Friday, October 5, 2012

Song for the painter

Three days ago I almost died.

I was downtown, leaving the gallery where I have my work. Kibbee sits on a quiet residential street that’s lined with cars. As my car was rolling I decided to call my sister for one of our evening chats. There was no one behind me, so I merely slowed my car to a stop to look down and press the “call log” button on my phone. After pushing call, I accelerated again and continued down the street. The whole action took less than a second.

I was speaking to my sister as I came to the four way stop. I took a right and headed toward the road to get on the interstate. Because I went through a stop sign I was still accelerating as the light for me to turn changed to green. Had I been driving full speed, had I not spent one second to push a button on my phone, I would have been in that intersection as a white Dodge Ram ran a red light doing seventy.

One second.

Three days ago, on that same day, some one I knew and respected very much did die. Long time Atlanta curator John Otte was killed in a bicycle accident in New Orleans. This is surreal to me. This is a shocking death.

I met John only very briefly, visited only one of his brilliant art shows. In that short time, I could see that John was a warm and loving person who exuded enthusiasm about life and art, and lived an artist’s life: one that was full of beauty and meaning and, for him, camaraderie.

I was so fortunate to meet this man. I was so lucky that we bumped into each other, and that he invited me to the art show that he had curated and was in town for. I’m so glad I went. 

I learned a lot from John Otte, respected him immensely, and my life only barely brushed with his. I can only imagine the multitudes of people who are grieving over the news of his death. I know there are many.

The world of art can be as muddled and confused as any other aspect of this oh-so-fragile lifetime, and his was a singular vision that was crystal clear and gorgeous.

Our lives hang in such precarious balance.

One second’s difference for me and I live. One second’s difference for him, and the world has gone a little more dark.


Monday, October 1, 2012

Mermaid, ballpoint pen
Just a little doodle. I've always suspected that the "doodles" that take place while I'm talking on the phone or just sitting around come from a different place in my consciousness than the more controlled, careful drawings and paintings of the work I show. I think they tend to leak a little more insight into whats going on with my subconscious than do the planned images- although- that may not apply with this little person. I just like doing the simple face and placing it in all manner of situations.  
Kelley's Island. Buffalo New York is on the other side of the water.
Ever seen this happen in the sky before? I haven't. This isn't Photoshopped in any way. I took it at dusk. in Ohio.