#uncoffeed...

buy Deconstructed Corvid 1 - Fibonacci Putting together an art show seems very much like putting together a music album.  Some of you-all may  not remember albums. They told stories and wore cool jackets, sometimes smoked. Dark and enigmatic, glistening in the dim light of somebody's basement while the needle danced over the grooves. God, I miss analog.  An exhibit needs to tell a story. Our brains seek patterns but like surprises. We want the A-HA! Like the words I write, my paintings blurt images in quirky detail, narrative a little jumbled like that last dream before you wake up.  As I compile my varied works to hang on the walls of Beanetics Coffee Roasters , I may find a piece doesn't fit, quite, between its compatriots. I can bend the narrative by reordering the pieces so one nuance leads gently to the next. This project wants editing like any other. A good whisky and a good perfume are the same way. The first impression may be bold; you're not sure...

Due to...logistics? Technique? My innate laziness?...there does not exist an original of this drawing.  To have it on my wall I had to order it from myself via Zazzle . So this is the first and therefore most valuable copy of Fibonacci Raven. I will try to explain. I started this project on blue grid-lined paper (you know, the one that doesn't really render the lines invisible like they said it would.) In a fit of inspired doodling, I started inking the original sketch.  And then I kept going .  Before I knew it, I had an almost fully-inked drawing on the wrong paper. I decided to try scanning it anyway.  To be honest, I like the gridlines.  They feel architectural, or something. Also, I'm messy.  There was a blob of purple paint on the page, as well as several wrinkles.  And I'm lazy and didn't want to re-ink what already looked pretty damned good.  I did some judicious scissoring; it took a few scans and cuts to excise the blue lines ...

Deconstructed Crow 1 - Fibonacci (in progress) I'm making phone calls, entering data, but all the inside of my head is wings. My brain is rendering raven feathers in pencil and ink, in paint, in chalk, in actual feathers. They beat against the inner wall of my skull; beaks and claws scrape across the sphenoid. The phone rings; I pick it up. I can barely hear a voice through rustling wings, but I answer the question. It's almost lunch-time; then I'll be able to empty my head onto paper, fix down the ideas with Scotch tape. in progress Yes, I'm messy. I sleep early, wake up earlier. Put on my baja shirt to go outside , crispy-frost grass under my boots.   YES - the air is icy and clear enough to see everything: Orion, the Sisters, the Twins, the Crab, the God of War; my namesake the Scorpion hides just under the horizon. I know where he is though he can't be seen , always opposite the hunter . When I was small I used to dream of being Cassiopeia...

Here's me having no concept of time, at work four hours early. I didn't mentally note when I'm to show up because we always start extra office coverage at 10 AM. Except when we don't. Thinking like this is how people die. Starbucks ground coffee was on sale at my local market, so I bought Espresso Roast for the office. There's crack in it - I never actually want Starbucks coffee until I drink it and then I think it's so great. Starbucks tastes like nostalgia*. Upon first sip I remember sitting under the palm tree outside my Palm Springs apartment with my friend, or at a table outside the Starbucks on the strip, or in my car at the drive-up window with two poodles and a dalmatian in the back seat. The SBUX employees crowded around the window; they knew the poodles and wanted to know my name. They were hard times, very real times. I love real so much. The brain is a funny thing; I can drink this coffee and conjure up the feel of sun on my skin at 7 AM i...