Growling at the Painting

I've been painting.

It hasn't been easy. In fact, it's been hard. Hard to concentrate, hard to see, hard to get the paint to move where I want it.

Thinking back on the moment that I first put the brush to canvas I knew that this would be a struggle. It's like the picture is fighting back, like it doesn't want to be born. And with each show of resistance I push all the harder.

Poor Max is confused by the whole affair. I've taken to "talking" to the paint and the canvas while I'm working and Max thinks I'm talking to him. But, because I'm not using words that he's familiar with like "walk," "treat" or "attack" he's not sure how to respond. So, he ends up sitting to my right in his side-saddle manner, his ever watchful nose pointed in the air and his tail ready to wag if I should say his name, look in his direction or use one of those key words mentioned above. I'm sure that the gnashing of my teeth, my growling at the paint and my fencing-like jabs at the canvas with brush and palette knife wreak havoc with the perceptions of his beagle brain.

I'm not sure what the problem actually is and, if Max knows (he's been the only one that has witnessed me working on this particular project, the only one besides me who's seen how it's working out) he's keeping it a secret.

I wonder whether or not the end product will contain any telling information about the struggle it's been to give birth to this thing. Will it seem forced or strained? Will there be scars from our slashing at one another? Bruises from our mutual pummeling?

Only time will tell.

Making Life a Better Place To Be

Maintaining a positive outlook on life can be a difficult chore for some. I even find that people with cheery dispositions often irritate me to no end. The person with a constant smile on their face, the person for whom the glass is always not only "half full" but also "half full of wholesome goodness," the person for whom a Shirley Temple pout is the ultimate expression of unhappiness or disdain - these are the ones that exacerbate my own feelings of gloom and doom. How very "yin-yang."

My own outlook on life would be much better if I didn't constantly reinforce my pessimistic view by repeating negative affirmations and dark-side mantras. If we indeed create our own reality, perhaps this practice is at the root of the situation.

One of the oldest of these sayings is "Life sucks and then you die." There are, of course, many permutations of this one but, my favorite is quite extended: "Life sucks and when you try to die they put you on life support, then charge you for it. And then, when you can't pay the bill you're made to feel like more of a worthless shit than you did when you tried to check out in the first place."

One of my other oft used litanies is based on what an old college buddy of mine used to say. "The world is filled with stupid people and there are more of them than there are of us." Over the years this has proved to be a quite flexible invective, one that can be endlessly customized to the situation.

"The world is filled with stupid people and there are more of them than there are of us and they impact our lives daily."

"The world is filled with stupid people and there are are more of them than there are of us and someone gave them all driver's licenses."

"...there are more of them than there are of us and somehow they all became a) doctors b) lawyers c) political commentators d) *fill in the blank*.

So, if I stop repeating these affirmations and replace them with positive, happy, cute and fuzzy sayings, will my life transform into a better place to be? Well, maybe it would, that is, until someone punched me out for being so glib.

In the words of one of my favorite bumper stickers: "If you're not outraged you're not paying attention."

It's Working!

Tomorrow will be the three week anniversary of my having begun my physical transformation by going to the gym and working out. Every day except Friday I dutifully go to the gym and perform my ritual. I do a cardio workout every day by spending either 20 or 30 minutes on a treadmill. On the 20 minute days I precede the time in the "cardio theater" with a series of exercises in the weight room. At the end of most of my workouts I spend about 10 to 15 minutes in the sauna. The copious amounts of sweat that I squeeze out of my pores is the topic of another posting. I take Friday off and like to spend the extra time with Max. God I love that dog. And, in the three weeks that I have been doing this I have only missed one regularly scheduled day: it was a Sunday that I had gone to visit my folks and by the time Max and I got back I was way too tired to work out. Missing one work out is not going to be catastrophic.

I feel good after my workouts. I even feel "high." I stand a little taller, it is easier to keep my gut "sucked in" when I'm not blobbing out on the couch, I hold my shoulders back a bit more and I am far more aware of my muscles than ever before in my life. I still can't fit into my favorite pair of jeans, but I have faith that I will soon enough.

