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Sunday, January 31, 2010
Morning Walk
Here's a video from a morning walk. In the morning the air is clear and everything is quiet and there is no one around. Just the quiet sounds of the waves rolling up to the snow.
Graton Gallery
I'm currently showing paintings at the Graton Gallery located just outside of Sebastopol, California. The exhibition is showcasing several well known artists from the Northern California area. The work is outstanding and I'm happy to be surrounded by quality.
Come check it out.
http://gratongallery.com/
Come check it out.
http://gratongallery.com/
Friday, January 15, 2010
Here's a sad story
Towards the end of Michelangelo;s life he was found one day to be tossing old sketches into the fire. He knew that he was going to be remembered into posterity and he didn't want work that he thought wasn't quite up to par.
What's annoying is that his below average pieces are still mind blowing and we all could have learned so much from those works. Sometimes when a painting is ''too good' it's hard to comprehend how the artist did it. If you take a painting that isn't mind blowing is easier to understand how it's done. And replicate the idea if need be.
What's annoying is that his below average pieces are still mind blowing and we all could have learned so much from those works. Sometimes when a painting is ''too good' it's hard to comprehend how the artist did it. If you take a painting that isn't mind blowing is easier to understand how it's done. And replicate the idea if need be.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Purpose
This is not the first blog I've set up. While travelling through India, I set up a blog to tell about the stories that happened. The main motivation was to fill in my friends and family. I knew they would appreciate it, but I've never been one to talk about my adventures all that much. I've already lived through the story of my life, I don't feel the need to tell everyone else how cool my life is. Besides, there are enough people out there with an incorrect assumption about their own personal importance.
Telling stories reminds me of being in high school. I remember several times where something funny would happen to me, and I just couldn't wait to tell someone at work about my crazy day. Then when I get into work I tell the story once and I'm done telling it. Even if I didn't like the person I told it to and I really meant to tell someone else, I would hardly ever retell the tale.
Another time I was telling some people about this ridiculous accident I had on Tioga Pass Road. There was this boulder that almost crushed my car and could have sent me over the cliff. So I was telling the story and getting into all the details and the excitement. Afterwards another guy came up and wanted to know what happened. I said, 'A rock almost hit my car.' He said, 'I don't believe you.' I said, 'ok. That's nice.'
I think my aversion to repeated story telling has to do with hanging around drunks. A repeating drunk who drones on and on about something he just talked about five minutes ago really irks me. Just like when someone is retelling me something, I get annoyed. 'Why are you telling me this again? Obviously what you're telling me isn't important enough for you to remember you told it to me in the first place. So why should I remember it or have to listen to it twice?'
Regardless this blog scene is interesting. It's a possible source of new clients and new patronage, which is always good. And technically the story is only told once, but it's out there forever. It's permanent. My opinions and ideas change all the time and to have people quoting my blog saying 'well back in '08 you said you liked Gummi Bears, but now you say you don't eat 'em. What's up?'
I'll tell you what's up.... if you're going to spend time on the internet, you might as well read this, but if truth be known, I'd rather have you not reading this and doing something more productive.
That being said, since you already are here, why not read some more.
Telling stories reminds me of being in high school. I remember several times where something funny would happen to me, and I just couldn't wait to tell someone at work about my crazy day. Then when I get into work I tell the story once and I'm done telling it. Even if I didn't like the person I told it to and I really meant to tell someone else, I would hardly ever retell the tale.
Another time I was telling some people about this ridiculous accident I had on Tioga Pass Road. There was this boulder that almost crushed my car and could have sent me over the cliff. So I was telling the story and getting into all the details and the excitement. Afterwards another guy came up and wanted to know what happened. I said, 'A rock almost hit my car.' He said, 'I don't believe you.' I said, 'ok. That's nice.'
I think my aversion to repeated story telling has to do with hanging around drunks. A repeating drunk who drones on and on about something he just talked about five minutes ago really irks me. Just like when someone is retelling me something, I get annoyed. 'Why are you telling me this again? Obviously what you're telling me isn't important enough for you to remember you told it to me in the first place. So why should I remember it or have to listen to it twice?'
