Time is a sure poison no matter how you live you do succumb to it's relentless wear on your being, At first it's charming to be young looking at photos of your child self but always heading for your destiny of nonexistence which mommies never talk much about, every baby has to die one day and perish from this sad old blue orb.
Take 2. Mood slides upward. Komrades, strange ancient friends and spys, Deep in the thickness the sheer density of time and memory I think what else might I have done? I have two very large paintings up simultaneously in the art museums here where I live. This happened once before {years ago} when a friend from Chicago told me he's seen works of mine in both museums. It makes you think, it makes you see a future you never expected to see. I wish my mother could see this she would weep. She never wavered in her support for me being an artist. If their is a heaven she's watching my life like her favorite soap opera cheering for me at every turn of the road. My mother grew up on a farm in the upper penisula of Michigan, the family spoke Finnish at home and the brothers worked in the copper mine near their farm. Long story short her life was hard work and an early departure from this earth. She was so happy when I had my first son, she loved children though she'd done more than her share of child care taking over her own family when her mom died young ( after 7 or 8 live births) which was common in the early 20th century. But she was my inspiration her bright outlook her humor her sexiness her soulful ways. Everybody has a little rain in this life and how we manage this inclement emotional weather is like anything some do it better and some suffer it without relief. I have a mood disorder that has made my life more difficult but now as I am older it's grip has loosened and I feel more comfortable being me and living with all my shortcomings and odd talents.Of one thing I'm convinced of that is the care of children and their education is the first priority of civilisation. I would not be who I am without having been loved nurtured and taught by people who understood the gravity of helping youngsters find a way in this new byzantium modernity has created. I wanted to do as well for my children but my mother set the bar very high, and hey mom's have the home court advantage. I don't say much about my father, I'm still angry at him about his abuse of my mom. Anger abides even after death. I've worked on it because I had alot of anger at myself and at my lack of success moneywise. But you do well to examine your parents and family to understand yourself better.
Take 3. The opening in Paris for a new artist's book(and drawing exhibition) by Stu Mead and I is tomorrow night. It's published by le dernier cri (the last cry) edit by Pakito Bolino in Marseilles. The bookshop/gallery in Paris is named Le Monte-en-l'air it's not far from the Cemetarie de Pere-Lachaise where Oskar Wilde and Jim Morrison are buried. It's exciting and the book looks very sweet and hot. It costs 20 Euros for 112 pages most in color printed by silkscreen. The first book we did with Pakito in 1999 was a Man Bag compilation, this one is more varied though also very pornographic. But it has a pony or two for balance. The book is named Men Beg. And boy do they! 1000 copies it will be out of print quickly as was the last.