Can Do It Conduit

The reality of Obama's nomination has been slowly sinking in, the implication for change almost too much to absorb. Can this be as good as it feels or am I just so tired of the depravity that I'll pin my hopes on the first decent thing that seems to stand a chance? Maybe I'm so sick of war and corruption and despicable actions that a bit of basic decency shines like a beacon. So thirsty for honesty and action and remedy that I'll gulp any promise with the ring of sincerity. Could be but I don't think so. It's more than a desperate grasping. The desolation of these past years is exactly what has made Obama possible. He embodies a new strain of politician, finally unfurling from the last tenacious roots left after heavy hacking, a network grown strong in the hidden crevices of a caustic climate. Honesty and decency didn't die out these last seven years, they just went underground. Obama has an energy around him that transcends politics because he is about more than himself. He is us. Speaking out, healing rifts, building bridges, taking a stand, demanding an end to the madness and doing it with integrity.

I just read Mark Morford's piece "Is Obama An Enlightened Being". He nailed it when he wrote:

"There's a vast amount of positive energy swirling about that's been held back by the armies of BushCo darkness, and this energy has now found a conduit, a lightning rod, is now effortlessly self-organizing around Obama's candidacy. People and emotions and ideas of high and positive vibration are automatically drawn to him. It's exactly like how Bush was a magnet for the low vibrational energies of fear and war and oppression and aggression, but, you know, completely reversed. And different. And far, far better."

Yes.

I watch this video of him speaking to his campaign staffers after the win and I am truly moved. He understands that each of us contributing our best to a common task is the new way, the only way we will make it. He is us, the ones we have been waiting for. We the People.

Photo by Alain Briot

M.C. Escher

Here's an Escher montage set to anti-folk guy Jeffrey Lewis' hypnotic "Springtime" with some great pictures by the great Maurits Cornelis and various other Escher related stuff. Also check out Jeffrey Lewis video Acid Song. I love his Rules for Tripping. (Thanks, Molly!)

Stroke of Insight

A scientist touches nirvana. Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor's moving account of her stroke experience.

Sugar Chile Robinson

This is one cool little cat. Child prodigy form the 1940's, Frankie "Sugar Chile" Robinson bangs away at the piano.

Painting Visionaries

Saturday night was the opening of the Northern California Visionary Art exhibit at the Grace Hudson Museum in Ukiah and it was a full spectrum visually stunning show. Fantastically well-attended, the event was stimulating and gave me a chance to more deeply appreciate the work of some pioneers of the genre. "Visionary Art" encompasses a wide variety of styles, subjects and narratives but the common element is a keen focus on expressing the "deeply seen". Whether visions emerge from altered states of mind, mystical or psychedelic experience, dream, trance, intuition or simply strong conviction, articulating the esoteric, the mysterious and what lies beyond the confines of physical sight seems primary. Despite my preference for universal, primitive and naive symbolic forms in my own work, I enjoyed the precision painting techniques and skill for realism that many of the artists excel in. Always a sucker for raw aesthetic appeal, I was especially captivated by this large oil (48 x 60) by Nick Hyde titled Abraxus. Multi-layered and truly fantastic, the piece literally vibrated with swirling filigreed forms and smoke-like lacings rendered in a subdued palette of soft greens, browns and turquoise. Breathtaking. Many of us there talked about the renewed and growing interest in visionary art despite marginalization by the conventional art world and the relevance this work has to the current global predicaments that humanity faces. A deeper way of seeing is being demanded and here in our own golden rolling hills some potent insights were offered. I felt honored to be included.

Kudos to Marvin Schenck, the show's curator, and his assistant, Denver Tuttle, for orchestrating a terrific show.

In The Sky With Diamonds

RIP: Albert Hofman (January 11, 1906 – April 29, 2008)
I took note when Swiss chemist and the father of LSD passed away a few days ago. I give profound thanks for the ground he broke all those years ago which changed the face of my reality and laid a fertile foundation for the evolution of consciousness in general. That chemical agent of clarity that blows the dust off the old lenses may have been a fluke in the lab but the fruits of his discovery have yet to be fully borne. Hofman once said that LSD "wanted to tell me something. It gave me an inner joy, an open mindedness, a gratefulness, open eyes and an internal sensitivity for the miracles of creation." He considered the hallucinogen to be "medicine for the soul" and lamented the casual recreational use of something he felt should be approached with great reverence. He was also greatly dismayed when it was eventually criminalized as he was convinced that the drug offered the potential to counter psychological problems induced by "materialism, alienation from nature through industrialization and increasing urbanization, lack of satisfaction in professional employment in a mechanized, lifeless working world, ennui and purposelessness in wealthy, saturated society, and lack of a religious, nurturing, and meaningful philosophical foundation of life". Indeed.

From his contemporary, Aldous Huxley , Hofman gleaned an understanding of psychedelic agents as keys to the "new doors of perception", offering an alternative to other "proven but laborious door openers like meditation, solitude, fasting or certain yoga practices." Synthesizing lysergic acid diethylamide in the lab based on a mere hunch, Hofman considered it possible that his discovery of this powerful catalyst of expanded consciousness from a "pharmacologically uninteresting substance" was not mere chance but perhaps "predestined by some higher power to arise precisely at the time when the predominance of materialism with all its consequences over the past 100 years was being understood. LSD as an enlightening psychopharmakon along the path to a new, spiritual age!"

Aldous Huxley impressed Hofman in his consideration of human consciousness as a world resource and considered psychedelics as key to helping develop its potential and tap its power. "A humankind with highly-developed spiritual capacities, with expanded consciousness of the comprehensive wonder of being, would have to be more capable of observing and recognizing also the biological and material bases for its existence on this Earth. The development and unfolding of the ability sensually to experience reality directly, undisguised by words and concepts, would be of evolutionary significance, above all for Occidental humankind with such hypertrophied rationality."

