Can’t think too much.

The media for making art has changed over the years so much that I feel my ‘doing’ is transparent. Its as if the artist hand has been subdued, reduced. Yet the mind of the artist is ever intact and should be relevant to the issues of contemporary human experience. I see no reason for things to be ‘this certain way’ or ‘that certain way’. This is not a new argument. It has been around since Kandinsky saw a painting of his in his studio upside down. He did not recognize it’s subject at first, but the image that held his attention.

Drawing and composing with the computer has opened abstraction into a region of fast paced experimental activity for me.

Sometimes I wonder if I am leaving anything behind. The trace of the hand by pencil or brush, for example. But I am not afraid to loose what it is that is there already. I must remain empty of the past in order to be filled with what is here now.

I can’t think too much, it clouds my vision.

'Obsessed with naming and tagging'.

‘Obsessed with naming and tagging’.

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Identity

To uncover the way that I think comes from a constant surveillance of the things being done while they are being done. I know my concern is with how things or thoughts are originated. And as I write this here I am wondering if there is anyone else, at this very moment, having similar thoughts or actions.

I am not concerned with my personal thoughts because thoughts come like rain and each drop of water will fall on different surfaces at different times and they make different sounds. My mind is likened to one of these surfaces and so the sound or reaction that I produce will be a by-product of my individual density.

How do I translate this reception into something tangible as art? My process is semi-guided by intentionality. I want to portray my concepts from now into tomorrow and not from the past, which can get very confusing whenever the whole sentient life of the planet is brought into consideration. I cannot separate now from the past no matter how hard I try. But I feel the future can be affected by what I do now.

The identity string runs from location to individual to family to biology to planet to solar system and on and on. I choose the nonrepresentational mode of visual communication to elevate my feelings on life.

mind the mind

I put down more than what is really necessary / sometimes, the urge is there to stop / but I doubt that what I have already is enough / until everything is overflowing, bubbling to the surface / disrupting the peace, that I need to continue the meditation.  Control comes from constant practice.

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Ritual

Some may pray each day at a certain time to maintain sanity. I practice each morning not too long after waking and before going to bed at night. What is it that I practice? It is a mindless exercise that I am totally mindful of. I have an unheated studio so in the winter months I do all my drawings and sketches on the computer. This creating in the digital field is all new to me but I am believing in it more and more from a spontaneous, improvisational point of view. It all happens real fast and changes, well they seem automatic. This will lead up to spending more contemplative time on executing the actual paintings from the sketches. Most of my paintings in the past have been without sketches, they are direct creations.

But working with the computer doing sketches has given me thoughts on slowing down when painting. Now that the spontaneous part of creating is done I shall take the time to translate what I did unto a larger scale and paint with the patience of meditating without sitting cross legged.

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Reduce

I find it important to reduce the amount of language I need to communicate with the spirit of self. Any language will do, as a matter of fact, there are no necessary language. I know the history of my mind, all the lies, the thefts, the hurts given and received. They are there under cover. I know the bundles every time I try to think about the future of my life. Only thing I can do right now is to accept and lay them down like dirty clothes that can never be washed clean. Because they are stained. Yet if I were to speak my mind, really speak it, not wanting to dirty the clothes I wear now, feelings could be hurt.

So all I can do is dance with color and lines on a piece of ground. Because to dance is to live and bury the hurt, free my mind so that history can continue on its merry way. Some good hearted friends will try to help. They say ‘leave and let go’. But I know to leave your life behind is to sever you history. So I stay and iron the pain out with a dance.

With a Reference

The way a plant grows, the way a thing develops, the way an idea is presented comes out as reaction. To what though? should I ask, about creating from the mind without a reference from the world outside my eye. What should I react to, what impulse is the most urgent?

I can start at a point and continue for a distance and create a line. It may not be straight or maintain a specific width but it goes on until I stop and start another. The whole thing develops from here through decided reactions or spontaneous unaware choices. My task is to know what I am doing while I am doing it. Maybe I will never know why but most people, it seems, do know why, they have reasons, good reasons and they are sure it is the way.

Do they know what they are reacting to? Religious prophets know because they have read ‘the’ book. There are thoughts we should eliminate from our minds. What are we reacting to? Reference the unpredictable.baloon 3 baloon 4 baloon 5 baloon baloon 2 council crayfish

How Real am I?

To be honest, I am at a loss. I am lost on the internet. I don’t really know where I am when I visit a site. I don’t know where we are as the world is plowing through space. How close am I to the day I will die? It has to happen one day for sure, but what kind of space will I leave behind and how long will it be before that space is filled again by another. It is all sudden and spontaneous. Well, it only seems that way. I gradually wake every morning. But the realization?, that is a slap, a drop, tic, in the bucket of time.

Yet nothing goes without notice to the world at large. Me and you, we know what we know and the planet knows that too, subconsciously. It all adds up, one plus one plus one…. and a cup of water is emptied into the ocean and is lost immediately.

I try to simplify but it comes out corny, already done the longer I look. Yet I can recallbreddas far back to the street I grew up on to an incident clear to me today as look-upthen, that was an actual dream that I woke up to sweating, knowing it was not real.