Now, I've said in these posts that I'm looking at this process as a type of art project. I tend to think of art as an exercise in awareness. The making of art is not only the practice of awareness but also the documentation of that awareness. As I proceed with this art project of mine I find that I am becoming more aware of myself as a physical being. By exercising I am practicing and the documentation of this practice is manifest in the visible and ultimately in the measurable changes in my own body. So, does this make my corporeal self the artwork?

The fact that I feel better makes the sacrifice of time and effort worthwhile, but what is really desired are those visible changes. And the first two unsolicited observations of the changes in my body have come my way. Saturday, while walking Max out along one of the local nature trails I ran into a woman that Max and I often meet out there as she walks her two dogs. Max and Haley, a small, somewhat homely looking female beagle, are pals and the human often makes comments on how good Max looks. She commented this time on the fact that he looks to be losing some weight. She then looked up and said to me, "You look like you've lost some weight, too!"

Sweet.

Then, the same day and, ironically, no more than an hour after my workout (which included work in the weight room) I ran into a friend of mine while, again, walking Max. As a taunt he inquired with his usual gusto, "Where you hiding the muscle?" So I flexed an arm for him. His eyes popped, "How long you been working out?"

"Not quite three weeks."

"And you did that in less than three weeks?"

Sweet enough to cause tooth decay.

Déjà Vu

I was on my way from the locker room to the weight room the other day when I passed a guy on the stairs who, by the look of him, muscles pumped, sweat beaded on his forehead and a far away glassiness in his eyes, had just finished an intense workout. There was a singular attention to his presence; he seemed intent but not necessarily focused, hyper aware of his environment but on auto-pilot nonetheless. Not an uncommon appearance among those who have just finished a session of hard physical activity.

Continuing up to the weight room, I found myself ridding my mind of everything except the processes of the tasks at hand - the order of my exercises, the settings on the machines, the loads, the reps, the sets. And then there was the focus on the muscle groups being worked: the isolation of the sensation of the muscles engaging as the load resists the movement, the exertion of energy at what seems to be the top or peak of the repetition, the tempo of the set and the rhythm of my breathing.

As I neared the end of the routine I found my mind leaving the room before my body did. I was wiping the sweat off of the seat and back of the "hammer," the apparatus on which I do the "lat lift" exercise, when I realized that my mind was already gathering my back pack, water bottle and towel and was headed out the door and up the stairs to the cardio workout room. I tried to call myself back to myself but I found that, in my head, the only words that seemed to mean anything were the numbers of a set count, "one - two - three - four, two - two - three - four, three - two - three - four...," as though I were counting off rests in a piece of music.

I physically rushed to gather my belongings and headed out, following what seemed to be a part of my consciousness, toward the next floor up where the bikes and treadmills were housed. I seemed to catch up with myself as I stood on the scale and registered the weight: 196.2 lbs.

There was a lightness to my sensations. My breathing was deep but slow and controlled. My mind was cleared of so many bits of brick-a-brack and the muscles that I had just worked were feeling firm and alive that the setting of the treadmill machine for a 30 minute brisk walk on a gentle incline was completed with little thought and with a smoothness that my mind wordlessly admired. I was oblivious to the bank of television screens set to different channels with the sound turned down and closed captioning turned on that stretched along the wall in front of me. It was just me, my legs and my breathing.

There was an effort to complete the 30 minute distance-less trek but when it came to an end and I dismounted the machine I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and I could feel the blood surging through my body.

I wiped the sweat from my face and neck, stretched out my muscles and, as before, I followed a bit of my consciousness that was several paces ahead of me. My movements were deliberate and they felt, well, oddly graceful. Keenly aware of everything around me, I felt like I was on autopilot. I could tell that my body was propelled forward by a silent momentum and when I passed a young man who had just exited the locker room, headed for his own workout, it occurred to me that I might well be venturing into a similar space as the gentleman that I had passed just an hour earlier.

The Romantic Life

Alright then. I've sold another painting and I've gotten my website up, though not completely functional, and I've gotten some folks to come by and read my rants and raves. I do the work and I can honestly say that "I am an artist."