Regardless this blog scene is interesting. It's a possible source of new clients and new patronage, which is always good. And technically the story is only told once, but it's out there forever. It's permanent. My opinions and ideas change all the time and to have people quoting my blog saying 'well back in '08 you said you liked Gummi Bears, but now you say you don't eat 'em. What's up?'
I'll tell you what's up.... if you're going to spend time on the internet, you might as well read this, but if truth be known, I'd rather have you not reading this and doing something more productive.
That being said, since you already are here, why not read some more.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Mugging
Original story written in 2/05
_________________________________
So I'm sitting in my room painting. Things are going well, although I'm a little hungry. After a few hours I need a stretch so I stand up to get a drink and to look outside my window.
That act in itself is unusual because of two reasons. One, I don't really drink much during the day and secondly, I normally have my curtains drawn in the evening. Let me rephrase that, I ALWAYS have my curtains drawn in the evening. The only reason tonight was any different was because I'm working on a painting of the room itself and the painting looked nicer if the curtains were open. That's sort of a crazy coincidence that might have saved someone from some serious harm.
So I look outside and see that some people are in my driveway. At first I didn't understand what was going on, but then I realized some people were fighting. Initially I thought it was just some punks messing with each other, but one of these kids hit the other one in such a vicious manner that I knew something was up.
I head downstairs and turn the lights in the kitchen on and try to open the backdoor. I don't have a key and this is one of those old school houses that needs a key to go in or out. I look out the window again, and I see that no one is there anymore, but there was a bag and a big pile of some stuff laying on the ground.
I was pretty sure that it wasn't a person laying on the ground, but it was still like deja vu. You see, A few years back I was hiking and I saw a what looked to be just a pile of stuff and it turned out to be a person who had fallen off a cliff. Needless to say, whenever I see a pile of stuff that looks like it might be a person, I usually check.
That was the initial motivation to make me go outside, but there was also an alterior motive. As I looked at that pile of stuff I realized that I was actually nervous to go outside of my house. Instantly that pissed me off. I said 'Screw that,' and immediately headed out the door. I never ever want to be afraid to leave my house.
As I head out into the night, everything is silent. There seems to be no one around, but you can never be too sure. Especially after witnessing someone getting jumped. The lights being turned on probably scared the punks away. I arrive at the pile and was very relieved to see that it's just a jacket and a bag and some chinese food, not a collasped person like I might have imagined.
After bringing the stuff inside I start to root through the bag looking for some clues as to who the owner is. I was hoping for a phone number to try to get in touch with the guy. Half way through I realize that the odds of someone having their own phone number in their own bag were pretty slim. Fortunately I did find some mail, so I knew I could return his stuff eventually. In his wallet, which was devoid of money I find a credit card with the guys name on it, James Burch.
Eventually I head back to my studio and get back into my painting when the hunger pangs start again. There's only one thought in my head. Obviously the chinese food was a gift from the heavens. It was even warm. So as I'm getting ready to eat the food, I realize that I can't eat this. This guy could be sitting at home right now all pissed off, the least I could do is bring him back his food. So I pack up his belongings and head out the door to his house which is right down the street. I get to the house and of course he doesn't live there anymore. He apparently moved into another house down the block.
While I'm over at James Burchs' old house, my current landlord calls, who also happens to be Jim's landlord too, he tells me that Jim is in the hospital and that I should just leave his stuff in my house and he'll come pick it up. This was good news and bad news. It was bad because I was worried about this Jim character. He must have gotten a wallup. I did see him get kicked in the face and that really bothered me, because the other guys doing the hitting looked like they were having fun. I hate seeing violence portrayed as a fun activity.
But on the other hand it was good news because it meant that I could eat the chinese food. Which I did and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was expecting chicken, but it was this weird rubbery meat. I'm assuming it was pork. It tasted fine, but when I bit into it and expected a certain feel, this rubbery texture caught me by suprise.
