Marcus Berkner Jewelry

2012-01-05T15:27:00.001-08:00

i watched the wounded animal
down the barrel of the rifle.
as it was dying, it gifted me the wonder of the forest.

back through a narrow shaft of space,
along the bent-light arc of the bullet,
the old creature pierced my heart.

2012-01-05T14:40:00.000-08:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...therefore the brilliance, if present at all, lies in the concepts, not in the works themselves. Concepts are low on market value, so continues the comical scene: throngs gathered and bowing before multi-million-dollared blank canvasses, praying to the god of art, lest they be one of the heretically uninformed.

the sun is shining and i feel so...

2012-01-02T14:21:00.000-08:00

this sunshine is so cold cold cold and weak and the color of bile arching east to west casting shadows on a wet blanket of earth

a brown yellow spiteful orb that can barely illuminate it's own shortcomings

the substance of faded cold-to-the-touch plaster and shrill cries and whispering half-decayed corpses

2011-12-18T01:19:00.000-08:00

But here lies the problem: most if not all standard treatments for melancholia and madness rely on generating at least some level of apathy or lethargy, or both.

This is not the result I am looking for. I am not interested in painting a more 'rosy' picture of reality. It is of more importance to me to be able to chronicle realities true nature. If I can work, if I am working, I am happy enough. If I cannot work, the most intense chemical bliss is a living hell. Inertia is the only thing I wish for from any treatment. Western medicines desire to isolate, contain and eliminate tends to run contrary to this goal, at least in my case.

Through years of self-treatment, I have come to realize that the only way to have a reasonably successful life is make an ally of the illness itself. To do this, I have had to re-define the nature of this enemy-turned-ally -- to think in terms of 'phenomena' rather than 'symptoms'. To lean into the illness, find it's bottom rather than waging war with the better part of my psyche.

he stood

2011-12-11T02:32:00.000-08:00

HE WAS STANDING, WITH HEAD BOWED
HE LIFTED HIS ARMS UNTIL THEY WERE PARALLEL TO THE EARTH
HE RAISED HIS HEAD
HIS EYES OPENED
HE THOUGHT,
"THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE HUMAN"

2011-12-05T14:23:00.000-08:00

It is much easier to push a boulder downhill.

2011-11-10T16:31:00.000-08:00

you looked so soft and pink
and vulnerable -
laying on the hospital bed,
swollen with life and
other people's future

and your hand
was warm and moist:
like the time you held mine
on the stick shift

and we drove all night
and you showed me the ditch
you hid in as a child
for almost two days

and the day
i promised
we would be together forever

and the morning
you put your hand on my shoulder
like we had been

and the night i told you
we would not

2011-10-31T23:08:00.001-07:00

And three days later, I find myself hands and knees in the snow. And I can feel the snow landing softly on my back, melting, and falling bright red onto the ground.

Or am I still in my room? I cannot tell. If I concentrate, I can make out the floor's hardwood pattern -- I do not know which is real -- I do not remember either one.

I think I was with her, just this moment -- or I was thinking of her. I was in the street, in an alleyway. I was saying something silly, like 'I still have your clothes and weapon.'

"I do not need them, dear, I am dead," she laughed. Then she held my face in her large hands. With tears in her eyes, she said, "But I forgive you."

... and her hands and lips became ice cold. Became the snow -- the cold blood-soaked snow.

...and I am so sorry.

2011-10-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

The tall Princess fell forward, her knees and palms making a dull thud against the hard African soil. Lurching and heaving, she puked green-yellow bile onto the parched, cracked ground.

"In three days," she said, without looking up, "you will die in the snow."
"Three days after that, you will kill me."
"After another three days, I will forgive you."
"And three days after that, you will apologize."

The Princess then stood up, wiped her mouth and began walking away, leaving me holding her spear and clothing.

left standing at the door of the tower

2011-10-26T10:10:00.000-07:00

as a generation burns bright meteors into the sun
that i should be left standing at the door of the tower

but someone has to tell the story
and i have had my turn at the fairy queen

2011-10-08T15:13:00.001-07:00

when i look out my window
it is not rage i see
from the passing of the light

the dry, nervous calamus summer
dissolving with each chilled raindrop

the frantic dance of life
yielding to the steady soft beat
whispering 'sleep'.

titmouse gets her heart broken, but soon recovers

2011-09-23T16:37:00.000-07:00

"I thought love would be less gnarly," Titmouse wept.