Food for thought.

Quotes from LSD: Completely Personal a speech delivered by Dr. Albert Hofman to the 1996 Worlds of Consciousness Conference in Heidelberg, Germany

Image : Anonymous wood engraving in l'Atmosphere: Meteorologie Populaire by Camille Flammarion 1888

Asawa Shadow

I couldn't restrain myself from snapping a few illicit photos at the Ruth Asawa show a few weeks ago. Shadow play like this is irresistible. To see her work gracing the spaces inside our own Sonoma County Museum was an unequivocal pleasure. Her work stopped me in my tracks when I first saw it at the De Young in San Francisco last year. Stunning, elegant, organic, fractal beauty.

Won't Watchovia

This photo captures a compounding of a couple of peeves I have: the vinyl sign and the shady financial institution. I can't resist a rant here.

I'm an aspiring optimist with an distinct aesthetic orientation so I maybe I'm more challenged by the plague that is modern advertising than many. Most of it is oppressive visual garbage to me. A depressing din. I steel myself just to drive around town. In fact, I have such a revulsion for "Buy This!" ploys that I've developed a bit of blindness that actually doesn't serve me when I'm really in the market. So I have this lament about the uglification that happens in a consumer culture. Forget elegant understatement or letting things speak for themselves. These days the cry to consume is mostly a ruthless take-you-by-the-throat affair and I have to stay positive by giving thanks that there aren't ads on the moon...yet.

Everyday the yellow-orange plastic fast-flashing hook-you info cram gets a bit more intense and I find I've developed a new peeve, nagging for attention like a nasty little dog. I must continually and pointedly look away, sighing with irritation but that does nothing to ease the problem I have with this ubiquitous eyesore: the saggy vinyl sign. I suppose the small business needs a cheap sign to make a go of it and maybe I'm the only one who thinks these sad plastic wonders are really suited only to the brand new or the temporary. A grand opening or an event, OK. They shouldn't hang perpetually in every nook and cranny of town, flapping like lame birds.

Here's where I get really riled. These lame birds should NOT be used to entice customers into banking. I have really been bugged by the plethora of banks in town with a wrinkled banner as their main tag. Nothing says fly-by-night like a floppy sheet of landfill hastily lashed to some recently empty building and I just have to shake my head in wonder. That a bank should be housed in a structure of solid foundation, with thick walls and preferably some large columns, is basic. It should exude security. That was focused-grouped like a hundred years ago, right? I am able to let that one go. But at the very least there should be strong permanent signage, securely affixed. Made of gold metal even.

Anyway, a wimpy banner does not bode well for a bank and a sly punny name is worse. When I first caught sight of the Wachovia sign here in town I experienced a slight wave of disgust. How patronizing is that? It came off so flip and condescending. Oh, yeah, we'll watch over ya (snicker). I figured I was just in a mood, reading too much into it. Turns out, my gut reaction was telling. Headline: Feds Look At Watchovia In Drug Money Probe (!) Scamming seniors, accepting unsigned checks and other practices questionable for a large financial institution. Rather disturbing really.

I don't enjoy the feeling I sometimes have that my hometown has morphed into a Pottertown with fast food huts, bong shops, seasonal crapstops and tattoo parlors. (Do we really need one on every corner?) Now questionable banks plastered with cheap vinyl. I pine for the old days when my Grandpa lettered the shop shingles and painted ads for Clover milk on the walls of neighborhood stores, by hand and with skill. When signs really attracted and banks looked like banks to be trusted.

End of rant.

Sound of Rain

I find this brilliant and beautiful. It appeals to my love of words and forms. Onomatopoeic sculpture by Japanese artist Atsushi Fukunaga who (literally) takes sound effects into the third dimension. It helps that the Japanese characters for giongo are themselves so comely.

From Fukunaga's website:

"I am interested in how to give form to something that is formless. Formless things have many qualities, among them sound, movement, atmosphere, taste, light and shadow, and I am particularly interested in sound, There are many ways to interpret sound, My first step being to translate the sound an onomatopoeic word. My own country of Japan has many onomatopoeic words. Furthermore, the Japanese katakana alphabet is used to communicate foreign words by breaking them down into their constituent syllables. These ‘translated’ foreign words are unique to the Japanese language. I believe there is a universal communicative quality to sound as opposed to language. In Japanese, onomatopoeic words are often used to describe events which have no sound, thereby creating an imaginative link between language and reality. I am interested in investigating ways of communicating to as many people as possible through sound, In the visual language this would be akin to road signs, traffic signals, toilet signs, and hazard patterns. I am also interested in describing sound through visual language. For example, in Japanese manga comics a loud sound is often signified by larger, bolder letters. I am currently exploring this idea further."

Image by Atsushi Fukunaga, Ame no oto (Sound of Rain)

Grace Hudson Museum

A nice fat stack of these slick mailers just arrived via snail mail announcing the Northern California Visionary Art show that I will part of at the Grace Hudson Museum in Ukiah, California. I was impressed with the quality and pleased to see Illumination reclining in ease and prominence. (It is originally a tri-fold jobbie that I condensed here for posting) The copy reads:

In the late 1960s the San Francisco Bay Area became the focal point for a new art movement labeled Visionary Art. It materialized against a background of Vietnam War protests, campus riots, a new idealistic counterculture, Far Eastern spiritual influences, underground comics, psychedelic music and poster art. It was a time of mind altering drug experimentation and free love. Massive numbers of youth were fleeing their middle class upbringing to seek other paths of consciousness and utopian dreams. Concepts of ecology and a back to the land movement were beginning to flourish. The first television generation was seeking new realities.

