It’s a nice word, isn’t it? Undulation. That’s what I do when it’s time to pretend a painting has a title, I just draw a nice word out of my mental nice word bank and call it a day. For someone whose been doing this for literally decades, my system is so flimsy it falls right through my fingers. Like sand, or water.
un·du·la·tion [ˌənjəˈlāSHən] NOUN the action of moving smoothly up and down: “the soft undulation of the waves animates the scene” a smoothly rising and falling form, outline, or movement: “the road follows the undulations of the countryside”
This is my latest painting that I am done working on. Finished, Completed. Varnished and tucked away under my bed waiting for a buyer. Do you like it? You can find it uploaded on the gallery page and posted around social media.
I’m trying not to pick it apart and put it through some more paint. From the texture from the endless layers of acrylic I’ve put over it but somehow, I managed to miss the off-putting brown surrounding the mouth and there could be more details because the texture is inconsistent and blah blah blah.
Considerations of undulation as a title came about due to the waves of satisfaction / dissatisfaction I keep fighting with. Up and down, rising and falling, my own personal undulation of appreciation.
But I’m just not feeling it yet and its already visually so busy and chaotic. The big head small body, glow in the dark, little moon and twig vein hair. Shadows and tones, pinks and blues. All sclera no retina no pupil, extra-terrestrial, vivid.
I should give up, I’m so tired of being awake looking at it.
I keep touching it. Sitting with the textures and feelings it invokes. And I guess I will have to continue to do so. Outside, it’s warm so I’m staying inside. Until it’s time to start the grill, butter the corn and do my daily basking in the sun. But then I saw the sky, rain pending with the heavy sheet of clouds.
Clouds and airplane landscapes above Portugal MUTE THIS ISH
Clouds, I’ve seen a lot of them lately. I went to Lisbon for a few short days, and I enjoyed it immensely. What a shame it is that I didn’t film a Wes Anderson style short video exploring the city in a whimsical type of way. I just don’t have time for that kind of shenanigans anymore, in spite of the city’s epic beauty.
A gothic paradise: Santa Maria de Belem Church, Lisbon, Portugal
Carved castles, lots of crowds of people laughing, walking, exploring, existing. The vehicles all truly getting in where they fit in.
Buildings coated with tile, a standard in many European countries and something I’d like to experiment with on my own home one day.
The week was joyous and invigorating. Delicious pastries, sweet faces and music all over the place. In the streets and cafes and eateries. The ancient city of the mountains.
After my flight was cancelled, I had to find alternative accommodation for an extra night and ended up with an hour’s long layover in south Florida that I wasn’t expecting.
I tried to minimize my stress and freely entertain everything the universe had planned for me.
The Miami International Airport became my HQ for a few hours, and it was nice to explore. There is a renewed appreciation for Florida and its unique charm as I observed people touring there and got to second hand experience their joy of exploring a new and interesting place.
Now that I’m back home, my garden is taking off, but my brain won’t come up with anything new. Carrots are bushy as hell and I’m empty and tired. Marigolds, zinnias and snapdragons but nothing floating around in my heart.
I’m constantly surrounded by better artists and better art on social media and somehow, I can’t turn this exposure into my own creativity.
I used to feel lit up with creative power after 20 minutes of looking at other peoples art
Why the hell not? I’m living life, I’m exploring, I’m doing things! I’m afraid forcing it and this will end up having devastating effects on the handful of pieces I’ve been working on lately.
It has been more than five years since I last experienced heavy rainfall like the one Putnam County received this morning. The feeling of soggy ground beneath my feet is a gift. A treasured gift from Earth that I haven’t felt since my time in Idaho. The nostalgic smell of southern rain and the pitter-patter slapping my roof and touching my body is nothing short of refreshing.
Just a few weeks ago, on March 23rd, I took part in the very first local Art Walk in Crescent City, Florida. The event took place under the shade of live oak trees that have been around longer than I can ever hope to be.
My art was on display, offering a colorful and psychedelic escape from the endless booths of paintings of manatees and fish, wind chimes, and jewelry. It was something weird and unexpected, but in the best possible way.
