are my tastes. My life is mix of new and old, simple and ornate. Furnishings, clothing, art, books, music, friends and ideas came from discordant decades, styles and places.
What is it that ties these things together? How is it that they fit? Perhaps the connections can't be seen by others, though I'm told it's an interesting place to visit, full of subtle surprises. I see it very clearly, but I can't define it.
Over time, this life has translated itself into my work. My work is made of collections of oddments, bits and pieces in little cabinets. Nightmarish figures with bits of kindness, old bones in bright toy colors, dead insects wearing tutus and tuxedos.
I begin to understand the thread.
This is the good stuff. It's the kind of stuff that begins to happen after twenty years of studying a subject.
About that many years ago Harlan Ellison told me I was a true- to- life monomaniac. He was right. I don't have to tell Harlan he was right. He knew, even then. But I didn't. I didn't know what the word meant. Not twenty years ago.
All this time I've been looking at the absolute absurdity of being human through a specific lens. Through eyes distant and amused, kind and dangerous. I've been teaching myself a language I'm creating as I go.
Some of my earlier works have codes engraved or painted or sculpted into them. Other's have the cipher.
I've tended to amuse myself in odd ways...
It's like time travel.
(I've told you this before.)
Such discoveries are hard won. Possibly you've had some and you're smiling. Possibly you haven't yet. Not to worry. The difficult stuff is also the best stuff.
Tonight the desert is burning to the west of us. My son is safely asleep in his bed. Another Hellish Summer is over and it's time to laugh, seriously.