A nucleus of artists developed on this wave of rising consciousness. They were influenced by Surrealism, Jungian universal archetypes, personal dream awareness, ancient art symbols, and non-Western religious philosophies. These Visionary Artists expressed new alternate realities in their detailed dream-like images.

This exhibition germinated from the large number of Visionary Artists who are now located in rural Northern California. This selection of works follows the traditions of personal dreamscape, utopian landscape, spiritual awakening and apocalyptic visions as originally manifested in early California Visionary Art. Both original and recent artworks by some of the founders of this movement are represented. Also included are paintings by artists who have immigrated here from afar or are younger painters who represent a second Visionary Art generation.

It is clear from the powerful artwork that California Visionary Art remains an important contemporary, creative and idealistic force.It continues to offer alternative spiritual realities and serves as an ecological conscience, even a seer
of doom, for the competitive materialistic world. For all, Visionary Art offers a plethora of intriguing epiphanies to ponder.

Marvin Schenck, Curator
Grace Hudson Museum

Spring Meander

A leisurely stroll through the hills of Sugarloaf Ridge State Park may have to become a Spring tradition. The vistas are bucolic. The colors, intoxicating. Brilliant yellow-greens of the budding leaves. Bright scarlet and yellow wildflowers. Small seas of lupines that the kids couldn't help plundering. Handfuls of dark purple with their grape candy scent. The oaks are just leafing out in tender reddish ruffles. The streams still flash and sing before the heat of the summertime sucks them away. Enjoying it before the dry cicada-hum days of rattlesnake anxiety is the way to go.

Intrepid Quail

On our fence yesterday morning was a surprise visitor. A quail! I haven't clapped eyes on such a sight in years! And never in a suburban backyard. They seem to be quite rare these days even in the rural areas. The first year we moved to the Sebastopol countryside over ten years ago we would stir up whole frantic families of them when we traipsed through the tall grass in our orchard. Maybe it was increased activity under the trees, cutting the grass or the presence of cats that was to blame but after just one year they had disappeared for good. Strangely though, I never see them anymore even when we go hiking. So where did this intrepid little guy come from? He was in some kind of exchange with a big blue jay and really stuck around long enough for me to go dig out my camera, creep out stealthily onto the deck and model for a few shots before the jay scared him off. Odd.

A Good Friday and A Magical Easter

Friday seemed strangely auspicious. Besides reportedly being a rare convergence of various holy days, it was also the first full day of Spring after the Vernal Equinox, a full moon and a culmination of weeks of focused work in the studio. My personal day of hanging had arrived, an unambiguous ending of some kind. It was blessedly warm and golden which soothed my jangled nerves. Rob steered me through a mild panic over what seemed like a hundred tiny loose ends conspiring to overwhelm my presence of mind but all were eventually trimmed and forgotten or nicely woven in. Packing and transporting large works and so many was a challenge but we rose to it, with strategic leaning and some gentle rope tying. Hanging the pieces went smoothly and the canvases that had filled the inside of my wee studio were absorbed into the large space with alarming ease. Actually they looked more at home in their new temporary digs. They are more outgoing than me and craved some exposure. The day was rounded out with an evening of jitterbug dancing which I abandoned sooner than I wanted just because of sheer exhaustion.

Saturday was a frantic rummage through the shops collecting shiny bits and candies for the girls' Easter baskets, something I usually do in a casual way over a period of a few weeks. Between Rob and I we assembled an attractive pastel colored mess that was well received on Sunday morning, which began too early for me. The afternoon came on slowly and opened beautifully like poppy buds in a warm room. Mom and Dad hosted lunch and had the family table set out under the wisteria. Dad made what we proclaimed to be the best mac and cheese in the universe with Spring veggies, greens and bread. The meal was exalted by a '96 bottle of Clos du Val Cabernet, Mom's lightly chocolate Pavlova crowned with cream and fruit for dessert and a family meander through the neighborhood under flowering trees. Yes, a really lovely weekend. Now some rest.

Photo: My studio this Spring.

Thus Far

After developing the circle of figures with opaques and refining details, I finally feel very close but have to set it aside to "set up". Like a jello dessert. The last stage will require a fresh outlook and renewed energies, so I worked on something else for awhile. Clearly this is shaping into some kind of creation and celebration. A breaking and a birthing. A new story.

This photo is an odd angle because the canvas is actually resting vertically against the slider door.

More Color and New Shapes

I laid in more color and gave the shard shapes a soft dove gray shadowing which makes them recede temporarily. I am bringing them back by buffing in some more white. The outer edges cried out for something and these orbs and seed shapes began to orbit. Now I see planets and eggs and microscopic entities.

First Colors

The ghosties begin to get their first garments of various hues. At one point I began to almost hear the colors that wanted to be included. Something reminiscent of a dawn or dusk. Blues, golds, soft purples with touches of coral, bronze and pink. I think this image is about a birth of some kind. An ending and a beginning.

Taking Shape

A bit blurry but more coming through.

Emerging

Since I've been putting in some serious hours in the studio, I thought I'd post some pictures of my progress. I have several canvases in stages of progress but for this one in particular I have burned the candle to a nub. From a sea of blue an egg emerged. Well, shards of white, cupping some kind of tumult. This is the early stage. Allowing whatever it is to shine out. I used to call this process "ghosting in". Laying down the thinnest of veils until some shape becomes substantial enough to recognize and thus develop. A gentle capturing of the spirit of the thing.

Free Hugs

I first saw this over a year ago and loved it. I came home from another long day in the studio and found it had been sent my way again by a friend so I thought I'd share it. Sincerity can still shine in a jaded world. I think humanity has a pretty good shot. Creative and uplifting.

