All there is is the gaping maw and the turkey and more and more empty holes and turkey.

Just happens to be the book I’m reading and speaks to the impossiblity of speaking, or at least communicating coherently, or maybe paranoid delusions… all of which speaks to me. The above painting looks much better in person and even better through a veil of tears where all the lines get blurry and become like a cloud and landscape while still being a head, or so I am told.

I carried this ancient RCA Whirlpool fridge door through the cold, biting rain to Williamsburg. I started drawing, but frankly I’d had so much scribbling the day before that it just felt tedious and I took a break and leafed through a stack of ArtForum magazines till I felt sufficiently alienated from contemporary art practice and alternately angry at myself for just not getting most of it and angry at it for seeming cold and remote and obtuse and unsensuous and as dull as an office cubicle to return to the steel door, but still the pencil bored me and I’ve had a couple of cans of black and white oil enamel waiting for a desperate experiment to happen. Mix the enamel with some oil paint and it should stick to the old metal paint on the fridge door. Something about this painting now reminds me of drawings I was doing a long long time ago, but you know what Faulkner said, “The past is not dead… it’s not even past” or something. And speaking of the past, this door is one solid piece of beautiful metalwork. It’s really quite an object (all the paint worn off around the handle from years of midnight snack’s blind fumbling). It is well built, unlike the Welbilt which is acutally not at all, but was lighter to carry.

Meanwhile, back in the studio, I dragged a Welbilt fridge door in and went at it with pencils and erasers (after a hiatus on that style of work). Somehow the food drawings gave way to sex and a freakishly endowed character (or maybe he’s being devoured by a snake?). It could be called “Something In The Way”. He sort of popped into my mind when I looked at the blank door, but then I have been getting a lot of penis enlargement spam these days and you can’t help, but wonder what would happen to someone who actually purchased whatever it is that they’re selling?.. I don’t know, but I used up most of my paint on the the large giant guy who now has a sort of Pinocchio Picasso profile. It could be called, “More Thoughts on Fascism and Modern Painting”, or “Pinocchio Von Frankenstein. The top portrait I just like after three months of noodling.

This morning’s visual detritous seems to be a meditation on time and space when I look at it now, or perhaps a retelling of Ziggy Stardust by way of a Pynchon glyph (which I came upon last night in Lot 49). Any way, it always strikes me as odd how three seemingly random photos taken while walking to the market always end up wanting to tell a story when you put them together.