Thursday, December 15, 2016

weightless on the inside

Bank statement from Hungary yesterday.  Once a month.  On the outside of the envelope is something in hungarian about making the best decisions blah blah.  Nothing at all that one reflects on too deeply before reviewing the unthrilling numbers inside, if the envelope is even opened at all.  But I glance again.  This wisdom is a quote from the Buddha.

My bank quoted the Buddha.  

I'm trying to imagine a financial institution in the US quoting a master of the immaterial.  Hard going.  But it occurs to me, now as I'm moving my belongings in boxes and reflecting with a great deal of melancholy over my material possessions, that maintaining any sense of mobility while dragging the weighing burden of my belongings requires time and effort and stress.

Immaterialism is the new luxury car.  I want it.

Solo show of new work at Hooks Epstein Gallery opens January 14th in Houston.
Still waiting to hear about George Billis date.

Monday, November 28, 2016


"We value certain buildings for their ability to rebalance our misshapen natures and encourage emotions which our predominant commitments force us to sacrifice."  page 121 The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton

We are moving this month.  Out of a home my wife and I developed from thin air.  

I drew up this one in 2006 on paper, modeled it in foam core.  

Now, onto the next but with auto cad.  Concrete in January.  So excited to put the above concept to the test, to observe how different spaces really can affect us.  Such a busy month.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

open studio

This Saturday, October 22nd, I'm hosting an open studio.  You are welcome to visit Sunday if you cannot make it on Saturday.  All day.  I wish to let go of old paintings and will offer discounted prices in order to free up needed space.  

What is my studio?  What makes this room a studio?  

I need a room that is not for entertaining.  It is for working and for me alone to work.  It is a control room.  A recent visitor commented on its Tetris feel, in regards I imagine to the maximized use of space.  I have shelves that are full of boxes, jars, and books.  I know where everything is.  The paints are arranged in a way that I can reach for cobalt behind my back while blindfolded.  

This need for control has one purpose:  to lose control.  Personally, I need great stability before I can lose myself in the project before me.  

Thursday, September 22, 2016


Palette of 5 colors, maybe 6 or 7.  But not many.  The river is green, like my swimming pool.

A truck's rear window covered with a blanket of fine silt, except for the area the wiper has functioned to clean in its arching shape.  "Please wash me" is sometimes written into this dust to the owner.

How do these pigments express themselves beyond the tube and canvas, in the raw.  Can I paint in this manner?  Can I create a storm with these pigment particles and hurl them?  Can I please?

Thursday, August 25, 2016

damn yankee

Some think that it's one's duty to paint only what surrounds them, where it is that they find themselves.  

I've seen this county more than I ever dreamed I would, mostly due to my wife's campaign for district judge.  Caldwell as home as fodder.  Leaves of grass emptiness.

Wood milled down to manageable planks, resinous longleaf pine, stumps as footers. 

Black gumbo clay beneath.  Two tomato seasons.  Been nearly two years since a freeze.  Yankee vs damn yankee:  there's a difference.

Thursday, August 18, 2016


Avec l’autorisation de Diverti Éditions

Friday, July 29, 2016

what does i stand for?

It stands for interstate.  But it's the question, or the nature of such a question that I've been witness to for the past month as my children have been home from school.  One child asks questions more.

My other child observes more of what I do, as in what my body is language-ing.  Or how I might nag him (or her) to please put down the screen while I proceed to sit there and type email responses.  Or how I lose my temper while baking low-carb meatloaf.  

To describe my state while painting as speechless is inadequate.  I've had conversations, supposedly, with my wife on my cell phone while painting that I barely remember.  I mean, I do make noises, words even.  But mostly, I experience painting as an ungrammatical stretch of grunts.  This is what those who observe me have reported, I don't remember.