Jun 18, 2009

The Muse does keep me in check. I think it is part of her own Ozark Hill Country culture. She has incorporated the common "Don't get too big for your britches" taboo against one thinking too highly of him or herself. Well...live with it, babe, I say back to her. And fairly often. She does accept it takes quite an ego to keep the artist going.

Jun 17, 2009

I know not whether words or images come first. I do one. The other fits. Thank you, Muse.

Jun 16, 2009

The work here is quite a different take than my 4 posts below. I seldom work directly on paper with real ink/paints anymore. I probably did this one a year or more ago. I do feel a tug to get back to old methods but as evident, the computer/pixel mode has definitely gained first place. It is symptomatic of my approach as an artist. I have never placed myself into any particular medium/form. I write, I draw, I paint. I sometimes am very serious in what I do. Other times, more often, I take refuge in humor, satire. Placing myself both in and above what I do. The only thing I can state unequivocally is I AM an artist. It has taken years to acknowledge. But - an artist - I truly am.

Jun 14, 2009

Jun 12, 2009

Jun 11, 2009

Jun 10, 2009

"Dancing the Dark Away". This take was inspired by my friend, Frou, her vitality, her dancing. She is one of those ladies whom when the music starts to play - whether in a bar ballroom or a park concert - is always one of the first who starts to move. Like many men, I tend to remain seated or with back to the wall, but as she and others who join continue to move, will find my head nodding, my hands lightly clapping, and even - occasionally - stand or move forward a step or two, and join the beat. Frou is a good friend. And here she truly inspires me.

Jun 8, 2009

Home. Where the heart is. Front porch. Where the trees are, a stream runs by. Partly fed by a small waterfall, where Ol' Budda, my Ozarks Buddha, rests. Coffee in hand. A cigarette between my fingers. I scatter birdseed out front. For both birds and squirrels. Dickson Street, our university town's entertainment center, is three blocks away. Where I go for coffee talk, to sketch on napkins, and take my social breaks. Behind me, at the windows, my computer table sets. Setting here, I look out to watch the birds and squirrels - and occasionally a woodchuck - as I write and draw on my Notches. Home. Where the heart is. Mine is here. (Photo by T. Krapausky)

Jun 7, 2009

These drawings are thumb-tacked to the wall in the second bedroom of my apartment, which I use as a storage room for books and journals and old art supplies, easel and such. And older computer also there. Each is 12"x14", sketched out with markers on foam core board. I have a stack. When I get tired of pushing the mouse around and creating such imagery directly on the monitor screen, I will sometimes take a break and knock one of these out. Shown them once as a private art exhibit for me work but have never tried or placed for sale. Actually I have never tried to sell any of my art. I do it for myself. I want all to be a part of the collection I hope to leave to the Fine Arts library here at our local university. I like doing ladies. A combination of imagination and memory of those I would like to know and have known.

Jun 6, 2009

Jun 4, 2009

A snap-shot from the past. Albuquerque. N.M.1988. One year after quitting my newspaper job, selling my home in Fayetteville, AR. Heading west. The Id, once more on the run. Bought an Amiga. Delved into computer art. My personal paper journals now moving into the pixel world. A reminder of the past. I have many, many more. Get it down. A note of another day in a life being lived.

Jun 3, 2009

Old Budda. My contact with Buddha. I was under a complete "pink cloud" when the VA hospital released me April 29th of last year. I had survived (barely) 18 days under 24-hour watch for extreme alcohol poisoning. I have no memory of the days leading up to the trauma. I had obviously blacked out some days before the critical moment. Drinking constantly. Not eating. Drinking. Somehow moving on automatic. Until I completely collapsed and crashed (literally) to the ground. Luckily, I was later told, in public. If it had happened in my apartment - which was likely - I would not have survived the night. An emergency ambulance was called and I was rushed to the VA emergency room. And begin 18-day ride on Death's pale horse. But something happened. Death threw me off the pale horse, laughed, and left me. For now.

I survived. Returned home. Wrapped in a pink cloud of gratitude. To be alive. And on stepping onto my porch, I looked at the stream running beside me, the waters falling, and saw Buddha. The rock. For the first time. Clearly. And Buddha smiling.
There. Here. Now. And so was I.

Today, each day, I stop for a moment. The edge of my porch. Looking down. And say, "Thank you, God. Thank you, Love. And thank you, Buddha.


A neighbor, a friend, a photographer, at my request, took this picture within a day or two. From the porch. The same view I have daily. My using the word "Budda"? It is my own humor. My Buddha of the Ozarks. "Bubba" is a not uncommon word for "Buddy". Budda is one of my muses. His smile makes me smile. I have life. I have now. I am an artist. Thank YOU, Buddha.


Note: I have slightly darkened the creases in the rock that gives Budda his smile and the closed eyes. I have lived here 6 years. The rock always there. And it was not until that day in April that I saw Buddha. Like finding a figure in the clouds. But here, only I, have slightly enhanced the image.

Jun 2, 2009

Titles are simple. Context not so. Specifically in words. It is why I rely on images to tell my story. Whether it is a Life from Inside Out or from Upside Down. But words are important too. And have to be written. I enjoy telling stories. But some stories I draw back. (Draw? The mind jumps. I become diverted. Take refuge.) How serious a writer am I? How serious an artist? I know only the need. To do what I do. As well as I can.

Jun 1, 2009