Rub, rub. Pat, pat.

I worked in the studio on the early stages of a new piece. I'm putting in the background, which means putting about a thousand little jigsaw pieces on a board I spent about a week warping.
I'm looking at my hands. At every large exhibit, at least one person comes up to me and says something to the effect of, "Oh, if I only had your hands." (Second only to my favorite, which is "Wow---it would take me ten years to do that!")
First of all, you wouldn't want my hands. They are scarred and scratched and wide as a farmer's. After a dozen years of sculpting nearly every day, they are strong hands. People bring pickle jars to me----from across town.

Secondly. Do you really think that artists make art with their hands?
Don't you think that if I lost the use of my hands I'd make art with my feet? Or mouth? Or with whatever technology was available?
Are you aware that there are artists out there who create art without their hands?
It's in my head. It's in their heads. Whatever you do is in your head.
*****************************************
But. I do think this:
In order for a person to do the art I do (including the piece I'm working on right now), that person would have to have my brain.
My brain is where the vision is. Where their (artists) visions are. Where your vision is.


It also occurs to me, just now, that a person performing the task I'm performing right now,( which is selecting and gluing puzzle pieces on with both hands) would have to have the following criteria:

Such individual must be capable of rubbing the stomach and patting the head, simultaneously, and switching to patting the stomach and rubbing the head---without amorphous rub-pats or pat-rubs.

NOW I'm using both hands here, right? But the ability to do this, is in my brain.*

This could actually be a lemma. Yes? We could think about it some more, and agree that it is a theorem. I wonder. Is this a right-brain or left-brain function? Hmmm.

*Note to Dr. Abba: I had coffee earlier, and a good dose of tired. Other brain variables will be mentioned should they apply.

A quick word about the SlaughterHouse page on the site. It will be up and running very soon. For now, I'm going to stash all the technical, nuts-and-bolts stuff in there. I don't have any interest in doing a tutorial on mold making or paper mache or what-not. But I'll put the weird stuff in here like accidental discoveries, unorthodox uses for tools and materials, and some of the spectacular screw-ups that gave us our SlaughterHouse motto:

"Nothin' can go wrong now!"

So, if you have technical questions please ask and I'll try to answer them here, so as not to bore the pants off everyone else.

Here is a first look at the new H. P. Lovecraft rat. I'll be working on the artist's proofs for a week or so. I'll get 'official' photos on the site soon. He's holding a candle (in case this snapshot doesn't show it well) and of course, there is the adorable Cthulu.

Cold epiphany

I was going to write you this cool thing that involves Michel Gondry images and string theory and why we are drawing pictures of multiple universes. I will try very hard not to forget to post that. I'm too tired now, after a couple of late hours in the studio.
I made a mold. Making a mold sometimes requires using a triple beam balance. Surprise! All that stuff you have to learn in science you think is a waste? wroooooonnngo. I use stuff all the time I never, ever would have expected would be useful in art.
I've used balances before. I've used them to weigh speens, hearts, livers and once, a foot
Yes, I am a closet geek. My first career was spent mostly in green-tiled rooms.
The studio is set up like a morgue, or any number of labs I've worked in. It's a bunch of stations for different work in a big, cold room and chairs with wheels so you can push off from one station to another. The studio is a lab, then, sort of. A right-brained, non-sterile, laboratory where sometimes people spontaneously break into dance, but yeah, I guess it is sort of a laboratory.
So, here I am tonight, weighing an empty cup on a triple beam, wearing,a white, red (paint) stained apron, latex gloves and safety goggles. I'm working under a very bright light. The room is very quiet, it's very late and I'm alone in a room full of creepy stuff.


Shit.

It's the morgue all over again.What kinda fucking karmic joke is this?
And that's not even the worst of it.

Ok, lots of people work in red stained aprons. Pathologists, artists and butchers, for some.

I named my studios SlaughterHouse because I (to the chagrin and embarrassment of my friends who love me anyway) tend to preach about sheep. I'm pretty sure that's it.
But--- now I know the morgue is in there somewhere. The morgue and the slaughterhouse and the bloody aprons, the working to exhaustion, the sheep, the preaching, the preaching the sheep, sheep, sheep. It's going to roll around my head and keep me awake. The pernicious idea that alive isn't everything.
Counting sheep. Killing sleep.
The best thing I think, would be a walk outside. Our neighborhood doesn't allow street lights, which makes for very dark streets, but is a good thing if you want to walk at 2am and see the little stars, way in back.,
I agree.
G'night

Speak of the Devil...

