Completion?

As the first idea hits the canvas there is such promise. Somewhere along the way it reaches it's zenith with a vast multitude of possibilities and begins its slow descent as more and more decisions are made, filling in more and more blank space until it crashes in defeat with all hope extinguished. It is the specific that kills the transcendental. Does anyone else still believe in the sublime? Then begin again, fooling yourself that this time it will be different. This is my way of saying I will be posting new work soon.

Ab-Ex Dogs

Jackson Pollock with Gyp and Ahab

A Rationalization?

"He who thinks for himself can never remain of the same mind" -Melville on Milton

Found In Old Notebook

I Wanna Cry!!

Grey Villet, Tiny squirrel monkey strapped into capsule for space travel, 1958

Soulless

"So Saltz’s comments correlate with a whole slew of observances I have about the practice of art in 2011. So much art now is “ready-made for critics who also love parsing out the isms of their elders.” I keep looking for art that passes the Roberta Smith litmus test who, like me, is looking for this: “art that seems made by one person out of intense personal necessity, often by hand.”
Saltz addresses the problem of an all too recognizable “generic ­institutional style”, one that rehashes the same issues over and over again:
It’s work stuck in a cul-de-sac of aesthetic regress, where everyone is deconstructing the same elements.


More here on the Slow Muse blog.

Hope

Only when there is no hope will hope arrive. Or not.

When Sadness Was An Art

A Madonna

Catherine Opie "Self-portrait Nursing" 2004

First 11 Verses Psalms 103

 ¹ Hear my prayer, O LORD,
         And let my cry come to You.
 ² Do not hide Your face from me in the day of my trouble;
         Incline Your ear to me;
         In the day that I call, answer me speedily.
        
 ³ For my days are consumed like smoke,
         And my bones are burned like a hearth.
 ⁴ My heart is stricken and withered like grass,
         So that I forget to eat my bread.
 ⁵ Because of the sound of my groaning
         My bones cling to my skin.
 ⁶ I am like a pelican of the wilderness;
         I am like an owl of the desert.
 ⁷ I lie awake,
         And am like a sparrow alone on the housetop.
        
 ⁸ My enemies reproach me all day long;
         Those who deride me swear an oath against me.
 ⁹ For I have eaten ashes like bread,
         And mingled my drink with weeping,
 ¹⁰ Because of Your indignation and Your wrath;
         For You have lifted me up and cast me away.
 ¹¹ My days are like a shadow that lengthens,
         And I wither away like grass.

RePaint When in Doubt

Mark Warren "Ice Horses" 40" X 48" oil on linen

old version