The Fifth Chamber of the Heart (retooled a bit)

I begged him, "please tell me again how it feels."

"I can only describe it as a purring," he said of the slurry of snow falling inside his ribcage. He swallowed again. And then, "maybe it's more a feathered butterfly. It's hard to say." It apparently had begun, this snowstorm, two weeks before, in the middle of a blue-note night when he dropped his glass trumpet, which twice bounced back up to his hands before shattering.

Magenta smoke swirled over his head as he chased the last drop of warmth around the bottom of the shot glass before he stumbled outside and disappeared into a snowless night. I thought he might come back and purr some more for me, but after hours unblinking (four of them if my memory is reliable**) and watching the empty door, it too disappeared as I shrugged into my jacket, climbed the back stairs and watched bats dive through the floor.

. . .

** Memories, when stored in muscular tissue as opposed to the CNS, are quitely reliable. Take, for instance, the memory of squeezing the heart for the first time in your hands. You remember, don't you, the tense zing of that first electrical impulse tensing then dissolving as impulse became past tense and squirreled itself away in the fifth chamber of the heart?

Day 100

asemics continued, centuries pass
tempera & acrylic on canvas panel, 24" x 30"

Day 99

asemics continued (where words swim)

angled detail
tempera & acrylic on canvas panel, 15" x 30"

Day 98

asemics graffiti continued
tempera & acrylic on canvas, 8" x 24"

Day 97

untitled

rotated, detailed glimpse

acrylic & tempera on canvas panel, 18" x 18"
(panel from Day 89 used as base here)

Day 96

the scars language can leave behind

(detail)

tempera & acrylic on canvas panel, 10" x 20"

Day 95

pinkffiti / asemics continued
tempera & acrylic on canvas panel, 20" x 24"

Day 94

graffitiesquarian / asemics continued
ink, watercolor & tempera on canvas, 12" x 12"

Day 93

asemically speaking, continued
acrylic & tempera on canvas panel, 10" x 20" (top)
acrylic on canvas, 16" x 20" (bottom)

Day 92

asemically speaking
each piece: tempera on canvas, 12" x 12"

P.S. Julia Davies' asemic writing work has been, and I cannot state this emphatically enough, a HUGE influence on my recent painterly tangents. Without the introduction to the idea through her 100 Days work, I likely would have kept bumbling about in oblivion. I've played with this sort of thing for years--a "post-literate" language where language is left up to the reader or viewer. I had no idea this was something that already existed. I have every confidence that I will continue to move around inside it and push at it from every angle, long after 100 Days has wrapped.

Day 91

standin' on the corner watchin' all the girls go by...

Day 90

tempera & watercolor on canvas, 12" x 12"

Day 89

ink, tempera & watercolor on canvas, 18" x 18"

not at all what i would consider a finished piece. or even one that feels good. it actually felt very disjointed, jerky almost in the moment. i know that shows. maybe tomorrow i can make it show something else.

Day 88

untitled
tempera & watercolor on canvas, 12" x 12"

no external inspiration tonight, sorry. lots going on. marathonning fatigue.
i did find out yesterday that my proposal for a night-time, light-incorporating project was approved and so you may see glimpses of that as we tumble towards the finish line.

Day 87

the essence of creativity: flexibility of mind

not at all what i planned to post for day 87, and it probably won't be the only thing up by the end of the day. my car gave me some trouble today and so i gave it a time-out at the shop. my dad is letting me borrow his 1970 VW bus overnight so that i can get to my new job bright and early in the morning. i love taking shots of mirror reflections, especially when the mirror is so vintagey cool! there was no reason for these shots except the sunset looked gorgeous, i like bokeh-ed out diptychs and i was there with camera in hand.

Day 86 5/8

I've been thinking about this post of Julia's for awhile now. I honestly thought that I would address it in paint, but I found myself at this interesting pair of buildings today. I'd previously shot it (maybe 8 months ago?) but it felt much different today. I may still get to a bounce off paint. Maybe.

Day 86 1/2

untitled
tempera & watercolor on canvas panel, 16" x 20"

Day 86

"...tell me all the places we could go
count the headlights passing on the road..."

from Better Than Ezra's At the Stars

Day 85

untitled (detailed glimpse on bottom)
ink, watercolor & tempera on canvas panel, 16" x 20"

i like the effect of the white tempera as the most on-top layer...it seemed to blur but also magnify the colors and patterns beneath. what i did not expect was how much, before i "fixed" it, the white tempera would look like giant sperm swimming across the rest of my painting. talk about comic relief in my living room this afternoon, whew!

