Friday, March 29, 2013




  For those of my readers not on facebook ( of my 30 or so, that's probably 50%), every time I write a blog I now link it through facebook, so a reader can just click on it and you are here. I also use fb to post pics of artsy crap I'm working on and sometimes weigh in on the issue of the day. I "like" stuff from time to time and always find a reason to comment on arch artfag enemy Kenny Schacter's pontifications. I don't use it for family, embarrassing drunken benders with my peeps or photos of my cats. A year or more on the social media tip and I'm pretty hooked. I know it's lame. Just being real.
   So a couple of days ago I wrote about buying my '02 Chrysler convertible in HWS and I posted the pic of a bare assed Mystery Girl getting her hands tied by Sister NOYB. No tittie. No vaganus...just a cute butt. Tasteful. I never thought twice about putting it out there. But the next morning after making coffee and checking email I hit the F key and up came Mystery Girl under a big official heading informing me my fb privileges had been revoked for 24 hours. They also went on to say that this had been my 2nd offense and if there happened to be a third.....well then I'd be removed PERMANENTLY. My first offense was some time ago and I never knew why I had crossed the line. I guess the fb software has progressed to now giving you the evidence of your transgressions.
   What to do? My fist impulse is to say fuckem and repost Mystery Girl's rather fine ass. I guess that's why they give you 24 hours to cool off and as my mom used to say "Just think about what you did wrong." I warned everybody that without her around things could go awry. But I still don't see what I did wrong? I post titties all the time and once and awhile a vagina or two. Hell, just the other day I had a close up of a big floppy dildo attached to a pregnant mannikin. Any problem fb? Nope. Could it be the tying up?  Maybe butt plus rope sends up a red flag. One can only speculate. In the meantime I guess I should tread lightly. Or maybe this is the way to stop wasting so much time in that big fb circle jerk in cyber space. I wonder what's happening on MYspace?

First meeting with TVZack went well. I haven't scared him off yet. And "Shirley" the convertible is running like a dream.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013



 Sad news. After much soul searching I've decided to take the Neon off the road. The final straw was a trip down that cow path they call Majestic Road. It was Buddy Budde's birthday and the event could not be missed. Half way to the house I heard a "clunk", then a rumble, then a full force, from the depths of the throat, gobble. The muffler was gone. I limped in to find Buddy and Ed tending the garbage fire of cut-offs and brush, and poking fun at the old man with the hillbilly clunker wheels. I had to admit my jaw was a bit too slack, my yokel showing a bit too much. I shuffled to the fire, popped a cold one and thought maybe it was time.....
   Cars are like pets. You become attached to all their quirts and endearing rattles. As they get old and begin to crumble you do what you can, but there's a limit. It was getting to be a monthly ritual. $300 here, $600 there was becoming the norm.....just to keep it running. So today I unscrewed the JESUS HELPS ME TRICK PEOPLE sign and both plates and went to buy a car.
    Buying a car used to be fun. No more. These days you start with Craigslist. It's depressing. Everybody is selling their problems they bought before 9/11 and they want a lot of money for them. The last time I bought a car I paid $100 for the $15,000 2003 Neon and ended up paying about $30, 000 in finance charges. But the feeling of giving the guy a hundred dollar bill and driving off the lot in a brand new car was almost worth it. This time I've decided to go under $5000 and pay cash. The field is narrow. This class of car is ugly and practical- Toyotas, Focuses, Hondas. And all have 150,000 or more miles on 'em.
   Yesterday I went to a lot down in Coldenham recommended by Mupp. He won't come with me to check out cars, because he thinks I'll blame him if it breaks down. He painfully remembers many "lifetime guarantees" gone wrong. Hey, it was a verbal contract. I swear, your honor. Anyways, I'm on my own in Chevy, Ford, Toyota land, no help from bro. I told Mupp I'd have authenticated a Picasso if he was in the market. He wasn't buying.
   The salesman was a cheery Asian guy who steered me from one to another. They are all so fucking boring, I was about to give up when the smiling dude waves to a silver convertible. "Your neighbors will think you won the lottery if you show up in this one. It's a Chrysler Sebring. 95,000 miles. Very clean." This is the kind of car that makes absolutely no sense for me to own. I'll destroy it in a matter of months. If my mother was alive she would stroke the shiny fender and address the car directly. "I'm so sorry for poor have no idea where you are going to." But for some reason I can't take my eyes off it. "Can I take it for a ride?"

   Long story short. I couldn't help myself. I'm meeting with the TV people tomorrow. It's my first meeting to discus shooting a teaser for HWS. The supermodels will be riding in style.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013




Every once in a while art hits the mainstream media. Usually it revolves around money. Somebody discovers a Pollack in a thrift store or a Constable in the attic and the 24 hr. news cycle plasters it across all the outlets. Sometimes it involves a monumental work by a well known artist like Christo or that big rock by Michael Hieser. But then it all dies down and art is forgotten again, in favor of Taylor Swift's love life.  The most recent example of "pop" art is actress Tilda Swinton sleeping in a big glass vitrine yesterday at MOMA in NYC. It's all about material. You want people to pay attention to your woman in the box? Put an academy award winner in it. Well, predictably the artfags are all up in arms over a "non-artist" movie star bum rushing our select little world, calling herself a "performance artist". HOW DARE SHE? Poor James Franco is immediately lumped in with Tilda and the wires are a-buzz with star bashing. Lets all calm down here and see what's at play here.