Cultural Program Alteration

Here's quintessential trippy dude Terence McKenna talking about culture as a kind of operating system of the mind that can be overwritten by a deeper, more "vitalistic" program through shamanic practices such as ingesting psychotropic plants. This is akin to my own take on culture, religion, capitalism, evolution, the world...ever since age 19 when a series of temporary mind alterations ("perturbed brain chemistry") wiped clean the old hard drive. To experience stepping off a bus, exhaled into the cityscape like a gush of seawater from a great whale to hear the trees in the park singing my name while they tossed the moon like a ball and the gutters rang with bells...well. I never went back to Kansas. I became the smallest weed cracking through the sidewalk and the farthest star winking in the fog. It flashed through my body: it's all more beautiful, alive, connected and simple then I could know with my head. That's been my stance ever since, seemingly outside the cultural norm but deeper inside something more real. A place where old cliches like "love makes the world go 'round" are reborn to their original radiant profundity. In those days I came upon a shattered store window and plucked a shard from the wreckage. It became an icon for me, a piece of my old world view that showed me where I'd been limited and now had broken free. I still keep that hunk of glass upon an altar of bird nests in my studio and still revel in the beauty of this elegant universe and my place in it.

This clip has some fine far out art by the likes of Alex Grey and Mark Henson, among others, and a rather eerie soundtrack.

Big and Blue

Gray skies make for good painting conditions in the studio, diffused light and an excuse for a blazing wood fire. I've settled into working on several pieces at once which seems to assuage creeping anxieties about producing enough work. I work with a canvas until I've poured as much juice as I can into it. Then I abandon it for another and then another until eventually I'm back to the first with fresh perspective and invigorated inspiration. And so on. This rotation lets me go with the flow easier. When a piece is really asking to be worked, then I dive in. Like my houseplants when they ask to be watered, it's an almost audible sensation. I've been developing this one image in white on black, veering from liking where it's going to despair that I'm ruining it (standard procedure for me). Finally I let it rest. I was laboring and I'm not keen on that feeling. I prefer ease and excitement. So I lay it aside and face the waiting mob of white before me. I'm surrounded by big blank canvases and if I don't do something, they will bring me down. My favorite remedy for this situation is to play. I either sketch a bunch of loose ideas out on paper or, even better, just fool around with color on these big intimidating hunks of gessoed substrate. I find it supremely relaxing, enjoyable and I think I'm good at it. The results are always satisfying to me, at least. Apple green smudging into citron misted with grey and tinged with brilliant red. Or a warm mottle of tangerine and dark pink struck though with browns. Today I tackled the big kahuna. My four by six footer. I muscled it onto the easel and dug out a pint of ultramarine I plucked from Grandpa's studio detritus when we moved him to the nursing home. I slashed though that cruel white with big globs of brilliant blue. Smearing and blotting and buffing out. It took awhile and as I was working I got to know a whole new Blue. Not at all cold. Exciting. Deep. Radiant. Big and blue, like a new world. I think I like this wide open territory and I am enheartened. All is good.

Garbage Vortex

Since "feeling like crap" has been the beat at home lately, it's not surprising that this newsy tidbit surfaced on my radar. I wasn't aware until the other day that there is a Garbage Vortex twice the size of the continental United States floating out in the Pacific ocean. Yes, two enormous patches of plastic crap stew, swirling out there on either side of the Hawaiian Islands, held in place by the North Pacific Gyre ocean currents. The world's garbage has always migrated to this coagulation of debris only to eventually biodegrade but the world's plastics do not break down quickly enough so we are left with 100 million tons of flotsam comprised of every plastic doodad manufactured in the last 50 years. No matter the origin, every Happy Meal toy or ballpoint pen or summer flip flop ever made will end up there. It floats underneath the water's surface so it cannot be detected by satellite photos. Lurking like a mythic deep sea creature it roams the waters "like a big animal without a leash" barfing up garbage when it hits land. Another wonderful creation of modern humankind.

Photo of an albatross carcass from Algalita Marine Research Foundation

More haunting photos here.

In Flew Enza

Gone viral. It has been a trying week dealing with that ancient beast, the Flu. It stampeded through, brutally trampling birthday plans and ruining Valentine's Day. Dad went down first and freaked us all out. Then Mom. Then Eden. Then my brother. Now Rob. Witnessing it firsthand, I can testify. It is bad stuff. Raging fever, bone-crushing pain, torturous headache, tubercular cough, nausea and, scariest for me with Eden, delirium. Looking right through me with these big fevered eyes, jabbering nonsensically. I just hate that. So far I have remained the unscathed nurse feeling my own life expectancy pared down by the blunt edge of worry, garlic-eating like a Sicilian and drinking raw vinegar to stay well. Casa de plague. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Stay well, everybody.

Picture: Supersaturated superimposition of birds over a microscopic photo of the influenza A virus- by me.

Uncle Don

My Uncle Don passed away this afternoon. My dad's closest in age brother, he had become somewhat estranged from his family, living for many years in a remote area outside of Spokane near the Idaho border so I don't have any recent memories. He was a more frequent visitor in my childhood and I have vivid recollections of him showing up out of the blue with his guitar and the hours-long playing sessions he and Dad enjoyed. A relentless stream of country and blues filling the house, beer and cigarettes, cousins clamoring around and it always seemed to culminate in a full on barbecue with milkshakes or some other looms-large-in-a-kid's-mind kind of spread. It always seemed like something special when he turned up. So I'm posting this photo of Don here with my aunt and cousin Ray in about 1971 or so. He doesn't have his guitar but this is just like I remember him. Hanging out, thoughtful, a little distant but with lots of music. So long, Uncle Don.

