The True Meaning Of junk drawer©

If junk drawer© is a combination catalog of objects that are arranged, photographed and written about poetically to tell snippets of experiences from the artist life and assemblages pieced together using the aforementioned objects in an effort to disposed of them with the sale of the art and thus ridding the artist of that story, that energy, that baggage, then the large site-specific installation titled ‘no more junk’ is the imagined end result.

A reclaimed vanity painted in black with layers of the paint chipping and peeling away, sits on a pedestal lifting the dresser slightly higher into view. The mirrors reflect your likeness as the viewer but also contain the permanent reflection of the artist, once trapped in place, literally bound with cord to his story, or history.

Mapped out onto his body are diagrams of lessons on how the mind and heart process information, how levels of consciousness work and how one can enter into a state of forgiveness from different directions.

On the dresser a reel of tape spins broken, no longer able to send the same old recordings into the brain, expressing a freedom from negative thoughts and patterns. The drawers themselves are all gone, no longer full of junk, most of it – recognizable in some of the photos in the exhibit – are scattered at the base of the vanity.

Only one object remains directly on the vanity – a one day chip from the Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous program. A reminder that some lessons, even with all the clarity in the world, are life long lessons. There is no perfection in life, only a continual practice to be better today than the day before.

Sponsors Needed for Art & Spiritual Quest

I’m raising money to go to Thailand where I will live and study in a Buddhist Monastery.

A friend who has offered to help me out financially suggested that I would be surprised how many people would be willing to help me find my way on a spiritual quest. He challenged me to put it out there…and so here it is.

However your contribution, anywhere from $250-$1000, is not a donation but an advance payment for a limited edition Artist Journal.

I will chronicle not only my physical trip in a foreign land, but my spiritual journey, from my studies to be ordained as a novice monk to processing my recent separation from my partner of many years. Everything pertinent to me today – my current solo show, the loss of a heaven-sent love, refocusing on my addictions, exploring childhood traumas and how they effect my choices to this day – all are bound to bubble up to the surface during this retreat and find their way onto the pages of this journal.

I envision a journal that is a combination of traditional printing and hand crafted hand-written portions. Probably bound in a homemade spiral the journal will include photos, materials, papers and various scraps from abroad. Each booklet, although containing the same account, will be an original in it’s own way, based on materials used, or which portions of the original hand-written journal are bound into it, etc.

Delivery will be determined by the extent of travel, plus production time. In terms of goals, I hope to have them ready between July and August 2011.

The number and size of contributions will determine the number of editions. The goal is to keep it to less than 13 originals, and not dilute their value. For example, 12 $500 contributions would cover most of my travel expenses, and permit me to end the edition at 12. Smaller contributions will require more editions.

To contribute email me via the contact feature, and we will discuss. You can order directly via the Shop feature on this site, increasing book quantities to match your desired donation (2=$500, 3=$750, 4=$1000), but this system charges you tax. So emailing me may be best for you. Regardless of contribution you will receive only one journal unless we discuss otherwise – again trying to keep editions low.

Thanks for your personal support as well as sharing this link with others.
It is said that ours is the realm of “what” and the realm of “how” is God’s territory. In other words what I want is my business, how it comes about is what I need to be open to…

Disposable Income

Evenly space apart side-to-side, top to bottom, 196 cans are set up in a four-foot square grid of 14 cans across and 14 cans down. The cans have been crushed and are displayed either top up or top down. Using multiple layers of transparent spray paint washes, the face-up cans are all aged or tarnished, while the bottom-up cans are shinny bright and silver. The brighter silver cans are also slightly taller (or thicker as they are viewed jetting out from the wall).

Up close, it’s just a bunch of cans. Stepping back away from the display you begin to be able to distinguish a text or a number created by the brighter silver cans; $3.

Three dollars is the approximate value of recycling these aluminum cans. Ever stop to think of the effort it takes to walk around town collecting these. Dumpster diving, pulling them from street gutters, lugging them around in a shopping cart or trying to balance hundreds and hundreds on a bicycle. 1000 cans to make 15 bucks. We just toss them, or put them in the recycling bin. How desperate would you have to be to collect 200 cans for three dollars?

Vernacular

Vernacular is one of the installations for my upcoming solo show “home•less•bound•ness; (hom´lis´bound´nis´) –noun, 1. and other transient ideas”.  July 31st thru August 18th, Kolok Gallery, North Adams, MA.