Just as I was writing the bit about Melinda, Neil emailed this photo of himself and Dave McKean (the cool one, on the right). So here they are. Maybe this will make up for the photo of the shoes....

Too, I'm a little curious about how a photo sent from a phone and posted onto a site will look.

Neil and Dave 

canning machine print 

killer shoes 

Canning, shoes, ouch and good news from Poland.

Sculpting is very physical work. Obviously, hacking away at a huge piece of wood is physical. Or having to work for hours on something from a ladder. But it's the tiny pieces that really get me. The detail sculpting and the painting. (Painting and drawing are physical work too) So I've finally reached the point where I can't ignore it any longer and must do something besides take Motrin. Probably the something will be to call little Mike L., dreadlocked and cheerful and much more powerful than he looks. So much so that he will bend me back into place.


Somewhere (below?) are photos of my latest thrift-store finds: a pair of killer Italian shoes---positively evil, and a very cool print of an old canning machine, very nicely framed and ready to inspire me to do something canny with puppets. Something very canny. Something evilly canny.

Neil sent me a copy of Melinda. Neil Gaiman & Dagmara Matuszak Melinda Reviewed by Rick Kleffel It is gorgeous in many ways. It sort of reminded me of what I love about Nick Bantock,Nick Bantock with its pasted-on illustrations and drawings. The words and images have a very distinct dynamic. Very cool.
Dagmara Matuszak will be featured here on the journal sometime in early March. I'll post dates/time on the News page of the site when it's set. We may do a live chat thing, but at least will do an interview. I'm really, really looking forward to exploring some things with her. She is an amazing artist and this will be a chance to get a glimpse into her creative process. It will be very cool and you must come and you must bring a friend...

So, I shall stop typing and stretch.
G'night

detail 

heat 

In other news...flaming angels

I'm not going to talk about today's news. I'm going to say I saw today's news. I'm going to assume you did. Lots of us read or watched simultaneously, I'm sure. Sometimes news makes me want to never, ever make art again. Today it did. So I go into the studio. I turn on the lights, twist my hair up, put on my apron and take a deep breath---adjusting my brain to in here instead of out there. I choose music, turn up the volume and make more art.
I used to think I was running away from there. Now I understand that I'm running to there, with these things I make back here.

So now do you crave chocolate?

Last night I stayed up and finished Relic III. The is the third venture into this particular theme. I'm not done yet. I know this because
1) Relic is part of a book project I'm working on that is a strange mix of dimensions. David Niall WilsonChateaux Shadeaux and Neil Gaiman Neil Gaiman are going along with me on this particular trip, with some insights into things Lost and Found.

and 2) because I just know. Y'know?? Relic has been with me for a very long time. Much longer than I knew, really, until recently.

Prokofiev's Fiery Angel Symphony is in there, though it's not the original source I thought it to be.

Last night I listened to Bartok. The sculpting and sanding was finished, all the layers of paints were dry and it was time to light her up. So I did, knowing I could lose weeks of work if I screw up, knowing the effect is worth the risk.
You see, there was this angel. It was found many years after having been rescued from a fire. Her name is lost, and any record of the artist who made her is long gone.

But she carries a memory, from back there, of being a kid carried out of a burning house. Of seeing her through the smoke, watching us leave her behind. I guess I could mention that on the lawn of the burning house, there was a burning cross. But I'm not going to write about that either, not tonight, because I want to go and make art.

Tonight I'm thinking about friends of my webmaster (and friend)
Ravyn, who were in a car accident today and have some interesting days ahead. I wish them well.

So, instead of popcorn for movie snacks, we are eating Cheerios. And, tonight I taught Orion how to eat them from his palm by snagging them , frog-like, with his wet tongue.
I consider both these things to be examples of good parenting.

Be careful youse guys, out there.

Gleanings, and a little evil, from PBS

Orion, who is nearly three, is home for another month before he starts a pre-school program. So, needless to say, we are tuning in to children's programming fairly regularly. On the downside, Aubrey and I embarrass ourselves by breaking into Backyardigan songs in the car.
---they tend to become imprinted upon the brain.. . We got to see how crayons are made on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Yeah, I know, the puppets are scary as hell, still.
I was impressed to see Arthur Ganson Arthur can make a machine that waves goodbye featured in an episode of Arthur, very cool. Last night Reading Rainbow featured artist Jeff Davis, who makes really cool stuff from recycled vinyl records. Jeff Davis clocks & notebooks from vinyl records and jackets
But, just between us, I shamefully confess the other day I found myself held in an unblinking, vampiric thrall as Magnus Scheving did pushups History <>. Sheeeeeeeeeeesh! Not since Anthony Wiggles' er, support-free dancing has children's programming offered such a "little something for the mommies".
Definitely, definitely twisted.
(I meant me.)

