“Waterspout” pastel on paper, 11″ x 14″
Because this is a larger piece of paper, it took me two sessions to complete. (Also because I’ve been spending more time on the pieces recently, with shaky adherence to the art-therapy-theme-of-the-week.) I began this the Thursday before last. Sunday afternoon, after returning from a group art show in Jersey City our friend Tamara was in, I walked into Abue’s apartment to see footage of tornadoes on the television screen. It seemed multiple tornadoes had touched down that afternoon in various parts of the Midwest.
But those were land tornadoes. Mine is a waterspout.
Another guy in group, who initially grew up in Michigan, says the tornadoes were strange because it’s kind of late in the season for them. Apparently they’re more of a summer thing?
I still remember a couple of years back a freak tornado ripping through Brooklyn. Not only did it flood the ground floor room we were initially staying in here, it also uprooted some of the trees in Maria Hernandez Park nearby, which was sad.
Oh, it’s dada. All I had to do was develop the brass-ovaried audacity to call it dada. Bam. Art.
“Walls” pastel, 8.5″ x 11″
Energies collect within spaces, making them psychic entities unto themselves. It’s just a sense I have. It’s no secret amongst my more occultish friends that I refer to our building as “the Qlippothic Cesspool” and I’m only being kinda-sorta tongue in cheek when I do it. But I don’t know if this image is about that particular space. This is somewhere else. And our beautiful Morningstar has emerged as a radiant Goddess to clean house of anything unwanted.
Morningstar crossed over yesterday morning. She was a gorgeous ratty with silver-blue fur and a white blaze on her head (hence her name). She’d been designated as a feeder because of a slightly crooked head, but a pet store employee noticed her and adopted her out to us. There was a caveat that she may not live as long as other rats, but we wanted to give her a happy life while she was here.
pastel on paper 8.5″ x 11″
From a nightmare that has recurred since my 20′s. An old man emerges from a dark basement, running on all fours, and biting out chunks of skin.
I’ve felt horribly unproductive lately, ever since they started me on Celexa. I thought an anti-depressant might not bother me as much as the anti-psychotics do, but it’s been two weeks and today is the first day I haven’t felt tired all the time. Anyone else have any experience with this stuff? 4 things I’m determined to get back to: art/music, exercise, and meditation.
By the way, if anyone reading this is in Minneapolis, MN, on Nov. 1st, I have a print in a group art show at Altered Esthetics gallery, 1224 Quincy St. NE., up through November 23rd. The show is for the the newly released Rock Ink Roll comics anthology, which is a collection of comics about music. (And two previously unseen pages of Living In La La Land will appear in the e-book edition.)
It’s hard to think of anything that hasn’t been said in the few days since Lou Reed’s passage. There are people who create New York City, psychically, inasmuch as construction crews and architects create it physically, and Lou was one such person. So, here’s “Kill Your Sons” , a recount of the same psychiatric industry that’s sometimes tried to Kill This Daughter and others:
The story goes that Lou Reed’s parent had ECT administered to him as a teenager to “cure” his bisexuality, back in the days when fear based phony morality actually still allowed such a thing to be pathologized in this country. These days at least, I can tell my counselor that I sometimes feel my gender is fluid and androgynous, and constricted to the female only in my physical body, and not fear reprisal (at least not here in NYC.) I just better not have a flat affect when I say it. Still, how sickening, that parents willingly torture their children over sexual orientation, and that the mental “health” industry was compliant.
"At least 14 studies have shown that patients with a serious mental illness receive worse medical care than “normal” people. Last year the World Health Organization called the stigma and discrimination endured by people with mental health conditions “a hidden human rights emergency.”"- Juliann Garey, Aug 10th/13
When I was 13 years old my Dad took me to the ER at a hospital in Oshawa, one city over from our town.
…spotted near my mental health treatment program last Friday.
It had been tagged over somewhat by the time I stumbled upon it in person. An older graffiti chaser on a paint spattered bicycle told me the additional tag on the hydrant was RD 357, another street artist who had been active back in the 80′s. The guy also told me of a just-announced Banksy collaboration with the Brazilian street artists Os Gemeos two avenues over, so I refilled my scrips, collected Eric, and we headed over to join the zoo of gawkers and angry security guards.
Well, that’s about it, just wanted to post these. I haven’t seen all the Banksys that have appeared around the city, though Eric saw the truck of stuffed animals the other day, but there’s plenty of coverage of them on art blogs and even regular newspapers, given Bloombuck’s spittle-frothing desire to catch the guy. (Douche is creating a mandatory fee for the Met, too, and I hear it might be $25 a head, yeah put a price on culture and then wonder why there’s so much anti-intellectualism around.) Anyway, I’m just gonna pretend in my little world that the pursuit of Banksy goes something like this:
11″ X 14″ watercolor crayon on canvas.
I have nothing to say about this right now.
Collage, 8″ X 11″ paper
Yeah , I know Pussy Riot’s troubles stem from the Eastern Orthodox rather than Roman Catholic, but I stuck figures colored to look like them in there anyway. There’s enough fundamentalism & patriarchy to go around in both. There’s a Chilean mask made from bark that was in this catalog of the Vatican’s art collection. If it weren’t so blurry you could read it saying “Damn Conquistadors”. At group they said “make something scary for Halloween.” But Samhain is sort of bittersweet, not scary. So I made this. I mean, a worldwide organization that covers up for years of pedophilia, while ordering women what to do with their wombs and men what not to do with their buttholes is scary, right?
I can’t vouch for what anyone else was experiencing, but I was seeing all sorts of things, and having vibrations course through my head. The drones, created by La Monte Young are intensely loud and engulfing, while the visual aspects of the installation by Marian Zazeela are an unflinching magenta scream prying your brain open beyond it’s usual semi-conscious waking state. This is not a tranquil New-Agey meditation experience of tranquil pastel visuals and friendly nature sounds, but it will certainly shift your consciousness nonetheless. Here’s a brief clip of the Dream House. Now imagine lying in the middle of this, magnified:
If that sounds appealing to you, information on visiting hours for the Dream House can be found here: