The Flip Flop Sculpture

The flip flop sculpture. There is more to it than meets the eye. More to it than beauty is in the eye of the beholder. “In a pig’s eye” you say! You decide.

The summer was gone and fall was rapidly making its exit. I was still working the in the barn, but I knew my time was limited. Soon the temperatures would plummet and it would be too cold to work … the glue solidities … the paint freezes … the nails are too frigid to handle … working in gloves is ridiculous. But most of all, I can’t see what I am doing for my frozen breath. I was finishing up a few last pieces, which was getting increasingly difficult. No, I was not having a creative block. I was running out of driftwood. My stockpile was diminished. I rubbed my crystal ball. Jupiter was on its last leg, or in the cusp, or some other seer saying. I rubbed more … the ball was white. In my best Jean Dixon voice, I exclaimed, “Soon the driftwood will be covered with snow … until spring”. I said this to myself and only I heard it. But, I would not lie about such a thing.

I hiked in to my driftwood source. It is like a driftwood graveyard. When driftwood realizes that it is near death, it heads for the driftwood graveyard. I can never reveal the location. The driftwood hunters would steal it all. Were I to tell, Tarzan would tear me to shreds. If I told you, I would have to kill you. Don’t try to follow me! Just follow what I say.

I was looking for a big haul. Had my backpack basket. Had the army duffle bag. Had the handcart. Picking were good. But something was bothering me. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally! It was the flip flops. They were everywhere. They were there waiting for me, but I didn’t know why. Regardless, I gathered them up … filled the basket … and more. There was more to it than meets the eye. Something was missing. I took them home. Revelation comes in its own time.

I emptied the basket and started to strip them of their thongs. Sounds kinky, but it wasn’t. I knew what I would do for the sculpture. I sorted them by left and right and by color. There was more to it than meets the eye … but I could not see it. I remembered the crystal ball, but it was white. I turned up the music. I sat and stared at the piece. Nothing came to me. I glanced to the side at my sorted piles. It came to me. Like and aside. There was not a left AND right. No two flip flops matched.

It took a moment to catch my breath! I had to be methodical. I had to be CSIesque. I closed my eyes. Gestalt! I see it now. The crystal ball is white, but I am clear. There were no matches. Stay with me. There were either rights or lefts. Stay with me. Ankle bone connected to the leg bone. Stay with me. There was only one leg. Stay with me. The lost flip flops floated down the river and were deposited along with driftwood. Stayyyy with me. Somewhere up river, one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers congregated in massive numbers. Clumsy, careless one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers, most of whom had lost his/her flip flop. His/her only flip flop. I had found the one-legged flip flop graveyard.

I love the sculpture. It has a story. Anne took one look and hates it. Maybe if she knew the story, she would feel different. I put it up on the barn. Sometimes I see cars slow down and stare. I wonder how many legs they have.

I cannot tell you where the flip flop graveyard is. If I did, I would have to kill you.

Rock RIver Artists Open Studio - Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm

One of the things that I like most about our Open Studio tour is the array of interesting visitors that attend. I am sure that every studio gets its share of characters. For me, the most memorable was a mother, her daughter and a friend. To start with, the little girl looked like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.  She was neatly attired in attractive shorts and top and sported an old-style straw hat complete with ribbon on the back. She appeared somewhat rigid, almost at attention, as she wandered around the studio with her mother. It was clear that she had been prompted as to the proper demeanor that was expected in an art studio. She carefully examined different pieces and purposefully asked surprisingly appropriate questions about each piece for an eight or nine year old girl.

With her mother in the background, she very formally introduced herself to me and asked if she would be permitted to take photos in the studio. She asked me to pose with her with one of the stranger sculptures there. I learned that her mother had given her $100.00 to spend on art during the tour. I was intrigued with the fact that the mother was purposefully teaching her daughter how to handle herself in what was clearly a new situation for the girl. How cool!

I had moved on to speak with another visitor when the little girl walked up to me and said, “Excuse me sir. I would like to make a purchase.” I asked her which piece she was interested in and she pointed to a small sculpture. The girl had asked me earlier what the piece was and I had replied that I did not really know, but it had always reminded me of a rooster. I went on to explain that it was one of a group of pieces that I had done called “Fences” in which I explored the intent of fences … are they to keep things out … or to keep things in? Anyway, it was the piece she wanted.

As I wrapped the piece for the girl, I asked, “So, what does the piece look like to you? What made you choose it”? I was speechless at her reply. She informed me that the piece looked like her dad’s torn rotator cuff and that she was getting it for a present for him during his recovery from surgery.

Finally, I have found the niche that I sought. I thought the artwork that I hung in porta-potties was my destiny … but not anymore. Injury art is my calling. Ideas are already swirling around in my brain about future pieces … the psoriasis of the liver series … the broken pelvis sculpture … and constipation – my dark years.

I am an artist. I have a destiny.

Rock River Artists Open Studio - The Barbie Center

I can’t explain the fascination, if fascination is the right word, with Barbie. I cannot help but poke fun at the concept and why this would be the example to present to children escapes me. It must be the “oh so perfect” rich girl image that I imagine. Good for me, because sarcasm is right up my alley. And at the end of that alley, tucked neatly away in the corner behind the trash can is my imagination. I strongly disagree with those who imply that imagination is bizarre. My imagination leads me down a serpentine path to be sure … but one based on pure logic. At least, that is how I imagine it.

Nevertheless, the net result is a special section of my open studio devoted to Barbie creations. I set it up like a shadowbox. You know how Barbie loves pink. The black background should be perfect for her pink accessories.

Finding enough Barbie’s to do the pieces justice was a difficult task and required a great deal of thought and flea market bargaining . In the end, I acquired a box of Barbie’s for a reasonable price. By that, I mean cheap. I started with a piece I call “the Barbie Bouquet”. The first version contrasted the deep greens of the evergreen boughs with the golden Barbie locks. For the open studio, I redid the piece using bare branches in order to make Barbie the centerpiece of the work … and the perfect centerpiece for any table.

Several weeks ago, my boss gave me a pink box with a see-through plastic window that she thought I might be able to use. I thought immediately of Barbie. The shape and window on the box reminded me of old footage of a Houdini trick in which he was place in a box with limited air, chained shut, and lowered into a river to drown, give out of air, or escape. Hence, Houdini Barbie. With a few minor adjustment to her legs (chop, chop) she fit the box perfectly. I tied her hands. Given the oxygen situation, I decided a blue face was most appropriate. The box was wired shut and locked. Houdini Barbie.

I had another box in the barn. I thought about for a Barbie project months ago. It was in the shape of a coffin and had been used at school to pass around a stuffed squirrel to scare new teachers. The squirrel deteriorated and I got the coffin. I envisioned Barbie peacefully in state in the coffin and I thought … Dracula Barbie. Dracula always rests in his natural earth from Transylvania. Natural soil for Barbie would have to be pink … an easy fix. A quick trip to JoAnn's Fabrics in Keene and I had black, glossy material for the cape. Paint the top of the coffin pink … add some fangs … and Dracula Barbie was ready for the show.

I confess the next two pieces were not my idea. I saw them in a store window in Quebec City. One was canned Barbie parts … like heads, or arms, or legs. I made my version using antique canning jars with the wire tops. I added dried hot peppers to each jar (because Barbie is so hot and spicy) and called my creation Pickled Barbie. The second piece I saw involved Barbie and an old meat grinder. Input Barbie heads to the grinder and outcome fur. I assumed the fur was fox since Barbie is so foxy. In my version, the output was golden thread. I called the piece “Meatgrinder Barbie.

Don’t blame me for the next two pieces. Blame Charlton Heston. You may or may not know that Charlton Heston has invaded my dreams and is intentionally trying to make my life miserable with his clinched-teeth maniacal grin. I thought I had seen the last of him until the other night … 3:00 AM to be exact. He slipped unseen through the backdoor of my dream world and secretly eased a thought into my head. I had been thinking about what one does with leftover Barbie parts. Pull off a head and then what. I want to give credit where credit is due … even to my nemesis CH. In the movie that CH did about a futuristic, over-populated world struggling to feed the hoards, two wafer-like soy cakes were developed and feed to the people. The protein cake was called soylent green. The snoopy policeman in the movie (CH) discovered the secret … soylent green was made from reprocessed body parts and fed to the people. The perfect solution was those leftover body parts … Soylent Green Barbie.

The last piece in the series is also a result of the extra parts I had on hand. Again, what so you use them for.  I thought about how we use our DNA to clone man-make versions of ourselves. Well, sheep for now mostly. I created a new cloned version of Barbie. Done on a pure white background (hospital sanitary conditions for this procedure), I created the Cloned Barbie from those leftovers.

For now, I am done with Barbie creations … but you never know … I still have to sleep at night.

60 to Life

Within each of us, there exists a personal cell ... perhaps, a personal hell. Cell or hell, it is there that we retreat ... it is there that we make our last stand. We enter via a long and circuitous path ... traversed at a slow meander ... or in a single step. We carry our cells with us at all times ... to be ready in an instant. Once inside, all that we are, or ever have been, gone.Loved ones search for us in vain. Their efforts yield no more than worn, battered shells, familiar only in their appearances. But, we are gone!

An instant ... a recognized name ... a fleeing peek through the bars ... maybe ... but, we are gone!

Snow Circles

I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)

Easter Basket from Hell

Though we are now in our sixty's, Anne and I have continued to give one another Easter baskets for over 40 years. Maybe it is because we didn't have kids. Maybe it is because we were senile at an early age. Most probably, it is because we needed an excuse to buy lots of sweets and candy.

Nevertheless, I shall not waste your time trying to justify we I do certain things. I will say, however,  that over the years, I have tried to provide Easter baskets for Anne that are a bit more unique. Some years it was odd items in the basket ... anything from dried navy beans to chocolate covered ants. One year, I made a barbed wire basket. I rather "pointed" statement I would say.

More recently, the basket theme was "demented". I thought about demons emerging from our past to inset themselves into our holiday festivities. All it took was a few props to set the scene.






I used on of Anne's mom's old 40's feathered hats (red of course) as a symbol of emergence from the past.


The basket was filled with a variety of candies and small gifts. However, astride it all was the demon doll.


















My friend Nancy gave me this doll  a few years ago. It is the most disturbing doll I have ever seen. The hair is frazzled and the eyes are piercing and sinister. I can't imagine what kind of mother would give this doll to her child. It looks like something Baby Jane's sister might have given her. Whatever happened to her anyway?





It was  a simply task to fashion some bunny ears, a cotton tail and a cigarette for the doll for effect. I posed the naked doll astride a box of Reese's pieces. I liked the play on words that it brought to mind. I threw a couple of doll faces and stray arms and legs into the basket and it was done.

Happy Easter Anne!

Artists' Expressions - Windsor VT Show

 August 2012

                         

We were on a retirement adventure in Windsor, VT and decided to check out the Nuance Gallery there.    We met the gallery owner, Nancy Silliman, and found out that she knew our neighbor Paul. Nancy told me that a new show was opening soon and invited me to submit an application to have pieces juried into the show. I sent in an application and emailed pictures of my work the next day. Unfortunately, there was a mixup in the mail and email and my application was misplaced. About two weeks after the show opened , Nancy called to tell me that she had just found the application and to apologize. She offered to let me bring in my pieces late and to participate in a 2nd opening later in the month. I jumped at the chance. I got to be in the show and to be the feature artist at the 2nd opening. It was a great deal for me.  At the conclusion of the show, I moved my pieces over to another section of the gallery so they could remain up for the duration of the next show as well.



Nancy Silliman at the 2nd opening. The rain was steady ... the crowd was small ... but I met some other artists and got a good lead for a potential show in Cornish. Not to mention getting to do my dog & pony show at  a new gallery.
















                          Rock River Bounty

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                                 Ancient Voyager















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