Art for sale

Had a showing once. I won first place. NFS was on all my pieces. I gave away the first place sculpture.

Focus Stall Ranting

I enjoyed your article, as I also find myself in the unenviable position, of freezing my life due to heart breaks, to reflect on the patterns in the pain of the past. As you said, my symptoms are flight, fight, and freeze.

On my blogging adventure, I’m fighting by writing for the growth of my well-being, and yesterday I watched an interesting video on the study of perspective in time, that helps build my serenity for that purpose.

In the flight from emotional pain over the last year, I’ve become fascinated by how time relates to my spirituality and identity. It has a harsh impact on the judgements of others for who I am(an emotional trigger you shared too),so you I hope this video helps you too. Food for thought in The Secret Powers of Time.  The only criticism I would give, is that I wouldn’t choose to represent the present tense derogatorily as “Present Hedonist”, as I find the spiritual practice of “Mindfullness”, and living in the moment, bring me contentment.

I used my desire to comment on your article, as a motivator to edit my long list of backlogged drafts, so thanks for sharing your struggle, it inspired me to improve this article from 2012:

Why am I doubting the darkness, and interrogating the sun? Why does the cold make me angry, and the heat make me sad? What is this thing that makes me look up, expecting to see the ceiling, and finding the closet floor? What is the combination of the lock to the cellar door?

Why am I so tired, with rest evading me like a bouncing deer? Staring at one of my biggest fears, shaking my head and grinning, a mantra uttered to survive. Turning on the music, taking a shower, shaving, turning up the music, dancing, singing, drinking water….

Taking on something simple while physically demanding, as a challenge that will exhaust me to complete. A work that takes all of it away, and leaves me trembling for a different reason, than the one that motivated me to write this.

It’s a precipice, a focus stall, a pit. The scattering fragmentation and suffering of doubts, popping up like bubbles in a boil.

Putting my ear muffs on to cancel out the noise of the chain saws hitting rock, in my head, and again, turning up the music. Dancing to feeling it, loving it as a moment in time. Always as my salvation, the double safeties with end knots, rescuing my lost soul.

A place of absorption with mind whipping like a snake rattle…I’m barely alive. Outside the door lying under the floor, lurks my passions, perseverance, drive, resilience, sanctuary, art, and focus. Play that makes me tall, a work that fixes all.

It’s the decision that’s already been made, and a willingness to pursue it with dogged focus. Getting it done for me, means learning to transcend the focus stalls with grace.

So if you see me with bloodshot eyes and grinning, sweating while lifting, moving at high-speed, know that what you see is glee, buried in an uncontrollable passion to finish.

I have no choice to make at this point. My life has become make or die, and I love being an Artist Builder. Thanks again for inspiring me to lift this back up, by writing about the dynamics of your mental health, and the scientific study of it. Be well.

This is little blue man.  He glows in the dark.  My third puppet.  Made from reclaimed Douglas Fir, Yew wood, and an assortment of semi precious stone beads.

This is little blue man. He glows in the dark, and is my third puppet. Made from reclaimed Douglas Fir, Yew wood, and an assortment of semiprecious stone beads.  His strings are cut, because making him was my passion, and controlling him didn’t bring me happiness.



The spunk in her bones

Feral eyed the young man came in, he walked beyond where he was told to be willing, and a taint of happiness trailed behind in his footprints. As the sand of time trickled into the barely contained rattling inside her bones, he became nervous, as he’d seen the inside of the tigers mouth….and he loved it.

She sat there as a hungry wizened maker of madness, a whippoorwill across the valley of hopes in boys. With each breath there was a timing in her heart, it brought memories of deep sighs, open armed with claws reaching, and the steep fall of broken Stupids in ruin. They should have let her sink the lock, brought they’re dreams into her conversation, and showed her the actions of years building them true.

He ran into the stream of her boom, it’s beckoning force catching the gale and whipping the sheet-bends across her bow. The stutter stepping began with questioning the directions of the other men who had failed, and he paled while hoping for her smile. It may have taken hours, weeks, or years, but the colors fading in her hair brought him satisfaction in the moments she met his gaze.

Anyone could see the well watered roots of her sight, a fine layer masked little, and the shock was painted across it in his dirty. She grins now as a perfectly placed approval, curling back his doubts, and an offer for the same lay barely hidden within her lips. He shifted his stance, having gathered into his joys, by her wanting of him more.

The sign said, “KEEP BACK OF SIGN”, so I did that and met this cliff. Returning at high tide is forever a hope buried in time, as the water below crashes into the rocks, and blossoms into rumblings through my feet.