"Would you like a piece of my pie?" asked dust bunny, scooping up a large gooey mass from the center of the pie with his finger.

Titmouse blushed. "Only if you feed it to me," she replied, mostly forgetting her troubles.

from Exploring Titmouse's Personality Disorder - Marcus' Collection of Fractured Tales For Kids

stalemate

2011-08-19T15:13:00.000-07:00

Note to self:

No, it will not work.

However, it's 'not working' has been incorporated into the design, either from the beginning, or at some panicked later date -- it will probably happen with some modifications.

Modifications, or even a complete rework, might be quicker and preferred over a design stalemate.

moolah veggies

2011-08-04T13:47:00.000-07:00

gritty macro sandwiches

2011-08-03T15:13:00.001-07:00

dark houses

2011-08-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

bark

2011-08-02T09:41:00.001-07:00

treetops

2011-07-24T19:22:00.001-07:00

have the stars changed?
spread slightly farther apart?
can i close the gap with my fingertips?

there is a lavender

2011-07-19T15:56:00.000-07:00

it first came in a jigsaw puzzle
and followed me in dreams,
intertwining itself in
melancholy and nostalgia

squash earring prototype molds

2011-07-11T19:28:00.001-07:00

A mold was made of the 'raw' squash tendril as it was picked out of the garden (mold not shown).

Wax was injected into first mold. A prosthetic loop was attached to the top of the wax model that will serve as a bail for the earring. (Item to left in 2nd pic).

A secondary prototype mold was made of the wax model with loop on top. (Right part of 2nd pic).

Once the mold is made, the model is cut out and molten wax is injected into the cavity. (The all red model sitting on mold is an injected wax model.) This gives you a near-perfect representation of the model.

The injected wax model will now be transformed into metal. The metal piece will be cleaned up (especially where the loop was attached). This piece will become the metal 'master'.

A production mold will be made from this metal piece.

My sincere hope is that the earring will be 'reversible', so that by flipping one earring over, there will be an opposing, yet matching 'pair' of earrings. If it does not work, I will just shoot myself.

Because of advances in casting, the final product will be a near exact representation of the original squash tendril (with loop attached and about 7% smaller than original tendril).

driftwood earring molds

2011-07-11T19:09:00.000-07:00

Two prototype molds are made of a pair of driftwood earrings similar in style to the driftwood ring.
Eerily looking like bacon at this stage.
We'll see...

final wax stage

2011-06-22T17:05:00.000-07:00

This is the amethyst ring as finished wax model.
Next step, make a prototype mold.
Then inject a wax model into mold.
Then cast a metal prototype from wax model.
Then a production mold made from the metal prototype.
Then another wax injected model.
Then cast an actual metal ring.

moonlit pools

2011-06-20T13:51:00.000-07:00

the weighty ghost of someone i once cared for lies against me today

nearly motionless
and in tiny ripples in moonlit pools
and cheap white wine

mingled with the smell of chlorine
and regret
and distance

and corporate offices
and awkward reunions
and denial as closure

p. k. dick

2011-06-20T11:04:00.000-07:00

"Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it."

from "The Man in the High Castle" by P. K. Dick

doings

2011-06-10T18:41:00.000-07:00

So I got the outer shank for the amethyst ring 'roughed in' today. (It has a crown (bezel area) salvaged from the door pendant.)

Did not think about the difference between a ring mount and a pendant mount and the crown/shank meeting gave me fits. And I could not get the shank style right - kept making it too nice and pretty. It is finally where it will (or will not) be, it now needs some 'chaos' added and I think it will work. After that, the inside shank must be filled in, rounded and smoothed. Then a general clean-up.

The bezel area has a strange 'flared square' shape that leaves prominent corners at the base. At first this seemed too bulky. Usually when working on a piece, an oddity will either become increasingly annoying, and scrapped, or your eye will normalize the unique design. So far leaning slightly to the latter -- hard to know in this case until it gets to the point of being metal: as worn, as felt.

