I don’t feel I should move forward. I think my efforts are wasted and on and on and on.

I had a terrible experience yesterday dropping off some work for an upcoming show. I won’t name names…yet. Suffice to say it is par for the course, and it is no wonder that so many of my older artist acquaintances are so jaded and defensive after years of being treated the way that artists so often are. But hey, that’s entertainment and if I want to play I should shut up and take it.

My days on the road changed me. If you want to know what is deeply and profoundly wrong with our society just get behind the wheel and pay attention. Car culture emboldens people to take action they would never dream of if they were walking down the street.

I was raised on the American road. My earliest memories are laying across the back seat of a 1967 Volkswagen Beetle, looking up into the profound and endless blue of the Southwestern sky, the occasional power lines and poles. I held the wheel while sitting on my father’s lap and learned the rules of the road, and believe it or not there used to be rules. My father said that when you got behind the wheel of a car you entered into a contract with the rest of the people on the road. This contract, to drive safely and deliberately, enabled us all to get where we needed to go. I learned to speak to truckers, and for two decades they spoke back. What we have now is a thin veneer of civil order. One drives all day and pulls into the homogeneous exit-town where only the resemblance of food can be procured. Every exit looks the same as the last, you can identify which package that particular city or town purchased. There’s more coffee than ever before and most of it is bad. Back on the road it is everyone for themselves and forget women or children.

We don’t need to fear enemies from abroad, we’re destroying ourselves every rush hour of every day, again and again and again.

We will pay $6, $7, $8/gallon for gas, and do you know why? Because we have to go and because we have to drive to get there.

I came back feeling that what I do is so pointless. Pictures on a wall, who cares? Drive through the semi-walled communities lined with McMansions and through the windows you see…blank walls. The inside is illuminated by the pulsing big-screen television, always on, always coming at us and never giving. Two luxury cars and an SUV in the driveway and blank walls. Soul-less. A culture without regard for mythic symbols, probably the first in the history of human kind.

I’m at the beginning again. I painted a quick sketch today for one of the greatest living writers in this country, I don’t know how I feel about it. Maybe I don’t feel anything.

I also have a show opening at the Greenwood Genetics Center on November 17th. It seems this small community and I have roads left to travel together. More information on a reception for that event will follow. The coffee table book, essentially the catalog for the Greenwood show, is still on schedule and should be available online within the next few weeks. The catalog essay will be written by art historian Dr. Laura Crary.

There are potentially some more upcoming announcements, which I cannot make at this time.

I just returned from VA and am recovering from 5 days in the car with 2 two-year-olds. Angels that they are, it was still exhausting.

Unlike forms of media which seek to entertain, art must always be approached. It does not come at us, and we cannot experience it passively. This physical act of approaching, -of coming near, sets up a unique dialogue from which we may see ourselves or our world from another perspective. My purpose as an artist is to amply the whispers of culture, not necessarily to offer answers.

All art is political. The act of creation is seditious by its very nature.

But I can live with it.

84″ x 72″, x 3.75″, oil on canvas

I’ll admit to some insider context, though I don’t feel any is necessary for appreciating the work. I’ve watched the evolution of these ideas over the past several years. I’ve stood beside Paquin drawing from a live model on many occasions, and I have always learned something in the process. We’ve spoken about art and life, and the struggle to balance them.

The entire show is strong. It preserves Paquin’s playfulness while illustrating his adroitness as an artist. Paquin and his wife, artist Ann Stoddard, are artists’ artists. They live and breathe it, and art inhabits every aspect of their lives and being. The couple recently returned from China, where Stoddard exhibited her work.

The show is largely centered around drawing, but Paquin pushes the envelope of the medium , making both painterly as well as sculptural extensions of his biomorphic, interactive forms. A wide variety of media, size of work and complexity make this exhibition the bright spot of the ESH Gallery’s season.

Bravo.

I suggest work boots if you’re in colder climates. I used to swear by my Sears work boots. Fortunately, work boots are very fashionable right now and you can pick up a pair from most designers at a much higher price for vastly inferior craftsmanship. They only have to last a season, so feel free to pay as much as you can, especially if they are distressed.

I also found this, a strange but mostly amusing little DIY article on exactly how to complete the look.

I should add some of my own suggestions so that you too can achieve the total lifestyle.

