Tuesday Night Post

Tuesday Night Post # 46 /  by DBL




This is my working method.  For these drawings I have either started to destroy a resolution or started to solve a problem that is being created as I resolve.  A very much organic method, I fluctuate from solving to un-resolving the composition and symbolism.  Each pencil mark is left as an expression of a decision executed.  Sometimes erased to be re-experienced.  As I work I try to hold the belief that with each new stroke emerges a new drawing, forgetting any preconceptions.  There are times in which I remove myself from the drawing.  Allowing my mind to forget it and solve other ones in the set of problems I have developed.  These three are of a set I am working through.
As said before the method is of highs and lows.  Aesthetics and concepts, as I work through each, I struggle to unite the loose and emerging threads. 
Here are the puzzlers:




 



It’s hard to see each piece in some sort of disarray.   I can see some are unbalance in concept or design.   It’s also hard to remember certain stages I liked more that existed before the current version of the third one. 
 




Tuesday Night Post # 45 /  by DBL


Scattered Few,




"The closer I got to the reconstruction
 the farther she got"





The closer I got to the reconstruction
the farther she got
In a way I found what I was after
Not the truth but the way the truth makes us respond
But then the truth is the way we respond
Myself to the ground I followed the line
Every lovely curve
To every abrupt change
The lesson was in the way
I had to shift to fall into the groove
On time nestled
another split apart
Just as I was a child knowing not when to let up
Things broke and several pieces went a missing
Union came not at the moment
Union is not a definition
Union was the memory there after


Tuesday Night Post #44 /  by DBL



For there to be union first there must be two or more things to unite; a cast of characters to portray the waves of reckless bodies accidentally becoming newly formed moments of ingenuity.  Or reflect the unraveling creative darkness that is consumption.  Imploding stars.  Particle accelerators. scientific advance...these unions are the ones that flicker brighter after they end.


Here are a few photos of heads I am working on. 







Tuesday Night Post # 43 /  by DBL


 I’ve given it a bit of thought.  I have decided to tweak the Tuesday post. From now on I will see Tuesday as a checkpoint.  I will use Tuesday to present ongoing projects and document them.  I will also hope to present my concepts and intended goals.
The way I approach my work is very fluid and intuitive.  I find that sometimes the only way to comprehend something is to unravel with it.  It might be a bit unorthodox, but the result is in the action. 
If you wish to find meaning in my work I would say the definition is in its temporal whole.
There can be times when discussing meaning is unnecessary; times when even the artist can be wrong about their meaning. 
I periodically go back and write notes on my notes.  It helps to keep me focused and see the whole, backing away from the sometimes, sticky parts.  I have been putting it off, but I think its time to look back at the notebooks and sketch books.  Maybe present some pages on Tuesday. 
It’s been a busy two years with many obstacles and sidetracks, yet with some fruits to enjoy and many to nurture.
On this Tuesday I will post one of a few things I have in the works. 


Union

Union is a series of drawings depicting various stages of union.
What do I mean by union.  This I hope to illustrate. 
Here is one drawing in its temporary stage:







Tuesday Night Post #42 /  by DBL



Strangers,

So I did not post last week.  I have no excuse but my own will not given.
I hope you enjoy this drawing from my sketchbook and some words for you to read.
-DBL

 *      *      *     *     *




Tales From the Sketchbook
In search for the structure that make my behaviors’ unfold
I search the pages of my own sketchbook
A book funded by the cult of the white box
A clean white page
A symbol of creation manifested into empty space
My rule as I have formatted
Create a destroying force that ends in a balance of form, concept, and beauty
Design is a result of the actions existed in between
Beauty is not a promise but it lives in the moment that is soon lost
A loose fitting composition
held together by its individual decisions
The action is driven by the need to fix
The fix is directed by the action beforehand
A promise is an experience
The result a map of every moment felt
 

Tuedsay Night Post #41 /  by DBL



Broken Ones,
Good night.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *


There’s a shoulder
An arm to go along
Existence trails on the realization that there is a hand
A thumb with sharp pain
This I remember
The real that is me turns
As I step on the edge of the steps that
Flow below
My thoughts are on the step I have not taken
Altered views show process is
Not a thought
Yes
when hands run on the surface of what I am
I remember also
This is not what it means
but begins as it starts
In the end
There is
a foot with a brother that is the left
Not forgotten but easily replaced
Prosthetics are
 but a replacement of
what we wanted to hold on to
Taken is a part
of the whole
that does not effect the new
At end of this new I hired a friend
She made a crate
66x24x12in h
there I put the me that that I seem to lose
the thing that always seems askew







Tuesday Night Post #40 /  by DBL



Readers

I am returning to the series “Stories of the Two”, I included a short one just to recap myself.
-DBL

* * * * *
Out This Chair

Out this chair
sticks two arms unadorned
Made of wood on end small hands peak
Held out in front reaching from the back of this chair
Held out in front of me
Wooden
Bare
In no resistance
This chair I think
My friend to seek
Sitting
holdin weight seems improbable
a hand shake stiff
familiar to my touch
options end in mystique
Stepping back making space for this interaction
Forward came the hands
Hitting the ground a finger splintered
To adjust this new change
A simple action complete
Three-strand rope finds its way
Circles just above the wrist
Even layered rest the rope in rolls of 4
If you ask I will speak
As it is I own this thought
Rise to its legs
The chair is held

* * * * *
The Return
(Stories of the Two)

An event not recorded but always remembered
Both left with a part they did not previously know
In his thoughts he tried to let go the things he did not own
In her action she tried to dispel the image that allowed her throne
The flesh remained in his heart the rest exchanged for the divine spark
She remained free to allow this cruel earth to destroy
What remained of this seraph on earth
A want to perish
A persistent love
A rope that ends
For her a new life that began

Now both at ends that differed from the beginning
They met
They embrace
They unified the actions that made them complete
As fire burns hot and energy is consumed there exist an exchange
If we remember that we wait for an outcome then it soon ends
If we feel that there is a process that is where it lives
In this story of the two the beauty was in the exchange
What remains to understand is the in-between

* * * * *
As a surprise I left her with a thought
And empty one that later fills
I find that when I try to find the end of a tangled rope
I must forget that there is a beginning
I slowly find the way
If I see that parts are undoing then I know I am on my way
If I stray and start to maneuver the other end confused
I don’t move
A change of thought
I know I dropped a few
Of the things I thought I carried well
As I age my arm degrade but my balance achieved
Time for me to remember myself and who I use to be


Tuesday Night Post #39 /  by DBL

 
Gentle Followers,

Back cause I could not stay away.  Wanted a longer break, but guess I had more reason to write than to break.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Hear that creak
that people speak
A language not well known
In one hand
held
the thoughts that interfere
In the other the thoughts that make things clear
Open palms
Intertwined
The hands put aside
Not used to caress
In their travels they fake disinterest
An image taken
from the recess of the mind
A hope left
for the unkind
A single fish
swimming in shallow waters
Cutting through the water
No direction
just joy in the sensation
In its speed exist its agitation
Primitives waste time on meditation
Round the earth
With no rebirth
Soon the waters ended
A land once a living soup
Turned upside down
Pre-dawn nuke
Mismanagement
with the forbidden fruit
Grabbing hold of the fabric of time
Nothing
Never
Ever left behind

Tuesday Night Post #38 /  by DBL




Brethren,

A joke is funny only when people laugh.  When is it inappropriate to laugh?  Give it a try to laugh out loud is to show the light that shines.  

-DBL
*     *     *     *     * 

Mincey Sweet

Laying low on her side

Saving tears for later tries 

Moving slow to not surprise

Crawling in between to paralyze 

She rises up when there's a threat

Even though in doing so there is regret

Danger near it is queer 

it is erect

Falsely feared is the love 

She kept so near and left it shoved 

in her hub

Never took the offer sent

From other ones but kept it bent

in her fold

As be known to the rest 

She has a throne but she stands alone

in her question thrown

If I fear what I love than is what I love what I destroy 

With a look she made it shook

With a wall she made u crawl 

Singer sent to find the foot 

of yet another timely hook

Lets pretend we were never there

Let it happen once again in disrepair


 *     *     *     *     * 



Enable Me
(Non Existent Virtual Conversation)

Hey u

:D

What's new

:(

Moving far

8)

Can I get there with my car

:)

Don't go there make it here

8/

I'll be ur prowler

...

Are u scared

:{
You should be

:|

Can I come

:/

Can I be ur lil helper

;/

Did I say it wrong
:p

As I thought

:]

Just a thought

:8o




Tuesday Night Post #37 /  by DBL



Shoppers,
Usually around this time of year I feel a bit down.  Not because of the melancholy holiday season that helps us remember what we have loved and lost, or the drones of shoppers scrambling around trampling for the holy spirit, or the bombardment of Santa’s puke of green and red smeared over every wall, not even the tiresome list of holiday songs which sound off the many things this holy day represents, Rudolf I assume, got me down (well to be fair they did but not do to what many might think).  What has got me down in the past were feelings of guilt knowing that many of my love ones would be buying me gifts I would love and need.  Need? Yes, need like a new pair of pants or a bundle of fresh underwear.  
They would be putting money and time aside for me and in return I could only provide my acknowledgement and gratefulness.  Having been a fulltime student with a job in the past and being employed on and off since graduating I have never been able to consistently return this gesture.  Yes, many would say a nice handmade something or another would be quite a sweet gesture.  In the past I have done this but making something for every love one is quite a chore.  A chore not cursed upon, but a chore that required time and sometimes some income for supplies.  Others would say why bother.  This season was invented for spending and capital gain.  Well I feel the same, but that does not stop my love ones from giving to me. 
Well this year I have been fortunate to find consistent income, time, and patience, which provided something for the many that I love.  The list is long, many have touched me in profound ways but only a few consistently do it and are at arms length, so only the very close made it to my shopping list.  
To consume this is a thing we all do.  We also produce.  We are living in rough times.  Many are unemployed, underemployed, or heartbroken and at the end of their wick.  In a few months there will be more in this pool.  Our troops will come home looking to get back into the world they left and might have forgotten.  Where will they fit in this struggling economy?  How will they readjust?  How will they forget the world they left?  They are coming back from a world turn upside-down.   Will it feel the same in our world?
This holiday season I am a bit more joyful than in the past.  I am even getting a kick out of blaring Christmas songs, maybe in a semi ironic way, but the child in me will always be present, or presents???!!!  For some things turn for the best, but these are awkward steps on shaky ground.  There is a long road and a dark one that needs a bright light.  Personal embers ignite this internal light. 
God speed America.
-DBL

Tuesday Night Post # 36 /  by DBL

Followers,

A little collaboration this Tuesday.  With me is A Rose Perished.   This post is a bleeding of lost thoughts trying to find a meaning.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

West Wind Finds Me

As a child I left many doors closed
At times eyes shut with light switches up
Several evenings adorned I felt exhausted
I would need this for the trip back, she said
Of course I conceded for lack of mis-contempt
Just this once, I cracked the window one hair’s width
In this space entered
What I called AAron
Bringing back physical objects proved difficult
Though not impossible
As I learn I void
Fully adorned I felt more fully exhausted
I remember a box with a square hole
This I found familiar



Tuesday Night Post # 35 /  by DBL



Aphenphosmphobes,

Hears a song.
-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Pedophobia

Running with one side to hide
I find no peace in being recognized
Shortness is the best
I hope to die at a quicken pace
No one showed me how to eat
From the hand that is human mystic
In my mind I have one resolution
To find a friend in dissolution

Marking the points that make it clear
The end is near and it is fear
Thinking oneself as just a smear
The end is near and it is fear
Wishing the enemy wishing it near
The end is near and it is fear

Saving time for conscious delusions
Lets erase our erroneous conclusion
Whose to blame for my low self esteem
Is it just in my bloodstream?
In years to come will you give me a vaccine?
Or will the fear find its way
To turn on it’s self and disobey

An assault rifle to commandeer
The end is near and it is fear
Revolutions water the mouth of the financier
The end is near and it is fear
Population is the evil says the marketeer
The end is near and it is fear

Ending in the right ends in wrong
We all seem to sing a similar song
Taking in any innovation
Without proper investigation
I love the sight of kerosene
When it douses the natural machine
One way I chose to live
Is to choose to believe

(repeat)

Tuesday Night Post # 34 /  by DBL


Healers,

Heal; stop the hurt find new paths for neurons.  Let’s be conscious of the now universal self-destructive conditioning.  This is class warfare.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *    

Blue

From three lines come a point which is a corner
In this corner is where I am
On my knees my eyes are closed
My toes overlap
I trace another line that follows fear
This is a path that loops over and over
A knotted mess built by points of self-destruction
How must I untangle this self
In this corner I wonder

From three lines emerge a point
This point I occupy
I kneel while I reflect from the inside out
My toes close the circle
Turned inside out I am a sphere of blue
This is an infinite stream
An area created by a beacon of life
This is how I untangle myself
In this corner I exist


 

Tuesday Night Post # 33 /  by DBL

  
Readers,
            Tell me about secrecy.  Tell me about the privilege of it.  Help me understand the power of it.  It is easier to confuse than to lie?  When is it proper to veil the face that will eventually be seen?
-DBL

*     *     *     *     *     *

When she was a child she wanted to know magic
Every child wants to be special
What made this child special was that she knew magic
was not a phenomenon
but a reflection of a specific state of mind
To her what made magic was not a power conjured up by a wizard
but a veil thrown upon a mass
She wanted to know the method that delivered this madness
She learned the silence that sheltered understanding
A right amount of distance gives control of every situation
Mouth shout
a door is close for conversation
A conversation is a field of obstacles
An obstacle is an object that tells others your disposition
This is elementary for her
As she grew she learned the fractal rules of confusion
A bullet is a dog with a stubborn direction
but with magic, bullets follow a different direction
In secrecy she finds a stable situation
Leave the other to their own conclusion
Most of us grow to find life confusing
to her this confusion added to her elevation
A lesson learned is a pencil sharpened
Add up the sum
most find a conclusion
not her
she reveals in delusion
Adding time we focus on our fusion
of past events and opinions gathered
we funnel our emotions to the closest resolution
Distance leaves very few options
She sees a voice as her greatest enemy
But leaves assumption as the greatest restitution
In the end she is harder to pin point
A target unable to disjoint
Left only to her own institution


Tuesday Night Post #32 /  by DBL



Viewers and Seeker,

A little voice to feel that some one cares and some one is listening is all we want.  It is a micro and macro truth, it seems.  From god to love ones we want a partner, the least we ask for is a reflection.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

On the Ledge

A sudden fair breeze cools the blushing in my face
on an edge
I felt my weight shift towards the void
from a hair folicale
which was absent of its hair
in this void
expanding past my peripherals
I lost movement

Sensing the internal signals
The visceral reactors
I felt myself about face

Faced to my rear
in place of this
on its handle
stood a white aluminum based broom

My inverted world
I came to realize
would come with many pains

My passage of time was comprehended
by only the parts of my being
that were beyond my visceral understanding

New networks in my memory measured movement

A conversation that was formed
in new memory
reminds me of this earthly goddess
My hopes are to bathe in your transmutation
Men are foolish
replicating your powers of creation

I connect to a stream
that does not empty out
but flows into itself

A pumping of information
growing with every circulation

In another memory I crated
a carcass of a discarded wood flooring
The dimensions of this memory are
117in. x 44in. x  22in. in height

This wrapped in plastic
preserved
and at the same time
quarantined from the rest

I sit on an edge of a gridded discus void


Tuesday Night Post #31 /  by DBL

Molecules of the Same Substance,

I find it clear tonight that what one choses to become might be the choice already chosen.

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *


Spilling on a Thought

Folding a paper

that has time impregnated in it

points cross



I wonder if dogs have

occurrences of random recall



Forming a square

time leaks

from the creases



One hand cupping

the other to support

I empty into my hand

figures that remind me



My skin remembers only

what it touches



With this thought

I look to see

who will remember

this moment



No one



Who will have this job

For me I am not one to react



Left to wonder myself

these things that occur



Pouring through my hand

my face finds the ground



I find company in the liquid

of this paradox



Treading in the mistake

that lead me here

my foot gets stuck in a fold



Flesh or pulp

I do not know

Tugging straight

into another mistake



Lucky me

I am the viewer and the holder

I remove myself



With the lose of perspective

once again I find myself

spilling on a thought




Tuesday Night Post #30 /  by DBL


 
Numbers,

The big Three O.  Here is a new one.  Don't know where its going but I think it is. 

 -DBL

*     *      *     *     *

Nikky 1
(Future Past)


In a box moving but movement is not registered.  Periodically she glances at anything of interest that the glance before missed.  After a panoramic view of the boxcar she settles back into herself.  The seat is soft but after a few hours it is as abrasive as the nasty looks she sometimes catches on her checks on reality.   She feels heavier then usual, this and the thought of the flatten seat holding her up reminds her of the space she fills.  A look down to the floor settles on her hands.  “Plumpy bumpy mitts”, she thinks to herself.   How she hates these trips to the OB/GYN.  She curses the fact that all is automated but why not this?  Lots of things can be done at the comfort of her home but if it wasn’t for the fact that officially she has to make an appearance to make this visit, official.  She is glad that birth control is free and government issued, but it makes her feel like a child to think officially she can’t take the responsibility to administer it herself.  For the safety of the whole a single birth can not be over looked, nor can a single abortion be misused.  She sometimes wishes she could be of the percentage that officially had to be sterilized.  Free from these visits on a steady simple course as part of a very proud work force.  It was beyond her why she was unaltered and able to proving for the gene pool, if she was called upon.  In a way it was a small but uplifting compliment in what she thought was quite a meaningless complicated life. 
Staring out the window, at all the blurry colors, turning into thoughts slowly finding their way in her mind, her eyes might as well have been closed.   She saw herself comfortably at home.  Her home also her workplace was her world.  The paper work came; she filled it, dated it, sent it, and loved it.  It was one of the few things in life she felt she understood.  No voice, no commands, just a simple message that she was done.  Diligently she finished her daily quota.  For after that she could enter her real Self.  A Self, created by her, in her image, an image projected by her wants. 
See saw herself seated in the device.  The device was a simple device, not many wires or dials.  It looked like a cozy leather seat, one in which you can feel relaxed, but not asleep.  A user friendly device that figured a world and self image conjured up by monthly surveys on your wishes, wants, by physiological and psychological read outs, and nostalgic views of your past.  It pixaled the circle, righting what was wronged.   There was one in every household paid by taxes and required by the general surgeon.   On her way back from her voyage, in her true Self, she felt light, well spirited and ready to go out and experience life.  It never lasted for more then ten minutes.  If the time one could spend in the chair were not regulated she would have spent more waking hours in it. 
From the dreamy thoughts of the chair there came a big leather purse that woke her of her daydream.  Packed with workers the boxcar’s air thinned by the musk and dust.  A heavy silent settled on her chest.   Droned looks parted the curd air.   How she hated this outside world.  To feel alone in a field of life stock made this ride one she could not shake.  Existence crowded her being.  Her shoulders rubbing on what made this time, this present moment more then she can recall.  Left to remember why she is a citizen of humanity she was shuttled to her official appointment.  


Tuesday Night Post #29 /  by DBL




The Happy Ones,

Happy Tuesday night.

-DBL


 
*     *     *     *     *


I Saw the God of Man

By a stream near a cliff side
I tried to study the history of myself.
As I looked into the void,
I saw.
Peering at me, eyes that blink,
one eye, blue eyed, stern with contempt?
Fix unwavering
I saw the eyes of our ancestors.
Peering lost, controlled
Star twinkled eyes in mosaic tiled patterns
burgundy
forest greens
navy blues
I saw the aesthetics of the past blocked and organized.
In a fleeting moment I saw our god of the America’s
Star spangled eagle eyed
red, white, blue
Cross spinning on its axis in a clockwise direction
Layered transitioning background to front and back again
In one moment, teeth and mouths came before blankets of eyes
falling on the cliffs and later the trees
Smiling teeth coming out at me from my minds eye
The cliff side had eyes that watched the ocean turn to a wasteland.
A stream murmured by
with gems of forgotten points of views
When I went to look at them I stood over and grasped at their sparkles.
Eyeballs flowed between my fingers
I saw history layered on top of it’s self
When all came clear
I forgot it
I was knee deep in a confusion that made me feel fulfilled.
Ever since then I look for this.
The layered lesson of why I believe.