Still, as I try to distance myself from my own voice and look and listen objectively on the object that is me, I can't help but notice that there is something missing from my life. Something that, I believe, I became aware of when I started reading about art and artists in my mid-teens. It is a romantic quality, a nearly swashbuckling attitude, brave, defiant, revolutionary and even dangerous.

Instead, my life is filled with medication costs, roofing problems and tree removals. Where are the intense café conversations, the whirlwind love affairs that end in heart break, stacks of inspired paintings and notebooks filled with enigmatic drawings? Where are the absinthe visions and opium dreams? Where is the romantic life that an artist is supposed to live?

~News Shorts from Long Weekend~

My long weekend is over and, I have to say, it was far more productive than I expected, but not as productive as it needed to be.

I got to my folks' house and spent a day putting together my dad's birthday present to my mom - a full length mirror on a wooden stand - working on Dad's computer and investigating why they can't make long distance phone calls from their land line home phone. I also got two loads of my laundry done and Max got to spend time with his Grandma and Grandpa. A fine time was had by all.

The sale of the painting was finalized and that is certainly a good thing! I was also able to spend some time staring at the new paintings that I've started. I'm not sure where these new ones are headed. Perhaps I really should try to crank out a few more in the style of the one that I just sold...in case there are some other buyers lurking around out there that want one of those beauties!

My workouts at the gym are progressing nicely. I think I have decided to forego the "before" photograph that I mentioned in an earlier post. I see no reason to subject myself or anyone else to such an un-pretty sight. I'm quite sure that within the next few months I'll be able to tell a difference and that's good enough for me. My most recent weight was 196.2 lbs. -- almost 4 lbs. down from my top weight of 200!!!

I had an appointment with my doctors on Tuesday. The most recent bloodwork came back a mixed bag - not an uncommon thing for me. My CD4 count, which reflects the number of healthy white blood cells in my system, was in the mid 700s, that's pretty darned good. Even close to normal. My viral load, an indicator of the amount of viral RNA in my system, was not as good, and this is a factor that I've had trouble with for quite a while. All other indicators seem to be a-okay, so I've got little to complain about.

Having gotten the word last week that health insurance rates are going up at the beginning of the year, I talked to the docs about the cost of my meds. When the copay goes up to 20% I'll have reached a point where I can't afford the damned pills. Of course, the irony is that I work for the hospital. I work in the health care industry but I cannot afford healthcare. Just a rough estimate puts my monetary output at around $800 every three months come January 1, 2006. That's almost $267 a month. Folks, I don't make that kind o' money! So, I got the name of a local agency that might be able to help with the copay. I have yet to call them, but you can be sure that I will!

Other things on the to-do list that haven't been done: get estimates on getting the front porch roof fixed, arrange to have the locust tree in the front yard removed (it's branches are tangled in the powerlines,) get estimate on the rest of the roof, get an estimate on getting the two Chinese Elm trees in the back yard removed, which will have to be done before the main roof is fixed and, (whew) talk to the bank about refinancing the house so that I can afford all of the repairs that are needed.

And I was asked the other day if I had a social life....

Sold!

Great way to begin a weekend - by selling a painting, that is!

Got a call while I was at work from a patron who had seen my paintings at the Board of Realtors offices. They were very matter of fact, direct and to the point. They just wanted to buy the painting.

wow.

The painting is titled "Verse in Black and Grey" and is a 16" x 20" acrylic on canvas. This is actually one of my own favorites from this last batch of pictures.

The question now is whether, in the name of possible future sales, I should make more of these types of paintings. If I do and they sell, I could finance further adventures in paint pushing.

Something to think about...

News Shorts ~

Good morning y'all!

Feeling a bit better about the world today. No real reason to, though. Found out yesterday that the hospital that I work for is changing its health insurance policy for next year which might well make it impossible for me to afford my medication. Kind of a necessary thing when one depends on those chemicals to stay alive.

Better start making money in other ways!!!!

I've been able to paint a little bit in the last few days. I haven't really gotten over the creative hump from a few posts ago, but at least I seem to be working through the block. Perhaps it's just a bit of whiplash from my last period of painting which was fast and furious and, for the most part, easy. Now I've got new artistic "issues" that I need to resolve before the paint flows easily again...hmmm...might be some truth there....

