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2022 0209 bowl nest

Last I heard there were five different kinds of Life–Plants, Animals, “Protists,” and two kinds of algae. Maybe. Probably not. My brain is in cognitive decline, and I don’t have time to look it up, and the point anyway is that within the strictly-biological definition of “life” some enormous variation is possible.

But there’s non-biological life too. Human beings have developed a self-replicating form of mechanism. Maybe. Probably not, but something like that. My dim memory says it’s chimerical, and much like the “biots” Arthur C. Clarke presciently described in his rollicking, imaginative novel Rendezvous with Rama.

We also speak of artwork as if it were to some degree alive. We use words like “vitality” and “animated” to codify our viewing expderience. If the work of art is representative of wildlife, we may judge is in comparison with what it is meant to represent.

So we come to this, one of my recent creations. It began when I finished my oatmeal and took a second spoon and put it in the empty bowl with the first. I liked the way the spoons and bowl looked, so I took a pic and made a drawing based on the pic. It seemed to want a bone, so I drew a bone, and shadows. I decided to construct a double acrostic, “bowl/nest.” When I came to the second line the word “owlish” suited the meter, and it was an easy link to the endword “scene.” (Acrosticist’s Tip: ALWAYS start with the endwords, if you want your poem to rhyme AND scan AND make sense!!)

And then I looked at my drawing again, and I saw that I could make bowl, spoons and bone a literal manifestation of an “owlish outlook.” BOOM, I was in Surrealsville, where dwell Auguste Redon and Sal Dali and Tanguy and other guys and gals. And I’ve had years of sculpting birds of chimerical DNA. So, to use a wretched pun involving a letter of the Greek alphabet, a Chi-Miracle occurred, and suddenly the bowl/nest was nested in the eye socket of an improbable owl. I made the other eye a teakettle to preserve kitchenality.

Weird? YES, WEIRD.  I’ve laid the foundation for Weirdness in my first paragraph: LIFE IS WEIRD. And Art sometimes demands creation beyond the initial notion of the artist.  Here we see what happens when we let Art call the shots.

bowl/nest

bone & spoons & mindset clean
owlish outlook makes the scene
when the Elements amass
link your arms & hold on fast

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Last post I said I would explain, so here goes. “Time running out” refers to employment-as-I-know-it. Late last week two managers kindly took me aside for a look at the handwriting on the wall, which says that they will require more hours from me in December than I am permitted to work and still keep my income under the ceiling imposed by the Social Security Administration. Upon the advice of one of the managers I have written an e-mail to Human Resources explaining the situation and outlining what I saw as my possible options. I courtesy-copied the e-mail to the two managers, and one of them was complimentary. I have not yet had a response from Human Resources.

A change in employment, I have read, is one of the ten most stressful life-events there is. So “the spoon reveals,” and continues to reveal, my reflection with its anxiety and uncertainty.

I will finish the drawing after I receive word from HR. One way or another, I expect to see relief on the final face.

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Anyone heard of Trail Mix? Sure you have!

Anyone heard of Tom Mix? No? Well, he was a movie cowboy. He pre-dated, and paved the way for, John Wayne. There’s a book called TOM MIX DIED FOR YOUR SINS. When Robert Bloch, author of PSYCHO, was asked by Philip Jose Farmer if he’d read the book, he replied, “No, and I haven’t read JESUS CHRIST AT THE 101 RANCH either.” This not only made Phil laugh, it inspired some writing of his, including some in his world-famous RIVERWORLD series.

Anyone following my blog knows that I have a spoon fetish. Sorry!

Anyone heard of the MX Missile? No! We haven’t! Or we don’t want to! “MX whistles” are OK, though.

Here are the words to this double-double-quadruple super-duper Acrostic:

Tried a contrail’s atmospherics
Rode a comet’s utmost deep
Asteroids are poised to go
Is SPACE full of foistings? NO
Launching MX whistles–fun

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Every night I work I fish out one of the beautifully round-bowled spoons from the silverware tray and take it to the desk. There is something about its shape and its reflectivity that just grabs me. Last night I did this drawing, posing the spoon over and over again over the crossword puzzle grids I’d drawn and filled in earlier, and then I put the spoon, though still clean, into the dishwater tub by one of the industrial-strength garbage disposals.

Over thirty years ago I did a 24″ x 30″ drawing with the remains of several chicken dinners variously posed, and I called it “Bone Symphony.” It now hangs in our dining room, thus:

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So this decades-later, much-simpler drawing of mine is “Spoon Sonata with Crossword Counterpoint.” I got lucky with the alliteration. [smiles]

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This one is crying to be made into a painting ten feet high. Alas, it would need to be photoreal, and none of that Giclée stuff either; that’d be cheating. If fifty grand fell out of the sky into my lap I’d quit my job and spend a year on the project. That’s unlikely to happen, since when I sit outside I’m usually at a picnic table, and if the shade tree didn’t stop the 50 Gs in its tracks, the top of the table would. But it is a nice dream.

This brings up the subject of Patronage and Grants. In his landmark novel Stranger In a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein had his Wise Old Owl character Jubal Harshaw yell, “A government-supported artist is an incompetent whore!” I read Stranger more than forty years ago, when I was wet behind the ears and impressionable, but I shouldn’t have taken RAH’s word for it; after all, both Leonardo and Michelangelo enjoyed the patronage of Lorenzo “Il Magnifico” de’ Medici, and if he wasn’t The Government, who was? (Pope Julius? Well, yeah, but “in addition to” not “instead of.”)

So far the only people to buy my artworks or otherwise give me money to create have been private parties. But I did apply for a grant once, so this is no sanctimonious testimonial. And my hero Kurt Vonnegut wrote Slaughterhouse-Five “on Guggenheim money (God love it).”

As for the image, and why the tenors and the eggs and the lock, and why the Spoon is All-Important, not to mention the torn envelope, which wasn’t mentioned, I’m of the opinion that the story the viewer creates of this concatenation stands a good chance of being better than the story I would tell about it.

Support the Arts, folks!

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I keep trying and missing with Spoon-capture. A spoon can be a wonderfully reflective surface, or it can be a real mud-dog, depending on a lot of drawing choices. Before the year is over, though, I think I’ll have a good one.

Here are the words, followed by a couple more spoon studies.

Sacred to our folklore is the sacrificial lamb
Poisonous the notion lives are set upon a trammel
Overlooked the making active use of déjà vu
One must wonder what we’d change to make it non-ensue
Never going backwards means that everything is news

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