Saturday, October 1, 2016
Towards evening my boss, Tom, finished all the work while Tom Sr., his dad, drove me to a chiropractor appointment I had in downtown Detroit. I was covered with cement dust head to toe; kind of embarrassing sitting in a waiting room with a bunch of guys in business suits.
I was seeing Dr. Radky in the office of George Goodheart, who introduced Applied Kinesiology
Thursday, September 22, 2016
After being "accidentally" poisoned by ground water at a Superfund site at 25 years of age I'm now forced to live out my 'so-called' golden years when I'm 50 and 60 wether I like it or not — take it or leave it.
And there ain't much gold in them there hills as much as there's pain and frustration.
Scleroderma is not a fun disease and it kills people — half the people who get it die within 2 to 3 years. I figure if I wasn't in such great physical condition when I got it I'd be dead by now too.
So I dedicate this post to all those people who look at me with disdain because I threw my health away by living terribly, even though I personally, know virtually no one who has been so careful about their life choices than myself.
It all started because my "friend" hired me to do fence work for a couple of summers. It was hard work but I was used to hard work after working at Chrysler and being stuck with probably one of the hardest jobs on the line; the motor-buck; a wicked machine that lifts the engine up into the suspension of vans as they were slowly lowered onto the line. I'd bolt it in with what was probably the largest pistol grip impact wrench made. Everything had to be timed as the van descended downward and forward, our else the entire line had to be stopped (and supervisors did not like that).
Anyway, my friend's fence work involved mostly commercial jobs in and around Detroit. On a cold November day we went to Trenton; the Edison Quarry. An enormous hole in the ground. To this day I don't know if my friend knew it or not, but this place was a designated Superfund site, a toxic waste dump. Funny, because one of the things we were doing was putting "No Trespassing" signs on the perimeter fence, and wouldn't you know I was the guy walking on the inside of the fence as my friend walked along the outside to hold the signs up while I bolted them down. I walked through wet weeded fields up to my ankles in water. My boots and gloves were thoroughly soaked for hours while doing that job. And even though it was below freezing I had no problem keeping my hands and feet warm because I was active and robust.
|The Edison Quarry, AKA Superfund Site|
|Typical old PCB filled transformer, the possible source of toxin|
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Friday, December 25, 2015
|Coelacanth — see-lə-kanth|
In order for a behaviour to persist (become an established universal behavior), it must provide a significant advantage or utility that results from using it.
The very earliest remnants of humans making any form of permanent visual impressions appears to be in the making of seemingly random linear tailings. They Are thought to be the earliest markings hominids made that can be considered an expression of, for intention of, art.*Premonition
The meander, on the basis of art, is intricately entwined with time perception. Meander, as a verb — as in the act of drawing, accordingly will elicit thoughts of future events previously held only in the subconscious. A mindless searching beyond the horizon of the present.
*Precognition Precognition (from the Latin præ-, "before" and cognitio, "acquiring knowledge"), also called future sight, and second sight, is an alleged psychic ability to see events in the future.
Friday, May 8, 2015
|Victoria 5-2-15 Life Drawing • 8.5 x 12.5 inches|
“Oppressive” in a word, describes the pain I've been feeling for several months. The pleasure of existence simply eludes me. Life is not easy!
|Becca 3-21-15 Life Drawing • 9.75 x 6.25 inches|
|Steve 3-28-15 Life Drawing • 9 x 6.5 inches|
Last drawings before spring break.
Even though they are completely oblivious to this, people have all these little recordings that play through their mind on some sort of insane loop. The little ideas tell them how to behave, what decisions to make, their attitudes about things–people. They just fly around and around in their heads like some annoying bees that just can't leave them alone.
Oh, how we get ourselves in trouble!
Monday, March 9, 2015
|Becca 2-21-15a Life Drawing 13.5 x 9 inches|
Then again, hologram may be as varied as snowflakes; in which case it might seem a bit futile to draw meaningful cross references. But for the sake of the experiment, let us assume meaningful analogies or metaphors are possible.
|Sara 3-7-15 Life Drawing 13 x 10 inches|
On the one hand, the universe's hologram is manifest as matter and energy — all those objects and processes that characterize the content of the universe (this includes dark matter and energy etc., ad infinitum). And than on the other hand, how we experience these entities as objects we can feel, see, hear; all of our receptors.
The specific nature of our perception being coloured by everything unique to an individual. The universe's hologram impinges upon our internal hologram and the convergence of these these two wave fronts is our experience of reality, our awareness.
To me, painting and printing can be a social type thing. I can and do speak with people while engaging in these activities. But drawing from life is very different. I insist on isolating myself from others and strive to shut out any distractions. What is this thing I create on paper - a brane? Am I not creating a hologram?
Here's the deal; information loss is forbidden by quantum mechanics. All my dreams, pains, desires, etc., are inseparable from my internal hologram and that is what's creating this drawing. The hologram of the drawing, inescapably, is a piece cut from the fabric of my existence.
The Black Whole at the Beginning of Time, Scientific American, August 2014
Information in the Holographic Universe, Scientific American, August 2003
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
|Becca, Life Drawing • Saturday, 2/21/2015|
I think I'm done with trying to achieve an accurate "photo" shot of a model. When we get too hung up on doing that, the focus of what we really are trying to obtain is lost.
The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.
There are so many dimensions to explore, not least of which is that communication with the model.
And then, there is that strange effect that we introduce with subtle characterizations of hatch, shade, and line; of contour and vanishing than reappearing details/boundaries.