An entry is called for here, but in fact I have writer's block today. Too much turkey, too much surfing. Circuit overload. However, I will write my way through it.
I'm working more with paint lately. Studying once again with all my old favorites: Pollock, Still, Corbett, Diebenkorn, Bischoff and Stamos. So much food for thought. So emotional. It's unusual that most people cannot comprehend abstract artwork. Yet for myself and many I've met, it's an emotional earthquake to comprehend. People, I feel, who are the left brain thinkers are too rational to "get it." They're technical, and abstract art is anything but, it's mood, atmosphere, and pure emotion. I watched a man at the Chicago art museum sit transfixed in front of a Pollock for the whole time I was in the room, he never moved. He just stared. It was awesome. People who like realism are always looking for what the painting is portraying. Never realizing all that it is trying to convey is the emotion and mood of the artist, not some animate object. Of course the artist is also trying to make a good composition, but that's really advanced for most casual observers. It's all okay by me, if everyone was an abstract connoisseur I suppose it wouldn't feel like such a treasure.
I've always been one who enjoys the obscure, the misunderstood; that's where I find my treasures. I feel that way about sex as well. I've long thought the best sex is the sex you probably shouldn't be having. I'm jaded I realize. Make it legitimate and I'm not having fun with it anymore. Whether its sex or otherwise. I've lived my life in darker places than most folks, whether its art, literature, thoughts, philosophies, politics or sex. I've never felt a moment of mainstream in my heart at all. I live for the off-beaten path.
Mind you, I can blend in well. You'd not know I'm eccentric to look at me. I wear jeans, I can wear flannels, baseball caps sometimes. But oh, in my heart of heart, I'm elsewhere. I think most who know me well probably realize that.
I'm working more with paint lately. Studying once again with all my old favorites: Pollock, Still, Corbett, Diebenkorn, Bischoff and Stamos. So much food for thought. So emotional. It's unusual that most people cannot comprehend abstract artwork. Yet for myself and many I've met, it's an emotional earthquake to comprehend. People, I feel, who are the left brain thinkers are too rational to "get it." They're technical, and abstract art is anything but, it's mood, atmosphere, and pure emotion. I watched a man at the Chicago art museum sit transfixed in front of a Pollock for the whole time I was in the room, he never moved. He just stared. It was awesome. People who like realism are always looking for what the painting is portraying. Never realizing all that it is trying to convey is the emotion and mood of the artist, not some animate object. Of course the artist is also trying to make a good composition, but that's really advanced for most casual observers. It's all okay by me, if everyone was an abstract connoisseur I suppose it wouldn't feel like such a treasure.
I've always been one who enjoys the obscure, the misunderstood; that's where I find my treasures. I feel that way about sex as well. I've long thought the best sex is the sex you probably shouldn't be having. I'm jaded I realize. Make it legitimate and I'm not having fun with it anymore. Whether its sex or otherwise. I've lived my life in darker places than most folks, whether its art, literature, thoughts, philosophies, politics or sex. I've never felt a moment of mainstream in my heart at all. I live for the off-beaten path.
Mind you, I can blend in well. You'd not know I'm eccentric to look at me. I wear jeans, I can wear flannels, baseball caps sometimes. But oh, in my heart of heart, I'm elsewhere. I think most who know me well probably realize that.
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