Drawings

I have decided to post images of my drawings. It is a little scary, the first time I am posting my own work. They were made within the last 6 months or so, pen on paper. I suppose it is self-promotive but I am thinking so much about drawing lately - I am looking a lot at the god-like Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Bellmer and Egon Schiele. How the pictorial marks can be descriptive, notational, atmospheric, or remnants of internal, unconscious states. How combinations of different types of marks can tangle, clot, cohere and fragment. I want spaces that are almost over-saturated with tumbling accumulative marks. I need to push them further I think or something. I am working on some more drawings now that are less horizon-dependent and more turbulent, denser, but still referencing the landscape, anchored to reality somehow. I will post those when I am done maybe. Thank you for indulging my need to share...I gotsta go be with my family today, packing a huge amount of items into a large suitcase to end up tomorrow in front of the clients to do a demonstration of some kind that is not worth explaining. Suffice it to say I don't really know what I am doing and need more sleep. Kisses, MM

Inbounded Moisture in Eyeholes

Yes, the life is infusing back into the eyes of this loving freedom fighter. I am computing the damage done to her through the sockets via sword fights and wit-battles.

We are on the same side. Her name is Becky.

I am in love with everyone

I have to tell you that people are lovely and I love them and humans are delightful and thank you thank you for your pow-wows of the night and your porscine enumerations and your placid frank ritual stinks. THANK YOU. I am losing it. Tonight I listened to the unmentionable visions of the emeralds beyond and felt myself becoming one with excellent painting. You may say I was delusional. Yet I am attempting to learn the ways of the headressed and perpetrate totem inspirations. See Magickal Dance allusions care of Fairy Butler to learn more.

I am ready to throw myself in the rivers and forget romancing.

One final note: to be honest, the Fra Angelico show at the Met is the best show I have ever seen with the exception of his frescoes at San Marco in Florence. Really. This show consists of marvels that cannot be matched, the most ethereally glowing lovely panels. I am sick with missing them and have to go back. Going repeatedly should be a priority.

Loincloth

A loincloth is something I have never worn before. Today is the first day in the experimentation of barely covered private areas. I have a sheep's skin to cover me front bits and a rawhide thong up the back. My fur hat is on. My sash and machete are in place. Check. The battle for spiritual fumigation begins NOW.

Gestural spankings played themselves out, willy-nilly, on the canvas of my choosing yesterday. All in all, there was a forging ahead of creativity. The zone sparkles with anticipation and delight for today, I am hoping my diseased wishes for good painting will come truly true.

I am one with the roar today. The beast is me and I am unshaven.

Oh Oh Oh

The gnarled tangly bits got me all tied up in them and I got stuck and I half liked it and half disliked it and now here I am back in bed as though nothing happened. Happy Halloween. I am celebrating in the best way I know how: lying down.

Shhhhh. The plague is coming, it smells like maple syrup.

Chucklehead

Bed is so delightful I can hardly bare it. So much can happen there, I won't go into details. Today I have my divining rod out and I am seeking to extract informations from the levels below me. I plan to dazzle and drip in the frenzy of fettered meaning. I don't know. Today is for errands and multi-preparations. Not much in the mind of MM today. He is a chucklehead.

Rest and Better Understanding

I am going to put myself in the soft and caring mesh of this sling for a few hours today, to fully meditate on life and "the things that matter." I am wearing a track suit, not dissimilar from the one this lady is wearing, for maximum comfort. I do not want to be distracted by matters of the body when I am contemplating intangible concepts. I may write a tract later, documenting my understanding of reality in the most rational terms. I will wait here until it is time to move.

I salute you from my mesh sling.

Favorite Drawings

Botticelli's map of hell, Leonard Da Vinci's deluge, and Vincent Van Gogh (I am going to see the drawing show at the Met this week, can't wait). These are the drawings I am thinking of. Client preparation is channeling all my energies to looking and reading and talking about art, which, in spite of the tubular draining of my time and energy, is feeding me back in another way. I am starting another blog as a remedial clearinghouse for art info - all of the stuff I forgot and needed to remind myself, the things I never knew and was too embarrassed to admit - I thought it would be fun to have a place to put all articles, quotes, images, information in order to not lose track of it. It will be like the art 101 blog. I will let you know when I have more on it, I hope you will visit.

Hi to you and good morning. My head is made of teflon and my eyes are made of shiny bridge tokens today. I am the man of the metal mountain today. It is a girding.

