RabidEyeMovement

Bonnie & Clyde

2010-03-27T23:23:00.000-07:00

Portraits of the famous outlaws Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, on the leg and side of a married couple. Each took 4 hours.

Flickr

2010-02-09T22:43:00.000-08:00

I uploaded a few hundred works of art into my Flickr account, organized by medium. Go have a look!

Subliminaut

2010-01-24T21:31:00.000-08:00

Now you can catch my eyesores and read my mindpuke on Twitter. Come follow me, under the name subliminaut!

www.twitter.com/subliminaut

Vegetalismo

2010-01-22T09:19:00.000-08:00

Here is a series of paintings from my recent trip to Brazil, where I met with a small group of other artistic visionaries and painted under the therapeutic influence of Amazonian culture. These Aya visions were the result.

Trees in Brazil

2010-01-18T06:32:00.000-08:00

A study of Brazilian trees... The only landscape that survived the trip home. Painted all in acrylics on bristol board.

Masked Lady

2009-12-17T09:21:00.001-08:00

Who is that masked lady?

Ave Atque Vale

2009-12-11T00:56:00.001-08:00

hail and farewell

Nuclear Burial

2009-12-10T20:42:00.000-08:00

I gave my skateboard a facelift today. I scraped and sanded off the stickers, primed it and went to work with the acrylics. I need a new can of spray varnish and it'll be good to ride.

War Prayer

2009-12-08T01:11:00.000-08:00

The War Prayer
by Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation
*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"
The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

Lunch

2009-12-03T10:47:00.000-08:00

It's feeding time for the leader of the Visitors.

Archimedes of Syracuse

2009-12-03T01:07:00.000-08:00

Archimedes of Syracuse (287 BC - 212 BC) was the greatest mathematician of his age. His contributions in geometry revolutionised the subject and his methods anticipated the integral calculus 2,000 years before Newton and Leibniz. He was also a thoroughly practical man who invented a wide variety of machines including pulleys and the Archimidean screw pumping device.

There's a very insightful NOVA special on his life called Infinite Secrets which I bought from Amazon.com. You can also view it free on youtube.

Dies Irae

2009-11-26T01:08:00.000-08:00

Dreaded day, that day of ire,
When the world shall melt in fire,
Told by Sybil and David's Lyre.

Fright men's hearts shall rudely shift,
As the judge through gleaming rift
Comes each soul to closely sift.

Then the trumpet's shrill refrain,
Piercing tombs by hill and plain,
Souls to judgment shall arraign....

When the judge his seat shall gain,
All that's hidden shall be plain,
Nothing shall unjudged remain.

~~ "Dies Irae", 13th Century, Thomas of Celano

Blossoms

2009-11-25T21:16:00.000-08:00

When Phebus was entered the signe of the ramm,

In the month of march when all Doth springe,

Lying in my bed, an old man to me came.

Laying his hand on my buysy head slumbringe,

"I am," he said, "Tyme, producer of cunninge.

Awake & rise, prepare thy selfe quickly;

My entent is to bring thee to [the Campe of] philosophy.

"Bloomes & blossomes plentiful in that feild

Bynn pleasantly flourishinge, vernant with collers gay.

Liuely water fountaines, eke beastes both tame & wild

Ouershadowed with trees fruitful, & on euery spray

Melodiously singinge, the birdes doe sitt & say:

'Father, sonn, & holy ghoste, to one god [in] persons three;

Impery & honor be to the holy trinitye.'"

Lo! thus when he had said, I arose swiftly,

Doeing on my clothes in haste with agility

Towardes the camp, wee went, of philosophi,

The wonderful sightes there for to see.

To a large greate gate, father tyme first brought me,

Which closed was; then he to me saide,

"Each thing his time hath; be thou nothing Dismaied."

The great admiracion I tooke into my selue,

With sore & huge perturbacions of minde,

Beholdinge the gate fastned with lockes twelue.

I fantasied but smalle that time should be my freind.

"Why studiest thou, man," quoth he; "art thou blind?"

With a rodd he touched me, whereat I Did Downe fall

Into a straunge sleepe, & In a Dreame he showed me all.

~~ the start of a written account in alchemical sciences from Mr Willm Blomefeld, philosopher and bachelor of physick, 1557

the Beast of Chicago

2009-11-24T01:20:00.000-08:00

America's first serial killer, H.H. Holmes, the Beast of Chicago, the Devil in the White City, and his murderous castle maze.

acrylic on cardstock.

