The banality

Reading artist’s statements, to me, is a complete waste of time. In a sense, if you’ve read one, you’ve read them all because, well, there’s no way to really explain the compulsion to create. I’ve never read a statement that made me feel closer to an artist or where the artist’s words bridge the gap between the visual and the visceral.

An artist can describe the inspiration of a trip where landscapes foreign to his home were painted. Or, how the technique of painting captures the invisible force of chance. How pure color expresses emotion. The cheek of a cherub, the smell of rubber inside a gas mask.

Whatever.

The work stands on it own or it doesn’t.

The torture

The one exception of analysis, discussion and explanation takes place between artists — not artists and patrons, just artists. It is a kind of a gooey taffy stretched between two spirits who occupy the same planet. Make no mistake, there is more than one planet on this planet and the one I occupy has few inhabitants. So, when I cross paths with a Bedouin, I stop to chat about the desert and the jungle.

The discussion about either is, at once, about art and not about art. A telepathy exists similar to that felt by addicts and codependents. As the cliche goes, I don’t know much about art, but I know it when I feel it.

That unrelenting compulsion existing just under the veneer and fingernails, if my counterpart has fingernails, is unmistakable between the two who chew. That need to reach into an almost black swarm of flies, trying to catch just one, is an experience that is, at once, explicit and implicit. Undeserved lust and love.

MOMA

Last Friday, I visited the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. My compulsion to view art is exceeded only by my need to create it — and strong was the compulsion young Skywalker. In particular, I love the Abstract Expressionists and Neo-Expressionists.

Willem de Kooning is my favorite.

During my visit, I was struck, while slowly roaming the galleries, by the number of people having their pictures taken while standing next to the most well known 19th and 20th century paintings — van Gogh, Picasso, Matisse, Rousseau, Degas. Asians indeed, gathered around Starry Night, like they were riding the subway in Tokyo. Positive pedestrian weirdness, this phenomenon — especially since the best painting on the fourth floor of the museum was ignored: de Kooning’s Woman 1 (1950–1952).

Forced pit stop on the Monster Mile of Art

I struggle to walk due to a disability and, as a result, need to sit down often. As luck would have it, a space was open on a bench less than 10 feet from the de Kooning. While seated, in addition to the painting, I was able to watch people sneak by the painting like it was a neighbor’s dog eating another neighbor’s trash, in a neighborhood where neighbor’s expect neighbors to pick up trash eaten by a neighbor’s dog as soon as they see the dog eating the neighbor’s trash, even if the neighbor is dressed in their Sunday best.

You know what I mean.

To be fair, the slight I felt for de Kooning was probably mostly in my head. It’s true, patron’s passed by with little notice, all the while turning their heads toward the Jackson Pollock on the other side of the room, but their indifference was not cruel. It’s just that people watch television and read magazines.

Banal.

I‘d love to be remembered as a minor artist

My art is mine alone. I create it for me and I’m quick to tell anyone who has a negative comment that they don’t have to look at it. And, while I’d love to have a show in a New York gallery, I won’t compromise my art to do so. I’d rather die in oblivion.

Among the most common unsolicited comments about my drawings is the question about why some of the figures I draw grit their teeth. Truth is, I don’t know and the question had never spontaneously occurred to me. Who cares?

But, enough people had asked that I began to ask myself the same question — to know avail. Now, I didn’t try hard to find the answer, but the fact that I tried at all ensconced me in a cloud of shame at having ever listened to the question. I admit, however, that the more lyrical parts of my drawings draw a stark contrast to the gash and gnash of jacked-up teeth.

Resting my foot

I’ve been enamored of de Kooning’s Woman series since I discovered a black, linen-covered book dedicated to the entire series in the back of my college library in 1980. In the ensuing 39 years, I’ve seen most of the samples that are available in public collections and they never disappoint.

Despite having seen the painting hanging in MOMA several times in real life, Friday was no exception. That said, for the first time in 39 years, I spent a full fifteen minutes in its presence, staring into the eyes of a woman whom I’d long lusted after but never studied with the love she deserves.

She was gritting her teeth.

Jacked-up love.

Need words? Make contact.

Portfolio and list of services

Newsletter: Sugary candy for the soul

I don’t teach, preach or sell hard. I do send out silly ten second stories about people, places and things.

