Apr 29, 2009
Apr 27, 2009
Apr 23, 2009
If it works, it works. If it doesn't work, it works. If it makes sense, it makes sense. If it doesn't make sense, it makes sense. It is why artists do art. And love doing art.
Apr 22, 2009
We all could not wait to grow up! And the Playboy Rabbit would be our escort of envy into the world of groove and cool.
Apr 16, 2009
...The Muses. Thankfully my angels. Escorting me through the highs and lows of an artist's life. They have long been my companions and I constantly create and re-create them in their myriad personalities and forms. Even in their "fussy" modes they are the role models I adore. ("Is he trying to butter us up?" the 1st muse said. "Ah, that's just Ralph," the 2nd Muse said, a slight smirk to her reply.)
Hollywood. "The Day of the Locust" by Nathaniel West" is the book to read about Hollywood. A skid row away from Sunset Blvd. Shattered dreams of imagined glory. If there is any art that topped comic books in shaping my image of life, of self, of what I too must become, it was the movies. I attended shows almost nightly growing up (pre-TV) in my small Ozark hometown. The Uptown Theater. The Stone Theater. Cost was 14 to 15 cents for under 12 and 30 to 35 cents for adults. Tuesday night was "pal night" when two tickets were sold for the price of one. The Uptown was a block away. The Stone was about 3 blocks away. I first wanted to grow up and be a cowboy. Then, mid-teens, a cool Humphrey Bogart style was what I wanted to grow into. Mean streets. Back bars. Broken neon. Trash littered alleys. Home. Hollywood. "The Day of the Locust" took me there. I still re-read the book. Shattered dreams remain alive.
Apr 14, 2009
Apr 13, 2009
"Yes...posted the 13th. But at least it is not Friday." the artist reminds. Thankfully.
Playing with "paint". Moving lines. One of my early (and few) forays into "painting" using an art program. Came out okay. Curious, I added "texture" t0 the image. Liked it. I imagine this enlarged to 6'x4' and printed out on canvas! I would hang it on my wall. ("Dream on," the Muse said.)
Visiting at Jan and Mary and Christine, Jan's mother, was there. We had a good talk. She is of my own parents' generation and I enjoyed our connection. Later I was "sketching" and building on whatever images evolved on my computer screen. This figure, reminded me of that evening, of my own mother, and I penned in (moused in?) the fireplace, the comforting flames...home. I call it "the mom."
The sleep of innocence. She is nude. Somewhat provocatively exposed. With a few twists of brush and color the atmosphere could change. But now asleep. At rest. At peace. No fear. I like the vision the Muse has given here.
Evita loves New Mexico. I love Evita. She was created on my Amiga at the end of the '80s when I lived there. It was a creative time. I had quit a career in the journalism trade, sold my home, paid my mortgage, took what savings I had, and begin a new period of art. The new world of computer graphics added to the thrill. "Evita" is a example of moving from what I had done with pens and color markers to rolling a mouse across a pad and watching the pixels pop across the computer screen. A journey I still trip on. Evita. She's my girl.
Returning here to Fayetteville after a 2-year foray into New Mexicao, happy but broke, I scrounged enough money to pay a week's room rent, and took the first job I could find - as a janitor-custodian at our local University. The job gave me access to a web server. A new foray - onto the Internet - was underway.
And the thoughts do come. Infinite. Triggered by the thoughts of literally millions of others. All at light speed. Everything. Info overload. From the Greek translation of the Holy Bible to the latest soil analysis radioed back by the Mars Rover. Are daily pedicures written into CEO's contracts? Has President Obama sneezed in public this week? The answers are there. All condensed to ones and zero! Magic Land.
The Muse is curious? I'm curious. Maybe "frantic" is more accurate. Whatever information (images or text) is entered onto the Net, other choices are endless. What will work? What will crash? It remains a hell of a ride. An on-going adventure.
How not "fess up" to anything done on the internet? It is hardly a choice. Which I accept. I grew up in a small town. People knew what other people did. Even "global" a village is that: a village. Where, as I now write, I live.
So ... One. Two. Three. The holy trio. The muses agree. Dancing on. But with foresight. Read their post below.
Don is an artist I bonded with during our college days at the Univ. of Ark. About a 10-year difference in age but what the calender divided our common interest in art - making art, talking art - writing art - living art pulled us into lasting friendship. Thanks to Don I also became good friends with his wife Shanti and family. Home in Texas, he and Shanti are now living in Mass. But back to Texas they intend to go. The photo here was taken by Don's son, Josh, in Lockhart - a small town triangulated between Austin and San Marcus. And the comment about building a web page? I am getting there.
Our Gang - photo
Our Gang. A few here. Frou, myself, Jan, and Jack. All survivors of the '60s. Artists, architects, video shooters, dancers, writers, junkies, musicians, poets, downbeats clinging on, upbeats heading down - a mix. It is the attraction of living in a college town. Many formed our bonds from those days. The Ozarks hills welcomes all.
The image above was scanned from one of my old journals from the early '80s when I was intently involved in drawing and writing whatever came to the moment. Some made sense. Some didn't. It didn't matter. The important thing was to get it down. I did volume after volume. And, thankfully this time, my efforts were not abandoned. I kept doing them for some years and I have now turned many of them over to Special Collections at the Mullins Library at the University of Arkansas. Hopefully there they will remain intact.