Doctor Procession

2009-11-19T22:38:00.000-08:00

Zenith

2009-11-15T02:29:00.000-08:00

Witchy Woman

2009-11-14T01:01:00.000-08:00

Strings

2009-11-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

I haven't had much time to paint this last week. Between planning this visionary excursion to Brazil and studying Portugese, I've had nothing resembling free time. But I did manage to whip out this cruddy puppeted figure above a city. Done with acrylic, guache, ink, pencil on bristol board.

Something Wicked This Way

2009-11-03T01:00:00.000-08:00

Bill & Tony

2009-10-31T02:35:00.000-07:00

Bill Burroughs and Antony Balch cut up on film.

Stranger Than

2009-10-31T02:32:00.000-07:00

acrylic on index card with tape.

Gas

2009-10-30T00:53:00.000-07:00

Russian gas mask on a fu dog... with dog skull.

Psychic TV

2009-10-30T00:05:00.000-07:00

I'm taking the night off, so no new art tonight, but here's a couple of old videos from Psychic TV.

JIGSAW

UNCLEAN

Multi-Tasked

2009-10-29T16:49:00.000-07:00

acrylic, gouache, pencil, brush pens on cardstock.

REvolted

2009-10-28T00:10:00.000-07:00

The Creature From The Black Lagoon

2009-10-26T22:11:00.001-07:00

Texarkana

2009-10-22T05:40:00.000-07:00

She loves the High Life.

Gnashville

2009-10-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Red Reader

2009-10-21T19:57:00.000-07:00

Zombies read too.

Gas, Gas, Gas

2009-10-20T23:42:00.000-07:00

Today I bought a Russian gas mask for $11.

Flamenco

2009-10-18T01:58:00.000-07:00

Master guitarist Vicente Gomez performs an Alegrias of his own composition.

Curtsy

2009-10-15T04:09:00.001-07:00

Wondering Rose

2009-10-15T02:03:00.000-07:00

Dinosauria, we

2009-10-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

"Dinosauria, we"
by Charles Bukowski

The Haunt

2009-10-14T02:11:00.000-07:00

The Messenger

The thing, he said, would come in the night at three
From the old churchyard on the hill below;
But crouching by an oak fire's wholesome glow,
I tried to tell myself it could not be.
Surely, I mused, it was pleasantry
Devised by one who did not truly know
The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,
That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.
He had not meant it - no - but still I lit
Another lamp as starry Leo climbed
Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed
Three - and the firelight faded, bit by bit.
Then at the door that cautious rattling came -
And the mad truth devoured me like a flame!

-- H. P. Lovecraft

Fear

2009-10-13T21:37:00.000-07:00

The host, he says that all is well

And the fire-wood glow is bright;

The food has a warm and tempting smell,—

But on the window licks the night.

Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,

Friends! No,— it is not fright...

But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...

And on the window licks the night.

~ "Fear" by Hart Crane

The Wash

2009-10-13T01:02:00.000-07:00

The Escapist

2009-10-12T23:50:00.000-07:00

They used to call me an escape artist because I had an uncanny talent for sneaking quietly out of any party. The truth is this. I hate the goodbyes. The enforced niceties and final handshakes are unnecessary when you know you'll see that person again soon enough.
It's my Houdini act.
I have 100 ways to ninja out of your good time.

La Señora Muerte

2009-10-11T01:57:00.000-07:00

Svengali

2009-10-11T01:48:00.000-07:00

Interface

2009-10-11T01:46:00.001-07:00

Strange Fruit

2009-10-08T20:48:00.000-07:00

I'm painting. I'm not sure if I'll complete anything worth posting tonight, but I have a nice relaxing playlist. Here's one of the songs from what I'm listening to and also a sketch of Jeff Buckley I did a couple years ago.

This is Jeff Buckley singing Strange Fruit.

Legend of a Mind

2009-10-08T11:58:00.000-07:00

"Legend of a Mind" - Moody Blues (1968)...

For Johnny Pole

2009-10-08T11:36:00.000-07:00

FOR JOHNNY POLE, ON THE FORGOTTEN BEACH

by~ Anne Sexton ~

In his tenth July some instinct

taught him to arm the waiting wave,

a giant where its mouth hung open.

He rode on the lip that buoyed him there

and buckled him under. The beach was strung

with children paddling their ages in,

under the glare od noon chipping

its light out. He stood up, anonymous

and straight among them, between

their sand pails and nursery crafts.