For four hours, I sat there with my art display and had many beautiful little interactions with people in my small town of around 1,654 residents. Some younger individuals simply stopped and stared, taking in the colors and details of my art.
I had a shy guy on a bicycle who looked at one of my paintings for a brief moment. As we made eye contact, he gave me a thumbs up with a slight head nod before continuing on his way.
These simple gestures of appreciation reminded me of the power of art to connect people in even the smallest ways.
But my favorite interactions had to be with the older crowd.
Delivering Delight to the elders
While at the park with my display, I noticed that many elders stopped to talk and were beaming with smiles. Some commented on the colors, saying things like “So trippy! That’s wild,” while others complimented my creativity, asking questions like “That’s very creative! How do you come up with this stuff? “. These interactions filled me with a sense of gushing pride.
My favorite moments were when a few ladies and gentlemen shared their personal stories, telling me how my art reminded them of the 1960s and 1970s or of the good times they had on mushrooms or acid “back in the day.”
One man that stopped and spoke with me turned out to be a pastor. The pastor surprised me by engaging me in a discussion about psilocybin. “I’m a pastor now,” he proclaimed. To which I responded, “For some people, mushrooms help them meet God.”
My quip earned me a laugh and a memory that may never fade. The pastor smiled, and I believe he knew, perhaps intimately, what I meant.
I have personally made connections to God under the effects of psychedelics, especially in my youth when I danced more often and paid closer attention to the details of our world. As the old saying goes, “The devil is in the details,” but I learned that God lives there too.
These experiences have inspired my art and my passion for creativity.
A gentleman in Idaho bought this painting from me 4 years ago, back in 2019. I couldn’t tell you his name, but I remember that he was very fast paced with curly dark hair, and he had a car dealership. He told me I should focus on bigger paintings. “They would be easier to sell.”, He said. Ever since this interaction, I’ve focused more on larger canvases.
I also committed to more detail and less low time investment / stress paintings.
Sometimes I think about paintings I have sold to people and fully recognize their obvious incompletion. I daydream about being able to have them back to finally finish and then return to whatever wall or Goodwill had them.
I feel like I’ve produced a bunch of ghosts.
This is my current thought process, and it is the reason you may have noticed I completely swept up the art that I have kept on this website. Now the website itself feels so empty and pointless.
I suppose I am going through some sort of a conflict about it. Someone was willing to spend money on this painting, no matter how many years ago. Just because I’ve suddenly become so moody and hyper critical, does that really mean that another person’s enjoyment is invalid?
Only a few short years later and looks so obviously incomplete to me now. It looks like I don’t care. I guess this is what it means to grow old, to desire more intent and focus to be evident in the things that come from my hands.
I don’t feel proud enough of my art, and that’s become a problem.
If you are reading this, and you have and /or purchased a painting from me please email me a photo of it. Let me look at it, I have such a huge army of ghosts out there. I woke up today wanting nothing more than to chase them.
I’m back into the swing of actively posting for now. There’s just something about TWO toxic train derailments in the U.S. recently that makes me want to vent. There’s more, of course. There is always more, but this is the nail in the coffin containing my silence.
And so, here I am, sharing space with you. As I process my feelings and update you on what they look like on canvas, the world continues to spin. Bad things continue to happen.
So, what happened with all of this talk of a train derailment and toxic chemicals, anyway? On February 3rd, a train derailedin the village of East Palestine, Ohio. Ever since then, an absolute shit show has continued unraveling for all to see across the livestreamed internet.
And it doesn’t seem like enough people are talking about it.
Try as they may, social media cannot keep hiding the reality of the Ohio Train Derailment.
A reporter was actually ARRESTED for being among the first to report. Dead fish, cattle and chickens being reported 100+ miles away from ground zero. What is this going to look like in the long term, and why isn’t the U.S. government being transparent about it?
Just as the topic started gaining traction, BOOM!
Another derailment in Texas with even more chemicals and what will eventually become lifelong negative effects for anyone living along the waterways where these chemicals are being dumped.
This is what happens when deregulation and pay to play become the only form of partisanship. It is ridiculous!
I’m here, and I’m fucking tired of being pissed! Surely our collective human energy can be used to hip check the malevolent nature of the modern world. There are things in this life worth protecting. Especially life itself.