Speaking of art, the gym thing is working out very well. I've been going every day (except last Friday) and alternating cardio/weight loss with weight training. One of the gym employees called me and asked if I would like to take advantage of their free consultation with a personal trainer. Of course I said, "yes!" He then wanted to know what my personal goals were. I told him point blank that I wanted to look as good with my clothes off as I do with them on (and to myself I said, "actually, I want to look better!") Then I told him that I'm actually looking at this whole exercise as an art project - and he understood completely!

I adore your comments!

At 3:59 a.m. this morning someone was reading my weblog and they felt compelled to write a comment. Woo-hooo! Love those late night blog readers and their comments!

And what did this anonymous reader have to say? They told me that if I am alone all I have to do is call this particular number to find "Real Singles" in my area with only a $4.99 connection fee and $0.99 per minute! WoW!

Now, this is the only comment I've gotten so far on my blog. Only one comment and it's from some sort of advertising 'bot that wants me to spend money on finding a date. Well, let me tell you something: if I had a friggin' social life I wouldn't be spending all of this time keeping this weblog. And another thing - If my entries are so un-interesting that I've only gotten one comment and it is...well...a non-comment, then I really have a problem, eh?

a question to myself...

I tried to paint this weekend.

I would like to say that I paint every day but there isn't time for it. If I were more dedicated, I suppose I would make the time. There are too many other things happening these days. In other words, I'm lazy.

There didn't seem to be a spark when I was mixing the paint on the palette. There wasn't a feeling of connection when I was pushing the paint around on the canvas. There was a feeling of apathy as I regarded the outcome.

sigh

Perhaps it is time to reevaluate my subject, my themes...time to update them with newer interests, more pressing issues in my head. Maybe I experience this artistic ennui because the reason is gone.

Why do I really make pictures? Why is it important to me? What function, what purpose does it serve?

...a slight waiver...

Well, my body is sore. I don't think I'm to the place where would I say something trite like "I'm sore in muscles that I didn't even know I had," but I'm certainly feeling the effects of several days worth of working out.

I've been reading and reading and reading, when I have the chance, about techniques, programs and supplements and boy oh boy oh boy has it gotten confusing! Expert A says this will work then Expert B says that this other thing will work then Expert C runs around shaking his fists in the air screaming "where do these myths come from?!?!?!" And spying some bloke in the gym who's got the look you're going for and then asking him "what did you do to get that way?" isn't necessarily going to get the needed information, especially when his response is as likely to be "I follow exclusively the Expert Q program" as it is to be "Visualization. See in your mind's eye what you want and the rest will follow."

I suppose I should just be happy that I've made the decision to go to the gym and get some exercise. I should just take it day by day and sooner or later I'll become more comfortable with myself and the gym environment and I'll be able to weed through the crap that some people preach and concentrate on the things that make sense and the things that, with some intelligent trial and error, work for me.

Let's remember: I'm a 47 year old guy that has never done anything like this in his life! As a kid in school I avoided the gym like the plague. I hated that place, and with good reason. I didn't fit well into the athletic culture. I was tall and skinny and wasn't interested in competitive sports and I never got any encouragement from anyone in the athletic department at school nor any constructive criticism regarding what little physical activity I engaged in.

Enter low self esteem.

Well, none of that really matters now. I've started anew. I am determined and I know I have a long hard road up ahead. I can read until the words are burned on the back walls of my eyeballs but I just need to get out there and do some work. Exact diet? Screw it. Just start with being more aware of what I'm eating and when. Start paying attention to calories, fat, carb and protein content. The pacing and portioning will come with time.

As for training programs - hell! Try Expert A's routine. If it feels good, then fine. That doesn't mean that I can't check out Expert B or C's or even Expert Q's method. And visualization never hurt nobody. I realize that there will always be more opinions about right and wrong, good and bad, effective and ineffective than there will be time to prove or refute any of them. And, perhaps, this is where being an artist can help.