Ever notice how many hubcaps litter the streets. You really don’t until you start to look for them. They’re everywhere. And I have visuals in my mind of homeless people picking these up, collecting them and carting them around to trade in at the nearest hubcap shack.

How much is one worth? Are plastic ones worth anything, or only the strong ones? Can’t be worth much if we as the drivers who loose them don’t go back looking for them. Of course where would you look?

They must be worth something, yet they’re one of those things you don’t realize you’ve lost, until it’s too late.

Gone. Not discarded, but rather lost right there in the open. Valuable in their own way, just not precious enough.

home•less•bound•ness

Green Homes is one of the installations for my upcoming solo show “home•less•bound•ness; (hom´lis´bound´nis´) –noun, 1. and other transient ideas”.

What started off as a simple project intended to merely accompany the other works of art became the cornerstone of the show.

Upon first glance, I wanted to communicate a sense of community with the grouping of home icons on the floor. Then, with closer examination – you can pick them up and turn them over – our thoughts might go to what “home” means to the homeless, to others, to ourselves.

As the homes sell individually and the installation gets smaller one might get a sense of how limited the options are for the homeless.

Originally slated to be installed as 99 homes (I’m drawn to threes, sixes and nines), each one – from initial cutting to final coating – took 15 steps or layers to create. Imagine 100 home icons, each with seven sides, each having a 15 processes applied to it. That’s 10,500 steps. I approached each step as a mediation. Each an opportunity to focus, get centered and imbed positive energy into each piece.

By the last few steps quiet meditation had given way to listening to and chatting mantras, each mantra repeated 108 times. The number is significant in Vedic writings, but the basic idea is that that number of repetitions is needed for energy to permeate the body and the things around it.

Prior to the last two steps I ran a quality control process selecting homes that might be flawed to be removed, leaving the best 99 for the show. I was surprised to see nine pieces off to the side. 9 and 99, that’s 108. Before this project I didn’t know the significance of repetition used with mantras. That aside, why cut 108 homes? Why not 105, 110 or 112, some logical number?

So I “accepted” and added the discarded nine back into the installation. That is the point of meditation and to some extent the purpose of this show. To come to a place of compassion and acceptance – of circumstances, of others, of ourselves.

Mask

I thought the self-identity theme of this 1989 self portrait – Mask – was appropriate for an introduction. Dressed in the bright colors of The Fool, I sit in meditation pose, my face removed and converted into a mask. Where my face should be, is a dark void – an emptiness that often overcame me back then.

The Fool of the tarot is unique. He represents both beginning and end. His is the journey from Joker to Ace. In youth his carefree attitude is attributed to ignorance, while in adulthood it’s attributed to acceptance and inner peace. Like him, I was intuitive but lacked the maturity needed to master that skill.

When I painted the background masks they merely represented seven early loves. Today, as I observe my habits, characteristics, likes, dislikes, etc., I can’t help but wonder how we adapt ourselves to accommodate others? How much do we adopt from others to hold on to them? And finally, how much of that stays with us, becomes us?

Arthouse Five x Seven 11th Anniversary Fundraiser

I am among hundreds of recognized contemporary artists with strong Texas ties contributing unique works for Arthouse’s annual fundraiser, art splurge and exhibition. Five x Seven is an art show and sale benefiting Arthouse exhibitions and educational programs. All works of art are 5” x 7” and each is only $100. All pieces are displayed anonymously – so I can’t tell you which are mine. Only when you purchase a work of art will you discover who created it. The first exhibit, May 13th – 16th, in Austin, was wonderful. Such amazing work. The show will travel next to Dallas sometime in August.

When Good Art Goes Bad

Take a close look at Firewalk II. Those slightly squared pink-white patches aren’t color, it’s some form of mold. I did a little research and there is something called blanching that effects paintings, but I don’t think that’s what is going on here.

I have two theories. One is bad gesso. Sometime after I painted this I found mold growing in my gesso bucket.

My second theory is based on the fact that this was a reclaimed canvas that had gold leaf squares on it. Since the pattern of mold is similar to how I recall the old canvas, I think what were seeing is a chemical reaction between the metal and the paint.

My clients love the piece and do not want to sell it back. My concern is that every time they wipe it down with 409 to kill the ‘mold’, which continues to come back, it loses a little color. (You can see the original in the Shop menu).

Anyone see this before? How would you treat it?

Escape From The Monkey Cage