It's not too long before the cops show up. They're walking around the neighborhood flashing lights everywhere. I wander outside since I assumed they wanted to talk to me and see what went down. It's around midnight and I'm wandering around outside talking on my cellphone. A cop sees me and I say, 'Hey, you all here for the incident?' He is immediately suspicious and I tell him if he wants to ask me something I'll be inside.
_________________________________
So I'm sitting in my room painting. Things are going well, although I'm a little hungry. After a few hours I need a stretch so I stand up to get a drink and to look outside my window.
That act in itself is unusual because of two reasons. One, I don't really drink much during the day and secondly, I normally have my curtains drawn in the evening. Let me rephrase that, I ALWAYS have my curtains drawn in the evening. The only reason tonight was any different was because I'm working on a painting of the room itself and the painting looked nicer if the curtains were open. That's sort of a crazy coincidence that might have saved someone from some serious harm.
So I look outside and see that some people are in my driveway. At first I didn't understand what was going on, but then I realized some people were fighting. Initially I thought it was just some punks messing with each other, but one of these kids hit the other one in such a vicious manner that I knew something was up.
I head downstairs and turn the lights in the kitchen on and try to open the backdoor. I don't have a key and this is one of those old school houses that needs a key to go in or out. I look out the window again, and I see that no one is there anymore, but there was a bag and a big pile of some stuff laying on the ground.
I was pretty sure that it wasn't a person laying on the ground, but it was still like deja vu. You see, A few years back I was hiking and I saw a what looked to be just a pile of stuff and it turned out to be a person who had fallen off a cliff. Needless to say, whenever I see a pile of stuff that looks like it might be a person, I usually check.
That was the initial motivation to make me go outside, but there was also an alterior motive. As I looked at that pile of stuff I realized that I was actually nervous to go outside of my house. Instantly that pissed me off. I said 'Screw that,' and immediately headed out the door. I never ever want to be afraid to leave my house.
As I head out into the night, everything is silent. There seems to be no one around, but you can never be too sure. Especially after witnessing someone getting jumped. The lights being turned on probably scared the punks away. I arrive at the pile and was very relieved to see that it's just a jacket and a bag and some chinese food, not a collasped person like I might have imagined.
After bringing the stuff inside I start to root through the bag looking for some clues as to who the owner is. I was hoping for a phone number to try to get in touch with the guy. Half way through I realize that the odds of someone having their own phone number in their own bag were pretty slim. Fortunately I did find some mail, so I knew I could return his stuff eventually. In his wallet, which was devoid of money I find a credit card with the guys name on it, James Burch.
Eventually I head back to my studio and get back into my painting when the hunger pangs start again. There's only one thought in my head. Obviously the chinese food was a gift from the heavens. It was even warm. So as I'm getting ready to eat the food, I realize that I can't eat this. This guy could be sitting at home right now all pissed off, the least I could do is bring him back his food. So I pack up his belongings and head out the door to his house which is right down the street. I get to the house and of course he doesn't live there anymore. He apparently moved into another house down the block.
While I'm over at James Burchs' old house, my current landlord calls, who also happens to be Jim's landlord too, he tells me that Jim is in the hospital and that I should just leave his stuff in my house and he'll come pick it up. This was good news and bad news. It was bad because I was worried about this Jim character. He must have gotten a wallup. I did see him get kicked in the face and that really bothered me, because the other guys doing the hitting looked like they were having fun. I hate seeing violence portrayed as a fun activity.
But on the other hand it was good news because it meant that I could eat the chinese food. Which I did and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was expecting chicken, but it was this weird rubbery meat. I'm assuming it was pork. It tasted fine, but when I bit into it and expected a certain feel, this rubbery texture caught me by suprise.
It's not too long before the cops show up. They're walking around the neighborhood flashing lights everywhere. I wander outside since I assumed they wanted to talk to me and see what went down. It's around midnight and I'm wandering around outside talking on my cellphone. A cop sees me and I say, 'Hey, you all here for the incident?' He is immediately suspicious and I tell him if he wants to ask me something I'll be inside.