• You need to start drinking or using some form of illegal substance. A lot. This is pretty much non-negotiable. At a minimum, if you don’t like being out of control or are worried about weight from calories in alcohol, you must smoke. And no mamby-pamby light cigarettes. Remember, you’re hoping for an early death, and need to cling to something.
• Find a really expensive hairdresser and sleep with them. This is optional but the right haircut cannot be overstated as a necessary element in identifying you as an artist.
• Complain a lot. Mostly about how, despite the fact that you are at the bar every night you never have any money or time to make your art.
• Be rude to anyone who asks you about your work. This is especially true if they are above 40, well-dressed and married. These conformist sheep obviously know nothing about art and deserve a smackdown.
• Be a flake and miss or be late for most every appointment you make.
• If you do exhibit your work, make certain you don’t have price lists available or some means for people to contact you.
• Under no circumstances get a website, except for possibly of the online mall variety and only if you have really low quality pictures of your work.
• Mold your musical tastes exclusively from Meghan McCain’s music blog.
• Never join any arts organization or subscribe to their mailing lists because these people are the Establishment. Then you can complain about being on the “outside” with real integrity whenever asked about your career. Remember, you’re a maverick (TM pending, McCain/Palin).
• Living in a loft condo is so 90’s, right up there with wearing all black. Get a run-down house you’re “fixing up” instead. Make sure it is in a nice enough neighborhood to be a complete eyesore to your neighbors who really are fixing their houses, but not so nice that you can’t afford it. Multiple pets that wander the street while you’re gone really add to your cred and help out public perception of artists in general, as do constant parties.

That’s all you need. It’s the 21st century, you needn’t bother with technique or training of any kind. Remember, art is 100% subjective, and your opinion is just as valid as anyone else’s. So go on, explore, express.

Front porch culture is something I have deeply missed in other places I’ve lived. Our porch happens to be an excellent one; expansive, rustic and partially secluded by the very old azaleas and crepe myrtles. We bought the house for the porch and the real pressed-tin ceilings in the front three rooms. Little did we know we would one day fill what seemed at the time to be a very big house.

To many of our urban born-and-raised friends we live in the country, but this is simply not true. There are times we think about moving out to what folks here would call the country, getting some acreage, building my dream studio and eventually a dance studio for my wife. At times I wonder if I can ever live in a large city again, though my memories of Chicago and other places are happy ones. I’ve grown accustomed to peace and quiet, relative solitude and space. Sure, I freak out when I can’t just walk down the street and get a variety of ethnic culinary delights, or stop by the really fantastic paper store next to my bus stop. Sure, I miss walking out of an apartment and being in the thick of a city’s bustle and rhythm. Those are beautiful and inspiring things on their own. Yet there is a quietness to my work that could only have been brought about by this environment. Placed in the context of an urban townhouse or loft, my hope is that this vibe will emanate from within each painting.

I thought about the young art students who came in this year. How most will abandon any aspirations of a career in the arts within a year of graduation unless they go on to graduate school and perpetuate the delusion. The art world is small, and most of the time it’s not very nice. Academia is even smaller, and these days as brutal. Eventually, if you let yourself think in this way, you will be competing against people you like for very limited resources: jobs, grants, exhibitions, and patrons. I’ve seen intelligent people become petty over things that really don’t matter, and it never ceases to surprise me. I don’t see it that way, but that’s me. I compete with myself alone, and I tend to keep it friendly.

Some might say I have talent, I really don’t know any more. I know I have an unflappable tenacity and a curious mind, so in that regard I’ll be fine. I’ve come too far to change course, and there is no back-up plan. I’ve made the choices I’ve made and take responsibility for them. I’m not as financially solvent as I potentially could be had I chosen another vocation, but I spend more hours a week with my kids than at my day job, and not many dads, -or moms, can say that these days. Mostly, I do what I love and sometimes even paid for it, but more often not. I have friends along the way who are struggling too: artists, musicians, writers, all getting knocked down and getting right back up again to take another step.

Tomorrow is an anniversary I’d rather not have. I may write about it, I may not.

This is meandering. Time to go.

While I have always denied direct references to the natural world in my work, I cannot deny the reoccurring horizon lines. What I think works effectively here is that the red colorform stops that realistic interpretation. One can’t deny this floating mass of unmodulated color humming amidst a churning field.

The references are pretty clear; yet the execution is unique. In a recent studio visit someone mentioned Gerzso, the terrific Mexican abstract painter. Quite true I studied Gunter Gerzso’s work quite heavily a few years ago, but the references had escaped me. I suppose it is deeply embedded. His architectonic painting is luscious and powerful. It looks like nothing before or since.

Even writing about it now, I begin to think of things differently.

It was a good weekend. The large piece is going well but the small pieces remain a challenge. I am changing the ratio with some different sized canvases and will see where that leads.

This Friday I’m going to nail down the show in November. I have yet to see the space and we still have to work out contracts. I hope this will all go quickly. Another package is due at the end of the week. Everything is speeding up.

A good night in the studio last night, worked on the big canvas. The crimson went down smooth and sultry, and the hard line of red across the width of the picture seems to hum. It is difficult to look at for long, a sign I hit it right on the head.

I also worked on some more small canvases, like the one above. The smaller ones are appealing right now simply for the ease with which I can move paint around. They are built up thick with paint, and while they still maintain the recent flavor of the larger works, they are becoming their own thing. I haven’t worked small for several years. Smaller work also brings with it a more attractive price point and I already have many of these sold as fast as I can make them. That feels pretty good.