   Art, like the fashion world of the 90's and hillbillies on TV, has become co-opted by pop culture in the 21st Century. No longer a rarified world of tea sipping, pinky extended, pointy toed shoe wearing "experts", art is for everyone and echoing Joseph Beuys "Everyone an artist." I'm all for it. But lets be clear here. It's high end gallery, jet-setting, museum installed art world that is drawing in the movie stars. And this world, like the politics, is very appealing to the average movie star looking for a wider circle of ass-sniffers. You don't see too many movie stars (with the exception of Wokeen Feenix) doing good art. And none are in the trenches. The glass box is a rip off of a 70's piece done by Collette and aside from jetting around with Marina Abramovic i don't know what James Franco has done. That said, I welcome them. I'm sure it's not easy being a movie star. If they want to add "performance artist" to their list of accomplishments God bless them.
   All these idiots that are so incensed by a "non-artist" in a fucking box, pisses me off more than any sleeping actress. Of course I would've cast it differently- Lindsay Lohan with a bottle of vodka and a barf bag, trying her damnedest not to tweet for five minutes, in that box would've been way more artistic in my view. I've been called a lot of things in my life, "performance artist" being one of the worst. I've always hated that term. It's right up there with poet. Hollywood is welcome to it. Even artist stinks these days. Maybe non-artist is the way to go. Move over Tilda, I need a good sleep.    

Friday, March 15, 2013




There's been a lot of concern lately over my use of a pregnant mannikin within my sculptural works. I congratulate all of you who have questioned this, recognizing it as an unfamiliar gesture within my usual oevre. I'm still waiting on the dick. During a frenzy of online shopping about a month ago I ordered a limp penis and balls that I hoped would work perfectly, as her left hand was already in place to support the appendage. Days, and now weeks have slowly ticked off the calendar. The UPS man drives right on by with a "beep-beep", not even slowing down. Every day I open my mailbox in town hoping for a yellow notice, informing me that a certain package is waiting behind the counter. No such luck. So SEA HORSE ENVY remains unfinished-a dickless pregnant mannikin.
   But on other fronts progress continues. As Shewho has consented to photograph and archive all my work since since 1977, I've decided to bite the bullet and put out a book. This coinciding with a hot streak of work on paper and object production leaves Shewho feeling like a Yemani in Guantanamo. I promise there'll be an end, but she doesn't really believe me. Up in Maine, Duke is working on a full sized marionette stickman puppet with an atrophied prosthetic leg, designed to sit on the end of a table. You'd think this and a magic marker drawing that looks as if a six year old did it, would be enough. Alas, it isn't. So Duke and I exchange phone calls daily. Elm? Pine? Bark? No bark? "Can you make him anatomically the relaxed position?" "No problem." Duke is always a pleasure to work with.
   As far as huntingwithsupermodelstv goes, I've been wrangling supermodels for the May shoot. Hollie, Kate, and Mystery Girl are on, with special guest spots to be filled. The narrator auditions are coming up. We are six weeks until opening day girls. Time to pattern the 12 ga. and practice your yelps and squeals. No churches are planned, although there has been grumblings from the inner circle concerning our usual lack of preparation, spirituality, sensitivity, relevancy and overall professionalism.
I suggest we invite the local ashram and am immediately informed that they would never come. I suggest (once again) more rehearsals? (crickets) Slick puts it best. "I just think....I don't know.....maybe we know's hard to many ways it' could be so much more of a you know what I mean?" I know what he means. It's not as easy as carving a phone puppet.


Friday, March 1, 2013




The first time I ever saw this quote it was on the cover of a little red and black book given to me in Havana by El Prof. in 2003. It detailed Fidel Castro's self- defense speech before the court in Santiago de Cuba on October 16, 1953, after his arrest for leading the attack on the Moncada barracks on July 26, 1953- the opening volley of the Cuban Revolution. The young lawyer blasts his accusers, laying the ground work for what would become the 26th of July Revolutionary movement and eventual armed take over of the Batista government and set up of modern day "Communist" Cuba. Did history absolve Fidel? I think the jury's still out.
   The next time I spotted the quote I was hundreds of pages deep in William L. Shirer's 1500 page history of Nazi Germany- THE RISE AND FALL OF THE THIRD REICH. A quote from Hitler's MEIN KAMPF (My Struggle) AH, in all his meglomania leaves it to history. Again taken from a court trial, Hitler quotes himself as telling his accusers this, after his arrest in the BEER HALL PUTSCH. The thousand year reich lasted 12 years and four months in all its horror. I think the jury is in on this one. No absolution forthcoming.

I mention both of these examples because of my recent obsession in the seemingly false history of who exactly "discovered" the North Pole. A chance meeting with a man from whom I purchased a group of paintings put me on this trail. I've always been an artist who revels in chance and coincidence in my work. It can come from an angle. All you have to be is open to it. Duchamp validated this approach for all of us by not repairing his LARGE GLASS, after it cracked. "It's now complete." he supposedly declared, leaving it be. Damn. That's a relief.
   So once I learned the name of Dr. Frederick A. Cook I set about digging into his story. Before I knew it I was traveling every other day to The Sullivan Co. Historical Society and buying books online. I just finished Bruce Henderson's TRUE NORTH. Anyone who comes away from reading this book, not screaming at the heavens for Cook's absolution by history is just not paying attention. A series of bizarre events upon Cook's return from the pole, along with a character assassination, smear campaign by his former friend and co-polar explorer Robert Perry leaves the reader gasping for his frozen breath. If you remember anything from elementary school you remember the name Admiral Perry in connection with the North Pole. Cook is a footnote- if that. Well, I'm here to tell you this is about to change....if I have anything to say about it. Funny thing about's still going on.