Drained of politeness from her reaping of his underbelly in questions, as a source of glee he wrote transfixed, on the potent of her plots. With each broken line of snow balls thrown to miss, he hoped they made her blush, and dusted her feet with tickling snowflakes. The tea didn’t help wake him up after that, and he passed out in a honeyed bliss, because she had shared the wish of a restart…for her heart.

The Editor is on holiday, so I’ll slip this in.

How do we edit our word art, without getting devoured by the need to make it perfect?

What will it take to maintain my passion for creativity, while building a quality standard that will remain acceptable to others?

As I take posts from years ago and re-make them in the hope of producing quality writing, I found an idea which brought me confidence, that I can dose the editor with when he returns.  Hopefully as he becomes silly with his fading sun tan, he won’t see that I’ve taken a partially created draft, and mixed it in with FB:

The text below was meant as a response to one of my friends on Facebook, which is a canvas I have a love hate relationship for.  In my perspective he’s in the land of debating big changes in his lifestyle and career, while passionately pursuing happiness, and as a result is becoming disillusioned with the rewards for his effort there.  I hope this isn’t too public and personal for him, and that it helps him in his transition by adding my efforts and encouragement to his.

Hey slice,

I had a teacher write down that the struggle we will experience in this lifetime will come down to two things: profit vs. people.

As you look down from your hilltop retreat at those of us who are like neanderthals wandering around in the dark troglodyte caves, I hope you find a purpose that brings you satisfaction, because you carry the laser light of internet knowledge.  When I see what you can do here, it reminds me that while my led flashlight consumes batteries slowly, yours plugs into the wall, can be seen from space, and becomes a Jedi sword.20140312-124736.jpg

Please recognize that your contributions are valuable to people who can stomach them intellectually, and that your energy is stored on this database as a passive income stream investment that could be tapped later. If you do decide to take down your wall, please save everything, as I am one of those people who gobble what you write whether I like it or not, as I’m hungry for information from people like you.

Your not like me and never will be, as I’m a kid with a keyboard who loves to think, and you’re a techno wizard with the skills to make this place whatever you want it to be. Sometimes wizards have to take a break from the peasants who want to chase them with fire torches, and dedicate their time to alchemy.

As I filter through the file of everything I saved last time I was wholeheartedly in your boots, I find your name in there with well-developed ideas, and awesome effort. On a blog recently I rediscovered that some of my post comments were actually just articles waiting to happen, or if I get enough momentum behind an idea potentially books.

I debate this idea you’re voicing for myself almost every day: Maybe it’s that I haven’t developed the coping mechanism of re-framing well enough to adequately define for myself, what I’m doing on social media. Why am I here? What does it do to benefit my life and other people’s lives outside the walls of social media? Is my purpose met with pure action? Is my action simple enough to blanket the bullshit and frustrations brought on by inadequate depth of thought being slung around like drugs on these domains?

From a spiritual perspective(religious I am not) I’m a perfect candidate to walk around with pride, scorn, arrogance, and superiority reigning supreme, due to my flexibility. This is literal, as I’m still capable of putting my feet behind my head while standing up, and it makes me weary of people who are rigid in their posturing…….and don’t work for the circus….inside their heads.

So how do I take that feeling of superior talent in flexibility, and turn it into a humble balance in my spirit?  With  one of the lowest paying jobs, no time off in my head, and a steep hill to climb with the feeling that my foot got stuck years ago on a publish button behind my ear, how can I avoid the cycle of pride and shame? What will it take so that I can justify to myself the worth it has to people, when I know that the marketing machine of media can at any time tap my words and ideas for the sake of profit by mining my investments for jewels, and earning royalties off my efforts?

I hope you don’t leave social media, and find a way to make your efforts worth your time, because the knowledge that most bloggers need to accomplish our goals online….pour out of you like a volcano.

I appreciate your efforts to debate thought process, education, science, politics, economics, and purpose. It brings me joy to read your ideas and learn from them, which doesn’t put food on the table for me yet, but hopefully will some day.



As a kid

As a kid, one of the things that consistently gives me what I need:

Many things mesmerize me, entrance me with focus, shock me with grace, stun me with beauty, stall me with meanness, or leave me laughing at my flow. Not many of them make me feel everything all at once, for long periods of time.

Love has done that for me, but left in a position to define how I feel when it’s gone, the only thing remaining that’s immediately available to represent what my words cannot, is Art. This art. Any art.

Welcome to my story. I’m absorbing myself in it, wrapping myself in a cocoon of breathes, and singing it in my minds eyes.