Devoted To Voting

Even when I have mixed feelings about who and why. When I turned eighteen I was a self-identified anarchist. I chose forthrightly not to "participate in the system". In other words, I didn't vote and spent the next eight years grappling with Reagan reality. After four awful years, I did my civic duty though it made no difference. Even so, I have never failed to vote. Even when my faith in the integrity of our elections was shaken in 2004. This election holds so much weight. Bush almost gone. Almost gone. The nightmare will end but who will be the leader to guide the cutting edge of change? As much as I like the idea of a woman president as a symbol of a new era, I do NOT want an old-school, business-as-usual, wife-of-Bill whose most powerful attribute is her ability to inspire folks to vote against her. (I have actually seen Stop Hillary bumperstickers !) If anyone could mobilize a disillusioned Republican from a sit-it-out mentality, she could. I'm sorry but she is just too Last Century to lead the charge. Early on, I briefly played with the idea of voting for Ron Paul in the primary because I wasn't excited about any of the Dems and I'd love to see the country riding on a choice between two decent candidates. He at least elevates the discourse on the Republican side, a breath of fresh air stirring up the stale flotsam of rhetoric. A committed Constitutionalist, he speaks with sincerity, intelligence and conviction despite some crackpot ideas. His Libertarian leanings conjure my old freedom-loving anarchist "the best government is no government" ideals which I still carry except where it distinctly does not address the elephant in the room: corporatism and its corrosive effect on our democracy. So my serious vote has been veering toward the guy who's been talking straight up about all the stuff I worry about: John Edwards. Even though he's a wealthy Southern white guy whose name will always remind me of the 2004 debacle, he met the pertinent issues head on: break up corporate media, make universal health care a priority, reinvigorate the middle class, support small business, ease poverty and end the damn war. But now he's tossed in the towel and I'm left looking at maybe the only candidate who really has the potential to be the change we need. Young, energetic, black, idealistic and genuinely inspiring when he speaks about "strengthening the pillars of a just society" or "building accountable institutions, strong legislatures, honest police forces, free presses". Potent language. About coming together, building, guiding. Renew our standing in the world. Be the change we want to see. All good stuff. But words alone won't make it happen. Can inspiration? Our good old American tolerance and spirit of goodwill has been frayed under the strain of fear, suspicion and the us versus them fracture so methodically cultivated these last seven years. The time has come to reclaim our ideals as a country and I think Obama has the vision to see it happen. He has my vote.

P.S. 2/1/08 State Representative Mark Cohen, PA summed up my feeling when wrote in his Daily Kos piece The Coming Obama Explosion:

"An Obama victory would re-establish the Horatio Alger inspired myth that any American can grow up to be President. A Clinton victory would offer the more limited lesson for many that any relatively young wealthy former first lady with experience in high elective office can become President.

An Obama victory would be a victory for a fundamental change in direction. A Clinton victory would be a victory for political change when justified by a detailed study of the facts and careful reading of the political winds and the interests of wealthy campaign contributors".

Graphic of silkscreen limited edition print from OBEY Propaganda Engineering.

Full Rotation

After literally three months of pain and limitation from an inflamed rotator cuff, I am back in full swing. All my angst about "deterioration", "fraying tissue" and "ultimately, surgery may be necessary" has washed away and I am reveling in full mobility. It's been less than 48 hours since I went to see our friend and fabulous bodyworker Susan McDaniel with an office in Sebastopol (susanmcdaniel@yahoo.com). She is an orthopedic massage therapist and knows the human musculature and joint system like a mama knows her baby. She gently rocked my entire shoulder, methodically reawakening every little muscle from it's traumatized trance. The big problemo was actually the very common condition of weak supraspinatus, infraspinatus and teres minor muscles probably exasperated by poor computer posture, painting and relentless guitar playing which led to "impingement" which is just a fancy way of saying hot barbs of nagging pain. She gave me a long stretchy rubberband thingy, called a Thera-Band, and told me just how to pull on it to easily strengthen those little guys. Three movements, five times each. That's all. It actually felt so good to do it the first time that I had to pace myself to keep from overdoing it. By nightfall I was 75 percent improved. Today I feel almost completely free. I am so grateful to Susan for her expertise. Hallelujah! I really don't know why I didn't go to her sooner. Now I can get my new year off to a better start.

Rosette from ancient Roman fragments as depicted in a hand-colored engraving published by Carlo Antonin in 1781.

Open Territory

I just bought my first BIG canvas. A few, in fact. One of my resolutions this year was to start to work larger. I was researching substrates online and tracked down some biggies for around $130 each (not including shipping). Rob, the ever thrifty, called around town just to compare and on a fluke Riley St. was having a big 50% off sale. So this beauty is a gallery-wrapped whopping 4 feet by 6 feet and I got it for a song. 57 bucks. It was too big to fit in the car and it takes up a big chunk of my studio space. That's a lot of white for me. I've only painted up to 30" x 40". I also got two in a 38" x 48" size. So, my work's cut out for me. Painting new territory. It's giving me some crazy dreams and not a little anxiety but the time is ripe.

Timber!

After enjoying some extended cheer gazing upon our glittering Christmas tree these past rainy gray weeks, we finally stripped it down a few days ago and toted it outdoors to become fragrant explosive kindling for the studio woodstove. Shhh. Don't tell Eden I posted this, she'd be mortified but it's just so funny. She's in the habit of sketching her feelings out on paper and then leaving the snippets tossed around for parental eyes. I guess she was none too happy about taking the tree down even though we kept it up two weeks into January. (Not an unheard of tradition in some parts of the world...Mexico, for instance). This was before the deed was done and she had me pegged as the likely culprit. Rob actually did the thing. I don't know why I'm wearing my glasses or what the frown means. Focused ill intent? Malevolence? That's our homemade angel looking on, aghast. Probably Eden's stand-in. She's seems to be over it now.

