Not worth reading

Seriously, not worth it

I just have to put down a couple thoughts about who has a lust for life and who doesn’t

I’m reading “Minor Characters” now, by Joyce Johnson – one-time gf of Jack Kerouac

She writes about being fascinated by bohemianism at an early age

Like most outsiders, they have a lust for life that they don’t think others have

Maybe they’re right

Jack wrote that the only ones for him were “the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk…”

Part of this might have been that these are often qualities you find in people who are drunk and high

Things that Jack also enjoyed

I think about the young people in New York hanging around Greenwich Village, excited to be in the crowd

Even if they didn’t understand at the time that their dislike for the mainstream was mainstream thinking in their small world

We all find our people and have a hard time understanding everybody else

But her book gives a nice description of being young, not just in the 50s but in general

Even though lots of these hip cats are gloomy and angry, there’s a spark of life in the way they dress and present themselves

I see the lust for life in their need to show people how much the world is boring them

They’re communicating with tattoos and cool hats

They don’t hate life and people, they just want more

More life – good and bad, more people, more feeling

I understand this because I grew up in a small town where I was constantly looking for people and things to do

But rarely ever finding anything

But before I waste too much time here I’ll summarize

The ones who are mad, mad to live, mad to talk…

Are seen as kooks by the ones who like to go home after work and make food and watch tv

I don’t know who’s right

I don’t believe in killing  yourself early, like Jack and Neal

But I also don’t believe in killing yourself slowly, suburban-style, with over-eating and sloth

One last thought

There is a really old lady who begs down on the street

I can see her from my balcony – I took this photo of her

For some reason I think she must still have some lust for life

She’s out there everyday leaning against the wall behind her walker

Everyone gives her money and talks to her

It seems tragic that this old lady is out there begging

I don’t know her story yet

But she still wants something out of life

Whatever she’s getting with the money

I’m sure she could go into some sort of facility and not have to worry about money

But she’s still fighting, even if it is on the streets

Starting a new painting

I’m about to start a new painting

Here’s my last painting, which isn’t finished

This still lacks the feeling I was trying to convey

It’s just kind of a painting of buildings

I’m looking to show what I usually go for

How one feels about time passing, good or bad

It’s an abstract thought I can never explain – or paint very well

But it’s what I try to express

I think about buildings and windows because that’s where people spend their lives

We don’t live in caves or the wilderness

Even the outdoorsy people

We live inside boxes we make and there are windows to look out of and into

But I didn’t mean for that painting to get so tight

So for my new painting I’m going to paint an old oil can

Not because it’s beautiful, which it is

But because it’s old and I used to to pass it on my way to work everyday

It sat outside a door of an old building, in a fenced in area I couldn’t get to

But I took a photo of it

Because I don’t know why it’s out there

Or how long it’s been there – it looks like about 40 years

It’s interesting but I can’t really explain why

So that’s what I’d like to put in a painting

That look that interests you but you’re not sure why

Most artist can tell you the point of their work

Pop artists were making comments on popular culture

Picasso was painting the things the rest of us couldn’t see or visualize

Like a person’s soul or something’s essence

Rothko was painting something that would make us a feel a certain way

Some of the abstract artists would say they were breaking the rules

That blocked them from really expressing themselves

I understand that

As I start this painting I think about why others artists did what they did

And I compare my reasons to theirs

Theirs always seem more intelligent

But they’re looking back and I’m looking into a blank white canvas

I’m painting what I don’t understand because I want to understand something

Then people want you to explain why you painted something, but that’s it

Because it was something I didn’t understand

A question that wasn’t being asked

How can I then offer up an answer?

Now I’m getting abstract

The week

This week was rough but I made it through

Friday night now, back from drinks and doughnuts in Old Town

Earlier today “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” kept running through my head

I knew eventually it would

But bad weeks are never a total loss

I finished a book by Kinky Friedman – “Jesus, Coca Cola, and Elvis”

I love finishing books and picking out a new one.

Slept a lot, made progress on freelance work

Found a video on youtube of Marvin Gaye singing “Ain’t That Peculiar” acapella

How can someone sing so good?

He was a tortured genius

Another youtube discovery:

The end of “The Way We Were” with Bob Redford and Barb Streisand

Streisand proving that unattractive people can be beautiful

Actually I think that the young Babs was very attractive

Good skin tone and cheek bones, killer eyes

Redford is the Man

But now it’s getting late

Can’t remember any other good things from week

Weekend will be solo

No people, no KB

Much work, work, work

First sleep 

Now sleep

Maybe I’ll start writing like this

I’m not cool and I know that. That’s why I’m not ashamed to tell you that over the years, like a schoolgirl, I’ve kept some journals. Many years ago I started writing like Bukowski would write a poem, only not as good. Maybe it was because I thought he could put down so much by limiting himself to short lines on a page or two. So, for example, when I moved to Seattle I wrote:

4-19-01

Drinking beer on a Thurs. night

Just started a new job

In a new town

Got no place to live

Staying in some guys basement

So I went to work

Then drove around

Hoping to see a For Rent sign

Got some beer at Safeway

Came here to sit in front of the tv

Watch baseball results of the day

And feel safe

For now

So that’s how I’d write everything and now if I read them it’s a little more entertaining and somehow contains more meaning. I generally ramble on too much anyway so maybe I’ll occasionally blog in this style. I’ll start now. Similar theme to above post. 

