Going crazy with the scissors! Acrylic on cardboard!
August 19, 2016 – – Thanks to everyone who came out to my one-night extravaganza in Chicago. Special thanks to Michael Weinberg who allowed the upstairs space at his business office for my art exhibit. And of course, thanks to Aaron Gessner, Kelly Dunphy and Pat Boyle who bought my work!
Your puny weapons are useless! You heard it before a thousand times, usually from a hideous space alien in a 1950’s science fiction B-movie, but not always. Maybe you heard it from your parents, your teachers, the bully in your third grade class or perhaps even some enraged law enforcement officials. It doesn’t matter, you keep on fighting anyway. Why? Because you’re an idiot with a big ego! That’s the only kind of human that ever defeats hideous aliens with super powers. You spend the wee hours soldering together the wires to your secret dynamo because that’s what they expect least. That’s how you’re going to impress the Viking bikini girls. It doesn’t hurt if you have a blue sports car either. You should try it sometime.
The airport beckons you. Once you find out the captain is no ordinary pilot, it will be easier to stomach that this will be no ordinary journey. He won’t waste your time explaining how to fasten your safety belt, where the emergency exits are, or how to put on your oxygen mask. There will be many strange vessels populating the air space – huge red tuba/tank/beer tap hybrids with six eyeballs and the face of Rasputin, hovering chrome parakeet transporters and supersonic mechanical snails. The sky will be held together with tight-fitting tiles known as kites and darts.
Welcome to my Bushwick open studio, don’t step in the doo-doo. My works of genius stick to your shoes and sing the blues with such tenacity. They are not the end result of sobriety or chastity. These are the relics of the future stitched together with suture. My experiments with shoe polish and shrimp cocktail sauce have given me great press and pull. Oil wells are spouting and everyone shouting, “It’s the next big thing!” like the iceberg in the path of the Titanic. You may need a drink. It will help you to think. It’s very conceptual, especially if you’re skeptical. It’s the lobster claw that grabs your nose just when you were starting to doze. I like the ring, my theory string, it’s just the thing for my artist’s statement, Mr. Bonaparte. Pain relief! Where is thy sting? I’ll hold a light bulb over my head if it will convince you that I have ideas. I woke up a welded monster and looked in the mirror only to see a beer. Oh dear! He’s at it again. The floor’s dropped out and there’s nothing but clouds to walk on. Next stop – Tumultuous Gulch – there’s never a dull moment, only dull Monets. I’ve been deconstructing my pizza ingredients, exercising my expedients, belaboring my lenience as the boxer shorts of Dr. Death descend on my Frankenstein blender. Squirrels and girls and alligator mascots wade through waves of vomit covering three time zones and 46 chromosomes. Will they find the Viking to their liking? The attack of the clowns is a prequel and a sequel because I am running around in circles, skipping like a broken orbit submerged.
Life here is hellish. Please pass the relish. Signed yours truly, liquored up and drooly. When it’s not the mustard gas, it’s a game of ketchup. Give my compliments to the condiments. Kabuki rides the purple stallion only to slip on a scallion and face the dalek of Jackson Pollack. Woe be to thee that lights the candle and leads the way to the lunar module. Devouring the winged snakes as I do each day for breakfast, the ocean stands before me and berates me for being a boxhead. The stone tower has sprouted legs and become a mobile home – a recreational vehicle for recreational drug use and abuse. Far be it for me to tweet the words that spell shampoo. Here in whine country, I hear the bitter refrain of ancient unsuccessful artists and wince. Shirley there is Moore to life than this! Another day, another painting gathers dust – I trust you brought a tissue for the sad tales my voice box will issue. Carefully, I cemented the laughter after and the horror before her. Yea, though I walk through the valley of desks, my sandwich requires something extra, a little something to wake up my taste buds from their dismal despondent doze.
Shazam! The hair-do wizard twists and turns the golden locks. It’s hard to deny that there are supernatural powers at work when he concocts a hair-do. Stairwells and Orwells intersect in a cacophony of paranoia and bliss. Betty Boop boop be doop with a lovely green patina becomes the Statue of Libertines. On time Escher with the sublime ledger building temples and stencils and bow tie bat men. The Wall Street bull is full of bronze and cons his way into the hearts of millions. Hair-do goddess will you applaud us? Shall the towers and steeples perforate the checkerboard sky? Contrary to popular Belize, the onion willful waffle wakes the wanton buffoon-a-tron. All the skipping turquoise legs of mantle mickey left a hickey half a mile wide on the neck of previous nightmare shenanigans. Downfall reads the epitaph, call girl reads the telegraph, troll interest fiber seeks cyber network cool jerk duck bill platypus!
Koala see ‘em, Koala don’t! The futbol moon hovers over the medieval town. The new swan stone has grown white and pointy. Rolling hills pay the bills, the swordfish smiles with disposable income and dim sum and blue grass and high tides forever. The brave curves of the sedan tilt as planned, rotating and gyrating smittenly degenerate. The cockpit spits the writs with fits of temper and distemper and torpor and turpentine all the time porcupine. Bent in the golden domes of eastern orthodoxy and Roxy and moxie foxy lady bury more. Triumvirate of stained glass arches the marshes that succeed in surrounding Loch Mess hamster wheel keeps on turning, stomach burning and dopes learning the ropes of the popes and copes with gulping galloping Sir Gallahad. Chaotic critters carouse with Kurt Schwitters obliterating the celebrating geraniums into the post-mortem accordion.
Turn on your knight vision when you cruise for booze, a tale of modern horror. Through the city streets, run the hounds of hell. Oh well, another day another Dolores (which is the Spanish word for pain) with the bony fingers fondling the incense burner. The green smoke turns the waterwheel, turning, always turning. The soggy timbers don’t know one day from the next. A green crayon appears and the New World is discovered. It’s new to them that discovered it anyway. Using a baseball bat in an unsportsmanlike way is the order of the day. The brown polka dot bunny is washed away on a wave of classical architecture. The blue of jaded countenance shimmers well into middle age. Valves and windows open, not as easy to exit as a door but we make do, don’t we? Keep the fires burning and the spiders dangling.
The title character in this painting was inspired by an enormous statue I saw in a Buddhist Temple in Shanghai. There were loads of these statues in the temple and they all had to be over twenty feet tall! There are bits and pieces of thematic imagery that I have become enamored by – the window is an Islamic architectural detail, a sailing ship, a raccoon (which I have been seeing a lot of lately), an exploding robot head and lots of big eyeballs!
Peace and love missiles and a flaming orange dove populate the sky– how ironic! There’s a purple (which is the color of royalty) crown, which could also be a pitchfork, in the lower right hand corner. The ominous face and its mirror image are held together by a hard-boiled eye (!) in the upper right corner. In the upper left hand corner, we see a man dreaming that he is driving a futuristic car powered by three legs wearing purple high-tops, which is one of my favorite forms of footwear, by the way. I felt that there needed to be something in the background, and then it came to me – evergreen trees! Perhaps this was a premonition that Christmas was coming soon!