Opportunity Frost Bit


Knocked up another large paper and ink drawing at Frost Street and then Alex, the drummer for Sine Parade showed up to practice his drums in the theater. Christ can that guy drum. My neighbor’s kid is back from college and so even at home I am living with drums all the time and then the pile drivers banging away next door at the construction site… Rhythm of life is banging on and i’m trying to bang out some paintings. I did a diptych with gloss enamel and painter’s caulk on some old oil paintings I found in the trash a few months back. I like to build my dreams on the broken dreams of others…It’s the American way….LOL weep LOL.

Also I’ve been playing with installation and making new works to tie up the old works. The skull is my memento mori I made on day one… it is a painter’s tradition to make a death painting to guard the studio from death… like a gargoyle or a feng shuai mirror….or a pug dog, or a gun, or whatever.

Frost Bite Bit


Second day at Frost Street was mostly about moving some of my older work from home and storage… it was fairly comical and thanks be to Major Tom for his hatch back and strong back and so a lot of things I haven’t seen for a couple of years came out of cold storage… like all my old fridge doors. I can’t resist showing the fridges in a place called frost… and the frigid air, etc. They look good and match perfectly with the new ones. When I went outside, the sky was full of “chemtrails”, or contrails, or whatever. It looked positively surreal.

Frost Bite (The Dead)


I’m working on a new show in Williamsburgh Brooklyn that will be a sort of survey of all the art I’ve made since the war started. Death is all around us. Sometimes we forget the dead and so I thought I’d start with my own recent loss.

I took all of Bailey’s toys and threw them on the naked white paper to start. Then I used them as brushes and mops along with my best calligraphy brushes. The central idea of the drawing came from a sketch I’ve been working on with pencil and an old white enamel fridge door. It says Welbuilt.

This is the first of maybe many large works to illustrate the themes I’ve been on since 2003, but anyway one should begin with Joyce and Mingus and so I did….Plus the snow was faintly falling and falling faintly on New York.

New New York Correspondence School


This is some mail art I got these last couple of weeks from my friend Chuck Sasson at the New New York Correspondence School. I fell on his mail art Fluxus fun while doing the Library Project. He works at my local wine store and it’s nice to run into him and find that he’s been reading the blog and then find some of his mail art in the letter box…in some way I think these works are his response to some of my recent stories, etc. Anyway I can’t seem to make anything I want to show anyone and I’m sort of saving up my mojo to go into Frost Street starting Monday and knock up some large dogs and dead ducks, etc.

Notesketches

I took some notes on various ways to install the Divine Comedy Q Brick tondé so that it actually spins. I took these notes over at Major Tom’s place and have been carrying them in my wallet all week like cash. Yesterday I started moving stuff into Frost street. I’m hoping I can work through all the sadness, etc.

Orosboros

stillife.jpg
“Beneath the Underdog” ITIN 2005

I’m struck by the fact that the blog began at the beginning of Bailey’s illness. She has been like the shepherd keeping this thing in line. Press here if you want to see what I mean: Baa Rum You.

Fetch


Not knowing what else to do with the passing time, We decided to put up the tree and give Bailey the best 48 hours we could. She ate steak and two bags of treats and then we took her to the park one last time before she left. She hasn’t been able to play much fetch the last two years, but It was like those stories you hear about sick musicians coming to life one last time on the stage before they die… that’s the way she played fetch… like it was the most important thing in the world….

So even though I feel like something huge has been taken away from me, I’m confident she’ll find a way to bring it back.

A Dog and Her God

The sword of Damocles rests above her head and we pass her favorite lamp post and I start to cry because she doesn’t stop to sniff it. “But it’s your favorite lamp post,” I say. Then there are people crossing and I sniffle in what could be a December cold and then the wind is blowing right into my face and so that accounts for the tears and the lady says to her infant child, “look at the pretty dog”.