Brochure Torture

Last Friday I began work on putting together a long overdue new brochure for the biz. For a few years now we have been sending stores a growing collection of product sheets, postcard add ons and desktop printed price lists with order sheets. Very agitating to my aesthetic and professional sensibilities but slick little booklets cost money and we still have lots of the other motley mix so we've put it off. Now that we have some new designs, I set to it with a fresh New Year's goal-busting attitude. I want to streamline. Simplify presentation. Pull it together with a consistency of design. An eight page booklet seemed an easy feat last week but it has waxed into a little hair pulling stress fest. I have decent Photoshop skills but when you are dealing with dozens of images of different dimensions, getting the color right, making sure code numbers are correct, accounting for full bleeds and trim lines, making constant design decisions which may or may not pan out a day later when you bring in another element, well...it can get a bit ugly. Adding to the mix is my shoulder's "stop clicking that mouse" pain nag, general household interruptions and desire to make it look more than just a bunch of stacked rectangles. I am reminded so vividly why I did not stay in the graphic arts field. So, I'm almost done. The brochure is... OK. But, boy, do I appreciate what you pay graphics folks for. I'd almost pay money not to do it. Maybe next time I should.

Body Rhythm Goddess

I painted this image for the cover of Kris Freewoman's DVD, a "Body Rhythm Goddess-A Dance Ritual for Body and Soul", a different kind of workout incorporating Yoga, African Fusion dance, Pilates and deep relaxation created with the intention to reconnect us with our own inner rhythms and inspire us to step into the "magical circle of joyful fitness". Sounds very juicy. She wanted the four elements active in the image which I think I accomplished without being too contrived. The shapes in the border were also inspired by the elements. More info about the DVD, where to purchase it and all can be found at her website.

The blue border looks curved because I just took a photo of the booklet.

yellow and red

Thorsten from Germany asked to use one of my images for his CD. He chose to sample an abstract "Realm of Childhood" which I think goes really well with his ambient atmospheric sound, some of which can be heard here.

Camper Van Cracker

Saturday night Rob and I went down to the Mystic Theater in Petaluma to see an old fave band. Camper Van Beethoven/Cracker is really two bands with some interchangeable members centering around main man, David Lowery. Camper Van's been around since the early Eighties which was when we got to know them. We had an odd mix tape of their stuff and liked their sound so much we wore it out. They're hard to describe. They've called themselves "surrealist absurdist folk" and they do mix it up. Punk, ska, alt rock with a country folk twang. Some high energy violin weaving throughout and occasional accordion flourishes thrown in give a kind of Eastern European flavor. Lowery's got this boyish voice with a nice flat edge perfect for deadpan delivery of dryly goofy lyrics. (Unfortunately, several shows I've seen at the Mystic have had poor sound mixing and the vocals were a bit too receded and fuzzed out for my taste. That's my one complaint). Their songs are funny with dark undertones, political threads and bright flashes of stark beauty. It was like a teenage dream to be at front and center watching music you love breaking over you three feet from your face. Too cool. After a break, they reconvened in a new constellation as Cracker and played a satisfying eclectic set. Highlights included audience faves "Eurotrash Girl" and "Low". These guys together can really build a wall of sound. For the encore they did a hypnotic Brides of Neptune and then segued into an unknown (to me) song that waxed into a sonic juggernaut. I swear, it was like the launching of the mothership. Needless to say my ears were very wacked afterwards despite earplugs but oh so worth it.

Mystic Marquee

The Mystic Theater in Petaluma, California. A pretty great place to see bands if you want an intimate setting and don't mind blowing your eardrums out. This place used to be The Plaza back in the Seventies and Eighties, a movie house with plush red interior that screened a double feature plus every few days. It was where all us kids would congregate to smuggle in booze, see rockumentaries and thrash in the aisles. It's where I saw Tommy and Quadrophenia. Eraserhead. Freaks. Odorama. Pink Flamingos. The Holy Mountain. All the weirdest films. Classics, too. The burning of Atlanta is something on the big screen. Rob and I saw The Lady Eve with Peter Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck on our second date. You could buy carrot cake and tea instead of popcorn and coke. Now it's a club but still pretty cool. I'm glad it wasn't razed in the foolish years when they set the bulldozers on anything with character, like the old Cal in Santa Rosa. Vintage infrastructure put to new use. It's what we need more of.

Chinatown

Since we were a block away from Chinatown we walked along Grant for a hour or so, window shopping, eating and embarrassing Eden by taking photos in a blatant manner.

Lucky Pigs

I am a sucker for store window reflections. I snap them up. Something about an interior and an exterior mixing their colors in light and reflection to make something new, abstract and pleasing to the eye is satisfying.

Cityscape

Transported

Friday we drove to San Francisco to deliver a painting. One With The Sweetness, transported. It was strange taking her up into one of the tallest skyscrapers in the City, the sleek brown Bank of America building on California Street with its hushed and gleaming interior. Powering up the elevator pushed all the blood to my toes and made me lightheaded but that was nothing to what was ahead. After we delivered our package we took a moment to glance out of an enormous conference room window at the literally breathtaking view and a deeply familiar vision met my eyes. Stretched out before me was a perfectly vivid scene straight from my dreams. A profound and particular dream actually, one I had six years ago (see my blog post Premonition Recognition). It varied only it that the scene was expanded slightly, the frame enlarged, since I was seeing the TransAmerica pyramid instead of looking out from it, but all other physical elements were in place: being high up, looking out through a wall of glass at the vast San Franciscan cityscape, Coit Tower, the jumble of structures and avenues and a clear long distance view of the bay with Alcatraz Island resting out upon the water. Eerie. Spine tingly. There was an unusual structure adjacent to us that added a new element. The 580 California Street building features an odd mansard roof (think Gothic spooky) embellished with three faceless wraiths or "corporate goddesses" or fates (?). In researching these beauties, I discovered that there are twelve in all but these three look down upon something known as the Banker's Heart, a large abstract sculpture by artist Masayuki Nagare. A heart-shaped hunk of glossy black granite titled "Transcendence" , graces the entrance to the Bank of America center. If I knew this on Friday, I would have made a small pilgrimage (stepping out into the bitter cold courtyard) to see it because the prominent substance in my vision dream was a huge hunk of glossy black obsidian. All this probably may sound like stretching for connections but to me it reads beautifully. It's something wordless and important about the fate of humanity. Any way I look at it it's an interesting view.