The breakers cartwheeled in and over

to puddle their toes and test their perfect

skin. He was my brother, my small

Johnny brother, almost ten. We flopped

down upon a towel to grind the sand

under us and watched the Atlantic sea

move fire, like night sparklers;

and lost our weight in the festival

season. He dreamed, he said, to be

a man designed like a balanced wave...

how someday he would wait, giantand straight.

Johnny, your dream moves summersinside my mind.

He was tall and twenty that July,

but there was no balance to help;

only the shells came straight and even.

This was the first beach of assault;

the odor of death hung in the air

like rotting potatoes, the junkyard

of landing craft waited open and rusting.

The bodies were strung out as if they were

still reaching for each other, where they lay

to blacken, to burst through their perfect

skin. And Johnny Pole was one of them.

He gave in like a small wave, a sudden

hole in his belly and the years all gone

where the Pacific noon chipped its light out.

Like a bean bag, outflung, head loose

and anonymous, he lay. Did the sea move fire

for its battle season? Does he lie there

forever, where his rifle waits, giant

and straight?...I think you die again

and live again,

Johnny, each summer that moves inside

my mind.

Superduper

2009-10-07T01:44:00.001-07:00

Tædium Vitae

2009-10-06T02:11:00.000-07:00

Tædium Vitae

To stab my youth with desperate knife, to wear
This paltry age’s gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,— I swear,
I love it not! these things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistle-down of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.

~ Oscar Wilde

Xray

2009-10-06T02:07:00.000-07:00

"Sometimes he wonders what zone of transit he himself was entering, sure that his own withdrawal was symptomatic not of a dormant schizophrenia, but of a careful preparation for a radically new environment, with its own internal landscape and logic, where old categories of thought would be merely an encumbrance."

(J.G. Ballard~ The Drowned World, 1962)

The Dance of the Seven Veils

2009-10-04T01:35:00.000-07:00

King Herod frolics in Ken Russell's "Salome's Last Dance" based on the Oscar Wilde play ~1988

The Dance of the Seven Veils from Claude D'Anna's "Salome" ~1985

The Devils

2009-09-28T02:25:00.001-07:00

This is one of the creepier scenes from Ken Russell's 1971 film, The Devils. Set in the Spanish Inquisition, a convent of sexually repressed nuns share a moment of ecstasy and later, the suffrages of witch trial. It is based in the true history of Urbain Grandier, a philandering priest accused of seducing sisters of the cloth with his black magic.

Red Devil

2009-09-28T02:17:00.001-07:00

Ophion

2009-09-26T01:22:00.001-07:00

Peep Show

2009-09-19T01:13:00.000-07:00

Coffin Joe

2009-09-17T19:09:00.000-07:00

Midas

2009-09-17T16:06:00.000-07:00

Midas had been a wealthy king of Phrygia, known more for his rose garden than for any desire for gold. One day the Satyr Silenus was found drunk in the garden. Midas entertained him for 10 days, then returned him to Dionysius, the god of wine and revelry, who, out of gratitude, granted Midas a single wish. Midas wished that everything he touched would turn to gold. At first he was pleased with the gift. On his way home he turned a twig, a stone, a piece of sod, and an apple into gold. Unfortunately, when he had a feast prepared on his return, he found that he could not control his new power - everything turned to gold - including the food he wanted to eat. Realizing that he would starve to death if he did not do something, he returned to Dionysius and asked him to take away the power. Dionysius granted his wish and told him to wash in the waters of the Pactolus, the river that flowed by the city Gordion, the capital of Phrygia. According to local legend the power washed into the river and the sands of the Pactolus began to produce gold from that day forward, earning it the name the Golden Pactolus. It would supply Greece with much of her gold between 650 and 550 B.C..

The legend of King Midas may have been embellished by Greek storytellers, but he was a real king. He was the last of the royal line of the Phrygians, who had settled in the region around 1200 B.C.. His reign ended around 695 B.C., when invaders from the Caucasus region, called Cimmerians, conquered the Phrygian kingdom. Midas is said to have committed suicide by drinking bull's blood. Archaeologists believe that his tomb and what remains of the city of Gordion are located at Yassihoyuk, to the east of the Sakarya River. The Cimmerians would be defeated by the Lydian king Alyattes in 600 B.C.. While the Lydians established their capital at Sardis, the Pactolus still served as the source of their silver and gold.