Awake

The sky is pink and I am biding my time in the boiler room chewing on my neighbor's puppy paws. I kidnapped him and he is soiling my lap. There is a paw piece in the corner of my mouth. I imagine myself with this furry bit sticking out like a cigarette. It looks funny. I laugh out loud.

I hope to speak more fluently tomorrow. Maybe, maybe not.

Getting High and Wanting to Die

Hi. Today I am going to ingest the magical pills of wanton perpetrations on the liver and left leg. I will be unstoppable in my pill consumption until I walk lifted a few inches above the soggy ground. My smile will smear downward onto my neck. My eyes will bulge and redden, and tear up gently in the way of the martyred saints. Drool will puddle and drip. Slugs will inch up my sick yellow flesh hoods. I am not a man but a creature of the addicted sinful ways of the pill-popping hoodlums. I will attend rehab sessions beginning next week so today and this weekend are for maximum poison saturation. I have reached ultimate levels of unsound distaste for myself and others. My friends the pills are my only answer. Good day to you. May the tasty loaves rise in the ovens of our souls.

Blart is Back

Getting in touch with the inner art geek is so good. I miss Blart shows.

Eternal Return

Thankful to be home and back in reality. The clients have tubes with suction cups on one end and funnels on the other which they use to drain the life from me. Now I am back, relieved to be in the normal carnival of ridicule and fecklessness that is my snuggly blanket. Must prepare for wizard visit on Thursday, not the rotund one, no, another lither, more delightful wizard. A wizard of hope for tomorrow.

As for irony, I have been thinking about it, based on Corny's and FB's posts. It is difficult to put into words what it means in images and probably everyone interprets it or misinterprets it differently. The dictionary says, among other definitions, that irony is the use of words to express something other than and especially opposite than the literal meaning. So translating that into images, into the recent history of painting is a problem kind of, no? I guess you can begin to narrow it down to work that self-consciously utilizes an image or a style to say - this is not what it seems, it has two readings, one is literal, the other is "knowing" of its context, perhaps the opposite meaning. I don't know. I am trying to understand it better myself.

That's my 2 cents.

I must use the hose of reality to clean the filmy scum of possibly wasted efforts and useless self-lacerations off me. Come here, hose.

Morning Shambles

Ham Paw and I went to Chelsea yesterday. Here are some of our findings:

1. David Korty at Greene Naftali - hazy lyrical paintings that reference late 19th century painting (Munch in places, Monet a little bit)...I also smelled some pre-cubist Georges Braque...as well as other pleasing art historical references. They are photo-derived, seem pushed through a Photoshop filter, but not in an obvious way. There is an unexpected sense of pixellation or digitizing that happens through these cooky, lilting gestures - the image starts to gently decompose in places, into these painterly, almost decorative marks. Really clever and beautiful.

2. Christian Schumann - no understandy.

3. Nick Lowe at John Connelly - excellent, dense pencil on paper drawings, like a psychedelic Jockum Nordstrum. Fun to look at.

4. Nick Mauss at Daniel Reich - NO!!!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!! There was nothing there. Flimsy, upsetting.

That's all for now. I hope it made sense to you.

Today is for client preparation. How to fill the time, is my constant concern. How to force speaking from their mouths when speaking doesn't come.

This morning my eyes are googly. They wobble all around.

Let's Ask Ken

Ken will play what you want to hear. Ken will tell you the future of your life and that of your spouse or your children, Ken will help with soothing wisdom from the beyond-what-is-known region. Ken! Tell me. Are many naps in store for me? Are baths? Are chicken fingers, glasses of wine? I am excited to have found you. Just press your cheek against the screen and he will whisper-sing the secrets you need to know.

Undermine

Rain still tumbles and shoots squadron-like, downward pelting, ruining your legs and head, mainly. I am needing to refill my powder packet in order to avoid the shakes that plague my squishy hands. Let's hope Doktor Wyrd will hook me up with the meds I require.

My palms are sweating like room temperature butter-pats today, I am using this heinous goo as a low-fat spread on my toast points. There are so many alternatives to butter, in case you didn't realize it. Today is for pro-action, depth preprarations, something else, I forget.

Many strong wishes to you today. May your inner ear contain soothing reminders of your self-worth.

One last thing - astronaut ice cream. Does anyone know where I can buy it?

