Monday, March 16, 2015

sign and wonder

Femme 1
Femme 2
Femme 3
     Two Figures








Friday, March 06, 2015

sculpture


Thursday, March 05, 2015

Part Four: under and over












                                                  




Wednesday, March 04, 2015

Part Three: Art Bum in and out of Chelsea







Tuesday, March 03, 2015

Second part of Art Bum and the abducted puppet








Monday, March 02, 2015

Art Bum and the abducted puppet, part one.

Art Bum Comics was never more than sketches for a comic book. The drawing was uneven, as was the   writing. It was a blog. I always liked the story about the abducted (or "raptured") puppet. I'll post the rest of it in the next few days.














Friday, February 27, 2015

medicated and/or meditated

1  Green medicine 1994/1998
2  They call it Axis Mundi, but Tuesday was twice as bad 1994/2001





Medicated

The day of the lord came
and went
and the evening
and the night of the lord
also came and went.

And I write under the sign of the green cross whose green energy sparks
in clouds of memory and reason where patterns and paths appear and disappear,
and faces in these clouds pass by in this sky.  And this sky breathes heavily
and howls with pain and terror, so I strive to take my medicine mindfully,
as a helper in my work, to focus my attention
on the tasks I despise and fear, all the regular chores of managing the processes of
this slow catastrophe of living.
Each day there is time and space to write and draw my prayers
and the green roots dig and taste the ground of the now, in this time of the now,
forever and ever in the material maternal nourishing cosmos listening to faint but ecstatic songs of the creator, the universal child who is parent of this old man.


Meditated

Hope for the hopeless abandoned. "What is more Christlike than to be
abandoned by God?" as the joke goes. Jesus threw himself on the ground
and cried, witnesses are supposed to have said, although they also
said he was alone, so who are these absent witnesses? Nevermind, the
story goes that he threw himself on the ground and cried out that he
didn't want to be betrayed and tortured and killed and abandoned, even
for a few hours,and even though he thought he would be out of the tomb
in a couple of days. When you are in that state, that hell, it is so
dark light seems impossible and is unthinkable. In that zero hour of
darkness all light is annihilated.

I need to give you hope, something to hope for, or there is no hope
for me. I cannot abandon you, but I am pretty weak and pretty stupid,
and my faith is so miniscule I can't examine it except through a kind
of electron microscope, maybe, or particle accelerator, with which I
can see traces that indicate the existence of a wave or particle of
what I want to call "faith" but the words fail, the words I find don't
work, and the apparatus of thought has broken down. But, at this
point, you do say something, or something happens, indication of the
life that has sustained us, the life that contains our particle lives,
the life that goes on and on, I think, as my thought apparatus thinks,
coughs and groans, and then lurches forward, and collapses on the
floor, shaking and weeping.

(why) have you abandoned me?