Friday, November 23, 2007


I made a couple of quick adjustments on this last night. Still has a long way to go. I don't like how much space the rocket is taking up, but we'll see how it works out. I am trying to have this finished for you by the time I leave next Thursday. I could always travel with it and work on it until I see you, but I am already traveling with a three year old and would prefer not to deal with it. Like I said, we'll see how it works out. I want you to be happy with the final product.

I was having a hard time making the monkey look happy, because I felt like he was going into space to die. But as someone pointed out, "Does the monkey know that?" I changed the monkey obviously. No details there yet. Also, you will notice... the planet cookie.

A sixteen year old girl in the UK contacted me through my gallery, and wanted to do kind of an interview. She was doing an essay for an art program and the theme was "wraps". She came upon an old crappy painting I did of russian nesting dolls. She thought she could work it into the theme. It was interesting to answer questions. I like interviews. Of course, I am not being stalked by people asking me the same questions and having my privacy totally shredded. Not likely I will ever let that happen.

I have been reading poetry too, and getting ready to leave.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Amy Lowell

Amy Lowell poems

GC1107 Stages 3 & 4

okay. Let's see what is going on now with this piece. It's initial stage was posted a couple days back. Monkey, Weird looking lady. Then I made some changes to it tonight, which you can see. I tried to incorporate the "lady" a little, and even though she was a freak I could have worked with, I opted to lose her which you see in this second image.
So now, we have our monkey in the rocket ship, and the lady is gone forever. She is never coming back. That was it, her five seconds of fame... anyways, I was thinking that it would be cool to add some monkeys in the background dropping from parachutes, only the parachutes were cupcakes. There's work yet to be done on this one for sure. Thought you might want to see, buyer.

I was reading some things by Amy Lowell tonight. And, let's see what else did I do? Oh yeah.. I keep getting into these arguments with these born again vampires in an Anchorage newspaper. Been listening to Baroness, Sunn O))), Tortoise, and a bunch of weird shit I downloaded out of curiosity, and most of it blows. I watched some of When Worlds Collide the other night. Humans in on a lottery for who will be saved and sent into space when other planets fly into Earth's atmosphere and destroy it. Sometimes the older movies have great dialogues and sometimes they are better enjoyed muted. This one jumped back and forth for me, but I always enjoy sci-fi props from the past. No doubt our future will laugh at our present.

Fucking Mondays.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Madonna stage 3 -5X5 & GC Stage 2- 2.5' X 2.5'

I took a photo of these two pieces I worked on tonight, side by side... Obviously.
I am not tired yet.

Madonna stage 3 -5X5 acrylic on canvas

I warned you about this, buyer.

This piece started off with a big fucked up bang. I just want to remind you that it will change alot before I am finished with it. You can change it with me. Don't get too attached to any of it though. If you do become attached to something specific about it, and want me to leave that element in the piece. Please, by all means tell me. I will do my best to honor your request. If I have a problem with execution... I will likely have to scrap it though.

I honestly have no idea where this piece is going. I will know more when I work on it and think on it some more.

2.5 X 2.5

I am notorious around here, for breaking into people's houses or I will trick them so I can take a painting back and change something in it. I tell people, if you don't want me to steal my shit back to work on it, then you better remove it from my scrutinizing eye if I come visit. Because I will take that shit, especially if I gave it to you and it wasn't a sale.

I'll give it back though, with the exception of ONE to date that I refuse to return it is so fucking bad.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Madonna and other things.

This is a 5'X5' madonna that I started over the weekend. First layer. Acrylic on canvas.

I have been commissioned to do two more pieces. One is a smaller more whimsical piece incorporating some interesting things like apes, moses, cakes, ballerinas and rocket ships. The second piece I have been commissioned to do will be a mammoth in size. The buyer wants the largest canvas I can feasibly work on. I won't be able to start it until I have the supplies. Maybe 7x18 feet. And its a dismal sort of work, but energetic. I look forward to starting on it. I haven't posted anything for the first commissioned piece yet, because I don't want the buyer to be freaked out by the first stage. I will post it later.

Not too much else to say here. Life is fucked up. We have gotten alot of snowfall here on the island.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Tuesday's been Obliterated. I am not just one day.

I remember riding my bike, as a little girl down a shadowy lane. I remember riding my bike because I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to hear my stepfather talk to my mother. He worked all day in downtown Houston at some computer place and would come home and expect dinner. One of those deals. I didn't want to look at my mother's face when she looked at me. She looked at me with love, but there was something else in her face. Something sad. When you're a child, you don't think people are sad because of their environment. You think people are just sad. Kind of like how people are just clowns or people are just policemen or ballerinas or teachers.

Maybe as a child you lived in a house that had no tools to protect you from the grief of life. You were knocked around. Meals weren't regular. You pushed the chair over to the cabinet and you ate raw noodles from the macaroni and cheese box, because no one gave a fuck about what a toddler needed beyond candy to keep them out of your face. Maybe you lived that life.

Maybe you experienced sex for the first time when you were 8 because the people around you were so unhappy that they would have drunken one night stands on your mother's couch, without giving a single thought to the fact that you were watching your mother be molested by something so ugly.. so impersonal.. and even as a child, you never called her name to reel her in... you just watched and felt bad and hated the mess of flesh on top of her.. and wanted her to be happy and not scream at you when you pushed the chair up to the cabinet to help yourself... while everyone else took more than their share.

I never wondered what she wanted out of life. You don't tend to wonder what your mother needs when you are so young.

My mother used to grow a garden in front of our Texas trailer home. It was a double wide mobile home, and I don't think that my stepfather thought there was anything more to be had out of life. His mother and father lived on the next acre and he must have been a secure dude. All that stress of punching keys for interesting people that my mother and I could only brush against by chance as we cashed in shitty fucking coupons at a shitty ass country store that treated us like foreigners years after we had spent every dollar we had. My mother would buy one Little Debbie snack pack to last a month. So fuck you.

But my mother used to grow a garden in the front of the house, while I would raise rabbits in the back. She grew elephant ears. And when they were abundant, she took her wares to the roadside, as if someone wasted from the roadhouse 1/2 a mile away, would stop and pay 5 bucks for a bulb. But they were huge. And flying squirrels and tiny frog legions appreciated them.

In the back of the house.. I tended to decapitated baby rabbits. Babies, whose crazy black mother had chomped them to pieces in her neurotic insanity to keep the rest alive... So I tell myself. I was 9. I removed their headless bodies. I tried to talk to the mother. Ask her why. But she scared me. She hated her life.

Why do I love elephants? There's a lot of reasons.

Why do I love the man I love now?

I don't want to grow a garden alone. I don't want to be that child staring at meaningless sex on the couch. I don't want to remove bodies from cages. I don't want to suffer if dinner isn't ready on time. I don't want to be everything that has damaged me. I want to be my own future, and for once, I see it clearly. Fuck you if you don't accept it, I'm not using your shit coupons today, and I sure as fuck ain't shopping at your establishment for things I need anyway. What you have to offer is more of the same.. that I have seen.. from planet earth in general and her stores... so thanks, but I'll fight for my love instead of settle again.

Word to MY mother.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Darkest birds take me home.

I listen to the sounds of my house.

I hear the clock, whose hands I have yet to change, knocking seconds off of my life and it doesn't care. Doesn't care about me at all. If time cared about me, I would be hunted and dead already for how I have wasted years.

I am careful to choose my words now. I don't like it that way.

I prefer to unroll my tongue like a burning ribbon.

I tolerate my censorship. I throw up my own walls. I am digging into my own for this newest haul.

I feel like Poe.

And I crawl.