Day 84

untitled
tempera on canvas, 16" x 20"

today's entry is really more about process than product. i like it, or parts of it, but this week's been a bit of an emotional roller coaster which finally allowed me to bail out the back today. i finished up my teaching gig after 3 years and 1 month this morning...and i start a new job on Monday. i'm excited, but was unexpectedly a tad sad when i said my goodbyes. so i spent all afternoon painting. it was heaven. and messy. and sweaty. full of process, process, process...and very little brain-overload-chatter, just the way i like it!

Day 83

exodus in the key of exuberant-sharp
ink, tempera and watercolor on canvas, 10" x 20"

Day 82 1/2

this is what we do.

we laugh.
we seek comfort when we ache.
we lash out, we hide, we sleep.

we don't sleep, but instead daydream at night
about the one that got away,
or the one that came back, damaged and smaller than
we remember.

we hurt each other in ways we cannot imagine ever doing.

we hold hands.
we ask forgiveness, and we dole it out unconditionally.
we cry, we weep. for days on end.

we love, and want to love, and want to be loved.
we wonder why, why not, how is it possible, when.
we dress our wounds as best we can.
we whisper and make up new languages and nod knowingly.

we share secrets.
we trade secrets.
we keep secrets.

we live, not always holy and not always wholly.
we demand our days in court. we flirt and marry, drift
apart and back again. we want to be happy and rich,
but mostly happy. and rich.
we blink, we surprise each other. with words
or tiny actions.

we suffer, we weep. we ask forgiveness.
and we dole it out unconditionally.

this is what we do.

Day 82

curviliciously arced

Several points of inspiration / pinging off fellow 100 Days artists:
JK Davies' day 80
she pinged off an Antony Gormley piece
and a Dorothee Lee piece,
which was inspired by JK's day 76 piece; and,
Mitra Fabian (especially the zippers); and
Andy G., whose work is never far from my mind.

Day 81

interstellar interlude / busy signal

Day 80

of prisons and other stiflings

Today marked a return to work, my vacation is all done, b'bye. I feel very boxed in here. Good thing I've got some good news, and a new direction, on the reachable horizon. More on that later...

Day 79 1/2

togetherness, from my Conversations series

Day 79

window designs / safari campaign @ Louis Vuitton

Day 78

meanwhile, further out from the center of the big bang

inspired by Cathryn Esten's Day 73, a lovely find at a nearby college athletic field tonight...soft rain, night-time sprinklers and the big, bright lights on full blast.

Day 77

otter, peacock, rhino
Tucson Zoo, 8.2.11

Day 76

56th & 5th

I collapsed with exhaustion--space, time, solitude, silence, inertia, they take their toll. Around
Halloween, actually all year round, the windless fog settles and darkens,
speaks the only word it knows.

_______________

(Quickly.)

Robert held his umbrella over her, underneath the silt and salty mouth
of the Severn. Seconds later as he fell asleep, she gathered her thoughts from her ankles and pulled them back on with her clothes.

You could say that there was a wistfulness in her voice, you could say that was how the dead would dream. You could say anything. But of course, you never had to.

_______________

No gall bladder is present in the pigeon.
The beaver paid us no attention as he pondered the creamy white underside, his apathy made me feel invisible, and afraid.
Squirrels paced on windowsills and gnawed on crushed glass in every color, solar systems strewn this way and that. He was relieved when Sister finally walked toward him, into the light.

_______________

Don't mention the book.
Father was always stern when it came to the looters.
"Remember kids," he would say, "seared into vein and vine,"
and then drift off mid-mumble, like nasturtiums on Tuesdays
or roses at dawn.

Day 75 1/2

Ring the churchbells, let the alFabets begin.
Forget A through E, today's postmodern alFabet starts with
F is for:

Feelings. Nothing more than Feelings;
Fringe-Free surreys;
Flea-Flickers, and Fake jewels, and seagulls a-Flock;
Fellatio;
Facebook & eFFervescing about nothing to everyone;
Former Flings Found Frolicking bed- or topside;
Felonious Frisbee; isometric Flippancies;
FistFuls of Feathered Flies;
Fracking (Frantic Fucking, not Fractured hydrology);
Flamingos; pFizer pFarmaceuticals; flying monkeys and saucers;
Filled to the rim with brim;
Fingered to Fruition.

Day 75

peacocks up close(r)

Day 74

context is everything

Day 73

the implied geometries of building

courthouse steps