Monday, January 17, 2011
King: sharpie on heavy weight paper, unfinished 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
When the powers that be erupt in a glorious display of emotions I will know that we have arrived. But let’s face it; it’s going to be a while before that happens. In the meantime let’s explore and see what we can find for ourselves. In terms of solutions to universal questions just forget it. The real truth to unanswered questions often lies a few feet from where we are looking and often we are stepping on the answer with our clumsy feet of intuition. The answer is never buried but exposed. The truth is real not false. The fact is usually a self-inflicted lie to numb the area of pain. It’s soothing relief inching its way up our spine as we succumb to the silent seduction of internal denials. Lies are an amazing anesthetic. Unfortunately like a well-deserved epidural for a birthing mother, all good things must come to an end. And we welcome back the pain with an explosion of confetti at the parade of fools. Waving the hand with a waxy smile pretending we hold the reins of control for the sake of others. Wave my friend and I will wave back. Let us find our way through the streets of life and always be cordial to one another, not as genuine souls but as plastic personalities dripping of lead based paints. Embrace me and I shall do the same, and when all else fails there is always the wisdom granted to the elderly. If we make it that far we at least have this to forward to. Please pass the syringe. I need a dose.
Art piece titled Mr. Jones: pen and color pencil on legal pad. Completed during a a juicy lecture from some noble being . I'm sure of it.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
As I walked away that day I felt a sense of relief. Little did I know this would only begin the painful process of acceptance. Process and acceptance both being independent of predictable time and space and completely out of my control.
This morning I had a flash memory of Kyal as I scraped the grounds from the edge of the coffee maker, not knowing why, I began thinking about a road trip we took into Montana when we were 18. We stayed in a sleazy motel in a small town near Bozeman. As we arrived at the hotel we were graciously greeted by a large Native American man wearing a complete western cowboy outfit. We asked him about the obviously run down motel and dismal town, he pulled his trench coat open like a well-rehearsed Central Park flasher and showed us a large gun tucked into his pants. “You fellas don’t have anything to worry about around here.” he said. Unfortunately we missed the safety message he was trying to convey in his “welcome to Montana boys”. I got very little sleep that night thanks to the couple next door who obviously loved each other very much. The following day Kyal feverishly scratched lottery tickets that were not yet available in Idaho. He complained of the noise from the previous night and we laughed about the giant cowboy with the with a gun.
Good times are easy to remember. Good thoughts are easy to access. Sad stories are difficult to tell and loss is never really loss since it sticks so stubbornly to one’s mental hooks. The story of Kyal is a sad one. It is a story of a man who died at the hands of a schizophrenic step brother whom he deeply loved. The brutal nature of his death made it very difficult for many of us to cope, especially his wife and kids. The years have passed by so fast yet the memories stay firmly in place for me to pick through. So I have picked through the rubble to bring a vision of Kyal to 140 weight paper in the form of sharpie and marker. Here you go my friend. You will never be forgotten.