Misfiring

There is a shower of misfires in the head region this a.m. I am requiring a large bottle of coke as well as a tankard of coffee before the sleeper can awaken. The rains are dreary, no? Do you not wish it was toxic urine falling so we could all have a reason to stay in bed? I am contaminating myself with dreams of wagon rides and getting chased by packs of rabid red-eyed dogs. In the end, I am able to escape but still, it is turbulent, as per usual. And yet there are many things to be thankful for. I am aware. I am also aware that I continue to be complicit with most dangers and scum in the world due to my very existence. It is partly my fault and I am sorry. Thanks be to the disembodied ether voices. Hearts to you!!!!

Stumpy

Oh stumpy you are so beautiful, like a sentence fragment or threadbare undies. You are cut into and unfinished with gnarling stringy bottoms. The day before this passed thankfully albeit overly slowly. Today is for coin collection and eating of vegetable diet, for the diet has been starch and meats for too many hours in a row. (Ouch, right?) Not even seeds have been consumed, not even dirts. The inside is as rough and tumble as the outside, there are porpoises jumping and crashing keeping the tumults awake. Malformed thoughts are the starch of yesterday. Giggling is the vegetable fit of today.

Good day, peepers.

Pink Bubbles of Yes

I am blowing bubbles by myself, procrastinating the weed-whacks and revisions that need to be exerted on the uncertain documents of tomorrow. A thought is lost in each bubble I blow, depleting my mind of the known things. There are still approximations and false memories that can be good stand-ins for thoughts, if no one is paying too close attention.

I have begun my intensive research into the classic look of the mountain man. Here is what I have found.




I see I am needing to purchase tan items with fringe and furry furry hat. Also a large gun and perhaps some knives to hang in my sash (which I also need to get).

Good evening to you.

Banal Dilemma

Here they are, in a realer sense than usual. Here are the possibilities for action this day. I know. It's already getting late in the morning. But if I don't write them down and choose now, I could sit and wonder inertly for at least another hour which would be gravely not good.

1. Go straight to the studio and try to paint. Teaching preparation has been draining my time away for weeks. Have not painted enough lately. Pay studio rent (this month's and last's....oopsy daisy).

2. Go straight to the studio and re-shoot certain paintings that turned out yellowy in the last round of digital snapping. Burn CD of high res jpegs for the people who may or may not be interested but I hope they might be interested. This could be a good option seeing as I have nothing on the horizon, in terms of showing my work. The hoards are not flocking to me. It is time to reach out once again and hope for excitement in the form of cash money and debilitating offers.

3. Go to yoga, then go to studio and choose option 1 or 2.

4. Read student homeworks. Write helpful, really really helpful comments. Prepare for next week's classes.

5. Go to Chelsea and see many shows that I have not yet seen.


OK!!!! I have decided. Number 1 seems like the most fun and the most capacity for head-in-the-dirt. Perhaps Number 3 can be worked in later. I will wash the dirts out of my hairs later before I reveal myself in the wilds of the forest this evening. My outfit of choice is a gas man's one-piece. No stains, except in the pits. Steaks will be placed on foots for urban tromping. Fake teeth will be inserted to replace the decaying green ones. Fake smiles will come to my face. Torrential rains of meaningless chopper will burst forth from my gummy gape. I may bite, I may not.

Uh Huh

Right?

Evil Eyes

Evil eyes of misplacement, disembodied in the fortuitous cyber-regions, leaving the visages from which they came, all messed up and misfiring, a blight of horror on the disintegrating whole. Beware of the eyes. They are not the eyes of newness, they are the eyes of redness, of the devil.

Chock Full of Woods

I am in the woods this weekend, have already picked some berries and begun storing nuts in my chubby cheeks for the winter. The light is clear like something really clear that I have never seen before. I am girding myself for the challenges of next week...they are coming and they are already causing liquefaction in the organ arena. I measured myself this morning and found I have grown 3 inches, this is after I was sure my spine had curved in an unfortunate U shape. The added height must in part be due to hair static and hair teasing, but still, it gives me confidence. This week I hope to be better, less skittish. This week I hope to make sense when I speak. Listen. I still may have to wear diapers.

Depth Projection

Plastic luminations in the anatomically correct night quadrant. Unplanned and unforeseen dilations of flesh and space-time. Milky blue distances traversed in liminal travel pods, journeys completed and aborted in quick alternation. Here it is, the sought after multi-cleft terrain, complete with folds and raised areas, a landscape of little ass after little ass. Enchanted profusions of marks, shapes and lines, cohering into atmosphere. A minimalist expanse inflected with fairy tales.