I believe in my heart that righteous intention revels at my fingertips, and as I start pieces with my greatest glee hopes, everything will be okay with my love.

It’s like taking a satisfying nap when your tired, having no schedule, no appointments, and only one agenda when you wake up: to focus, and improve.  When did we decide that naps are only for little kids, because as I edit this and hope to improve it for the 20th time, I’m remembering loving to read and write like this at 3 in the morning, when I was eleven.

Looking for what’s next, or editing, is the awkward part. I get sidetracked as curiosity leads me to something different. I pursue a favorite past time like studying an idea, and time is gone.

One of my favorite books to fully embrace a sidetrack, is the thesaurus. It has many forms now, some of them quite fantastic. I still anticipate opening the crisp pages of a new one(to me), maybe a 1962 version, with quotes.

When a word is defined, I am lost in it’s rules and structure. On the other hand when I freely associate an idea, releasing the hold on what I think, and break down the meaning to myself with synonyms and antonyms, then I have a whole picture. This is one of the reasons I enjoy Chinese.

The language as I’m aware of it, is an example of this concept. The words are broken into characters which represent separate things, that combined make a meaning. Deep and strong, ancient texts may be read presently, as the structure of the language holds it’s shape.

My native language of English is constantly changing, and the dictionaries continue to be the biggest collections of definitions on earth, as we redefine words and add new ones like lunatickle.

Living outside the rules, justifications, structure, philosophy, and perceptions of society became a way of life for me as a kid and artist. It’s the questioning of intelligence, education, culture, economics, and design, in order to visualize a symbolization, that expresses my feelings of saturation in the passion to create.

The most accomplished categorization we can give in academia which is recognized worldly as honorable, is given to those who can transcend the fundamental structure of our belief system in order to develop a new idea.  Isn’t that what I just described as the way kids think?

During which point in history did we decide that practical conversation, logical thought, and rational, were superior to illogical creativity, illustrious music, charming social skills, storytelling, intuition, adaptation of perception, motivation towards passionate pursuits over material goods, imagination, visualization, community, sharing, and getting better at playing games?

Why are all the playgrounds being replaced with timid and lame miniaturized versions of what used to be? Something is wrong with this picture.

The shade of color from the background is making me sick, it throws off my balance clashing with the other colors that are me. I wish to build playgrounds so dangerous that the kids who get on them have to be half wild and scared, to dare to play. I hope and pray for this day.

Our basic education structure for the masses reflects this in many ways. Where are the open sourced curriculum plans, alternative grading philosophies, and student led classrooms? Why am I subjected to below par un-fun educational dynamics each time I go to school?

If my life is a school, how should I think about my day to day education in economics and job experiences? The moment I figured out, “O!, now I understand the way compound interest works against me!!”, what was I supposed to do, or think? So this is how it feels to be poor and categorized, labeled, defined, described, or depicted as less valuable?

I will learn from each moment absorbing the world like a sponge, each action of the day becoming a ceremony of the way to become better at what I make, gain new insight into creation, and develop new process towards vision.

It’s a personal R & D department and a lifestyle of enthusiasm for something of value, in a pursuit of Art. So am I claiming this is a doctoral thesis at the bottom of the page, or getting out frustration and avoiding degenerative forms of insanity, by justifying feeling like a fool?

The way of evaluating our perceptions and the world, is based no longer on spiritual faith, feelings, experience, mythology, stories, inherited talents, or intuition, but on science and math.

Proving something to be true makes it true fact, and accepting what we know? These feels docile, sheltered, boring and slow, which describes devolution perfectly.

One of the keys to my happiness is teaching and learning creatively, free associatively, and imaginatively outside the institutionalized education structure. I hope I did this here, feel fee to add what you think anywhere on this website to encourage me on this pursuit.  

Braces for the first piece of furniture I finished with satisfaction.

Are these the curriculum titles and descriptions of the American Dream come true?

They were for my grandfather. He kicked ass for the Navy as an engineer, raised the flag and swam a mile a day, grew up next door to his wife, lived in the first suburb of America, and thought like I do. In his heyday the other engineers would get stumped doing their best to solve a problem, come up with nothing, and go looking for Louie.

He was great, and I wish he was still around to read this, as he’d get a kick out of me following in his footsteps and designing a new dream for myself right next to his.

When people ask me what my favorite color is, it’s always been hard to answer. How about you? Maybe it’s my predisposition for goal setting, or the list making mayhem in my mind’s eyes. I don’t know, and it’s really good to live right there.

