Monday 2 February 2009

Engaging and with Grace.
We've figured it all out for you. come out with questions.

Youngblood Artist Talk
Mandie Turner Mitchell
Maxwell Sebastian
Jeff Dahlgren
Jenny Levine
Young Blood Gallery
Saturday July 1st 8pm

so u c...never happened did it? huh ya punk bitch? huh?
the cowardice of eggtooth prevails......(8/15/06)
im still the monster at the end of this book. loveable furry old me.
flannery o connor reading...jesus wept. somebody cut my head off. with a broken ostrich eggshell. i can barely read much less comprehend
PARIAH...NERD. tactless bufoon.
artnews barometric pressure transparently dependant on others feelings. im such a thin film of spit.
i guess im back.

you either are or you aren't. is there a middle ground? is there time left for judgement?

this shade, this haze that is a shifting fun techno wobble cloud of forms and figures with eyes like knives. my peers. strangers. people with an agenda. people-love on a fundamental level. But as individuals..what does patience mean? with who? relative to what? who am i to judge? I'm me. so why half step it. Does using some sort of ethical tactical open friendly manner exist, allowing others to's layers and out for that fresh pile of poop there, buddy.
whats the goal artist? exposure? of what? why?to what end? sales? does the front end of your brain twitch only for something...something that has long since presumed all the "deep stuff" is included. is this so elementary of me?
Ladies and gentlemen, watch as i chew the ends of my fingers off worrying about anyone else but myself.

I met a dog named Peanut. and he was the nicest living creature i'd met in a couple weeks. He seems like he's a happy dog.a nice dog.He was once a strange puppy painter, or so he claimed..all covered in his palette. His name is ...I've already forgotten. He's an artist. and he just smiles at everything. i know he's not my friend, i barely even know him, but he sure is cute sometimes.he pushes his nose against mine and looks me in the eyes. Ears like radars, bouncing with his trot, collecting data.
Sometimes there's this space. a skull with the inside walls black, an expansive open space. with roads, littered with shadows, people that i have to wonder if are real or not. They speak to me. I have even held their hands. I've lied to them, prepared parts of sentences in my head for them..even while they speak. I'm so rude.

of course they matter. in certain sectors, continuity and expectations can be fulfilled. yr safe there. no surprises.lifestyles and perceptions of what is right. watching it move somebody or something's mouth . and the by product. a living human being that you can talk to and hang out with. share a moment with.
Art. or loss.
should i show what i do anymore...go into hiding with it? is there such thing as "ready"? or a point? that's kind of the beauty of it, so heck yes show it. i say include everything. automotive mechanics subverts wantons...all of em. ever gotten mud out of mixing yr palette? welcome to america. land of no figure or ground. loss of contrast. we're so thoughtful of everyone, so much that that no one exists. here's a dollar. shut up.
what do i want? oh....that.
im thinking it's my youth back, and a palm tree and a large body of water.
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