I am trying to discuss my shack habits, my shed habits. The ether has become white with static, I am wanting to start over as it is little to make sense to me. Please unshackle me from the realm of this-follows-that for good. Three steps further into the bog of prehension, with the assistance of pulleys and gears.

Insomnia is the haze of tomorrow.

Protrusions and Mold

Side-mounted droopy protrusions can be glamorous and attractive, in an interspecies way, I have found. The rabbits flock to me and nibble. I am both offensive and desirable with my prosthetics and funny smells, my anachronistic pointless ways. This is unimportant. I really do have to go. There is mold growing in the cuffs of my pants leg. The rains make it smell...however I refuse to wash them. This is part of the Mountain Man spice. I am part of the punishment that the Lord has perpetrated on the undeserving. This world is unfair. I am part of it. I have to go.

Hairs Cut

FB, this reminds me of that time in grad school when you found a box in your studio, labeled "Ponytail" and it had someone's real ponytail in it. You generously gave it to me, I must still have it somewhere. Dismembered hairdos are creepy to happen upon accidentally. Stay calm, is my advice.

Can you believe it?

There is a swizzle stick store. It's at www.swizzlestickstore.com. Look at the many subjects for the top of the swizzle. I am floored and really just mega-inspired. I want to initiate a profusion of swizzlers in my cabinets.

A Brief Tour of the Chelsea Forest

A brief tour of Chelsea resulted in the following judgements:

1. Sue Williams. I was with you all the way along, from raunchy klutzy cartoons to suave calligraphic body part scenarios, all the way up through non-objective minimal gestures. But this time I do not get it. It seems you are repeating yourself - back to toylike sex shapes, all-over composition, artfully designed...but there is something missing. It's too careful, overdetermined, predictable. Sadness.

2. Marcel Dzama. No.

3. Lisa Sanditz. You are deft with your paint-handling, you are lively and clever. Nice presto-change-ups of style and scale. But it feels cautious somehow and already-known. Too familiar, derivative. Last time around the spirit of fun was there. But now it just seems forced, self-conscious.

4. Monique Prieto. Some have said no. Sucky suck. But strangely I was drawn in to this entirely new project. I am not normally excited about word-paintings, something didactic and distanced about them. But these were slow, hard to read, revealing themselves little by little, unlike signs, where meaning comes to you all at once. The words she chose are fragments from Samual Pepys' diaries, a chronicler of life in 17th century London. The words are in places spelled anachronistically, in the ye olden style, referencing the past, but the way they are painted is graphic, Fred Flinstone-like. They are surprisingly fun to look at.

My Darling Tricia

I want to love you but I don't know how. I am ready, in the position of surrender to love, but I am nude and you are not and we are separated by the glass bar of conventional love in the ultra-clean pool of consciousness. Your name is Tricia. I have fallen for you big-time. This is my dream.

The Tremor Nation

There were over-used words hovering in the airless over-large building that was supposed to have been lit on fire but was not due to inaction. The lack of fire prevented certain dreaded actions from being ceased. The dreaded actions instead unfurled onto the laps of unsuspecting watchers: the overseer was within the enactor, causing trouble, a misanthrope, instead of within the watchers, as was originally thought. The misanthrope swelled under poorly-lit inspections and became jaundiced due to his elliptical wanderings, however, the end result was "it's ok." Which is so grand, don't you think? In light of the knotting intestines, the foul, rancid tapeworm expulsions, the lack of consumption of anything replenishing?

What is being said here is not new, it is old, from the olden days, from before our times. Trust me, it goes back a long way, to the time of the heretics and before. The tremor gives way to magic, if given time enough and space. I have to go lick the wall now and contemplate spirituality and how I can get some. If you know, please let me know.

The Head/Gut Axis

Have you ever had just so many tasks that they consume you every day and every time you think of them, your stomach turns to goo? Many tasks that cause anxiety are coming onto the hands and heart of my skunky self. I am a dirty pile of socks. I am a nervous crumble cheezy cracker bits. I am a case of temporary insanity that is lasting longer than usual. My brain-situation is somewhat in failed state. It is time for a tune-up, a re-ratcheting of the head and gut.

Jordan Plops

This is my new friend from the forgotten quadrant. His name is not his real name, but the name I have given him, on account of and owing to the fact that he can't or won't speak (I can't tell). His nature is true and good and let me just tell you a few things about Jordan:

1. He be good.
2. He be kind.
3. He be excellent with the hands and fingers, a manipulator of space and time.
4. He makes nice.
5. He is nice.
6. He be nice.

