Not Skin even

Year is almost over. Just to make it clear that I don't have an unhealthy obsession with epidermal matter here's something somewhat different.
(But if you really do long for more of the same it is here).
Latex on printed image:

Skin 5

Got lucky with these photographs, and for once the images turned out OK. Most of my work photographs really badly, these actually look better on the screen than they do in "real" life. They are both in "sketch" form, meaning that they made with crappy materials and are smaller than they deserve. If you click on them you will notice that they are not even dry (the blueish bits in the liquidy stuff) but I've been waiting for days, and just couldn't wait any longer. A bunch more are still at a greater state of wetness.
Latex on printed digital image:

Fresh new talent

Pueblo Pajarito by the great Paulie:

The artiste at work:

Dupe

I just posted this in with the digital images on Next Blog, where oi reckons it has a certain right to be, but now it occurs to me, that since it is a sketch for a 3D piece (already in progress) that it would be neat to have it here so that I can look back, record its progress, and observe how I have deviated and/or drifted.

Blog News

I am separating my current work into two categories, and posting it into two separate blogs. In "Process" I'm posting 2D and 3D pieces where, at the moment, I am struggling to find a medium, a material form, for ideas connected with what I want to express in a series which I am now making. In "Next Blog" I am posting images which arise more directly, mostly in digital form, from a thread of thought.
In both instances I need to struggle and avoid being trammeled by the poop culture definition that art is what sells, or is approved of, while producing material that holds its form, some kind of physical existence. "Archival" form is not a primary concern, but built-in obsolescence, an existence that survives only briefly is a bother that I would like to avoid. Transient form is not something that I have eliminated on principle, but it is not my objective at the moment.
This unique entry I am posting in both “here” and “there” for the amusement of those who read one but not both blogs. For self-therapeutic reasons I will also not be able to restrain myself from writing the usual nonsense about my thrilling adventures in the deli aisles of grocery stores.
For my visitors from Russia I am also posting this in “Further Issues” to encourage you to visit my other blogs, and perhaps even leave a comment.

Skin 4

Good place to stop and move on:

I do want a 3D shape to cohabit the space with "skin", but less pronounced will be better -- different material -- enough with the "Great Stuff".

Skin 3

Phase of process (first photo bleak. Colors are richer).
Some choices arising from a selection of materials. Below: rough edges on foam-core, skin printed on paper staying loose, 3D shape spilling out of rectangle at bottom.
I realize that this piece has a representational context, either phallic or head and shoulders, not to mention the photographic element (image of skin, distorted in comp. program).
Camera-fresh, non-photoshop (except for black outer rectangle), images work better clicked on:

or ( all below are photoshopped images): neat outer edge plus hard-edge skin rectangle:

or: going even further, same elements as above, but with reduced bubbliness on inner shape:

Side view (very "baguette-attacked-by rodents" look, but it's the truth. The material is "Great Stuff", normally used for filling cracks, etc, poured onto foam-core and shaved into present shape with sharp blade):

So far the first image, the direct result of "casually" placing these items together, is my first choice for this part of the process. I'll pour over and weigh down the inner 3D shape with transparent latex which will probably pour down onto the "skin". This will either be the final phase, or lead to more. If anything mildly interesting happens I will post it.

Still shopping

"There is a tide in the affairs of men which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune," I almost said to myself as I emerged from the hobby supply store. Guided by supernatural instinct I effortlessly located  obscure items that translate into art materials, which I barely suspected existed in this world, just as moments before I swooned in triumph in the bookstore, guided by similar forces, walking straight up to the latest output of Jonathan Franzen, whom I, shamefully, never heard of before. Oh, and I also scored some dark and milk chocolate McVitties at another location. I could have even bought Marmite there, but I restrained myself. I still have some from last year.
On such a sea I was now afloat when my left foot casually depressed the clutch pedal of my born again (didn't stall once all day) convertible 1978 Fiat Spider to change from second to third (it was necessary) when a loud "ping" sounded as the pedal sunk to the floor, not to rise again. I drifted into the vast bleakness of the outer reaches of Cottonwood Mall parking lot, still in second, circled aimlessly a few times while I pondered the option of traveling the fifty odd miles back to the Jemez skillfully changing gear without a clutch. I stopped, turned the engine off and dug my phone out, preparing to make diplomatic conversation with the bastards at a nearly near-by garage who recently worked on the very same cable. The phone, nestled in my slowly constricting hand, made that mournful, melodic, dying sound it is trained to do, as it run out of juice. At that very moment! I glanced at the distant mall, shimmering above the dark asphalt altiplano: Verizon and odd other phone sales vampires swarm in there. I patted my back pocket as I took my first dragging steps: no wallet!
I glanced up to observe the giant anvil quickly darkening the sky as it descended towards me.
It wasn't there. But otherwise the whole tide thing morphed into that flushing swirl, familiar as when shit rushes down to plumbing Hades.
Sorry, but I had to share this.

News from Korea

There she was, little woman in the meat isle, her basket loaded with bright red meat, gliding discretely toward what would turn into the dairy section past the side isles devoted to pet food, auto parts, painkillers, and hair-grips. She suddenly caught my eye and a mad grin spread across her face, flashing bright pink gums at the top of her mouth, but with reasonably sized teeth  placed in a tidy row two thirds of the way down.  It was the same smile that she always held, it was total abandon to total smile. I would vainly search for faint traces of competing emotions struggling to get some time and space on this platform of expression, but she not only held firm, her smile was ever expanding however long she wore it.
I stopped at once.
"Oh, hi, hi, how are you? Haven't seen you for a long time."
"No! No! Long time!" she screamed.
"You still go to ESL classes?"
"Oh, ESL classes."
"You still go?"
"Yes, well, no, sometimes. It is very hard."
"Oh, but your English is good, better, like it...is..."
"No, no good. Very hard."
We stood awkwardly for a short while. I begun to edge my basket forward, slightly, while my body remained pinned to the Healthy Oat Nut, Hundred Percent Wheat, and Jewish Rye shelves that faced the meat counter. She looked as if she expected the conversation to continue a while longer, her eyes and hands steady, smile expanding.
I cleared my throat.
"Terrible bad news from your country, with the North Koreans, you know."
"My country?"
Yes, you know, your home."
"Home?"
"Home country. Not home here. Korea. South Korea. The bombing, the people who were killed."
She slightly adjusted the angle of her face and her smile reached a higher level of completeness.
"Sorry, I don't understand."
"The war. Well, not war, but you know, Korea. North Korea."
"Ahh, the news. Yes, the news," she added a hint of breathy laugh to her expression producing an understated multi-media effect.
“Yes. the news...” I trailed off, and nodded, as if in good-bye.
She nodded back, very cheerfully. I tried not to bow. We parted.


It was only when I cleared the check-out that a horrible recollection came crashing-in on me.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! “
She wasn’t Korean. Of course. Now I remember. Chinese. Of course, Chengdu, the country of heaven, the Land of Abundance, the Brocade City, Hibiscus, paper money, Poet Sages and Poet Gods. Yes, now I remember.