relatives arent made of cheese like the moon.

my head sounds like that

The sound of neurons firing can actually be heard. You can actually "hear" thoughts as neurons fires. They now have chips they can implant in your brain to follow electrical impulses and software can interpret the firing...When the software (called braingate) gets good enough it will be able to read a mind perfectly. Eventually I think they will be able to simply scan your brain for thoughts, sans chip. This is the brave new world of thoughtcrimes. I am glad I will probably be gone by this time or at least in adult diapers with drool on my chin. The last frontier of human freedom is your own mind, your thoughts..this is your true home, your private castle...the invaders have crossed the moat, thrown up ladders and are on their way up. Technology will be man's undoing much as technology will render japan a ghost town. The half life of science without heart is a long one... indeed.

update

I am heading to long island in a few to paint/ finish the never ending mural. I need to put in a few days before my client heads overseas. By april tax time, my major deadlines should be wrapped and I can focus on my next projects. Tonight is a huge moon, larger than it has been in ages..New yorkers never look up but I will be in the suburbs and will take a look up to the big round cheese. Yesterday was the first warm day in NYC,  I think it got close to 70F. Long time coming. I really dont go out on weekends (amateur nights in NYC) so I get more sleep on a given friday than any weeknight. I sleep in on the weekends until 7AM. I am very sad for Japan. I am more sad for the people who are in harms way because of a gov. that lies and gives false info. as to the danger of the fallout. Radiation has hit california..Dont trust the mainstream media to find out the levels, use alternative media.


The image above is one of my favorite of all time, a masterwork by alfred kubin. It reminds me of man's lonely plight through modern life. You can take every abstract depressionist painting ever made. and they wont be worth a square inch corner of this piece of work. Methinks.

Friday, March 18, 2011

streaming geiger counter: los angeles

Here is something for my west coast readers. Because you cannot trust the main stream media I have found this site to let you monitor the radiation from japan that is traveling to the USA via the Jet Stream.

Information is the key to wisdom.


http://www.ustream.tv/channel/live-radiation-monitoring-from-west-la#utm_campaigne=synclickback&source=http://www.enviroreporter.com/2011/03/enviroreporter-coms-radiation-station/&medium=7558036

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My Day

Today I was invited to an FBI event at the Peninsula hotel in NYC. I was  torn because I have deadlines up to my eyeballs but one of those deadlines is a screenplay based on a book by the man in the center, Paul. I dont want to give out his full name as I didnt ask permission but he is a famous DEA agent from boston (retired) On the left is my buddy "Chip" (retired special forces) I'm the long-haired freak on the right. I was sailing in a sea of FEDS but it was a good time and everyone was pretty nice (even to the long haired artist)I try to judge people as I would want to be judged---are you a  decent person? I dont care if you are right/ left cop/ artist or purple alien. I dont give myself up easily but If I like/ trust there is nothing I wont do for a person..If someone screws me (as friends have) I dont get mad, I erase your number and send your emails to spam as quick as if I changed a TV channel. I dont waste my time on bad people. In my mind I am looking pretty worn and tired, maybe because  I have pretty much worked  seven days a week for an entire winter. I am coming close to wrapping my major projects and will take a break in april.

Transparency

A lot of people are complaining that Obama promised a transparent gov. (five days to review bills online etc etc.) and that he hasnt kept his promise in regards to this on any level. I dont know why people are upset and complaining, I can see right through the guy.

my life is strange

Today I have an FBI luncheon,  I never thought I would exactly say those words together. My screenplay is based off an agents book and I am meeting with him to go over some points. This screenplay is growing some legs and there is a certain energy behind it that art requires not to stagnate. I am more likely the kind of guy to drink scotch with hunter s thompson (which I have done) than to sit with FBI agents but My life has never made any sense nor will it ever add up. It has been many things but boring was never one of them. This isnt just a burger with an agent, it is an official FBI gathering at a top hotel. I have a feeling I will have the longest hair in the room... I always felt like my life was guided by a strange hand, a hand that pushed me along through life..Sometimes the hand was cruel and other times it was godlike. This hand pushes me into very strange and interesting places. I didnt create the context of creating this screenplay, I was asked to do it. I would not have started it as I have too many projects on plate but the energy was right. If you dont understand energy, you shouldnt be an artist...art requires energy and that energy can turn on you..you have to know how to not get gored by your own bull.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

winning?

