the Weeping Wizard

some old and new drawings

2012-01-26T13:53:00.004-05:00

2012-01-24T19:32:00.002-05:00

everything is in pairs it seems
inspiration/ despair
meaning/ meaningless
understanding/ confusion
vision/ blindness
desire/ revulsion

the more you have of one the more you'll have of the other... I think that's a fact... it has to be some sort of cosmic law for sure

2012-01-21T17:56:00.004-05:00

(Shit, I always feel like an egoist when I want to say what's on my mind... I feel guilty. But maybe the truth is we have to be egoists, no shame, it's our ego that's the explorer paddling this broken raft, and our ego that's the creator and maker of our pictures and writer of our shitty poems... i want to see and discover for myself what is true. I don't want to take someone's word for it, god damn it. Shucks, lots of talk nowadays, everywhere: surrendring your-self, just being... all of that ... happiness, meditation, all this talk, all this new age feel good hugging. Every store and every coffee shop is just peppered with sentimentality, cute cartoons, sunshine and rainbows. it's enough to make you sick. I can't! Like I fucking can't...
It doesn't feel right when I try -accepting, pretending everything is la-de-dah.
I'm just wired to question and analyze everything to the core...
WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHY!
starting to become a real burden
It feels like, more and more that there is nothing on earth anyone can say or do to give you any peace of mind at all. You have to find it for yourself... and accept it for yourself (I remember this parable it goes something a little like this: The buddha is sitting on a mound of dirt, holding a fully bloomed lotus in his hand, probably under a tree. Tons of people are gathered around him, putting up their hands, yelling out questions, talking amongst each other -a real robust crowd you see. He scans the crowd, looking at all the people. He sees one of his disciples... Bill o'Brian, looking at him blissfully with a smile from cheek to cheek, nodding his head. the budda smiles and nods his head right back.)
They never really taught me that at school...
oh yeah, uh, keep your passion,
and uh, oh yeah, feel for what you do... you know... like yoda said... stretch out with your FEEEELING. yes. That's right movies and books actually MEAN something.
I had a thought in the library the other day. thinking about the work I do, I honestly thought to myself: I sure wish it was more beautiful, wish I had more control.... But the truth is that its not any of those things... AND that's okay, it's the hand I was dealt, and the shit I was born into and have to crawl out of. Hard to be honest with yourself... I'm always comparing myself to what the world wants me to be.

2012-01-11T06:55:00.006-05:00

Anyway, when it comes to painting what i started doing was making my own wooden panels. First reason is that it's cheaper, and actually not very hard to do. They are pretty close tho the thing you buy in an art store. Second, you can do any size you want. Also, I've been playing with getting a sort of coarse texture on the board by using a roller to put on gesso and a few dark layers of latex paint.

I'm braking things down more now. I don't just go at. I conciously hold my horses. Okay nick, mid tone first, then put down darks. This makes painting so much more enjoyable and direct, I don't waste so much time fumbling around.

2012-01-01T20:10:00.003-05:00

1. drawings on my desk, and a curtain on my window
2. face the day
3. mr. chesterton and his demons, madame Newsom

2011-12-24T15:53:00.000-05:00

2011-12-04T11:58:00.006-05:00

2011-11-14T15:03:00.002-05:00

I always knew how it's done
but they took it from me
I was doing it right
but they told me I'm wrong

2011-11-03T12:58:00.005-04:00

1. slithering through a field of excuses
2.
3. mystic super highway

2011-10-22T17:01:00.008-04:00

i'll always be leaving
changing my mind about you
about me.
For those of you that are rocks:
i am the wind that blows through the alley ways of the churches built on your backs

i am opposed to all things that stand still
to every law engraved in stone
to every pillar holding up a roof.

When you've felt the beginning
you can see the end in everything

I make my own gods and draw their faces from my memory
They are also merciful.
They also smile and bring to their feet those that fell to their knees.

the way is paved between the gap where the forest meets the hills

2011-10-21T18:24:00.004-04:00

Drawing... surge on my dear brother, surge on
painting... visiting the guru:
Michael spent that whole night restlessly questing the guru... listening to his mad songs... drinking his blood red wine... sitting by his side, unable to make eye contact with his bright blue eyes.

The fire was beginning to go out, and the sun was pouring its light up and over the hills like a spilt glass of milk. The morning fog weaved its way between and strangled the mountain peaks like a snake as the guru spoke. Taking one last big puff of his pipe, looking tenderly at Michael and letting out a laugh from the bottom of his belly, he said: "you worry too much, my boy. Your forehead is wrinkled with confusion. Your palms are sweaty and clenched to tight. Go on home now. I promise, the answers will come... they'll come..."

