ART BEE

Snap

2011-04-27T03:59:00.009+12:00

Word Rodeo 1977 napo b

2011-01-30T08:04:00.005+13:00

Word Rodeo 1977 napo b

Dehydrated could mean several contour designed criteria’s, more or less temporal patients as outlets in temporary outhouses facing the bottom of humankind. Whole intellectuals de-boning the armature of capital… we’re all de-boning the world… debonair de-boners. Needless and said these negative pulsations invade the meaning of magic and the scintillation of words… parodist purposefully draw needless yields from a singular perspective… and focus spectator plasma on the a mindless sit-in in time….welcome to the time digs… a sit in is watching television a movie a play, sitting inside a conceptual story space

On the whole world is a stage mysterious trousers degrading human life … creating steps … blowing in the wind…. from the murky depths of coffee rises the crimes of mankind…. free will and practicing stupidity…. not enough stupid people cry the hungry single cell parasites… Tell a vision archives … circa 1986 big dump site found at the end of the rainbow… meanwhile… the food chain snapped today… little dipper flipped halfway across the milky way….. to dump or not to dump… sex dump… diaper dump…memory dump.. we want it all we want all you can hand out… Hi can you give me a few moments of your time I wrote this piece and I feel it would do well in your publication…

Angst dunk. Don’t knuckle under… tow outside pressure… it’s the inside pressure that you have to worry about… What I need is better pictures to go with these word pillows…. one image could replace a thousand word pillows…. word pillows being devoured by A trillion tiny jaws and claws of dna… the spider in the gene pool’s filtering system… with emotional climate.. each basic polarity either being a cognitive structure versus a glandular convention… the social stomach of creatures in crisis… in the word rodeo.

drawing above: "Talking the fish down from the cooling towers" 1977 napob

Ants Invade Queen West in 2011

2011-01-05T06:31:00.004+13:00

Some of the most anticipated 2011 shows highlight Toronto talent. Leading the
local-pride parade is MOCCA’s This is Paradise, a tribute to the Queen West and Cameron House scenes opening June 23.

I have plans to expand the current location of the Ten Ants on the Cameron House at 408 Queen West, and begin their march westward along building facades and other points of interest towards the MOCCA where a new cluster of Ten Ants will reside for the summer.

Read more: http://news.nationalpost.com/2010/12/29/at-the-galleries-what-to-look-for-in-2011/#ixzz1A5ZyWI2T

Man Ray

2010-09-29T16:49:00.001+13:00

As I always have maintained "Death makes room for Beauty", and that is the ultimate goal of the artists to dissolve the old to make room for the new.

Art Fart Rant circa 2006

2010-02-23T16:15:00.008+13:00

Just beyond the turnpike of destiny, a sleeping artist waits. Contemporary Art crumbling quicker than a filo dough pastry. Valueless guts as a visual system of aesthetics, these are a few of my favorite things.

Reverse media coverage with no context extensions to debrief us on noticeable artistic secretions.

Land of a thousand trillion pictures circa, somewhere else. Loading brief laugh rafts with metaphors and ironic anchors. Tragic Magic and the Fugue state of one human journey. Searching for soluble cultural tinctures to lessen interpretive endgames. Contemplating, historical necessity, states of decay, ideas of materialism, possibilities of ourstory, solid keys for transformation, fluid affiliations and molecular bonding, process trampolines to fame.

I was releasing painted destinies on the ground floor of culture, dancing to the sweet nectar of unassuming dream mixes. Just beyond the turnpike of destiny these are a few of my favorite things.

Drawing featured: "FART" 1986 napob

2010-01-07T03:33:00.003+13:00

One eye has been awoken, the other contemplates revenge.. and the diamond reflection has him in the crab net. Planning a painting of Berlusconi's Reflective Moment.

Fideles Morales

2009-05-14T06:58:00.005+12:00

FIFI INFERNO, ITALIA CIRCA 1987

The paint continues to flow threw the proper channels.

In Egyptian hieroglyphic form de-marking a new paradigm, or a hidden aspect that has recently emerged into the light in full form. Alive and well, formed by the Dionysian fires of desire and power, unfolding yet paused before the ascending moon.