the Witchfinder

2009-09-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

the Hellblazer

2009-09-16T11:13:00.000-07:00

Thunderbird

2009-09-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

This is a legend of long, long ago times. Two Indians desired to find the origin of thunder. They traveled north and came to a high mountain. These mountains performed magically. They drew apart, back and forth, then closed together very quickly.
One Indian said, “I will leap through the cleft before it closes. If I am caught, you continue to find the origin of thunder.” The first one succeeded in going through the cleft before it closed, but the second one was caught and squashed.
On the other side, the first Indian saw a large plain with a group of wigwams, and a number of Indians playing a ball game. After a little while, these players said to each other, “It is time to go.” They disappeared into their wigwams to put on wings, and came out with their bows and arrows and flew away over the mountains to the south. This was how the Passamaquoddy Indian discovered the homes of the thunderbirds.
The remaining old men of that tribe asked the Passamaquoddy Indian, “What do you want? Who are you?” He replied with the story of his mission. The old men deliberated how they could help him.
They decided to put the lone Indian into a large mortar, and they pounded him until all of his bones were broken. They molded him into a new body with wings like thunderbird, and gave him a bow and some arrows and sent him away in flight. They warned him not to fly close to trees, as he would fly so fast he could not stop in time to avoid them, and he would be killed.
The lone Indian could not reach his home because the huge enemy bird, Wochowsen, at that time made such a damaging wind. Thunderbird is an Indian and he or his lightning would never harm another Indian. But Wochowsen, great bird from the south, tried hard to rival Thunderbird. So Passamaquoddies feared Wochowsen, whose wings Glooscap once had broken, because he used too much power.
A result was that for a long time air became stagnant, the sea was full of slime, and all of the fish died. But Glooscap saw what was happening to his people and repaired the wings of Wochowsen to the extent of controlling and alternating strong winds with calm.
Legend tells us this is how the new Passamaquoddy thunderbird, the lone Indian who passed through the cleft, in time became the great and powerful Thunderbird, who always has kept a watchful eye upon the good Indians.

~~"The Origin of the Thunderbird" among the Passamaquoddy tribe.

The Plague Doctor

2009-09-10T11:13:00.000-07:00

Sometime in the early 1300s, The Black Death arrived to Europe from the East. It had began a century before in the lungs of Chinese marmots and then spread out through fleas to others of the mammal population, including humans. It spread all over Europe very quickly with the help of medieval ships and their rat-swarming holds, preferring rodent-dwelling fleas as their means of travel. Hungry fleas subsequently transmitted the infection to humans. As a result, in short time the plague ravaged every single country of Western Europe; even Greenland was not left aside. Plague was moving at horse’s speed – the most common way of transportation of those times. No one was insured against plague. The disease killed French King Louis IX, the daughter of Louis X, Jeanne Navarre, and other outstanding figures. It claimed 30-60% of Europe's population during its reign.

Medieval doctors could not diagnose the disease properly at the times. Not seeing the relationship between plague and flea bites, they swiftly ordered the culling of all dogs and cats. This was a huge mistake since it left no predators to keep the rats in check, and the plague numbers exploded. At the time, it was generally believed that the disease was transmitted through a physical contact, via clothes and bed linen, even through the air itself.

The most infernal costume of the Middle Ages, the Plague Doctor costume, was constructed with these things in mind. Doctors were supposed to don these costumes to visit their plague patients. The mask of the plague doctor – the bird beak and the leather hat – was actually a protective device to save the doctor from the unbearable infected stench of rotting flesh. The beak was filled with medical herbs to ease the breathing process. The mask had two vent holes and glass inserts to protect the eyes. The doctor was also wearing a long waxed raincoat and leather or thick fabric clothes to help him avoid flea bites and physical contacts with patients.

Michel de Nostredame was probably the most renowned Plague Doctor – he is widely known as Nostradamus. He recommended his patients to drink only boiled water, to sleep in clean beds and to leave infected towns as soon as it was possible.

the Pierced Nymph

2009-09-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

Jude

2009-09-03T23:33:00.000-07:00

At Sea

2009-09-03T18:20:00.000-07:00

(acrylic on index card)

AT SEA by Aleister Crowley, 1910-14

As night hath stars, more rare than ships
In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
So all the wonder of her lips
Hints her innavigable soul.

Such lights she gives as guide my bark;
But I am swallowed in the swell
Of her heart's ocean, sagely dark,
That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

In her I live, a mote minute
Dancing a moment in the sun:
In her I die, a sterile shoot
Of nightshade in oblivion.

In her my self dissolves, a grain
Of salt cast careless in the sea;
My passion purifies my pain
To peace past personality.

Love of my life,
God grant the years
Confirm the chrism --- rose to rood!
Anointing loves, asperging tears
In sanctifying solitude!

