P.O.V.

From my notes… From one point of view, its art, another love, and a third work. But whose is which? From mine, its art not work as no one is paying me to… Continue reading

Pond in Winter, 300.4

E.D. No, not that one. Here we are talking about Existential Depression. That more-intellectual-than-emotional feeling that there is no meaning to your life.  Call it “The pond in winter syndrome.” You are walking… Continue reading

Is Est Suum Ingenium

It is their innate character. Ahab and his whale, the artist and his mermaid, the frog and the scorpion story if you must. Another painting in a painting; it’s a mid-ocean storm at… Continue reading

Nobody and the cloud salesman

  “This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me” – EMILY DICKINSON. Lately the depression’s back, that feeling that it (anything) is just not worth the effort. Nothing major,… Continue reading

The Ride

When syncope pulls the shades, can you assume progress from the shaking of the carriage? Romantics think you get somewhere on your private ride, be it a moment of jouissance or a life… Continue reading

No Hope

This work place was sorely abashed by the most recent storm. And the office, after several rounds of layoffs, is empty except for the few scavengers perched to fight for crumbs. Once it… Continue reading

Lolling Lillies

Three more of that golfer’s mistresses. Three more caricatures of women from pictures in a magazine. Well, from that mag’s site anyway. The first is about instincts, about sex and food — eat… Continue reading

To Post or Not to Post

There may or may not be a drawing at the end of this text. I did a drawing I like but I am not sure it’s all mine enough to post. Is it… Continue reading

Circe perdue and Galatea, too

Did I try to put to much stuff in this drawing at the expense of clarity and unity? Perhaps but I’ve spent too much time on it to just give it up. I… Continue reading

Like Tattoos

Art is like tattoos you know Ink on a pen. An empty space to fill in. Art is like tattoos you’ve known… Underneath the skin …your past re-suffered not recalled. Art is like… Continue reading