November 2022
- Nov 24, 2022 The scroll of Kerouac's soul Nov 24, 2022
October 2022
- Oct 3, 2022 A brother helping me remain in light Oct 3, 2022
September 2022
- Sep 1, 2022 Ten things to never say to a new car salesperson Sep 1, 2022
August 2022
- Aug 1, 2022 The question of an evolving identity made whole by street artists and vandals Aug 1, 2022
July 2022
- Jul 4, 2022 The warmth of knowing my baseball glove is in the sweater drawer Jul 4, 2022
June 2022
- Jun 2, 2022 Sonny Rollins standing on the bridge in Giverny Jun 2, 2022
May 2022
- May 1, 2022 Sitting in front of forever May 1, 2022
April 2022
- Apr 2, 2022 A temple, a church, a synagogue or an artist’s studio? Apr 2, 2022
March 2022
- Mar 2, 2022 Foghorn Leghorn inside the flower garden of the mind Mar 2, 2022
February 2022
- Feb 6, 2022 My first cup of Tibetan butter tea Feb 6, 2022
January 2022
- Jan 4, 2022 Dancing is better with a corn dog in each hand Jan 4, 2022
December 2021
- Dec 1, 2021 Even Edgar Degas made mistakes Dec 1, 2021
November 2021
- Nov 2, 2021 Running shoes, rhetoric, hyperbole and the dog with the human head Nov 2, 2021
October 2021
- Oct 2, 2021 Still life painting at 36 Via Fondazza Oct 2, 2021
September 2021
- Sep 19, 2021 True creative genius Sep 19, 2021
August 2021
- Aug 17, 2021 "Sometimes you need to just lay on the sidewalk and bleed for a little bit" Aug 17, 2021
July 2021
- Jul 12, 2021 Dozens of worn-out couches in a true art house Jul 12, 2021
June 2021
- Jun 14, 2021 Daft Punk Frida Jun 14, 2021
May 2021
- May 17, 2021 Eating cake in a cemetery May 17, 2021
April 2021
- Apr 8, 2021 Mindfulness, meditation, a drum circle and the yellow doves of Mount Airy Apr 8, 2021
March 2021
- Mar 9, 2021 That diner in Brighton Mar 9, 2021
February 2021
- Feb 17, 2021 Tibet via North Philadelphia Feb 17, 2021
January 2021
- Jan 11, 2021 Bukowski is family Jan 11, 2021
December 2020
- Dec 23, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, parking meters, poems, love notes and library books Dec 23, 2020
November 2020
- Nov 16, 2020 Six tongues and the sugar face Nov 16, 2020
October 2020
- Oct 20, 2020 Tequila, cops and grace Oct 20, 2020
September 2020
- Sep 25, 2020 Feeling the machinery Sep 25, 2020
August 2020
- Aug 17, 2020 The futile fury of a final letter Aug 17, 2020
July 2020
- Jul 4, 2020 It all begins with the word Jul 4, 2020
June 2020
- Jun 19, 2020 Hate in the abstract. Love in the specific. Jun 19, 2020
May 2020
- May 19, 2020 Dirty hands drawing a circle May 19, 2020
April 2020
- Apr 19, 2020 A singularity built from many pieces Apr 19, 2020
- Apr 14, 2020 Resurgent feelings and the Bowery's Blitzkrieg Bopper Apr 14, 2020
- Apr 5, 2020 Channeling my inner Iggy for the third time Apr 5, 2020
March 2020
- Mar 24, 2020 A golden eagle's echo will carry forever Mar 24, 2020
February 2020
- Feb 21, 2020 Seven crappy poems Feb 21, 2020
- Feb 11, 2020 Words from the white space Feb 11, 2020
- Feb 5, 2020 Bursting between the beasts Feb 5, 2020
January 2020
- Jan 30, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation and the Yah-Yah contraption figure Jan 30, 2020
- Jan 22, 2020 The Beastie Boys, potato salad, the number 12 and a phone call from a Buddhist monk Jan 22, 2020
- Jan 16, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, nevermindishness and nothingness Jan 16, 2020
