S.B.T. 88

wait a minute, it must be true, those madison avenue guys started the whole thing(if you try this link and an ad comes up just click on 'skip this ad' to get to the free streaming full episode list of 'mad men'). playtex, american airlines, upscale department stores, just plain shots of single malt lunches, looks like fun. powerful fun.

i remember a professor of art history saying ‘the medicis are on madison avenue these days’ it was just after the NEA cut off grant funding to individual artists, gone in a wink an era of support for the arts. ahem, has anyone seen the orphan act these days? hello...

i was visiting a friend yesterday, she has to do several different kinds of art in several what most would see as ‘unrelated’ mediums or art forms ha ha that really gets me into hysterics to make a *good* living. she does cartoons, pages in a magazine, writes articles, makes jewelry, paints furniture, murals, paintings, publishes her own calendars, posters, greeting cards, sews unusual fascinating ‘bags’ that sell in boutique shops, just to name a few. a 24/7 full overtime occupation. i asked her, "what would you do if you had to choose only one of these mediums?" it didnt take a second for her to answer but i wont reveal what the answer is.

then she asked me. i had to think about it. lets see, the lesser of two or multiple evils ha ha, what would that be? seeing as i started my art ca-career (thanks Pat) before the age of five, and it was multidisciplinary from the getgo, i never thought it would be neccessary to choose just one but oh there is an indominate dictum somewhere that quite literally demands a cutoff point. which is the more of good and lesser of two evils? do this, or do that but whichever way, you cannot always do exactly what you must. i reiterate leondardo da vinci and how nobody ever told him to stick to drawing figures. not that i am a leonardress but to elucidate a point hold the egomaniacal kneejerk incheck

get real. thats what my biggest boss told me before i finally chose the lesser of two evils and left him to his love affair with designy commodities. the next boss seemed like the lesser of two evils but then i found out that evils are pretty much well spread around evenly. but once a precious long time ago i had a boss i really liked

i’m not ashamed anymore of being around poverty level. I get state health insurance with fed backing but. just try to find a doctor. my car is old but has four wheels and runs cause i always do the oil change thing, and we are friends. my friends worry about my future some of them. but thats because they have children or mortgages. my mother still tells me i am like the praying mantis with the fiddle, is that it? you know the wise ants and squirrels gather up food supplies for winter and this guy just fiddles all summer long. then in the winter.....well have mercy.

worry is a waste of energy. it doesnt change anything. being content with what is, the lesser of two evils.

the photograph is my father, at age seventeen, his high school grad picture. it doesnt show that he had grey eyes because of the sepiatone. he was a musician at heart but he made a living teaching industrial arts in a public high school. he always made me feel like i was born for a reason. just like diane warren dad, i love you xxx

S.B.T. 77

ranchers
a cowboy poem



in process needing reduction to discrete imagery in illustrating this poem, i had to start an idea - a spur on the bootstrap moves the horse forward and gains speed, and then a wagon wheel turning like a mandala, the old west with some mindfulness of present day (some reliance on factual material. an overload of regretful missteps transmitted in media blatancy to arouse something which has been decided as a matter of 'public policy' and the old wild west next to the big 'hills' that mark a middle a backbone with unmistakable ridges coerced a response recalling honorable methods to renew and comeliness of the folks who worked land lived with animals made peace with mother nature during a free but hardship troubled era the indian culture before the fledgling affairs of state before the buffalo became property and the ghost dance forbidden.
the voice of a prairie woman holds the air with a broad measured peace while entertains no illusion but tenderly speaks they went west and traveled in a dusty muddy grace of what is see hear feel the rocky and true, she opens the door and speaks. they worked, she said, and closes the door to go back to maybe making corn biscuits and beans
in an effort perhaps partially unresolved) to counterpoint details and maintain cattle-rock pacing, the imagery corresponds with and explores complementary space, and the forms suggest the concrete and abstract mix a kind of surreal landscape with motion happenings of a tonal kind.

she opens the door and her thoughts manifest archetypal form a language of overlapping pictures projected onto landscape and behind the children in the barn playing with mouser cats the western wind never rests and the wagon needs fillin

and here was the little outtake that was wiggled back in but then couldnt be left alone a little study piece tango dream unfinished
enjoy



xxx

S.B.T. 76

in my part of the country there are legends of seawidows and the ‘widows walk’ is a fixture atop every old harbor house an architectural testimony to vigilance and the strength of women who prayed for the ships return some perhaps enjoyed the solitude in biding time the sound of the long black skirt and the quickening blood and footsteps when at dawn the mastflag is spotted over the horizon wind engulfed in its own time not a widow yet she sighs smiling and runs to gather potatoes and pluck a chicken 'good morning barrister she waves yes the captain breaches near just over the bar we saw them clear'




between water pearls the oiled mirror bends
the rain where the pipeline darkened and dim
supersedes the horizon and takes us in

between the bearing of the sea and ledge of sky
silk streamers open in figure eight, a pattern of leaf
unravel embark the seagulls fly

between this moment and the next a silver breath an infinite peel
fog horn drawn out in fractal light
a royal flush in a shaded hand, a splay
of rope unwinds a spooling reel

the border of skin between your touch and fingertip lightly
gentles a skiff over waves and time
slips of sand and contour lines follow a gemstudded shore more fragrance of red clay and the tides moving rhyme

between this a line cast fate a blue whale calling her calf my captain
safe crossing through the shoals and the heaves rolling
to awaken and find ye in passage keep
all the gods protection hitched to the starboard
a compass rose and vigilant sleep

__________________
widows walks have long been a fascination since childhood i have had to fight to resist the urge to climb upon them and pace pace pace perhaps some residue of another life long ago xxx