Being an artist means being adept at seeing - seeing without translating. Artists must be able to view the world with a clarity that allows them to tear it apart and reassemble it in a crucial, meaningful and effective way. This ability can be directed toward objects, emotions and even situations. Artists are masters of perseverance. They must be willing to repeat a technique until it becomes transparent to the message. Above all, an artist must be resilient, thick skinned and at the same time, sensitive and hyper-aware. These are skills and talents that can be effectively turned toward the process of physical self transformation.

"Pygmalion! Noble Artist-King! Sculpt thyself!"

In The Beginning...

I've been going to the gym for two days now. Two whole days! I'm not too sore, but I imagine that is not very far down the road.

So far, I'm really just learning about the equipment and how to use it. First stop was the cardio room. Lots of bikes and treadmills and banks of TV monitors with the sound turned down and closed captioning turned on, and really bad pop music thumping out of the stereo. Note to self: here is a case for owning an MP3 player....

I'm very comfortable on the bikes - hell, I wasn't a "serious" biker in the past, but I knew my way around one and used mine constantly. It was my primary means of transportation for years and my primary form of exercise for years beyond that. And then the old green monster (my bicycle, that is) was snatched from my back porch and subsequently dumped, wheels bent and broken, in my back yard only a week later - but that's a different story. Nevertheless, I can do a bike with little instruction. Not really used to an electronic control panel on a bike - I did need someone to tell me what buttons to push for a "personalized" riding experience. Also necessary for recording my workout....

Okay. There's something worth mentioning - the recording of the workout. I guess I should have known that one records statistics about the events of the workout, that is, the type of equipment used, the weight and even its distribution, the number of sets and the number of reps within a set. DAMN! I'm beginning to use real gym words! Huuuuaaaah! Right now, I just have an 8.5 x 11 inch piece of red paper on file at the gym with the information on it. I'm thinking that a little notebook might be a good idea - a real journal of my training....hmmmm....

My "Quick Start" trainer, one provided by the gym, had me working in the weight room rather than in the "circuit training" room. I think that's where I really want to be. Now, I have this fat that I will be getting rid of, but my primary goal is to gain muscle mass in some key areas. Learning the different machines will be interesting. I couldn't name any of them right now, but I know they all have names like Ted, and Bruce and Kyle and Dexter. Knowing their names and being able to demonstrate their proper use: there is a subgoal.

If I have a problem with any of this right now it's the diet. Okay - I love food. I can cook and I like to eat what I cook. I like exotic things. I like fat, and carbs. I like cheese and nuts and pizza. I like candy! Plus, I like eating whenever I'm hungry, and sometimes that means constantly nibbling, sometimes that means going for long periods without a meal. Now I've got this, this...diet that I'm supposed to follow. I'm supposed to count calories and protein, carb and fat breakdowns. I'm supposed to eat 6 meals a day. I'm supposed to eat low fat cottage cheese and drink skim milk. Lite wheat bread. LITE! not Light....! 1 oz. of pretzels is now considered a course! I look at this list of things to eat and I am bored silly! So there is another thing to tackle: coming up with a menu that is similar in calories, carbs, proteins and fats but is actually tasty.

Okay. So, that's been the goal of diet gurus down through the ages. Maybe it just takes a fresh and motivated set of eyes to look at this problem.

I could be embarrassed to state this, but here it is: the heaviest weight on any of the machines that I used was 50 lbs. I'm a beginner - okay? It doesn't seem like much - hell - it isn't much. But I have to work up to this. I need to condition my muscles. Get them used to the idea that I'm going to be asking them to do more and more in the months to come.

This just demonstrates that this new world that I'm entering requires some real study. There is a new language, there is a new physical landscape with a different topography. A different set of facts and figures are important, there is a different criterion for establishing value....

REVIEW: Bubblegum Society

As promised I went to the opening reception for Ben Harben's exhibition of Reality TV celebrity portraits called Bubblegum Society. And, yes, it's true, the collection of 8" x 10" pictures are constructed from chewed bubblegum. No paint, no extra pigment, just a layer of a two part epoxy which protects the surface of the image while giving it a rather wet-looking "just chewed" appearance.