Man is so infinitely small
In all these stars, determinate.
Maker and moulder of them all,
Man is so infinitely great!

Birdcall

2009-09-03T02:35:00.001-07:00

Swamp Thing

2009-09-02T03:43:00.000-07:00

Tusken Raider

2009-08-31T03:16:00.000-07:00

Boba vs Sarlacc

2009-08-31T03:13:00.001-07:00

Nessun Dorma

2009-08-26T23:25:00.000-07:00

Acrylic and guache on index card. Franco Corelli singing Nessun Dorma.

Influence

2009-08-26T16:01:00.000-07:00

acrylic on index card.

alien on my brain.

malaise on my soul.

A-1 on a porkchop.

Cobra Commander

2009-08-20T21:12:00.000-07:00

Acrylic and pen on index card.

sight

2009-08-17T22:08:00.000-07:00

the Torch

2009-08-16T00:51:00.000-07:00

Sushi

2009-08-16T00:49:00.000-07:00

Wood of Suicide II

2009-08-16T00:47:00.001-07:00

Sideways

2009-08-16T00:44:00.000-07:00

the Fox Leasher

2009-08-16T00:43:00.001-07:00

Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari

2009-08-12T14:57:00.000-07:00

I painted this from a still frame from the silent film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Here, he whispers in the ear of his boxed zombie. Caligari is the original Dr. Mindbender.

Ghost Rider/Rorschach

2009-08-12T14:44:00.000-07:00

I've finished a painting every night for the last ten days now. I've been swamped with tattoo work lately without much time for painting, so I'm working to get this back to a daily painting blog. Trying to catch up.

I read a hundred dollars worth of comics this week, so I wasn't surprised when I caught myself doodling the sketches for these two. Rorschach and Ghost Rider, painted on miniature index cards in acrylic... I've just started a Cobra Commander painting, so there may be a few more coming in this series.

Wood of Suicide

2009-08-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Inferno Canto XIII:31-78

The Wood of Suicides: Pier delle Vigne

Then I stretched my hand out a little, and broke a small branch from a large thorn, and its trunk cried out: ‘Why do you tear at me?’ And when it had grown dark with blood, it began to cry out again: ‘Why do you splinter me? Have you no breath of pity? We were men, and we are changed to trees: truly, your hand would be more merciful, if we were merely the souls of snakes.’
Just as a green branch, burning at one end, spits and hisses with escaping air at the other, so from that broken wood, blood and words came out together: at which I let the branch fall, and stood, like a man afraid. My wise sage replied: ‘Wounded spirit, if he had only believed, before, what he had read in my verse, he would not have lifted his hand to you, but the incredible nature of the thing made me urge him to do what grieves me. But tell him who you were, so that he might make you some amends, and renew your fame up in the world, to which he is allowed to return.
And the tree replied: ‘You tempt me so, with your sweet words, that I cannot keep silent, but do not object if I am expansive in speech. I am Pier delle Vigne, who held both the keys to Frederick’s heart, and employed them, locking and unlocking, so quietly, that I kept almost everyone else from his secrets. I was so faithful to that glorious office that through it I lost my sleep and my life.
The whore that never turned her eyes from Caesar’s household, Envy, the common disease and vice of courts, stirred all minds against me, and being stirred they stirred Augustus, so that my fine honours were changed to grievous sorrows. My spirit, in a scornful mode, thinking to escape scorn by death, made me, though I was just, unjust to myself. By the strange roots of this tree, I swear to you, I never broke faith with my lord, so worthy of honour. If either of you return to the world, raise and cherish the memory of me, that still lies low from the blow Envy gave me.’

The Mad Ones

2009-07-19T01:11:00.000-07:00

"...the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww! ' "

