Please click on any photo to see the details in all of the photos.
I took these photos for a friend who had sold his house and was trying to sell these sculptures, some of which he had carved, others the work of another artist who passed away recently. Can you guess which one now graces my patio? If you are interested, I can put you in touch with him!
Big changes in my life in the past three days and no time to write about them. Since the prompt word today is “create,” I’m going to show some art work I’ve probably shown before, but no time to do more. I’ll explain what’s going on when I get back from Guadalajara this afternoon!
Art can be made from anything. These are all pieces made by my assistant and me when we were visiting forgottenman. Please click on first photo to see enlarged views of the work as well as my able assistant. (He made me what I am today.)
Jesus just finished his murals on the outside of my friends’ house. I took photos to send to them and decided to show you as well. I think they are fabulous.He did most of the murals on the outside of my house as well. (Click on first photo to enlarge them all.)
I love the found art in my world here in Mexico. This lovely triptych was found on a vegetable vendor’s concrete floor next to the framers where I went to pick up some framed art work. How many generations of feet were complicit in creating this lovely collage of colors?
You flavor my memory with common tastes: Spam and corned beef hash.
You wanted to be the common man, but you were anything but.
The bold aggression and the subtle feminine sweep of what you formed— beautiful. Your hands never clumsy as they sculpted wood and stone. Metal bent and melted into beauty at your touch,
and colors lifted the wings you gave them.
I floated, also–– too independent to be formed by you, but still uplifted that a man like you could love me. It validated something in me—those hard choices I had made
because I listened to something vivid in myself I had not yet found a name for.
Dreams taught me. And synchronicity. I had always wanted to be a wanderer—to try to quench those yearnings that had haunted my daydreams since I was a child. I cut the ties that bound and wandered West to find you—stable man pinned by your wings to obligation all your life. Instead of pinning me down, you wandered with me. The gypsy life of making and selling art. The easy camaraderie of that circus life. The vans and wagons circling every weekend in a different convention center parking lot.
Nights pulled into the woods or by the ocean.
Short nights in transit, parked in neighborhoods where we’d be gone by six.
The song of tires on the road, Dan Bern and Chris Smither. Books on tape.
Pulling quickly off the road to lug a dead tree or a well-formed boulder into the van
or to engineer its route up to the roof,
so we returned home as heavily laden as we had departed—
bowed under by the fresh makings of art.
The texture of our home life was silver dust and wood curls. Its sounds were the stone saw and the drills and polisher. The heat of the kiln hours after it had lost its art. The fine storm spray of the sandblaster, the whine of drills and whirling dervish of the lathe. The smell of resin, redwood, stone dust, paint. The sharp bite of metal. The warm bread smell of cooling fired clay. Every bit of my life was flavored by what you loved––what I loved, too, our interests merging so completely that for awhile
we had no separate lives, but one life welded end-to-end. These remembraces are not organized or filed. They flutter into my mind like hidden lists blown off tall shelves. That life now a scrapbook of the past with certain photos plucked out to be tucked under bedroom mirror rims or carried in wallets.
Snap. You put yourself into my mind. Snap. Another memory follows, and I am an old woman replaying her life. Snap. The creak of the tortilla machine across the street in the early hours. The loud rush of the surf, the rattling startup of a motorcycle. The raspberry seed between my teeth, the scent of the dog’s bath still on my hands, sand gritting the sheets and art projects taking over every surface. Snap. I am me, looking for the next adventure.
Below photos snapped a few minutes ago. Proof of the tale. New projects. Click on first photo to enlarge and see all photos.
Click on first flower to enlarge all and see slide series.
Glass? No. My friend Jan is the Chihuly of plastic. These beauties are fashioned using a simple votive candle, various cut-up plastic bottles and old CD or DVD discs. She had to make do with my “super match” at my house as I was fresh out of votives.