I get the ring finished and another creepy pod pendant and I can do a 3-month-overdue casting.

time

2011-05-30T12:39:00.001-07:00

There is a compression of time that exists within breath and torn rags and destruction and naps. A soft cinnamon smelling filter of warmth and life mingled with aging perspective.

ticks

2011-05-05T17:17:00.000-07:00

How easy it is to reduce oneself to nothing.
To store in 'edit mode' the scars and folds that make us human.
To pick and choose a persona like an entree on a menu.

jules

2011-04-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

Jules life had become a frantic search - a pursuit for an ever-increasing hoard of meaningless shapes and curves - an insane dash toward a finish line that more than likely did not even exist. If some sort of closure did exist, it was certainly nothing to rush towards.

what i am doing

2011-04-07T15:16:00.000-07:00

Until the price of silver stops spinning around and figures what it wants to do, I am going to take the opportunity to work on some long overdue wax projects. (These wax models will eventually be converted to silver.)

Things I am trying to finish up: Squash Tendril Earrings, Mindworm Pendant, Amethyst Door Ring (salvaged setting from Garnet Door Pendant), Driftwood Earrings, maybe some more stuff, not sure.

terrence

2011-03-30T15:30:00.000-07:00

Terrence and Lisa, arrived in Berkeley two days before his job interview with the school's personnel director. The interview was more of a formality than anything else; Terrence had been assured that the job was his. He and his wife had already been given moving expenses and had been encouraged to transfer as soon as possible.

It was after dark when their taxi pulled up to the hotel. Terrence and Lisa had only the opportunity to see the city under cover of darkness - a lamplit, twinkling negative of itself. Even in the darkness Terrence could see the city's vibrance, "or is that just my own nervous energy," he thought to himself.

The hotel was posh. The doorman, opening the taxi door seemed to know Terrence and his 'situation'. Without needing to check in, Terrence and Lisa were whisked up to their room - a trail of servants dealing with luggage and other trivialities.

Terrence and Lisa were too tired and excited

*** all wrong, start over ***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terrence woke at daybreak, having slept only a couple of hours at the overcrowded urban campsite. He tried not to shuffle around and wake up his wife, Lisa.

Terrence and Lisa were at their final pause, only a few miles from their destination. Terrence had finally been given the opportunity to work in his chosen field - at UC Berkeley - making real money. He had already been promised the job, but as a formality he was to meet with the school's artistic director at today at 10AM. Lisa planned to spend the morning checking out the campus life and their new apartment.

Lisa sat partially up and out of the shared sleeping bag, yawned and gave Terrence a sleepy "hi".

"You can't sleep either?" Terrence asked.

"Too excited," Lisa said groggily, "lets go check it out."

Terrence and Lisa had the tent dismantled and in the back of the dilapidated hatchback within minutes. They had been given plenty of practice camping over the last few meager years, and had been given a not-so-pleasant refresher course during the rain-soaked trip down from Washington State.

add

Because it was 6:30 in the morning, finding a parking space near the school was less of a challenge than they had anticipated. Neither spoke walking the few blocks from the car to the university campus.

As they walked down Telegraph Street, Terrence had an unpleasant sensation. Terrence felt something was wrong. The sensation grew stronger as they approached the campus. Terrence had the ability to 'sense' when something is wrong, often before others began to notice. This 'gift' had often helped him in his work.

Preoccupied with his feeling of dread, Terrence nearly walked straight into a short, old man. The old man, reeking of wine, was himself breaking camp for the morning, shaking the sidewalk filth off his single blanket. Terrence, in the confusion, over-apologized to the old man which confused the swaggering drunk more than anything else.

The commotion drew the attention of another apparent street dweller, a very tall man, in his early thirties, wearing a large black t-shirt. Had the man not been tall and broad the black t-shirt would not have been able to contain the over-sized, white, Ariel font words printed on the front, 'F*** THE POLICE'. The tall man eyed Terrence and Lisa suspiciously then spat a wad of discolored phlegm onto the pavement.

Terrence and Lisa walked on, looking for something cheap to stave off the morning's hunger.