Art Pyre

2009-03-07T14:26:00.019+13:00

"Bracing Myself Between 2 Points"

performance outside Bank of Montreal 1971.
Protesting the late payment of my student loan, how is an artist suppose to bridge the gap,looks like artist in a hurricane of his own making.

Though I spent allot of time in art school,

I never learned to paint till much later.

Coming from a large family, most of my time was helping around the house or helping my dad with his extra jobs. In my first year of art classes I had been banished to the basement because I had started painting in my room and my dad didn't want me destroying the floors with paint. For the first year I slept next to a roaring furnace but finally I was able to scrounge some materials and build myself a small room in one corner of the basement. I shared the room with an large five hundred gallon oil tank. When I started painting, the smell of the heating oil was less prevalent.

I sold a bunch of world war II memorabilia to buy my first acrylic paint set, I remember getting a canvas and within ten minutes I had completely used every drop of paint and had one big ugly mess on my hands. After that I decided to use house paint until I got to the point I could create work without destroying valuable art materials. In that room over a period of three years I produce well over four hundred paintings.

I use to come home from school, do homework, help with diner, do the dishes, go off and clean offices with my dad, come home around ten pm then I would go down to the basement and paint till six am and sleep till eight am then go to school. That was my routine, in the summer I would get some kind of job and still have to do the office cleaning in the evening with my dad. With some of the money I would buy art materials, but I started using my bed sheets and blankets as canvas, so for the last year of high school I never let my mom into my room. I also would go to fabric stores and buy suit lining to paint on.

When I went to art college, I left all my paintings stacked in the basement. After a month of lectures and a whole new outlook on art in general I decided I had to let go of my past work and move on. So, one night I called my dad and told him to dig a big hole in the yard and burn all the work. Two weeks went by and I realized that maybe I had been to hasty with my incineration project so I got on a bus from Toronto and went home to Ottawa to see if I could save the work. When I got home my dad was in a cheery mood and took me out into the yard to show me a large coffin sized depression by the fence. He had dug a huge hole and had burnt every one of the four hundred pieces. At the time I felt purged, and until the late nineties I continued having art destruction moments.

circa 1971

Where is Norman?

2009-03-07T04:54:00.004+13:00

In an artists journey there are moments of outside influence that make us go that extra distance. Though I do believe art is a virus, there are individuals that occasionally come along to lift you to the next awakening or realization.

I remember when I was bitten by the bug but what I remember as the cross over moment was in grade ten art class. It was a small narrow room, where Norman Chiklowsi ruled. When drawing from a still life or model, he had us use ball point pens so we could look at our errors and ugly attempts to draw. "No erasers in my class", he would shout, but during that year he taught us all the basics of making anything artistic.

Somewhere in my upside down logic I decided to go visit him at his apartment to talk to him about art. I had found his address and arrived unannounced at his Sandringham Drive address in Ottawa, there was a doorman and he had to call up to let me in. The tirade I got over the intercom from him scared me, I walked away worried about what the next day in class would bring.
As I stood a few feet away from the front door to gather myself, I heard his voice behind me. He apologized and explained to me that students don't drop in on teachers at there home uninvited, he then invited me to come in for a brief visit.
His apartment was bare, with hardly any furniture in it and everywhere where canvases, all painted in the same style. The colour was dense and dark, the subject matter typically what art looks like, most of the time, but the technique was puzzling. For Norman it was about this new technique he had discovered while mixing different mediums, something that today I understand and can reproduce easily.

In school Norman gave me allot of room to experiment in class and was always extremely critical of my work and efforts to create. I did track him down years later, after I had graduated from art school. I called him up, again he was annoyed at first then he asked how I was doing, where I was showing my work. But in his abrupt manner the call ended with a "Well, don't starve and keep painting, Ya good luck".

circa 1967

Painters Prayer

2009-01-29T09:42:00.004+13:00

Thank you Great Spirit and forgive us our thin Vermeer's
for Heartbreak is our hotel and civilization our highway.
Packaging be our doctrine,
the earth our keychain, our hearts your house.....
Since our humorous crawl from the ocean aeons ago,
May this unique sequence of images affirm
our childlike unimportant explorations
as described in the final terms of our contract.
We make it, you sort it in your
disparity between desire and transcendence.

Damn the brushes, bring on the air cannons.

circa 1984