~~ On the Road, Kerouac Jack

Rainbow Crow

2009-07-19T01:00:00.000-07:00

Long, long ago, before our Lenapé ancestors walked the Earth, the weather was always warm and the animals lived in happiness.
Then one day, the Earth suddenly became cold, and white, sparkling flakes fell from the sky, covering the Earth with its white softness. The animals, seeing snow for the first time, were not afraid...
Soon, the snow grew deeper and Axpo'kwès, the Mouse, disappeared. All that could be seen was the tip of his tail, and the other animals began to get worried.
Then Chèmà'mès, the Rabbit, disappeared. All that could be seen were the tips of his ears, and by now the animals were really worried. So the animals met in Council, gathering together in a clearing deep in the forest, to discuss the situation. They decided that what was needed was for a messenger to travel up to the home of Kishelamàkänk, the Creator, and ask him to stop the snow.
They asked among themselves, "Who is willing to make such a journey, to the twelfth heaven, that distant dwelling place of the Creator?"
Wapink, the Opossum, said "Kukhus, the Owl, is the wisest. Perhaps he should be the one to go." "But no," the animals whispered. "He might get lost in the light of day. So Owl shouldn't go!"
Then Tamakwa, the Beaver, said, "Perhaps Naxànum, the Raccoon, should go." "No!" the animals argued. "He might follow his tail instead of his nose. So Raccoon should not go."
Then Shikak, the Skunk, said, "Perhaps Tàme'tut, the Coyote, should go." "No!" the animals shouted. "Coyote is clever and loves to play tricks. He might chase the clouds or swallow the wind. So Coyote should not go."
Then the animals made all kinds of noise. They screeched and howled, hooted and growled, because they couldn't decide who should make the journey to the dwelling place of the Creator and ask him to stop the snow.
In the meantime, the snow got deeper and deeper. The small animals climbed on top of the taller animals so that they wouldn't disappear.
Just as the animals were in their greatest despair, from the top of a tall tree, Mànàka'has, the Rainbow Crow, flew down among them. In the sweetest voice they had ever heard from a bird, Rainbow Crow said, "I will go. I will go!"
The animals were so happy to have a messenger that they sang many songs of praise to him.
Then Rainbow Crow flew high up into the sky, above the snow and the winds, beyond the clouds, the moon and the stars.<;P>
For three days he flew, until at last he arrived at the twelfth heaven, the dwelling place of the Creator; but the Creator was too busy to notice him. So Mànàka'has, the Rainbow Crow, began to sing. Upon hearing the singing, the Creator stopped to listen. Never before had he heard such a sweet voice singing or such a beautiful song. Upon seeing Mànàka'has, the Creator said, "Such a gift of song as you have given to me, I now give a gift to you. Tell me what you would choose to have." Rainbow Crow knew that far below, on the Earth, the snow was getting so deep that soon all the animals would disappear. So he asked Kishelamàkänk, the Creator, to stop the snow.
The Creator replied, "No, Mànàka'has, I cannot stop the snow, for the snow has a Spirit of its own. When the Snow Spirit leaves the clouds to visit with his friend, the Wind Spirit, the snow will stop, but Earth will still be cold."
So Mànàka'has asked the Creator to stop the cold, but the Creator said, "No, Mànàka'has, I cannot stop the cold. All I can do is give you the gift of fire. Fire will keep you warm and will melt the snow so that your friends will be content until warm weather returns."
The Creator picked up a stick, and set it on fire by sticking it into the Sun. Then he handed it to Mànàka'has, saying, "I will give you this gift only once. Now hurry! Fly back to the Earth before the fire goes out!"
Off flew Rainbow Crow.
On the first day, as he was flying down to the Earth, sparks from the fire burnt and darkened his tail feathers.
On the second day, the fire burned brighter and the stick grew shorter, and all of Rainbow Crow's feathers became blackened with soot.
On the third day, the stick of fire was so short, and the fire so hot that smoke and ash blew into his mouth, and his voice became cracked and hoarse. "Caw, caw," he croaked.
Upon returning to the clearing in the forest where Mànàka'has had left the other animals, they were nowhere to be seen. Only the tops of the tallest trees were above the snow. So, Mànàka'has flew down close to the snow, and around and around he went until the fire had melted the snow and his animal friends were safe.
The stick of fire that Rainbow Crow had brought to Earth as a gift from the Creator, became the grandfather of all fires, and for this all the animals gave thanks to him. They danced and sang songs praising Rainbow Crow.
But Mànàka'has flew alone to a distant tree, where he wept. For now he was no longer beautiful, and could no longer sing sweet songs. His rainbow-colored feathers were gone forever.
When the Snow Spirit emptied the clouds and joined the Wind Spirit, the snow stopped. Crow was still weeping. No longer was he Rainbow Crow, but just a plain black Crow. Alas, Crow is what he has been called ever since.
Now Kishelamàkänk, the Creator, heard Crow in his despair and came down from the sky. When he saw Crow, he said, "Soon man will appear on the Earth. He will take the fire and be master of all but you. For being so brave and unselfish, I now give you the gift of freedom. Man will never hurt you, for your meat tastes like fire and smoke. Man will never capture you, for your beautiful voice is now crackly and hoarse. Man will never value your feathers, because your rainbow colors are now black. But your black feathers will shine and reflect all the colors. If you look closely you will see."
Crow looked, and he saw many tiny rainbows shining in his black feathers, and so he was satisfied.
The Creator returned to his dwelling far above the sky, and Crow returned to his friends in the forest, happy and proud that he was now just a black Crow, with shining feathers full of tiny rainbows.
**************************************