2011-09-01T21:56:00.003-04:00

2011-08-11T17:08:00.005-04:00

a transmitter experiment in a field

2011-08-10T18:42:00.003-04:00

the flute player and his particular struggle

this is for my uncle. It is him and his partner

2011-07-14T21:55:00.005-04:00

2011-07-08T22:06:00.002-04:00

there are more traps and snares than I can imagine.
the road to heavens gate is studded with mines.
and the air is full of the unsettled dust of those that tried but never made it through.
on an average day
i hardly hear the angels harps
my ears a filled with lullabies

2011-06-16T21:58:00.004-04:00

suffer into it.
the pain and the struggle is the sharpening wheel...

2011-05-13T20:42:00.003-04:00

in progress...

2011-04-28T01:03:00.007-04:00

life drawing

2011-04-28T01:01:00.004-04:00

I'm filled with this really urgent feeling nowadays... Like I really want to make up for lost time.
Because time is wasting wasting wasting ALL THE TIME.

Various Sketches

2011-04-28T00:53:00.009-04:00

the last question and the end
weighing it out, and thinking it through

Full Circle
like nothing happened, not making a big show of it, not flashing your lights, not honking your horn, not slowing down the other cars... just.... squeezing back in like nothing ever happened, and rolling with it. Only this time: not stepping on the gas but yielding , and stopping to help stalled cars

I want it to be true

some anatomy

2011-04-28T00:43:00.009-04:00

I've been trying to learn the muscles. I have some anatomy books from when I was at school. I'm just learning the surface muscles, not all the tiny ones underneath. I kind of like it that when I draw from memory that little bit of extra knowledge just sort of ads to the picture.

2011-03-18T00:21:00.001-04:00

I don't know who to trust.
But maybe seeing the light in you will help me see the light in me

2011-03-01T18:49:00.002-05:00

2011-03-01T18:45:00.004-05:00

Here's another piece I'm working on: it's not done yet.
I have a really hard time holding my interest alive when it comes to finishing things, and seeing them through till the very end. The initial gesture is always the most exiting part, and I find that a painting that's done in a day can even look really amazing, it can be called finished.
But there's something to be said about consciously making an effort to do more.

I think that technically what 'art' is, is the excitement you get from making a mark, it also has something to do with the intensity with which the mark is made.

There's so many ways to go about art making that it can be intensely overwhelming, and truly, there's not one way that's better than another.

For me, at this moment in life, it is not enough to just do abstraction... It has to be more than that. I think that painting recognizable images IS abstraction anyway, simply more refined, more focused, more channeled.

I don't think it is a coincidence that so much abstract artists lost their minds. We somehow have to hold on to structure

2011-02-28T13:12:00.001-05:00

keep the hope of mystery alive in my heart

These were done while i was living in a Christian Community up north.

2011-02-28T00:59:00.002-05:00

2011-02-26T19:03:00.000-05:00

2011-02-14T21:35:00.001-05:00

bunches

2010-12-13T00:57:00.001-05:00

forget intentionally...

a little bit lost

...in progress

2010-12-12T17:43:00.001-05:00

2010-07-17T22:30:00.003-04:00

"Now when the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and does not find it. Then it says: 'I will return to my house from I came'; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order. Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first. "

2010-07-13T01:41:00.001-04:00

when I lived in the Christian community I stayed in what they call a 'poustinia' where you could spend the day in solitude. Both the sketches are from there.

yeah... I'll go

2010-07-11T17:56:00.002-04:00

special magic potion...

2010-07-11T17:55:00.000-04:00

2010-07-02T20:15:00.002-04:00

Nietzche is the most dangerous piece of writing on this earth (I'm talking about Thus Spake Zarathustra). You pick it up and it just takes you, it's so enchanting, and so passionate. One of those things that just reads itself, like a Walt Whitman poem. But its scary where it takes you. He takes you where he went himself in the end... He was so alone, and so individual, so separate, he had no relationship to anybody, he probed too far, there was nothing on earth that could not be questioned, and destroyed; no philosophy, no religion, no way of thinking. I think his mind just overloaded and... just BROKE. I don't know where I read this. I think about this so often when I'm depressed. Someone asked him, why he cannot be happy and he said "I have no common will with anyone". This is so overwhelming true, it can cripple you. Dear reader, tell me, how can someone be so wrong and so right at the same time? He was like a tare. His mind wanted two opposites and it just ripped.

Here's my favorite passage that I LOVE and HATE.

Zarathustra's eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called "The Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against a tree, and gazing with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus:

"If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to do so.

But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it will. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands."

Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: "I hear Zarathustra, and just now was I thinking of him!" Zarathustra answered:

"Why art thou frightened on that account?—But it is the same with man as with the tree.

The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and deep—into the evil."

"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth. "How is it possible that thou hast discovered my soul?"

Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one will never discover, unless one first invent it."

"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more.

"Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how doth that happen?

I change too quickly: my today refutes my yesterday. I often overleap the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.

When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?

My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?

How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the height!"

Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside which they stood, and spake thus:

"This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high above man and beast.

And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it: so high hath it grown.

Now it waiteth and waiteth,—for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first lightning?"

When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent gestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!"- Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put his arm about him, and led the youth away with him.

And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak thus:

It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell me all thy danger.

As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest freedom. Too unslept hath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.

On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.

Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.

Still art thou a prisoner—it seemeth to me—who deviseth liberty for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also deceitful and wicked.

To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit. Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his eye still to become.

Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not thy love and hope away!

Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still, though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to everybody a noble one standeth in the way.

Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.

The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old, wanteth the good man, and that the old should be conserved.

But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.

Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they disparaged all high hopes.

Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day had hardly an aim.

"Spirit is also voluptuousness,"—said they. Then broke the wings of their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.

Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A trouble and a terror is the hero to them.

But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

2010-06-28T02:58:00.003-04:00

if you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.

2010-06-19T14:04:00.002-04:00

Sometimes the greatest work of art on earth is on a box of Korn flakes, or in an old dirty second hand magazine that nobody wants, or a scrap of old wallpaper. And sometimes the greatest song in the world is just what's on.
When my brain is right I can see the truth in everything.

2010-06-19T01:32:00.000-04:00

2010-06-18T13:48:00.003-04:00

work in progress...

2010-06-07T00:48:00.001-04:00

drawings

2010-06-01T22:06:00.000-04:00

2010-05-10T22:16:00.000-04:00

some old sketchbook stuff

2010-05-07T00:46:00.000-04:00

2010-05-01T22:17:00.000-04:00

2010-04-13T20:25:00.000-04:00

2010-03-30T15:58:00.003-04:00

The 12th chapter of this particular book, bound in yellow leather send Willard out into the dusk in his bare feet in a great hurry. He looks at the moon as if he almost gets something he can't explain and he says to the moon silently: 'help me understand.'

2010-03-16T15:56:00.001-04:00

Find it again, it's not too late, good to have a friend that knows more than you to see you through, write it down so you don't forget, strong words become so weak after a heavy sleep.

2010-03-05T22:58:00.000-05:00

"Though I know that evenin’s empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I’m branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship
My senses have been stripped, my hands can’t feel to grip
My toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wanderin’
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it

Though you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun
It’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin’
And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn’t pay it any mind
It’s just a shadow you’re seein’ that he’s chasing

Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow"

2010-03-02T16:01:00.003-05:00

I had a vision of a secret place between my past and my future, studded with light, all the people's faces were bright even though it was night. They were running about, nervously, in fright, trying to collect all their pennies. And I heard the silence so that it was louder than the sounds. I didn't know what to say or what to do so I stood there like a lost fool. All I could say was "I'm sorry" to everyone I met, and all my confusion and regret shattered on the floor. My chest grew hot and I felt my heart beating and all my doubt melting like the snow. All I wanted to know was why isn't it always so. Why can't I stay here forever, why do I have to go, why do I think I need to know more.

2010-02-15T14:06:00.008-05:00

...an exhilarating idea sprouts up in Barkley's consciousness... Betty be inconspicuously makes her rounds... Clyde is waiting for IT to happen... The professor thinks he's finally found the missing link!...

2010-01-22T15:59:00.003-05:00

2009-10-21T20:14:00.000-04:00

halloween mask

2009-10-10T20:12:00.000-04:00

2009-09-30T20:23:00.000-04:00

2009-09-10T20:17:00.000-04:00

2009-09-03T20:22:00.000-04:00

2009-08-12T20:26:00.000-04:00

2009-07-20T20:19:00.000-04:00

2009-06-14T16:03:00.004-04:00

A drawing of the Arrow River Forest Hermitage.

2008-06-18T16:32:00.000-04:00

2007-04-25T12:33:00.000-04:00

I forgot about Mr.Tv, I made him a year ago. He is a trinket holder, and a good friend.

2007-04-23T16:02:00.001-04:00

2007-04-16T08:14:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T10:08:00.001-04:00

2007-03-20T23:43:00.000-04:00

Two more Don&Randys

Another Don&Randy

2007-03-19T22:22:00.000-04:00

More Don&Randy

2007-03-18T21:58:00.003-04:00

This page is missing a top line of text, sorry folks. It should say: Our heroes rode out of their home town,

Don & Randy

2007-03-12T03:33:00.002-04:00

Here is a story I started, it is called Don&Randy. I based the characters loosely on the ‘crazy’ old knight Don Quixote and his horse, Rocinante. The story is, in essence, about setting a path, a goal, and following it to the end no matter how wild or crazy it may be. Both for me, and Don&Randy, it is a test of faith.

2007-03-07T17:12:00.000-05:00

2007-03-07T17:09:00.000-05:00

2007-03-07T17:03:00.000-05:00

2004-09-18T16:33:00.000-04:00