Visualizing what I would be, what I cared about, and who I wished to become, I wrote a list. Since that was twenty years ago, and I’m beginning to get bored with the recognition that I’ve accomplished it satisfactorily, I want to write a new one. Here it is as the titles of a new elementary school curriculum for myself, or if you edit that thought how I like to…..maybe it’s an element cool curriculum for the whole flipping world?

“creativity[kree-ey-tiv-i-tee, kree-uh-]

artistry cleverness genius imagination imaginativeness ingenuity inspiration inventiveness originality resourcefulness talent vision great skill in creative endeavors ability accomplishment artfulness brilliance craftship finesse flair mastery proficiency style taste touch virtuosity workmanship fantasy dream Atlantis Utopia air castle apparition appearance bubble chimera conceiving daydream delusion envisioning externalizing fabrication fairyland fancy fancying fantasia figment flight flight of imagination fool’s paradise hallucination head trip illusion imagining invention mind trip mirage nightmare objectifying originality rainbow reverie trip vagary gift of high intellect Einstein ability acumen acuteness adept aptitude aptness astuteness bent brain brilliance capability capacity discernment endowment expert faculty flair grasp head inclination knack mature percipience perspicacity power precocity prodigy propensity prowess reach sagacity super ability talent turn understanding virtuoso wisdom power to create in one’s mind art awareness cognition conception creation creative thought enterprise fabrication fantasy flight of fancy idea ideality image imagery insight inventiveness mental agility notion perceptibility realization resourcefulness sally supposition thought thoughtfulness unreality verve visualization wit wittiness cleverness adroitness astuteness brains brightness cunning dexterity flair gumption shrewdness skill smartness idea stimulus afflatus animus approach arousal awakening brain child brainstorm
deep think elevation encouragement enthusiasm exaltation flash hunch illumination impulse incentive in flatus influence motivation motive muse notion revelation rumble spark spur stimulation whim creation creativeness apparatus black box coinage concoction contraption contrivance design development device discovery doodad gadget gimmick gizmo innovation novelty opus original mind a perception attention brain power brains capacity cognizance conception consciousness function head instinct intellect intellectual intellectuality intuition judgment lucidity marbles mentality observation perception percipience power psyche ratiocination reason reasoning regard sanity sense soul soundness spirit thinker understanding wits boldness creative spirit daring freshness individuality ingeniousness innovativeness inventiveness modernity new idea newness nonconformity novelty unconventionalityunorthodoxy”

“Intelligence isn’t defined by a period at the end of the sentence.”

What does it smell like when it’s burnt toast fresh and piping hot, with butter and honey lathered on it?

When will it wake you to stutter step your way, to piss it into a word on the snow……again?

How does it work into play?

Why would a toy be un-fun?

Which pathway of it is overflowing, gushing, spurting, and slamming the rocks, to vibrate the cliffs like a flash flood?

Where will the paint and dust mix, forming indecipherable trails across the field of action?

Who can produce it?

In wonderment at lost arts, curiously overwhelmed, and visualizing.

Using plastic for a sculpture in my mind, a suit of plated CD’s, a mask of syn.

Exquisite form comes from my hands when it’s wood, rock, earth, water, and metal…with a focus.

Synthetics are a place of pondering…..which writer should I gift the wireless Bluetooth keyboard to? I can I get the same thing, with light on a desk as the touch surface. Bigger too.

Sensuality in the process is important! Seeking a healthy flow coming down to touch, and grace within movement. As an axe head at it’s apex forced to accelerate into gravity, cleaves a way through wood I wish to type.

Timing is interesting. The other day, I noticed that my unwritten drafts start in the late evening……while prolific publishing occurs at my favorite times of day!!

I enjoy that my number one encouragement happens from Marina, of an ancient art mecca, and our timing coincides for my posts, to land in her lap fresh pressed.

I appreciate you Steven, moving up the charts of my encouragement stats from afar. Your tenacious and charming, well spoken and enthusiastic!!!!! I love that about you!!!

How can I let go of hesitation, doubt, quantification, and pride, so that art for me is a slide?

Create business cards, to simplify the sharing process down to an art!! I find myself overly verbose in speech these days. I’ve got words for days, and need to remember tact, within the art of conversation.

It’s a wicked pleasure to feel obligated to develop boundaries between my life and art passion, for the sake of health.

Is the virile tiger on your back, or are you riding it? When and how?

Contemplating a writers hat as I’ve left the shoes behind and praying for a way to close the office door with this thought, as the mobile office is everywhere I go.