Taken from The Grandfathers Speak, by Hìtakonanu'laxk

the god who wasn't real

2009-07-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

"The savage, like ourselves, feels the oppression of his impotence before the powers of Nature; but having in himself nothing that he respects more than Power, he is willing to prostrate himself before his gods, without inquiring whether they are worthy of his worship. Pathetic and very terrible is the long history of cruelty and torture, of degradation and human sacrifice, endured in the hope of placating the jealous gods: surely, the trembling believer thinks, when what is most precious has been freely given, their lust for blood must be appeased, and more will not be required. The religion of Moloch — as such creeds may be generically called — is in essence the cringing submission of the slave, who dare not, even in his heart, allow the thought that his master deserves no adulation. Since the independence of ideals is not yet acknowledged, Power may be freely worshipped, and receive an unlimited respect, despite its wanton infliction of pain."

~~ from Bertrand Russell's A Free Man's Worship

Destino

2009-07-10T08:47:00.000-07:00

For 8 months between 1945 and 1946, Disney artist John Hench and the famed Salvador Dali together storyboarded a surreal animated feature. They only ever produced 18 seconds of animation before the project was shelved in a series of financial cutbacks. Half a century later, the French animators behind Fantasia 2000 discovered and restored this film, finishing the rest of the planned animation in both traditional hand-painted style and computer animation. In 2003, they released this, the final product... DESTINO!!

The Carver

2009-06-30T07:04:00.001-07:00

See, as the carver carves a rose,

A wing, a toad, a serpent's eye,

In cruel granite, to disclose

The soft things that in hardness lie,

So this one, taking up his heart,

Which time and change had made a stone,

Carved out of it with dolorous art,

Laboring yearlong and alone,

The thing there hidden—rose, toad, wing?

A frog's hand on a lily pad?

Bees in a cobweb?—no such thing!

A girl's head was the thing he had,

Small, shapely, richly crowned with hair,

Drowsy, with eyes half closed, as they

Looked through you and beyond you, clear

To something farther than Cathay:

Saw you, yet counted you not worth

The seeing, thinking all the while

How, flower-like, beauty comes to birth;

And thinking this, began to smile.

Medusa! For she could not see

The world she turned to stone and ash.

Only herself she saw, a tree

That flowered beneath a lightning-flash.

Thus dreamed her face—a lovely thing

To worship, weep for, or to break . . .

