Burning angels, burning desert

I'm not going to complain about the weather, not with people in the East drowning. My sympathies go out to them.

I did burn my feet today. I thought I could make it to the shade, just a dozen steps, to retrieve Orion's swimsuit. Nope. My painful and red little feet (size 6) are encased in footies, slathered in ointment. DUMBARTIST is Lisa.

I'm trying to maintain my little micro environment. My ferns are still alive, thanks to the artificial rain. My gardener will be here tomorrow and we'll see what else can be done. It's nearly eleven pm right now and the thermometer on the back porch reads 103.

Aubrey has disappeared into her summer studies. She is ambitious. There is a tower of books on various religions in her room, studded with post-it notes and bits of paper. Of course, what can I say? The tower of books came off the shelves in our house. OK. I can say, YES. My offspring is seeking knowledge.

Orion is playing TAK under the fan. He 'should' have been in bed two hours ago. It's summer. He will have schedules soon enough.

I'm deep into working. I suspect you gathered that from my silence. Sorry. It is the nature of the art that sometimes I must sort of go away.

A few words on burning angels...

The first "Relic" sculpture I did was inspired by these vague memories of an experience I half remember from early childhood. The images are sharp. The facts are fuzzy and unverified, as relatives have long gone to other worlds....And dust.
It mostly has to do with a cross burning in my Aunt's yard that went from bad to worse. It mostly has to do with commotion, shouting and being carried out of a big old house. It mostly has to do with jouncing on an uncle's shoulder past a painting of an angel going up in flames. How much is remembered? How much is dream? What investigation I could do leads me to believe that the angel was actually a print or lithograph of Pinky. Thomas Gainsborough
Blue Boy was nowhere to be found. But for some reason the angel remains in my memory.

The chaos and conflict, the undertone of rebellion and the visual of the huge, gilt-framed painting in flames remains, immovable, in my heart of hearts. The falling of a once opulent and decadent family is a sepia toned history common enough in the south, real enough for me.

But, even more than mostly, I burn the works in this Relic series because I've always lived many levels of reality. Possibly because of my own mothers swings between genius and insanity, possibly because of the dichotomy of religion and folklore I grew up in. Likely because of my forays into chasms of dream, depression and imagination.

But possibly, it's simply that I like fucking with boundaries. Period. The Relic pieces (as well as many other works of mine) tend to blur the edge between two- and three -dimensional works, much to the chagrin of art directors who must categorize these pieces. They are both paintings and sculptures. When I burn one of these works----I refer here especially to
"Guardian of Sorrows" and El Maestro del Fuego, I not only incorporate fire into the story of the character I've created, but I spill the story out past the frame, into the presence of the viewer----namely, me and sometimes you.

So. I will have a glass of red wine and soak my feet in the pool and gather myself for tomorrow, which will come very, very soon. But first, I will email Gene Wolfe, because I miss him.

Have a good midnight

not a post but, then, sort of one

Actually, I spent most of my posting time answering comments. Still, I'm happy you're reading and thinking.

Yes, it is hot. And very cloudy and humid. The sun was a big red ball today. I tried a couple of photos, but they were unsatisfying.

I tried working on the cabinets but I only want to sit under the fan. Orion and I watched "March of the Penguins." wow. That was really, really lovely. More like that please. Less Hollywood crap and crap2 and son of crap. sheesh Lots of animals out there we know little about... I was daunted to discover how much the penquins reminded me of my puppets. Is it just me?

Today's Bennism: Yes, I am. I'm on both sides of the fence and underneath it too.

Can't live with him, can't shoot him.

But the best quote of the day comes from Patrick (SpongeBob) "At least I'm safe here in my head!"
Don't you just love Patrick?

Now and Then

Orion and I swam, then while he napped I started painting the kitchen cabinets. Actually, what I started is more like a painting that begins on the kitchen cabinets and will spill over onto the far wall. I've been thinking about it for some time and had the supplies on hand so, just like that, I sat down on the floor and began.

Tonight I picked Aubrey up from her friend's at 8:30. The thermometer read 100.

You've probably gathered already that I'm interested in doing some underwater photography. I emailed Mimi Ko and (she is so cool) she emailed me back some options for working with what I have on hand. Already I've found a case for my camera. Thanks, Mimi!
She'll be visiting in August and we'll get really creative---though, not necessarily under water.