S.B.T. 75

the views expressed do not necessarily
reflect those of the management
neither do they hold any conjunction
with any actual doings in area 51
or otherwhere

S.B.T. 72

a documentary triptych in a sense, time. over three stages backwards/forwards in time.
obvious unabashed abstraction tight pose struck fast for words! pirouette pirouette save/ any portion framed and abstracted, and then the itself left cooling pie on the windowsill, the gooses pearly opal egg and yet is the process more living and the egg unhatched waiting for something to tap tap it open in a crooky twist and smile that pass and hands gesture and the eyebrows and some exchange of air on the molecular level you can walk through the magic dust of pigmentdiffusion dont walk too slowly neutron armies in the surface texture shoot off nano modules and it sticks to your sleeve, an allergy we will need to mix your coat with water and make monoprints on wax paper and adhere some fall orange red maple leaf and iron it for permanent funk factoring w/a protective sheet over




the evolution of a palette painting a painting of painting a painting mandala

S.B.T. 71

entrance stage right finding clues in visual materials the making of a drawing by ‘accident’ 1st release go loose (tension is good she said it gives you a cannon shot booster) of formal thinking classical training puritan ethic propaganda and habitual short cuts. something with some visualverbaltactile stature a ‘statement’ ahem quit laughing? seer somehow disconnects w/what it is as 'known' previously around ‘statement’ a signpost on the road NOT LAW in blue books but inuit rock carving a craftwork of pulling nuance pox and detail from a blob of something he looks at the stone turns it over and over looks at it smiles at it, squeezes it in his palm then he sees the polar bear this one has a hat 'the form is within' there is no end to expansion of form manifestato engine of now, ode call to meaning? language of inner space) becoming outer space and a splendid art object subject dialect, a communication refined by subterranean erosion or entropy if you prefer 'invisible lines of the world' becomes visible suggesting something deeper deeper than denture, running off the stage now wait a second_______part 1

process an indefinable exploration zen style brushwork like film slowed down or sound loop delayed, juggling rotoscopic unnaturally outlined elements kept in mind and scenarios like droplets of saturated character and depth outofthebox inside a vast horizon nagualish realm a few miles farther than the farthest step taken yet (cezanne said the work is never done), maybe it is like like collage, all these brash torn-edge photos blackened seared wax dripped over and snippets of hairlocks and a two inch piece of raspberry satin frayed ribbon, a glass music box chime painting connecting via (winged eel fingerling color sound movement time rhythm (notsofew can become parts of a whole here come on rocky realm discovers new ways to repeat the sine and sawtooth calling for cane sugarwaves treasures of trojan excavation and the carpenteering to repair and replace honeycomb beehives and some new kind of raw and the projection of unknown chrysalis morpha in a parisian taxi, it took me to work the players cartwheel on the ‘same beam’ electronic vibrationally speaking, why? this i dont know cant be sure the same way twice, well because to explain is more than 'just listen' or or you know See but thats another thing/how but how and what and why eye eye due diligentlemen and lemurian ladies will ask, neatly trimmed sections of the reel crop the 'it is' requiring silent observation and some repeated jokes don juan louis ck style and to get the spices i mean spaces blending in the garam masala mix comes by an overall reverence for turdly emission of creamy dreamy palette bulbs of color as it comes out of the tube on the little cups thick pre solvent texture it has what thump it is wanting eskimo stone carving to do thwack and liquidly, while adventure aboard enterprise time and space and technology and expression on the same rocketship or semisuspended vehicle it goes all the way light leap years behold begotten bibles so what panky panky taps the tube on the table to loosen the topscrew who cares about what again, you like this one so much Hah? thats yellow of course you do or not and do i but something worthy of wordly worldly expression on amber modules in there if only to say hey wake up yur snoring and spoken by someone still asleep, curtsy flip of scarf, (prt. 2)exit stage left

S.B.T. 70

pINk paint drQps
ooh watch out
here a drip drip catch one quick
there they loop a pink milkyfluteglass mirror drop slowly driply rounding a bulge
upside down molten lava chalkdust flow over globular pinkland
at the bottom just before and then photopink kalmus droplet
the thinskin invisible dont know splits POP and a thousand little pink mallets
malleate the fibers running stick running fast and steadfastly splatter
pINk pelnt drQps oh oh thems those is are scary those pink paint drops pINk pelnt drQps pelnt drQps
“nice” a “nice” "nice" miss o'keeffe said. only she would think pink was nice
oh pink dripping pink paint scary bewarey pINk paint drops dont mix acra red and titanium wh whatever you do
whips a dollop to that pink what ya cant do with it, no painter all the way to
south america dares that pink little powerpackage unbelievable sweet, only harmonic with cobalt mostlyreally it would have to be surreal comp vp even then you know the cotton candy color that reel and faint color gadzooks pink imo try painting morely more, eats the rest of'em, will not sit there without swallowing the rest like i said cobalt is the only color standing up to it, and tropical hotdog lime can carry a line but not through the pink except if i make it a line of intense vibe maybe above it in pigment latin it means pink is a tough player on the colorfield inkpay
'it works for silk, and good on bombay saris' breathe its just pink just pink its not gonna kill ya almost maybe



interestingly enough the computer tries to learn how to speak english and the computer has need of a frame of reference according to its past beliefs and so the computer spells pelnt to say paint but somebody human interpolates so then you have to learn that alphabet all over again and now numbers and symbols too a post-techno neocromagnon evoluted language
and the computer just sits there and takes commands ha (as if) @U @U @Uh 10 (ah oooooooooo)