Better to carve a claw, a wing,

Or, if the heart provide, a snake.

~~~ Conrad Aiken, 1889-1973

Branestorm

2009-06-24T11:46:00.001-07:00

This is an old scribble I did a few years ago. It's painted on waxed palette paper with the remnants of the paints that I used for another painting. At the time I felt this one piece was related to the books I was reading on brane theories. That's the highly speculative hypothesis that there exists parallel realities to ours that exist within the same universe, enacting every possible permutation of existence forever and never all at once. Just like an amoeba in a pond has no sense of the third dimension, we have no way to sense this fourth (not time) dimension, save for very rare occasions when branes (the candy shell coating of a particular reality) overlap. Some even believe that the Big Bang occured when two universal branes overlapped, and the energy transfer betwixt them spun into a new creation... This would mean that it's possible that every moment, every decision that you make, every changing nuance creates the tiniest bang that may create it's own universal reality (which in turn is full of a brane system).

It sure makes my brane hurt.

Xenoscape

2009-06-22T01:31:00.000-07:00

This one came out more like a doodle. I have no clue what I've painted here. The camera isn't able to photograph the 3d effect between layers of the varnish. The colors look much more vibrant and glossy in person.
Until I find out why I painted this one, it gets a temporary title... it's an alien jungle... a xenoscape maybe.

Arcane Algebra

2009-06-22T00:47:00.000-07:00

I just finished this small paint sketch on paper using acrylic. There's no real story for this one, only some vague notion of a dead man calculating matters with alien concepts... like angelic mathematics. And I picture it set to anxious music like a plinky Bartok string quartet.

Flowers of Darkness

2009-06-20T02:11:00.001-07:00

After tattooing several poppies, I decided to paint some this week. Completed this one in the round! in acrylic. I didn't waste any time on it. It's halfass week.

Paul Newman narrated this documentary on the papaver plant called "Flowers of Darkness" which traces the history of the plant's medicinal and abusive uses.... It is said that the poppy made its way to Europe via the caravan of Genghis Khan in the 12th century. Khan sowed seed wherever his conquests led him, ensuring that the white blossoms that flowered the next year would mark his territory and the path that led him there. After one very decisive and utterly bloody battle, and entire field of the white poppies was stained red, and thereafter all the poppies of Khan's region grew red. This is how the red poppy came to symbolize the sorrows of war.

Vision of Judgement II

2009-06-11T02:21:00.000-07:00

"Form`d a sepulchral melo-drame.

Of all The fools who flack`s to swell or see the show,

Who cared about the corpse? The funeral

Made the attraction, and the black the woe.

There throbbed not there a thought which pierced the pall;

And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low,

It seamed the mockery of hell to fold

The rottenness of eighty years in gold."

~~ canto X, Lord Byron's Vision of Judgement.

Vision of Judgement

2009-06-11T00:07:00.000-07:00

"The Angels were all singing out of tune,

And hoarse with having little else to do,

Excepting to wind up the sun and moon

Or curb a runaway star or two,

Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon

Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue,

Splitting some planet with its playful tail,

As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale."

~~ Canto II, from Lord Byron's Vision of Judgement.

Tattooed Tulips

2009-06-06T02:20:00.000-07:00

Did these tulips on a woman's side... the leaves are not my work.

Reynard at War

2009-06-06T02:13:00.000-07:00

It's 4am and I've just finished this painting of a French soldier with a pet fox. The source photo was from the New York Times, February 11th, 1917.

painted in acrylics on cardboard.

Custom Shoes 2

2009-06-01T00:39:00.000-07:00

Custom shoes

2009-06-01T00:36:00.000-07:00

Treacherous

2009-06-01T00:21:00.000-07:00

I regret painting this piece on palette paper. I had just finished a canvas painting when I noticed that the colors I had spread on my wax paper palette were really pleasant and they began to form an image in my head. I borrowed the midsection of the figure from an old Victorian woodcut and the rest I cooked up as a pandemonious party raged around me. When I was done with the piece I sprayed it with a heavy varnish and pinned it to the prize wall.

Somehow it became stacked with a few other paintings in another bedroom of my house and the summer heat melted layers of varnish on the palette paper to the back of some old cardboard art. Seperating the two resulted in the destruction of this poor piece... the one I always called "Treacherous".

Ol' Handface

2009-05-30T02:52:00.000-07:00

I did this one in two hours while watching a crime documentary. I can't come up with a title for it, it doesn't quite deserve one, but it was done in acrylic on top of an old sketch of a hand. A blue hand. I might actually work back into this one someday and turn it into something more sensible.

Jacob's Ladder

2009-05-28T23:34:00.000-07:00

My computer crashed and I lost my collection of cinematic dream sequences. But I'm lucky that I uploaded most of them here. I knew this blog had to be good for something.

Here, Tim Robbins' character dreams of his own Hell in this scene from Adrian Lyne's "Jacob's Ladder". As he excavates his past, his present devolves into paranoia and terror mirroring his foggy past in the Vietnam War... It's one of the most well directed suspense/horror films ever and one of my all-time favorite films.

Asphalt Flowerhead

2009-05-28T22:51:00.000-07:00

I did the cover art to an excellent book by Forrest Armstrong titled "ASPHALT FLOWERHEAD". It's a surrealistic romp through a visionary drug culture and it's social backlash as it builds and destroys the lives of a dissident art community. Fantastic stuff! I highly recommend you purchase a copy. I was enthralled enough to read it in a day. Also check out "Avant Garde for the New Millenium".

You can purchase 'Asphalt Flowerhead' from Crossing Chaos, along with work by plenty of other fine authors and artists.

Abraham Van Helsing

2009-05-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

He knows what's at stake.

The Amazing Trouser Snake Show

2009-05-28T22:43:00.000-07:00

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

Reaching

2009-05-28T22:36:00.000-07:00

I made a few strange pieces of art this week in the little free time I had. Each was done in acrylic, guache, pencils and markers on cardstock. This one is just a fairly uninteresting doodle of a hand. I had drawn the hand a long while ago as the start of a Hand of Glory but abandoned it. Today I revived it.

The Devil

2009-05-21T01:23:00.000-07:00

Today was rushed, but I managed to eke out a meager devil sketch in acrylic and marker on a manila folder.