Recently Pete called in to the Marshall Gilbert radio program regarding rabidly right wing Ann Coulter's new book The Church of Liberalism. He requested Gilbert present another side(ours) by interviewing Sam Harris, author of The End of Faith. The End Of Faith, by Sam Harris
We're sure that Gilbert, who is as Right as Right can be, will not, but hope the mention may have sold a couple of books for Harris.

I finished The End of Faith several weeks ago and will say that, though I don't agree with it wholesale, it's a smart, rational argument and well worth the read.

Since the upsets in the Catholic Church, the religious infestation of the White House and the flack over Dan Brown's mediocre but fun Da Vinci Code, people seem to be talking about religion more openly than ever before. This, at least, is a step forward.

On that note, here SlaughterHouse Studios: Sacred Sand I explain how I came to The "Church" of the Desert. It's a "rerun" for those of you who've been with me for a long time, but some of you found me more recently and might enjoy it. Somehow, in today's heat, it carries a strong presence for me.

Since I began writing this it's cooled down to a brisk 98 outside. Aubrey, Orion and I are going for a quiet nighttime swim before bed.

On Tuesday I'll be back in the studio. If I fail to tell you about what I've decided to to for Tiny Stories, please remind me. And back in there, I'll remember to say what I wanted to about burning. But I can't sit here any longer. It's cloistering, even in the air conditioning.

If I haven't said so lately, thanks for being here. Thanks for commenting. Thanks for thinking.

g'night

Fugue

My fugue state continues though it's not troubling and probably is exactly where I need to be. An intense creative state is coming. I don't sense it directly, but I've become increasingly aware these past few days of the clean place it will eventually occupy. There are rhythms and cycles in this creative weirdness that are distinct and familiar, possibly because I've learned to watch and recognize them. Strange as it may sound, the best way I can describe the process is to picture the world in my head as just that---a world, a place with vast spaces, places very different one from the other. Those things I make are tokens, mementos.

Some spaces are indescribable.

I'm working on building strength for the rescue techniques--better breathing and efficient movements. Yesterday I swam just under the water's surface, studying the glassy plane a foot above and the space below where even the most familiar things obey different laws. Light is no exception.

Is it childish to become so lost in such simple things? Shades of blue, the taste of ice cream, a watch spring or the contours of a face can become places to explore with senses and thoughts and tools. I'd rather think of it as a childlike ability that most of us put aside for as many reasons as there are people who put it aside.

Some view these little journeys as insanity.

Sometimes little mental wanderings help me ease back into sleep. I've been waking at very nearly 3AM for many nights. Twice now, at exactly 2:59. Hmmm, I saw "The Exorcism of Emily Rose." So, last night, at 3:02, I wondered whether demons were aware of Daylight Savings Time, if they wore wristwatches, and if so, what kind. I imagined a particularly nasty demon tapping his claw, waiting because someone's bedside clock was slow. I thought of demons complaining that digital clocks don't tick, that sometimes every clock in a house is different and that they get sucked into watching reruns of MASH when people leave their sets on.
Then I fell asleep.

So...yes. This is my fugue state. Functional, yes. Little journey's that prepare me for larger ones. I can do laundry, answer emails and even write posts. I can sculpt and mail rats and such, but there's a sort of vibration, like distant sound underwater, that warns me to take some vitamins and clear my schedule, stock up on food and soak up some sun because sometime, not immediately and not too far off, I might go in.

Those of you who go in---you know. You know that in is vastly larger than out. At least the distances we can travel in our heads at present is far greater than the distance we can travel through space.

There's always the ever so slim chance of not returning.

So...better take a sweater.

g'night

Weirdness. We were without phone lines for three days, and I had a terrible toothache and walked around in a haze of pain for two of them until my dentist, whom I adore, took wonderful care of me and now has a signed copy of Strange Birds. I did manage, however, to play with Orion a little with PlayDoh. This is what came from Tylenol 3.

Technical Difficulties....

--------- Ravyn here...

Phone lines are down in the desert. i've been talking to Lisa on her cell phone today, tracking a package that was somehow sent **LOW** Priority Mail, heh.