Thank god I can release my stress through art. I dont know what I would do if I didnt have that release valve. I would probably be on blood pressure meds.

Our prez picks his NCAA brackets while Japan implodes

 Between our last two presidents I have an eye so jaundiced towards politics that If I didnt find humor in terrible places I would probably have to take xanax or whatever people take to calm down. Ya just think someone might have whispered in the commander in chief's  ear "pssst...Meester president---Japan, eeets imploding, people are dying fro mradiation...maybe eeets not the best time for the baskeeeetballl picks..." Or should I have said "tin ear"

Full Meltdown in Japan

I firmly believe that all these reactors in japan are going into full meltdown. My friend who called me a panic machine and insensitive has not contacted me since I first brought this up because I am right ---This is the first time I wish I wasnt right that I can remember. Whatever the Japanese gov. says you should multiply by  about 20X (given their history) It is so much worse than they are letting on. There is already rumors of radiation in Alaska. Being right or wrong means very little at this stage of the game but idiocy is one thing that will kill you fast in times like these. Fukushima 3 blew spent Plutonium fuel rods into the air. This is as bad as it gets. This isnt a false alarm, this isnt fearmongering and this isnt a panic machine. This is for real. I have a gut feeling tokyo may even be permanently evacuated. Every night I study this for two or three hours and getting through the spin is tough but I guarantee you are getting a sliver of the real story as too how bad it really is. There are people right now fully irradiated past the point of return fighting a last ditch hail mary to stop the fuel rods from melting down. I talk to people and they really are brain dead as to how dangerous this is..The jet stream could easily drag this here in 6 days..I would buy Potassium Iodide to protect your thyroid.

 alex

Etched glass NYC

I woke up at  4 AM today. Wrote six pages on my screenplay then hit the road to go etch my glass Saints. I want to thank bear glass for being a great partner and letting me etch there for years. I give them my regular glass jobs, they  let me etch. A great win/ win with a good company. Keeping relationships good is a lot easier than building new ones. You cannot be just a  taker, you must give back in life and biz. It was a hard lesson for me to learn as I am kind of self focused in my own spinning art orbits at times. So today I finished this panel, I was exhausted and tired but I saw the puppy through and didnt quit ( I wanted to go home, badly) Now the top two panels are done. I have one more day or at worse two to finish bottom panels. You cannot outwork me...Now I am going to write another ten pages of script. I will sleep when I am dead. 

 I was etching today..tired and worn out and I found I was just going through the motions. Not making art. I was trying to get stuff done for deadline and not enjoying the process. I have been etching glass since I taught myself at 17 or 18, this is longer than a lot of people stick to the same career. When I started to work on the face I decided "what the hell!" lets have some fun and enjoy the process. Etching isnt easy, I wear a mask and headphones and the dust is terrible and there is always a problem, so you have to really look for the good in the battle. I decided to have fun with The face of St. Joseph...Etching faces is the hardest thing I have ever done in art. Painting faces is like eating ice cream compared to the hell of trying to sandblast a good face. Here I tried to give him and expression that says..Hey, I am pretty cool..Im the father of Christ. I was thinking that most parents are proud if their kid gets good grades, or is a top player in sports but imagine if you are the father of jesus himself..thats something you can brag to the neighbors about. I tried to make him look a bit like my first art teacher and my first art teacher always had this kinda cocky eyebrow thing going on (except for him it was a wry cynicism) In short, my point is that you must look for things in art to keep you interested, you must play games with yourself. If you go through the motions (even on commercial work)and if there is no spirit in the creation it will not sing for the ages. And as Leonardo said "where the spirit does not meet the hand, there can be no art" have fun, young arteesto.

words to live by