A Russian Flood
Original story written in 2004.
_________________________________
ok.
here I am.
In Russia.
And I just made a major fuck up. It's still a little too close to the event for me to laugh about it. In a few weeks/months maybe this will be funny, but right now I'm all annoyed, my stomach is tight and I can't sleep. Every noise is someone from the hotel coming to my door to tell me the situation is horrible and getting worse.
It was a late evening and I was doing some work in my hotel room. I aws having some issues with my computer and I figured I'd take a break and just start a bath. So I start the water and get back to trying to figure out this computers' problem. Pretty soon, I'm all wrapped up in the issue and trying to figure it all out. Then I hear the sound of the bath and I remember I left the water on.
I run into the bathroom to check it out. The water is flowing full force out the faucet. I turn it off and survey the damage. It's pretty bad. So I resign to my fate and I start sopping it up with the few measley towels I have. Then I see that the puddle, or should I say river, flows out the door way. I didn't want that to happen. And of course it's my computer's fault cause it's such a piece of wothless technology.
I open the door and take a peek outside. It's worse then I expected. The river flows down the hall and has created lakes in the middle of the hallway. After seeing this, I get really really freaked out. So I quickly go out into the hallway and start sopping up that mess. My first thought is, 'well I'll just clean this up before anyone notices.' Wrong.
In the middle, or in the beginning actually since this was a rather long drawn out process and it's probably still going on now. Along comes a Russian hotel guard chatting on his CB. Obviously I have no idea what he's saying exactly, but I can pretty much guess the overall meaning of the conversation. 'Yeah, we got a big mess up here, there's a stupid american out here with a soggy towel on his hands and knees making his meager attempt at saving face, but I caught him in the act.'
So now there's me and a security guard. This guard is a young guy and although I don't know what he's saying, I feel as though he's on my side. He makes some body language and a smile that says, 'it's cool.' Then along comes another guard. They're chatting about me and talking on their CB's. I figure I'll just keep cleaning up. The nice guard hangs out while the other one leaves, only to be replaced by the hotel manager lady and an older gentelman.
The hotel manager lady is like all hotel manager ladies. Even in Russia the stereotypes for most jobs hold true. Although this one was nicer then the average hotel manager. She spoke some decent english and I told her what happened.
So I lie and say I was on the phone and I forgot about the tub. She repeats this nonsense to the other Russians and all I hear is, 'blah blah blah telephono blah blah blah' She says that they'll have to call the electrical man to see if the room is alright. Meanwhile, a maid shows up, another guard shows up, and everyone is chatting in Russian. I'm just standing there like a moron, wishing I could be somewhere else.
I don't say anything, but I think that maybe some more towels would be helpful. The manager lady tells me that they'll go and get the vaccuum cleaner and that the maid will clean it up. She says they'll have to check on the other floors to make sure there are no other problems or leaks. If there are, this will be bad for me. Those were her exact words.
I ask her how to say sorry in Russian and she says 'invinite' and I repeat that and the nice guard chuckles a bit. The manager tells me to be more careful and the maid says something in Russian which can probably be translated into, 'ya dumb fuck I don't care if you're sorry or not. It's 12 o'clock at night and I'm up here vaccuuming up your mess!'
I tell the manager lady to tell the maid lady to not vaccuum it up. It's my fault, I'll do the clean up. I was hoping to have it all done before you got here anyway. She says, no the maid will do it and then she leaves. So it's just the nice guy, the annoyed maid and I.
I figure I might as well continue to sop up the mess, just to show some initiative and to make it look like I'm at least trying. Which I really was. Then the electrical man comes along, just looks around and leaves. Then the vaccuum system gets turned on and the maid starts vaccuuming up the mess while I'm working around here trying to sop up stuff with my soggy towell.