- Jan 8, 2020 Glibquip Jan 8, 2020
- Jan 6, 2020 DeSoi versus Hemingway Jan 6, 2020
- Jan 5, 2020 Hating happy cats Jan 5, 2020
December 2019
- Dec 31, 2019 Baked beans and ice cream Dec 31, 2019
- Dec 27, 2019 Zen and the little blue box Dec 27, 2019
- Dec 20, 2019 About the power of symbols Dec 20, 2019
- Dec 13, 2019 Obscure references lend credibility, especially when you make them up Dec 13, 2019
- Dec 9, 2019 Three fingers tickling the air Dec 9, 2019
- Dec 5, 2019 Sunday dinner at the DiGiulios Dec 5, 2019
November 2019
- Nov 26, 2019 One man's silly secret to writing an online dating profile Nov 26, 2019
- Nov 20, 2019 Burning man at Burning Man Nov 20, 2019
- Nov 18, 2019 A didgeridoo full of goo Nov 18, 2019
- Nov 16, 2019 Two thousand words from the future Nov 16, 2019
- Nov 14, 2019 Every scar is cool Nov 14, 2019
- Nov 12, 2019 Daily affirmations and anonymous encouragement taped to the back of a stop sign Nov 12, 2019
- Nov 10, 2019 Willem de Kooning’s women have jacked-up teeth Nov 10, 2019
- Nov 8, 2019 Flames, bikers, bras, jaws, Jack, Lemmy and liquor Nov 8, 2019
- Nov 6, 2019 I met a German vegetarian in an Italian butcher shop Nov 6, 2019
- Nov 4, 2019 Art + money + object = fetish Nov 4, 2019
- Nov 2, 2019 Ferried on the fingertip wings of an angel Nov 2, 2019
October 2019
- Oct 31, 2019 Cyclops @ night Oct 31, 2019
- Oct 29, 2019 Nietzsche was wrong about almost everything Oct 29, 2019
- Oct 27, 2019 A singular reason to hate social media Oct 27, 2019
- Oct 25, 2019 Mindfulness, meditation, chance and The Village Vanguard Oct 25, 2019
- Oct 23, 2019 Umbilical Oct 23, 2019
- Oct 21, 2019 The curve of a single elegant line Oct 21, 2019
- Oct 19, 2019 Five Boro Flamingo Oct 19, 2019
- Oct 17, 2019 Mistress and wife to the same musician Oct 17, 2019
- Oct 15, 2019 A python named Tom and a Toyota test drive Oct 15, 2019
- Oct 13, 2019 Sweetie pie and the sugary fire Oct 13, 2019
- Oct 9, 2019 A great artist doesn't need to leave a single great artwork in his wake Oct 9, 2019
- Oct 7, 2019 Eleven effective ways to control the tempo of negotiations with a car salesperson Oct 7, 2019
September 2019
- Sep 28, 2019 What to expect from the dealer trade vehicle evaluation Sep 28, 2019
- Sep 24, 2019 Three stories being told at once Sep 24, 2019
August 2019
- Aug 24, 2019 Thirty years away from the Blues Aug 24, 2019
July 2019
- Jul 22, 2019 Ten hours in Madrid Jul 22, 2019
- Jul 11, 2019 When life slows down to let you take a look Jul 11, 2019
- Jul 6, 2019 The Buddhist Manager Jul 6, 2019
- Jul 2, 2019 The perfect, hopeful, subversive headbanger Jul 2, 2019
June 2019
- Jun 27, 2019 Scribbleheads Jun 27, 2019
- Jun 24, 2019 Myth of the Knotdog Jun 24, 2019
- Jun 19, 2019 Dream of the Zen Blue Hat Jun 19, 2019
- Jun 16, 2019 Sleeping dogs and the power of forgiveness Jun 16, 2019
- Jun 12, 2019 Skate Hog Jun 12, 2019
- Jun 9, 2019 I type with two middle fingers Jun 9, 2019
- Jun 5, 2019 Hillbillies love Salvador Dali Jun 5, 2019
- Jun 1, 2019 The single most important thing a prospective Fordham University parent needs to know Jun 1, 2019
May 2019
- May 31, 2019 The accidental copywriter May 31, 2019
- May 28, 2019 Five 70s albums every Millennial should listen to this weekend May 28, 2019
- May 15, 2019 Five secrets to writing a moving love letter May 15, 2019