Jailbait Wolff

Scrap

The Culvert

Gato Loco Trio at St Celia's Chapel

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new recipe

Rembrandt, with sides of Titian, Bellini and Vermeer (free night at the Frick)
cupcakes
bottle of Medoc
Hudson River esplanade, full-leafed & blooming
dollop of moonlight in the late light of luminant dusk

mix as you wish throughout day & evening

Imaginary Friend

Herzog and the cave artists

Yesterday I went to see Herzog's 3D movie: Cave of Forgotten Dreams. Its about the paintings in France's Chauvet cave; 30,000 year old art preserved by a rockfall that sealed the cave's opening for thousands of years. Its a labyrinth of glittering drip formations, skulls coated in smooth diamondesque, ancient footprints, and beautiful paintings. The art is sleek and exact yet loose and fluid. The animals drawn across the undulating walls move with the confidence of an artist's hand that loves and knows its business. There is nothing primitive about them. They have the same glamor as a perfect modern scribble or an Egyptian sculpture. They are wonderfully noisy and active, the movement of wild animal and the human hand coalesced into lines on secret walls.
So cool to see and then walk out onto 6th Avenue in a perfect Spring afternoon.

Boy in the Ferns

Paragraph of Grass

from dementia to rain

Here in NYC the rain envelopes in a cold, frazzled sheet. Somewhere outside a bird insists on insisting. Consider the mind in the midst of dementia: wherein the simplest violent move on TV, even in the context of slapstick, convinces one that murder is eminent, probably one's own. And then think of being on the outside of that construct, but attempting to empathize within it. Probably why I'm so flat lined this week.
Of course there is a solution. Make another painting. Have a Francis Bacon kind of optimism based on nothing but the sheer nowness of things. Alive now=cheerful. From the man of mouths comes that bit of buoyant wisdom.
New Olympic sport: run, leap, image
ha

Portrait of Long Ji

Portrait of the Creek in Andes

Portrait of the Hudson River

Portrait of the Li River

Loka's story & wall

Up on the wall is Loka--a painting wherein the character migrated from an old story I wrote and reappeared in a slightly different, but still alien environment, know as The Piano Lands. This painting didn't waltz out of the brain pan. It insisted on dancing its own recalcitrant beat, forcing me to learn and relearn its meandering grace. Meanwhile a friend gave me some old frames and I collaged up various drawings inside them. I like looking at things together, letting their lines twine and bump.

Gato Loco at Joe's Pub!

Written on the Street

In Chinatown this morning, walking the wandering streets---that are hieroglyphed with the multi-colored and gilt remainders of last night's New Year's celebration. Eddying at the edges of iced snow mounds and trodden into the amber-grey sidewalks the little rectangular papers talk a narrative of Spring Festival and hopes for a prosperous new year.
恭喜发才!

Another view

I love the point of view, across the plain of the dinner's wreckage, through the various translucency's to the faces in the midst of conversation...

January Snow

Inside, outside, movement marking the window's exterior, the interior so still in contrast, the light so blue/umber-dark, outside and in.

Virgil talks about history