Despite the sweet medium the colors initially seem somewhat sour: teal, pink, pale yellow and low intensity blue and purple. The application and texture reminded me of encaustic with an eerie translucent quality. The subjects of the portraits run the gamut from vapid to grotesque. Paris Hilton with her rat-dog in tow and William Hung, gazing with glazed eyes toward his 13.7 minutes of fame.

The technique is novel and, for the most part executed very well. The subjects are, as stated, fleeting and insipid - they're portraits of Reality TV "stars" after all. The theme, which I would label as "discardable celebrity" is downright disturbing. The synergy is nothing short of amazing. It's been a long time since I've seen an exhibition of new work that so deftly combines theory and practice.

As objects to look at, this collection is quite satisfying. Pictures constructed of chewed gum do, however, run the risk of being labeled as gimmicky and contrived. It is the combination of medium, execution and idea that allows these works to take off and, hopefully avoid marginalization. Where does the artist go from here and how can the artist's works avoid suffering the same fate as that of his subjects? The medium and technique certainly offer many possibilities, the theme can surely be explored further, and the combination of elements work very well together. So, what about subject? More celebrity portraits?

While inspecting Harben's current offering I kept thinking about the idea of a still-life in bubblegum, perhaps "Arrangement with Cell Phone, Walkman and Pager." The possibility of using the genre's allegorical angle with this medium is definitely intriguing. There is already a sense of story in the way the images relate to the materials used, and the social and cultural context from which they've been snatched. And it is there that I see the passing of one of my essential tests for the quality of "good art": it makes me think and it makes me want to create.

Bubblegum Society - works by Ben Harben is on display at Teller's Gallery and Bar in Columbia, Missouri through the month of August.

Pumping Iron

Tomorrow is the day that I officially start my health-club workouts. Though I've decided that TV is the main culprit in stealing my time away and by canceling cable I should be able to make it to the gym for at least 60 - 90 minutes a day, I have realized that the hours open to me are all going to be in the evening and I really think I am a morning workout kind of guy.

So, does this mean that I should get my butt out of bed at 5 a.m. and get myself into the gym before I go to work? Hmmm...that does not sound particularly appealing.

I've also realized that part of my hesitance comes from my being guarded about the time I spend with Max. He doesn't adapt well to changes in my schedule and me taking off for any amount of time after I've gotten home from work does not sit well with him.

Sacrifice. That's a new word to ponder.

I suppose that if I'm to use this forum to chronicle my progress I should provide a "before" picture. I don't want to gross anyone out, so I'll take a pic and just link to it so regular readers can avoid the horror of it all if they wish.

Now, once I am successful in reshaping and sculpting my bod into a "work of art" I will definitely post a picture for all to marvel at. But that will be many months down the line.

Stay tuned...!

Ups and Downs

A frustrating few days with the computer. I was having registry problems (for you non-computer folk, that translates as fingernails on the blackboard) and, not having the proper software tools to fix the problem I decided to go to a local tech store and give them my money rather than download something online.

I didn't choose the most famous name in software tools, nor the cheapest. Something right in the middle. I got home, did some tinkering here and there, walked Max and, early in the evening I sat down to get the problem fixed.

I installed the software. It didn't go smoothly. I hacked my way through the process though and got it installed.

Bad things instantly began to happen. Programs wouldn't run, error messages popped up over and over again and, when I tried to reboot the system got stuck in an endless loop of trying to re-partition the hard drive.

I curse, I swear, I beat my head against the desk...then I apologize to Max for my histrionics and take him for a walk. That makes things seem a little bit better.

Next morning I log on and write a few emails, make a few journal entries and then start work on the registry problem again. I know that I need to leave for my folks' house soon so I decide to batten down the hatches and run the "powertool" to identify the problems and get them fixed. I think I was suffering from the head injury from the night before because I didn't anticipate problems - I just did it.

Then all hell broke loose. Nothing worked. I tried to do a search and the program window came up blank. My task bar started to disappear over and over again. Error messages plastered my screen like internet pop-up advertisements.

I am left with one option. I must start from scratch and restore the system to its original state and then spend the next few weeks customizing it again.

I am sad.

And then, to make matters worse, I got an email from friend Dan today informing me that the More Drama Tour has been canceled.

Very sad.