“Another new job”

08-15-10

The towns get better

I’m more relaxed with new beginnings

I’ve had a lot of practice

Portland now

Sunny, hot summer days

Cool mornings and nights

Had to buy a coat on cold walk to work last week

After over year without a job I started to worry about things less

Life usually works opposite of how you think it should

So now I’m coasting for a while 

No direction other than just not becoming homeless

KB and I get together on weekends, here or in Seattle

Take the train

Going to sleep soon but I don’t have to work until 11:00

I’ll read Kinky Friedman till I get sleepy

Tomorrow I’ll do another day

A path will emerge soon

Portland is great

Rothko

Things are really picking up here at Mr. Sunshine. Indeed I have been encouraged to author a new post by my one and only commenter, KB. Well, you’re in luck lady, ’cause I’ve got a few things to say. 

To start, I’ve been thinking about art, as usual. I’ve always thought about Rothko’s distaste for how the wealthy bought art. He didn’t like that his work was being collected because it became the fashionable thing to do for folks with extra money. He’d be real disappointed in that episode of Mad Men where the big boss hung a Rothko in his office because someone advised him this was the latest thing in art and everyone, including him, kind of grimaced when they saw it and didn’t really get it. He basically bought it because it was expensive and trendy, but that’s why a lot of people collect art. Rothko wasn’t real happy with his new-found fame and had a few other major problems so one day he killed himself. Whether you like Rothko’s work or not you have to admit he was genuine. He wasn’t a poser who was after fame and money. He never really thought about either, it just happened as a byproduct of his dedication and work. Francis Bacon said he didn’t get Rothko’s stuff because he saw the Rothko Chapel and thought it was really depressing sitting in front of those big paintings with the dark colors. That was his thing though, he was painting a feeling and sadness was a big part of the later years. I’m not an expert though. I’m not even the biggest Rothko fan but I’m always drawn to the genuine artists, the ones who end up making the biggest splash without really having that as their goal. I think he really was pushing himself to the edge to find what he thought was art. Part of that struggle is dealing with critics and seeing your work become trendy. Once it’s popular it isn’t taken serious anymore. After Hemmingway had success with The Sun Also Rises he would go to places where wealthy folks gathered and give readings. He didn’t care for that. Didn’t think it was a great reward for all his work. Later, as Dennis Miller put it, he “speckled his ceiling with his cerebellum”. These people who were so dedicated often get depressed when they see what the world does with their work. I think a real artist is genuinely interested in doing a good thing for the world. Offering them art. But then the world uses their work to sell things or attaches it to ideas they weren’t a part of and it kills them.

But once again, what’s my point? I’m always struggling with the point of art. Rothko said, “I’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.” I like that. I like the idea of painting one thing for the purpose of expressing something else. Its more evolved than the way most work is approached. We tend to think we’ve made lots of progress in technology but we never add the problems created along the way into the equation. We love the invention of the car but “Lord, Mr. Ford, what have ya done?” Every year around 44,000 people die prematurely due to the horseless carriage. We can get places faster but this just made us place things like stores and hospitals farther apart. Looking at the big picture, with traffic and wars over oil and so on, the automobile hasn’t made the big improvement we think it has. Sure, I’ve cruised down the PCH on a beautiful summer day and marveled at how great life is, but I’ve also spent countless hours in traffic trying to get to work and being miserable and angry on daily basis. How did I get on this tangent? The point is Rothko wanted to make art for the reasons he thought art should be made, to express basic human emotions. Instead of doing what had been done in the past, painting religious scenes or moody portraits, he found his own path. I can’t explain why I painted the things I’ve painted but it’s something along the lines of what Rothko was talking about. Basic, raw human emotions, but not from any kind of scenes or faces painted doing the emotion I’m trying to convey. Something that comes about by accident that you can’t explain or duplicate on every canvas. That’s why most of my paintings have failed. I’m trying to do more than paint a realistic figure and put together pretty color schemes. Hopefully if I ever do get to the point where I’m knocking them out of the park every time I won’t become rich and famous. I’d be horrified. I wouldn’t kill myself but I’d probably end up a recluse afraid to leave the studio. 

PDX

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything here. My daily page views are down to zero. Nowhere to go but up. So let me throw out the latest news from Portland. I’ve started my job, and almost finished my first painting, which I’ll post soon. Work is ok. Newspapers and all offices are pretty much the same. The city of Portland is great. Lots of old brick buildings with fading ghost signs. I don’t know anybody here yet though so when KB isn’t visiting I’m on my own.

Yesterday I wandered around town a lot but the highlight of my day was watching the final episodes of Six Feet Under. I’d stopped watching that show for some reason so it was great to get back into it. I like the theme of real death. Anything real is an unexplored genre in tv and movies but writing shows around the theme of ordinary deaths and how people deal with that is interesting. Even when a pet dies your eyes are opened for a while to what is really important in life. When someone dies your world is instantly different in a way that you don’t want. When I lost my lost my last job my world changed but I didn’t want it back. I wanted the change and looked forward to each new day. When my dog died I wanted to turn back time and have him with me. But as the show says, I think, “everyone, everything, everywhere … ends” So that’s a kind of depressing thought but I like how it points out that we shouldn’t be afraid of anything because we’re only here a while. Then, we and all of our people come to an end. There’s much to think about there but mostly it gives me hope. As long as we haven’t come to an end we can still fight everyday. 

So I’ll file this under “Ramblings”. I just wanted to blog today because its Sunday and I’m taking a break from painting and drinking yet another cup of coffee, watching the beautiful people of Portland stroll by. I’ll stop rambling now and throw a random photo or something up with this post.