Category Archives: Art

No Comment – September 03rd

Because if you can’t say anything nice, STFU, and I’ve been sitting here for an hour and I can’t find anything nice to say.

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No Context For You – September 02nd

On sale?

The world, like this image, is overflowing with contrasts these days. I’m not saying it should all be shades of beige and grey, but maybe we could dial it back just a little bit, please? Someplace more in the middle might have less wear and tear on my nerves.

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Make Art – August 22nd

Because it’s been a while. Playing with the latest version of Photoshop.

What is it?

“Take a picture of something routine, mundane, and ordinary – make art.”

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How Did We Get Here?

I’m not 100% sure where I was, but I thought I knew at one time. I might have been wrong. Or I might have forgotten. Maybe I left myself notes. Maybe not.

And I’m not 100% sure where I am now. Or which way I’m heading.

I’m not 100% sure where these words come from. I think that I’m 100% sure where this image comes from, but I’m not 100% sure what it means.

I described it twice today as “trying to run a marathon while hip-deep in molasses.” That’s fair, I think.

But while that might all be incredibly frustrating (it is), I will not stop running.

That’s one lesson of the marathon. You can get carried off in an ambulance, and your time may suck and not be what you wanted, but you will not quit.

No matter how much you just want to take a little rest, sit for a few minutes, and see if maybe that leads to a quit.

No.

When in doubt, keep moving.

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No Context For You – July 19th

It’s Sunday night.

The weekend was…not sufficient. Disappointing.

Last week was…difficult. Frustrating.

The upcoming week will be…unknown. Anticipation.

The good news is that we all have tremendous potential to make wonderful things of tomorrow, this week, this remainder of this month, the remainder of this year, the remainder of our lives. If we have the strength.

The bad news is that we may be facing tremendous forces opposed to us, both intentionally and otherwise, and the race may never have an end or even a chance to catch our breath. Our strength will be sorely tested.

I was thinking this week of Grant Imahara. And Jim Henson. And Stan Rogers. And listening to “Hamilton” brought all of those thoughts together. “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?”

Indeed.

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Weird Art

Guerrilla art, lightning round!

 

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Art Or Not Art?

There’s a Twitter bot account called something like “Art_Or_Not_Art” and when you see something really weird you can hashtag “Art Or Not Art” (or something, not exactly sure how it gets triggered) and the bot will reply with either “Art” or “Not Art.”

Although, in truth, I think it simply replies with “Art.” I have ***NEVER*** seen it reply with “Not Art.”

This might be the day.

Art? Or Not Art?

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No Implied Context For You – The Day After November 19th

So, last night it was late and I was doing a quickie “No Context” post which usually means I go through my iPhone photos and find something vague and/or blurry and/or bizarre and then write a few paragraphs of free association with it.

It’s not supposed to be deep, it’s just supposed to be quick. (Deep would be gravy, but I’m not holding my breath waiting for it.)

With an image that was various shades of brown and tan and had a bright spot in the upper corner (done, if I recall, by noticing that with the camera on but the camera face down on the desk it made different various gradients and lights depending on the overhead shadows and lighting) my first thought was that I was underwater in a very muddy place with the ray of sunlight to swim up toward to escape. Then, of course, it occurred to me that it might not be muddy water but something more fecal, and that in general was in tune with what’s going on in the world today, particularly in Washington and London, and I went with it.

This might have worried some folks.

It was a metaphor, or possibly a simile or an analogy, or even an allegory. Probably not a similitude.

I’m fine. While there might be days when I’m figuratively drowning in shit (who among us doesn’t in these interesting times?) I am not in any real sense literally drowning in shit.

So, here’s that same image, sprinkled with a few seconds of Photoshop magic, to be much more happier and much more upbeat. (Which is an anthropomorphication which is just as much BS as portraying last night’s as sad and downbeat, but hey, “whetevs” as the kids say. [The kids do not say this.])

Now it’s an algae-filled tank I’m swimming in, but it’s that special new bioengineered algae that’s going to give us unlimited, CO2 free energy while simultaneously sucking the excess CO2 from the atmosphere, pushing the CO2 levels back down below 300 ppm and saving us from climate change. That salvation would be the electronically enhanced, bigger, and brighter future in the upper right.

(DAMN, that’s smarmy!)

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Make Art – October 02nd

So many questions. So many questions about questions.

So little information. So little context. So few answers.

Tough enough determining facts – “truth” borders on the metaphysical.

Yet…

We have to keep asking, searching, seeking.

We must keep being lied to, being obstructed, being blinded.

As painful and frustrating as it can be, we need to remember that the alternatives are worse.

Or, so we tell ourselves. (We must!)

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Naked Plenum & T-Bar

Any number of sins can be hidden above those ceiling tiles, up where the plenum air is rare.

Duct work. Insulation. Pipes. Conduit.

So you thought Bruce Willis might be crawling around up there with a machine gun. (Yes, it IS a Christmas movie, even if you’ll never see it on the Hallmark Channel!)

Highly unlikely, unless Bruce has lost a truly significant amount of weight.

Not sure what that T-bar grid is rated for in terms of weight capacity, but I’ll guarantee that it’s in the tens of pounds, not in the hundreds. It doesn’t take much to bring it all down, if that’s what you’re in the mood for.

Lots of interesting things can be hidden up there, some for aesthetic reasons, some for more mischievous reasons. (Poor Mr. Barstow – never did find that radio we hid up there in high school algebra class one day.)

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