In short, I am in like with Jordan Plops. I am hoping someone will start a blog dedicated to being a fan of him and only him. Get to it!! Get energized!! It's time to honor Jordan Plops!!!!!!!!!!!

Children of the Morning

My charming children whom I birthed in the night, fully formed, with moveable parts and chill demeanors, these are them and they are speaking to me now. Murmuring to their warped Da Da nonsense of the most spiritual type. I am ecstatic, in a frenzy, wanting a lawn to girate on. I am lifted up on the wings of desire, the wings of love, the wings of hate, the wings of hope for the future. You know what I mean. I am a hooker in the most sarcastic artificial sense. There is a feeling of sha-zam when I look at my beautiful new children. Let's hope they last until tomorrow, until there's nothing left for them to give me.

I must go now, deletion is prowling on the periphery of today, a threat of no more me, but this is as usual. This is as you know.

I predict my haunches to moisten at some point today. I will report back.

Back Disturbance

I am unsure of the origins of this strange new tuft. The mutations are adorning my physique like discount accessories, unmatching of outfit, ignorant of this season's trends. If anyone can find a bag or belt to match either my tuft or my jaundiced stink-foot, please alert me, make me aware. What matches with unwanted hair? Shame. As far as I can see.

My Foot Foot

I cannot help it if my foot enthusiasm could not be contained and has turned to mutation: malleability was always the goal. I am hallucinating weedy grasses, flocks of low-flying crows and the valves of the men who came before who may have been women. There is an eagerness in my groin, my inner cavity. I glow a chunky orange from within, in the way of the Romantic Poets. My desires are for intimacy and unearthly pleasantries. I am working hard and attempting to keep my disorders in full check-out. Cheers to me and my new foot!

Rectal Prolapse

A sense of fullness, a firm mass of tissue, this is coming to you. It is caused by aging and dereliction of the embarrassing valve. Get hence and heal yourself with the whistles of the morning, the productive whistle of the weasels.

In addition you must learn to love without merging. Do not fling yourself, that is for later.

blank

the quizzes were fun but now am too disturbed by news reports to write anything for now. back next week.

NEW QUIZ

Already, because I am psycho. This one is called "What artist are you?"

http://www.quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=71633

This is way too much fun, FB!

Quiz!

FB inspired me to make a quiz too. Please post your results, my gumdrops.

http://www.quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=71547&first=yes

Fudge on the Mountaintop

There is a stash of fudge I am hankering to get my hands on at the top of a very tall mountain. It will take several days and top quality fortitude to make the journey to and from, yet I am sure it is worth it. I went to the head shop and bought myself a young tattooed hussy to make the journey with me. She will keep us well-supplied with mind-benders and tie-dye outfits (that's right, head to toe). From what I understand the fudge is well worth the effort - it is a balm of sorts that smoothes over blemishes of the mind and neglects of the soul, creating a warm, baby-in-the-tub sensation that I have been searching for since infancy. Even though my mother bathed me in an alligator-ridden swamp, still, this is the sensation I seek. My departure is imminent.

A Trip to the Fair

Last night UF and I went to the Harford, PA fair. FUN!!! Hot dogs, onion rings and steak sandwiches...yum. We went to see the demolition derby but sadly my pictures did not turn out so well - too many herky jerky movements by the smash-ups and men wearing helmets...it was very smoky and kind of beautiful to watch.




BUT MUCH MUCH BIGGER in the way of photo excitement were the prize-winning items on display in the halls.

A crocheted motorhome. It's hard to see from this photo, but inside the well-appointed home are two racks for electronic keyboards. Amazing!!!



A beach cake. Excellent idea to put lifesavers along the front edge in case of accidental drowning.



In the clothing section - this lovely sandwich outfit. The boy modeling it does not look so pleased, however.




The art section contained many many fabulous items. These were my favorites, please note that the first one seems to be an MM of some kind.

Countywide Baby Show

These are the top three winners in the County Baby Show!!! Congratulations to you. (Baby Denim and Chewed Up Baby, I was sorry to hear you didn't make it to the final round.) The babies were placed on a pedestal, with their caregivers behind them to prop them up, if need be. The judges came around with clipboards and ballpoints, making notations and scoring according to categories like Best Brisket, Longest Haunches, Smallest Tail, etc. Then the tabulations were made...and these are the winners! I hope you will be able to make it to next year's show.

Yay for babies!!!