The vaccuuming is done and she heads off. The nice guy leaves too. And it's just me, the remnents of my disaster and my crappy feeling which hasn't gone away and that's why I'm writing this.
_________________________________
ok.
here I am.
In Russia.
And I just made a major fuck up. It's still a little too close to the event for me to laugh about it. In a few weeks/months maybe this will be funny, but right now I'm all annoyed, my stomach is tight and I can't sleep. Every noise is someone from the hotel coming to my door to tell me the situation is horrible and getting worse.
It was a late evening and I was doing some work in my hotel room. I aws having some issues with my computer and I figured I'd take a break and just start a bath. So I start the water and get back to trying to figure out this computers' problem. Pretty soon, I'm all wrapped up in the issue and trying to figure it all out. Then I hear the sound of the bath and I remember I left the water on.
I run into the bathroom to check it out. The water is flowing full force out the faucet. I turn it off and survey the damage. It's pretty bad. So I resign to my fate and I start sopping it up with the few measley towels I have. Then I see that the puddle, or should I say river, flows out the door way. I didn't want that to happen. And of course it's my computer's fault cause it's such a piece of wothless technology.
I open the door and take a peek outside. It's worse then I expected. The river flows down the hall and has created lakes in the middle of the hallway. After seeing this, I get really really freaked out. So I quickly go out into the hallway and start sopping up that mess. My first thought is, 'well I'll just clean this up before anyone notices.' Wrong.
In the middle, or in the beginning actually since this was a rather long drawn out process and it's probably still going on now. Along comes a Russian hotel guard chatting on his CB. Obviously I have no idea what he's saying exactly, but I can pretty much guess the overall meaning of the conversation. 'Yeah, we got a big mess up here, there's a stupid american out here with a soggy towel on his hands and knees making his meager attempt at saving face, but I caught him in the act.'
So now there's me and a security guard. This guard is a young guy and although I don't know what he's saying, I feel as though he's on my side. He makes some body language and a smile that says, 'it's cool.' Then along comes another guard. They're chatting about me and talking on their CB's. I figure I'll just keep cleaning up. The nice guard hangs out while the other one leaves, only to be replaced by the hotel manager lady and an older gentelman.
The hotel manager lady is like all hotel manager ladies. Even in Russia the stereotypes for most jobs hold true. Although this one was nicer then the average hotel manager. She spoke some decent english and I told her what happened.
So I lie and say I was on the phone and I forgot about the tub. She repeats this nonsense to the other Russians and all I hear is, 'blah blah blah telephono blah blah blah' She says that they'll have to call the electrical man to see if the room is alright. Meanwhile, a maid shows up, another guard shows up, and everyone is chatting in Russian. I'm just standing there like a moron, wishing I could be somewhere else.
I don't say anything, but I think that maybe some more towels would be helpful. The manager lady tells me that they'll go and get the vaccuum cleaner and that the maid will clean it up. She says they'll have to check on the other floors to make sure there are no other problems or leaks. If there are, this will be bad for me. Those were her exact words.
I ask her how to say sorry in Russian and she says 'invinite' and I repeat that and the nice guard chuckles a bit. The manager tells me to be more careful and the maid says something in Russian which can probably be translated into, 'ya dumb fuck I don't care if you're sorry or not. It's 12 o'clock at night and I'm up here vaccuuming up your mess!'
I tell the manager lady to tell the maid lady to not vaccuum it up. It's my fault, I'll do the clean up. I was hoping to have it all done before you got here anyway. She says, no the maid will do it and then she leaves. So it's just the nice guy, the annoyed maid and I.
I figure I might as well continue to sop up the mess, just to show some initiative and to make it look like I'm at least trying. Which I really was. Then the electrical man comes along, just looks around and leaves. Then the vaccuum system gets turned on and the maid starts vaccuuming up the mess while I'm working around here trying to sop up stuff with my soggy towell.
The vaccuuming is done and she heads off. The nice guy leaves too. And it's just me, the remnents of my disaster and my crappy feeling which hasn't gone away and that's why I'm writing this.
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