Love and Loot

A sweet and exhausting holiday. Every year I'm either driving the Christmas train or being dragged under its wheels. This year the relentless holiday momentum was pinching at the edges more than I like. I was lacking verve and couldn't quite mastermind the hundred projects I usually can when I'm in top form. Heaps of xmas detritus gathering on every surface in the house, betrayed the general level of disarray. I abandoned any pretense of organization early on and cut myself some slack. The basics got done. A big charmingly encrusted tree, lots of mysterious packages, poorly wrapped but wrapped nonetheless, in a growing pile under its branches. No cards sent but some photos and a few "What We Did This Year" letters (thank you, Rob). It all came together miraculously by the big evening. The house was semi-tidy and I got to the store for eggnog and whip cream. We ended up with a lovely Christmas Eve on our hands. Potato latkes with sour cream and homemade applesauce (thanks Peg and Dave). An impromptu visit from my bro, sappy secular carols ringing out from the kitchen, hot cocoa and eggnog, a small pyramid of sweeties saved for special (thanks, Karen), angelica wine and chocolate cordial. Per tradition, the girls each opened one special gift. India a pair of psychedelic furry slippers. Eden a bento box tucked into a cat-faced furoshiki sack. Then a night walk through the neighborhood to spy out lights. The girls were finally ordered to bed, we did the Santa thing and then slept until almost 7AM! Unheard of. A fun morning tearing at and disemboweling gifts, gorging on chocolate and then subjecting the girls to a high protein breakfast. We made soup and salad later on and took it three blocks over to Mom and Dad's where we sat down and ate it up. Good wine, more gifts, homemade cheesecake and champagne all rounded out with some strong coffee. Lots of laughing and exclamations of how lucky we are. A solid good time in appreciation of the best stuff there is: family, food and fun. Hope everyone had as good a day.

Photo: My loot. Among other things, a book of Leaf Poems by India, a beeswax candle from Eden and a lovely Cosmic Blaster ray gun with "Out Of This World Space Gun Sounds" from Rob (something I saw in Santa Cruz and wanted).

Erzulie Rising

When I was first introduced to Erzulie, the Haitian Aphrodite, I was smitten. An insatiable Voodoo love goddess of beauty, dancing, jewelry and pretty clothes, fond of luxury and the sensual pleasures, promiscuous and yet demanding faithfulness, fierce protector of children, prone to rages and occasional fits of complaining and all this tempered by her being so deeply burdened with the sorrows of the world that she weeps uncontrollably. Venus, my dearest deity suddenly rounded out into this dark ally, wonderfully complex, contradictory and real.

So, I painted an image of Erzulie inspired by a poem composed by my collaborator, Amy Trussell. Rising up out of a streaming river, crowned with doves and trailing white lace upon the currents, she caught the eye of Jayson Fann, the creative director of the International Arts Festival at Esalen and Visual Arts Director of First Night Monterey who is launching a project called Waters of Life, an emerging international educational effort addressing the issue of global water pollution. He has invited me to allow Erzulie to be one of many water images contributed by artists to be transformed into freestanding murals by schoolchildren and then used to promote "care, respect and practical strategies for protecting our planet's most precious resource". It will eventually be a moving installation that travels the globe. The kickoff is happening on New Year's Eve in Monterey and will feature a performance by Oshun Priestess Luisah Teish.

Erzulie knows where she wants to be.

Heart of Erzulie Painting by moi.

Sweetness In The World

Yesterday was surprisingly languid and golden after the biting cold wind on Friday. It made for a good day to slide wide the door at my Open Studio. Many small indulgences. Paint, radiant wood heat, burning candles, good conversation, chocolate, port and winter sunshine. The cherry was meeting a vibrant young couple from the City who are now the new owners of the (coveted by many) painting, One With The Sweetness. I have had countless inquiries about this piece since I painted it and some generous offers to purchase it early on, before I was ready to let go. Just a few weeks ago I made the decision to place this one in the studio. The time was ripe and they were it. Some work feels like progeny. One of my children. Release is twofold. A small wrench but a greater sowing. Casting. Like a light or a seed. Makes for a good day.

One With The Sweetness-Ostapuk private collection, SF

New Babies

Overdue but looking good with all their fingers and toes. We brought them home last week and had a small pyramid of boxes (18!) in our tiny kitchen for days but Rob consolidated and moved some to the studio where they are now available. Thanx to all who participated in our focus group. Your preferences really did sway the final decision. You may notice one of the designs was not included in the voting. We actually goofed up and forgot to list it with the others but it was a top contender in not only my book but in Rob's and more importantly our rep Ginger's so it was allowed to slip in at the end of the race.

Time Being

It's been a matter of weeks now that I've been eschewing the computer or at least keeping my hands off the keyboard with the goal of persuading an inflamed rotator cuff to ease up. It's somewhat better but still painful. Ergonomic I have not been so I suffer the consequences. No writing or playing guitar or even painting much. Sigh. In the face of such "freedom", existential angst threatens to set in like rigor mortis and so I am vigilant, steering relentlessly toward any small measure of the sweet and pleasurable. A nectar seeking bee, happy it rained and enjoying the sun.