Now, off to the studio to close the doors, put on some music and finish Relic III. She will not leave me alone...

Taste Test 

Fake butter and Big, Big Shoes

So it's January 24. I wake up planning to have a typical day of work, both studio and household. I turn on CNN only to have my plans derailed by the news that I'm supposed to be depressed today. Diasporian News of Monday, 24 January 2005
Being a good sheep, I opt to make a cup of coffee and mope. Staring into the refrigerator can be depressing on many levels. So, I stare.
I notice there are three different tubs of margarine on the shelf.
Being me, I decide to perform a taste test.
I have here:
Original Parkay "The flavor says BUTTER!" 60 calories per serving, 60 from fat
Land O Lakes Fresh Buttery Taste spread "Where simple goodness begins" 80 calories/serving 80 calories from fat
Country Crock Plus Calcium "Slow down, think good thoughts...inside this crock." 50 calories/serving 45 from fat
Land O Lakes comes way out in front, taste wise, reminiscent of butter, actually, in a pinch. Country Crock would be pretty good had I not tasted the Land O Lakes already. Parkay falls way, way behind, tasting not even remotely like butter and somewhat like Crisco.
I'm still not depressed.
You might have noticed the Coffee Monster lurking in the photo. He is one of my favorite possessions, and was created by Jeff Coleman, Creatures and Gargoyles whom I haven't seen in several years but I understand is still sculpting wonderfully imaginative creatures. I must remember to send him a hello.
It is indeed gloomy, but Aubrey is restless so I take her to a couple of thrift stores, which are picked -over and gloomy. They must have known about Jan 24.
I find a pair of size 16 Converse Allstars, nearly new. Only someone who wears a size 16 shoe (I don't, Pete does) can appreciate this find. Pete muses that the owner must've died early into ownership. I find a print of a sheep to add to my collection. Total $9.25.
It reminds me of myself, the sheep print, as I wait in the drive-thru line for Aubrey's Frappachino. Which comic describes a training program for Starbucks employees as: one hour to learn to make the coffees, eight hours to learn not to laugh at people who pay $4.50 for one???
Hope your Jan 24 wasn't terribly gloomy. But, at any rate, it'll be over soon.

Neil Rat, Voss, mess on my desk 

Voss, the Backroom and other stuff...

So, I'm having a VOSS . Right now, see? There it is on my desk. I put my Neil Rat there so you'd recognize my desk. You do recognize my desk, right? So, I'm thirsty, it's water, that works out. Voss comes in a heavy glass jar with a screw -on plastic top. It looks like cheap perfume but, no, it's water.
It's water. Yum.
You can order 24 bottles of Voss delivered to your home for about $47.00. ..Voss: Bottled Water Delivery Service
It's from Norway.
That's nice.
It's just water, people. W A T E R
It tastes like, well, water. I might mention that, if you look through the Voss website, they even have a little fear campaign about tap water. Might I suggest that there are other choices? It's not either : that funny-tasting water from grandma's well (whatever happened to that rabbit, anyway?) o r VOSS. Probably we should shop around.
The bottles are heavy heavy and the tops are heavy. They can be recycled but you can't recover the cost of making the bottles and tops or the added freight/fuel costs of such heavy packaging.

Now, here's what's bugging me.

I just now decided to have a Sapporo. This is my favorite beer. Why? I like the way it tastes and the can is just the right size to last through an enjoyable conversation or the Daily Show and a slice of pizza.
Now---it is a Japanese beer, brewed and canned in Canada. I pay about $3.00 for a can, which is about $.75 more than I'd pay for a domestic beer.

What I'm asking you is, is there a difference between my paying $.75 more for a particular brand of beer and someone paying $40.00 more for a case of Voss?
Other than the obvious $39.25, thank you... Tell me what you think about this.