But when she called me while i was in a meeting, i was treated to baffled looks from my client (and passers-by in Panera Bread), when my purse started bleating like a sheep... **grin**. Yes, i found a custom ring-tone for her number that sounds JUST like a sheep.

BAAAAAAHHHHHHHH...... (i'll have to get her to call me more often, at random times)

So, when it was looking like she wasn't going to get phone service anytime soon, she told me i could post in her place if i wanted. Sooooooooooooo i'm hijacking her blog tonight, and subjecting you to my "baby" pictures, heh.




This is Ravynesque, just over three years old now, modeling her brand new halter. i have more baby pictures, and other silly things, on my blog. Check it out before she gets her phone service back and sees what i did to her blog muah hah hah hah hah!

nitey!

Some days it's like this..

This is sort of a test post as Blogger seems to be down for my journal, though not for journals of others we regularly check. Hmmm.
It's 111degrees outside today. Pete pitched his tent last night to air it out before he leaves for his annual "hippyfest"High Sierra Music Festival > High Sierra Music. It's an eight-day gig where he does staging for the bands, but he enjoys it so much I know he'd likely go even if not to work. For him, as for me, sometimes his job doesn't seem like a job.
The tent is set up underneath the "main canopy" outside, but we still must check to make sure the floor doesn't start to melt.

I'm trying to be in the studio, but keep getting pulled out to handle this call or that, mostly with shipping issues. Some days my job seems like a 'real' job. No thanks.

later---

Guardian of Sorrows

Guardian of Sorrows. I thought to start with his face, because that's where I really understood who he was. I wrote more about him after the other photos, below.

Guardian_of_Sorrows_staff

Guardian_of_Sorrows_wing

Guardian_of_Sorrows_detail

Lisa_Snellings_Clark_Guardian_of_Sorrows

Guardian of Sorrows

Guardian of Sorrows,

Antithesis to El Maestro del Fuego. Someday, someone will give me a great deal of money and I will sculpt a massive wall piece. Within it, the two will be engaged in immortal combat, angel against angel, skulls against hands. Balance. Ballet. Fire.

I can see it in my head.

Someday, likely, I will sculpt it anyway because, damn, that's hot.

I finished this today and I'm so ready for a shower, chocolate and rest. I've been thinking about the process, the actual burning of these pieces. I'll take a stab at explaining that next post, and answering technical questions.



Guardian of Sorrows was commissioned by Roland Chisolm and Robert Johnson. I'm very grateful for the opportunity to create this sculpture for them. Thanks, guys!

g'night

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 2

I usually begin with the flesh tones. I thought you'd enjoying seeing the palette I use for that.

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 2

Painting facial details. I enjoy sitting on the floor to paint detail.

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 2

Here, with some flesh-tones added.

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 2

detail of face. I'll be spending tomorrow with him as well.

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 1

Alison will be leaving soon. She had some decisions to make and came here to make them---sometimes home is her Camp David, she says. I don't mind that at all.

I'm going to check through the journal and answer comments. Then it's off to work for a bit. Ok, I'll admit it----I'm off to play in other worlds. But, that is my job...sometimes.

Guardian of Sorrows in progress - Painting, day 1

In a short while, I'll gather the things I need, just as I would to prepare for any journey. I'll leave the household in Pete's hands. That done, I'll close myself in the studio, put on some coffee, put on some music, climb into my inner space and start painting. Possibly tonight I'll have photos. Possibly I'll be too tired for photos and they will happen tomorrow. I have to say I'm looking forward to the trip. And yes, it's like time travel.

Mixed Bag, 1 of 6 Burn Baby Burn

Well, I'm back in the studio. Yesterday was for setting things aflame. This is the first angel I've made in real summer weather, which meant that I couldn't light it outside.
We don't light fires outside in the desert, in summer.
I knew I didn't want to breathe the stuff paint becomes as it burns, so I decided to set him afire before painting.
What I learned is that unpainted paper mache burns far faster than painted.

Quite an exciting experience. In other words, what a rush!!!

Right now, our guy looks a bit like a sort of evil genie. But painting will tell a different story.

Aubrey took the photo. I told her I don't like it much. I look like a bit of a smartass. Aubrey says I generally do, so not to blame her photography. Still, I think it's something she does.