Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Alec B and the Tunnel of Light

Apologies for the blabsence (blog absence? too soon? who am I talking to?), but my hands are too busy and painty to type.

Now that I finished Ghetto Cowboy, and have wrapped one of my remaining two portrait gigs, the other being moments away from send off, I find myself deep in the midst of a freestyle frenzy. Paint. Tunnel Vision. Late billowy night swirl. Cad Red Medium on my carpet.
Aliz Crimson on my keyboard.
Canvases. Boards. Wood.
Panel.
Desk.
Wall.
Arm.



"...turning the children orange..."


I have been listening to (watching, actually. But only corner of the eye. Corner of the eye.) seasons of 30 Rock while I paint the hell out of anything white in my house. Anyway, Jack is the best auditory entertainment on Netflix streaming, lately.


I am hooked in to a new body of work. Creating a pile of canvases. Turning the night into a long, timeless blur, interrupted only occasionally by brief, online chess, and visits to the fridge.  D'oh.

Snow.

I started this show over a year ago. A series of snowboard/ski/mountain paintings. Ink. Acrylic. It was postponed because of the Haiti book, of which I am so happy. But, for the moment, it is all about the art show.

Speaking of which... what am I doing on the computer?

Later.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Arrows Away

Ghetto Cowboy art is out the door. Quite like my oldest son.

Like arrows from the bow, I cannot hold anything more than a shadow, a warm feeling, memories of what I was listening to while painting it. I can only wave like the parent of a new college student, knowing they have just been rendered powerless in the future of their baby. And so, like parents, I have to trust that I pulled the bow back as hard and steady as I could, aimed true, and gave it my soul's best efforts. Then, I have to forgive my inadequacies and let go.

So, for Ghetto Cowboy art, and for you, Clay, fly free. Free of me. Free.