Ginko Splendor

Sunday the rain broke and we were looking at a stunning Fall day. The ginko around the corner from our house told us the conditions were perfect for taking a walk over to McDonald Avenue to revel in the falling gold. There are dozens of these trees lining the street and when they turn it is truly magnificent. Especially when the bark is black and wet and the sun catches all the stray raindrops. Lothlorien!

Quiet Endeavor

I got my first really rainy Open Studio this last Saturday but it felt delicious to be holed up out there in my magical space with the wood stove churning away, radiating to contest the open door and splattery wind. Just sketching, painting, playing guitar and singing to the rain. Since it was so crappy out I wasn't expecting anyone to show and settled into my get-some-work-done mode. I finished my violin case and painted two new smalls. Then I did get visitors and enjoyed some good conversation, catching up and even sent one of my babies off to a new home! A good day.

Painting "Swoon" now in the private collection of Joanna Palmer, one of my angels.

Stand By Me

I haven't been feel too great these past days. Spending too much time browsing around the web. Found this and just had to put it up. Some damn good guitar playing.

Hilarious Hideousness

Read a really funny blog entry about a 1977 JC Penney's catalog recently excavated from an attic during a ceiling fan repair. Shocking images with witty commentary. Too good.

Thanx to Neatorama.

This Sends Me

I've always loved Sam Cooke's voice but never seen him in action. In spite of the lip-syncing and the 50's sentiment, boy is he smooth. Those poor coiffed and crew cut teens in the audience. He must be doing something to their circuitry cuz he sure does something to mine. Oh. My. God.

Blackbird

I just happened upon this impressive young man doing an amazing version of Blackbird on the guitar. So good, so young. Either it's way cool or diabolically depressing. I haven't decided.

Bag A La Mode

Finally finished painting this bag and put it out for sale at open studio yesterday. I will be making more art bags in the weeks come. This on has two fishes on one side and a moth on the other. Other view here . I kept the colors subdued and liked the outcome.

Happy Hallowe'en

Days of the Dead

After weathering some frustrating episodes of computer immersion last week, I took time to hang out at the studio and make something pleasing. I built this altar to my artist ancestors, a few particular souls whose lives and work have inspired me. After I'd put all the images together I realized I'd forgotten to include my own grandpa, an artist and bona fide blood relation. So I put a pen and brush box of his at the foot with a candle and small photo my mom found. Satisfying.

Reconstituting the Constitution

Here is a chance at last to stop the insidious corrosion of basic American freedoms that's been rotting away the foundations of our democracy these past several years. I haven't written a political post for quite awhile since I want to keep my energy focused on what I want to see rather than feed into the vortex of despair that current events usually lead me to do but this is truly heartening. Even if it is a long shot I still want to support it so I'm contacting my government peeps. Ron Paul, unlikely Republican presidential candidate, introduced the American Freedom Agenda Act of 2007 to Congress on Monday. It basically addresses the worst abuses, seeking to restore the rule of law. If passed it would, among other things, make inadmissible any evidence obtained through torture, require intelligence gathering to be done in accordance with FISA, challenge presidential signing statements and repeal the Military Commissions Act (restore habeas corpus). This is something seriously worthwhile that rises above the partisan divide. Naomi Wolf writes much more about it here.

Room Of My Own

Interior

Exterior

Saturday went really well. It's true that I was exhausted and still unsatisfied by the time I rolled aside the big door but at least I was open, the primary point of all this. My space was tidy, full and inviting. Despite my anemic expectations, folks showed up! My own people as well as some stray ARTrails explorers. I got to meet some new neighbors, engage in a few lovely and unlikely conversations as well as hang out with friends laughing, playing guitar and eating cheese. Fine pastimes all! I even made some money. The best outcome of this all for me was the fresh reality of my studio being transformed. Unclogged both literally and energetically. I'm recharged and newly mapped. In touch with aspirations again. Cleared out and cleared up. Nice.

Open Studio

I've been putting in my hours getting ready to open the studio this Saturday. I'm finally sliding open the door. It happens that I am coinciding with the Sonoma County ARTrails Open Studio Tour which seems like good timing. Maybe. Having done ARTrails for several years, I'm actually relieved to not be officially participating this time. Being multifaceted, particular and a natural nonconformist, I like having things unfold on my own terms. Showing what I want as much as I want when I want. So, no rules, no constraints. I can show my paintings alongside my unjuried photographs. I can set out some wool sculpture or light forms or jewelry or painted purses if I am so inclined. Sarongs made in Bali or some kid art? No problem. I can hold a poetry reading or an impromptu music jam. Not all these aspirations will be fulfilled on Saturday but there is intention which will become progression. Fundamentally, opening it up is more of a symbolic step for me. Becoming accessible. Overcoming reclusive tendencies. Even if not a soul darkens the door, I will feel good about the standing invitation. Every Saturday until Solstice 10 - 4. A chance to step into a creative space, see some work in progress, talk shop, co- inspire, woolgather or just cozy up to the fire and relax in a different atmosphere. I'll be there. Hope to see you.

Focus and Vote

Another card printing is in the works to replenish some bestsellers as well as debut six new images. Since there are more than six images to choose from we are asking for a little feedback from you. Click on over to Deva Luna Focus blog to check out what's up and vote on your top 6 choices (the poll will only be up for about a week). Everyone has different criteria and will likely choose what they like best but keep in mind which ones you think would have the widest appeal. I'd like to offer images that give a unique hit with some degree of versatility. Thanx all!

Weird Al's Bob

Here's a brilliant spoof of Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues. Watch the original here.