Doing a little yoga. The rain has stopped.

Re-thinking the whole haptic drawing thing. Or rather, returning to the initial concept, which was, for me, drawing as meditation. Just staying with the line, and with whatever moves it along.  Today, that was Brian Eno’s “Thursday Afternoon.” Using my favorite tool, a faulty felt-tip brush pen. Faulty, because a little old, so you can’t predict how it will work. So I just stayed with it. “Thursday afternoon” wanders, and sometimes disappears. You have to listen with full attention. What emerged was a kind of tentative maze that I followed and followed. And I thought of the two (real) mazes I’ve walked in life: one at the Episcopal church on Russian Hill in San Francisco, and the other at Earthbound Farm in Carmel Valley. Drawing like this releases one from the economic pressures, the matrix within which most of my projects–whether editing, painting, or academic tutoring (my part-time job)–exist.

I’m still working on promoting my editing site.

And will soon put up a call for submissions on Local Nomad.

Now, work.

Then . . .





Water soluble oils over acrylic, on canvas. 20 x 16.” Work in progress, or maybe just done.  Very tempted to title this “The Flowery Land” after the 1864 mutiny of a British ship by a variety of crew members including Manilla men, of whom seven were later executed in London. Catching a few minutes painting before heading to the cafe to do some freelance editing…

In the open air

Monterey Bay Aquarium. Eco-tourism. Plein air painting. Consumption. Reading Stephanie Rutherford’s “Governing the Wild: Ecotours of Power,” among other things.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I really hate  en plein air painting” (and I seem to live in the plein air capital of the U.S.). Seems silly or mean to think negatively about something so pretty & pleasing to the eye, so innocent. I feel like it had something to say in 1850. But now it just seems irrelevant, and yet Monterey art galleries keep plugging it, and plugging it for the eco-tourists. It’s redundant, like a plague word. One can go on and on about the beauties of nature, and completely miss the destructive forces pulling the rug (grass?) out from under you. Really, Monterey: is that all you’ve got?


Looking at / listening to…

Looking/Reading Stephen Vincent’s Haptics: A Novel, pub. Xerolage.
Listening to and looking at Kitundu’s objects/art/sounds

Assembling: the jigsaw puzzle of a research essay. For this, I am reading (among other things):
* News for all the People: The Epic Story of Race in the American Media (Gonzalez & Torres)
* Floating Lives: The Media and Asian Diaspora, Cunningham & Sinclair.
Doing the laundry

The Grey of the Night Suddenly Appears

paul-klee_Zentrum When I was a teenager, first getting interested in art, I was fascinated with Paul Klee’s work. I think it’s because I saw color differently then, and his colors were always saturated, and he often juxtaposed blocks of color so that even greys might seem vibrant. His paintings have a childlike sense of wonder and freedom of line. This is a photo of Klee that I’d never seen before; he looks so different from the monkish looking fellow of his later photographs.

Du gris de la nuit surgit soudain “Du gris de la nuit surgit soudain” (left)

“Carnival in the Mountains” (below)