parachute

More pictures from the parachute installation by Silas Finch.

parachute

I know, I've been neglecting the blog. I've been feeling mute again, and wishing I could be somewhere desolate, where I didn't have to speak for long periods of time. I found some solace helping out another New Haven artist for an installation he's making with a parachute, where I get to be very tall, and very quiet. It's one night only at Artspace tonight, April 11. 

Here I am resting in the parachute in Silas Finch's studio, messing around with one of his eerily beautiful masks. He makes the most wonderful things: Silas Finch. 

wild geese

I can't stop chasing them. They get me into so much trouble, but there is no helping it. 

On Saturday the weather was so warm I had the windows in my studio open for the first time, into the night. And at my desk I heard wild geese calling. It's so strange to hear geese at night, but I have at particular moments of importance in my life heard them calling from the dark sky several times. I don't know what was so important about this weekend, not much really. But the geese and several strange dreams brought me once again to this poem, that is so well loved it's overused, but I'm putting it here anyway.

I'm so glad they are on their way home. It's been a long, cold and lonesome winter. 

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

tub cat

Wilson's favorite place.

stickers

Another mysterious package turned out to be these super cool sticker sets I did a long time ago for Peaceable Kingdom Press. 90 colorform type decals and a little fold out scene to put them on. You can find them on Amazon if you do a search for my name. Wilson is into them. 

saw lady

With great pride I bring to your attention that the famous Saw Lady commented on my post "Portrait of the Artist" below. I am beside myself with excitement!

I am a huge fan of the Saw Lady, as well as many other buskers in the NYC subway system and everywhere. These are some of the most fascinating people on the planet, and the Saw Lady (who plays the musical saw brilliantly) has an incredible blog about them here, where you can also hear her play.

I had cause to be on the NYC subway a lot in January and many times had my soul regenerated by these lone subterranean musicians. I aspire to their greatness.

love sold

They do go fast, I'm sold out. I apologize to everyone who couldn't get one!

Polly's hearts

There are just 4 left for this Valentine's Day. Winged and fiery, signed and numbered, a hook in the back for hanging, and sized to fit perfectly into any lover's hand. $25 + $5 shipping.








 

Lady Chair

Just barely there. 

portrait of the artist

Wilson Cat is potentially the next great art phenomenon. He has several projects in progress around the house, including "Toilet Paper", a series of innovative installations. One of his more controversial pieces, "Toilet Paper in Toilet Bowl", is pictured below as the artist is at work, and again as the artist confronts the photographer for the interruption. He prefers to work in isolation. 

what I want

A couple months ago Wilson broke one of my favorite glasses, one from a set of four with phrases by Jenny Holzer that I have always adored, long before I even knew the coolness of Jenny Holzer who projects words on cities, like in Providence a while back. 

The four are:

the most profound things are inexpressible

boredom makes you do crazy things

you are guileless in your dreams

protect me from what I want

It was "protect me..." that Wilson decided to knock over. 

The glass is still sitting dangerously sharp and fragile on my studio windowsill. I stare at it for long periods each day from my desk. 

silver linings

Anxiety about many things has kept me from being able to sleep through the night for several months. Since I cannot change the circumstances, I've become determined to adjust. One of these adjustments is reading books I've always wanted to read at 4am until I can fall asleep again. This has been kind of wonderful, as I've lamented not having the time to read for a very long time. I just finished The Hearing Trumpet, by Leonora Carrington, an English surrealist painter who hung out with Remedios Varo and Frida Kahlo in Mexico and thought a lot about alchemy and art and animal-headed people. Some of my favorite bits:

"'There is nothing wrong about painting,' she told me. 'I paint boxes myself for jumble sales. There is a difference though in being artistic and in actually being an artist.... Artists are immoral, they live together in attics.'"

"' There is nobody that can make you happy, you must take care of this matter yourself.'"

"The rest of that ill-omened night was spent burying the Prince in the kitchen garden."

It's fantastic.