Other than that, it's late Sunday night and I got nothin'. Except that I finished a rather large sculpture today and several rats and danced in the studio to Flogging Molly *The Official Flogging Molly Website with Orion. We polka, until he gets bored, then we polka like T-Rexes.
*if you like Flogging Molly you most likely will also adore Folk UndergroundFolk UnderGround (yes, I know you already know you Neil-y bastards---but NEWS! other people exist)

Then, it IS late Sunday night and I've had most of my Sapporo and that reminds me of the Back Room, which I mentioned about a week ago.
The Back Room is a work in progress and we, my webmaster and I, refer to it as the Speakeasy. I'm looking forward to opening the Speakeasy. I like the idea of a place where we can talk freely about less popular subjects. When I speak at conventions and exhibits, once in a while someone asks me what happened to the edgy sculpture I showed years ago. Some people have accused me of 'losing my nerve'. It's true, back when, I was showing some pieces at certain east coast exhibits that would have set the San Diego Convention Center ablaze. I still go there, sometimes. I don't take these works to conventions because they're not appropriate for conventions. Just as saying 'fuck' is fine, but not in public. ---Think of me as "Dear Abby" with a touch of Bill Hicks.billhicks.com - 'People Who Hate People' Party HQ (I am so not worthy even to speak his name) Ok then, Timothy Leary?
So---once we get the logistics worked out for an appropriate , secure 'space' for the Speakeasy, we'll light up the neon. Leave the little ones at home.

One day soon, in February, probably, we shall talk more about Bill Hicks.

Orange Trees, Ranulfo and Weather Envy

So today we stood outside talking and eating oranges we'd picked from branches over our heads.* If you've never stood under an orange tree, it's worth checking out, especially in spring when they bloom.. It would be ridiculous to try to describe this experience.. One can describe an orgasm as effectively as one could describe standing under an orange tree in bloom, or under a giant fir in snow or snuggling with a baby or jumping out of an airplane or any of those things that can be described but should be experienced..
Heh---are you experienced?
Ranulfo does this weird thing when he shows up. He rings the doorbell, then, when I open the door, he's standing way back, like 18 feet away, He's like a Ninja---no matter how fast I open the door he's far away. . I have one of those peephole things--the old swivel ones that look like tiny telescopes. I keep meaning to put some eyelashes on it or something.
I swear, I look at him through the thingy and by the time I open the front door, he's way-the-hell up the walk.
It really cracks me up, so I asked him about it. I said, "What, Ranulfo? Are you practicing for something?" He just laughed it off. So we talked about gravel and apple trees and I enjoyed, truly, a conversation with someone who has never been on the internet and sees little of television or movies. It is a mango sorbet. It is a cool shower for the brain...
Still, next time I'm going to ask him about that front-door thing.. Every time I think I have a good grip on reality somebody does some quirky stuff like that.

Feel free to take a stab at it. I'll be curious to hear what you come up with. G'night

* I've talked to several friends on the phone or internet, all of whom live in rather cold places that are rather colder tonight. Almost universally----when I told them it was sunny and 74 degrees F and I was standing outside looking at the snowy mountains and eating oranges off my tree while talking with my gardener---- they each had various colorful ideas about what I could do with my oranges (and my gardener) or threatened that when I visited they might help me learn to enjoy snow ---also in colorful ways.
To all of you butts (I say this with deepest love) Get over it. Call me this summer when it's 127 degrees F and my shoes are melted to the sidewalk.
"But, it's a dry heat." whaaa
Yes, it is so dry that it could suck the moisture right out of you. It could except for the bazillion fucking golf courses in Palm Springs. No it's a blinding, searing, unbreathable, shave your dog, hide in your house misery.. But then, it gets dark at 5:30 and we swim until midnight. hmmmm
Okay, you can hate me a little, just this week.

The Itsy Bit Inside If you like the piece for it's shiny colors and because it goes with your lamp. Well...cool.If you want to dig into it, read Puppet Physics and apply.or notThere are foods that eat up a fucking lot of (insert any commodity here, e.g. energy, sweat, small children) in order to be produced. Usually they cost a lot of money. They are usually only ever eaten by a few.They are delicacies. They are worth it.For whom?Yum. Yum. ---don't be a puppet---read on---
The Itsy Bit Inside

The Itsy Bit Inside

The Itsy Bit Inside

If you like the piece for it's shiny colors and because it goes with your lamp. Well...cool.
If you want to dig into it, read Puppet Physics and apply.
or not
There are foods that eat up a fucking lot of (insert any commodity here, e.g. energy, sweat, small children) in order to be produced. Usually they cost a lot of money. They are usually only ever eaten by a few.

They are delicacies. They are worth it.

For whom?

Yum. Yum.

Interference Pattern