Terrence's apprehension grew - he had learned to trust this sense of doom - he knew that it was often triggered by some minute detail which others seemed to overlook. -- "It is a sound," he said to himself.

Terrence nearly collided with another person. This time, a young student heading in the opposite direction - texting with one hand, a bagel in the other. Part of the bagel's delicious looking contents fell to the ground as the girl lurched to one side without losing her pace, cursing at Terrence, or the bagel, or the phone, or all three at once.

"Or perhaps the absence of a sound," thought Terrence. -- "Yes, that's it," he said to himself:

Beneath the street people, mumbling at the encroaching day, beneath the street vendors and shop owners, clattering and unfurling their wares, a sound was missing. Terrence realized that he could not hear the sound his shoes should be making against the hard cement sidewalk. The sound of his walking was as muffled as if he were walking on wet grass.

Terrence gave attention to the sidewalk to see why: The cement was worn and discolored as he expected, but instead of it being pocked and uneven, all the holes and unevenness had been filled in. The surface of the sidewalk had been smoothed and softened by years of filth and grime. The congealed filth had been smoothed and compressed by an endless number of people, leaving countless footprints, until this thick layer of phlegm, discarded food, flesh and excrement had become the surface upon which these people now existed.

Terrence slowed down and stopped. Lisa followed suit.

As Terrence looked once again at the ground, Lisa took his arm into her own and held him closer.

"What do you want to do?" Lisa asked.

"I want to go home," replied Terrence.

squash tendril earrings

2011-03-29T17:00:00.001-07:00

Making a prosthetic for a simple pair or earrings and realized that I need even smaller drill bits (I was using a size 70-something.)

I preserved a squash tendril from last year and am trying to make earrings from the mold. I had to make an opposing loop on the top end as a bail for the ear hooks.

dust bunny freaks out again

2011-03-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

"Why are your lines not straight?" asked the titmouse, looking over dust bunny's shoulder.

"Because... Well, because...," replied the confused dust bunny, unable to think of anything else to say.

And thus began - in the center of dust bunny - doubt and apprehension.

from Dust Bunny Has a Freakout - Marcus' Collection of Fractured Tales For Kids

tamara 2

2011-03-20T19:52:00.000-07:00

(Tamara sits in chair beside window, draped in towel, posing. Jeremy hunches over, painting large canvas laying on floor.)

Tamara: "Are you saying you faked being crazy just to have a place to stay?"
Jeremy: "I don't think so. Probably not in the way you are thinking, anyway. I am just saying it was my occupation. I was being paid...well at least housed and fed in return. At some point I chose - if that is the correct word for it - to do something else for a living."

(Jeremy gets up walks over to Tamara and adjusts her pose to have her head looking upwards and to the side. Leaves blue and yellow streaks on her face.)

Jeremy: "For a long time after that I just roamed around looking for something else I was good at. (pause, returns to canvas) Perhaps in the same way I 'chose' crazy, I was pulled or chosen back. People now pay for my nightmares. Still-lifes of it. Better pay, actually. Maybe I'm getting better at my calling. Or I found a more upscale clientele than the state."
Tamara: "Or just crazier."
Jeremy: "Probably so. (gets up and readjusts Tamara's head) Now my sweet, pale nightmare, if you would stop looking out the window and fidgeting."

dissolve is done

2011-03-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

Dissolve was intended to be a test study based on a favorite piece of music, however it became a victim or being born in the wrong place at the right time. This one came from a dark place - an unsustainable, frightening place.

Still not pleasant to work with this one, but if it sells, it will gradually become a part of the enhanced white noise of the shop.

tamara

2011-03-11T16:14:00.000-08:00

(Tamara, back turned to Jeremy is washing dishes. Jeremy, sitting on couch, hears cellphone ringing, looks and sees that it is his cousin Becky. Answers)

Jeremy: "hi"
Becky: "Hi yourself. (Coyly) So how are you getting along over there?"
Jeremy: "We're OK"
Becky: "We're OK, are we? (pause) You're something else. So you pretty much like Southern girls once you get over that initial fight-upon-meeting thing you do, huh?"
(silence)
Becky: "Are you ready to get back to reality? You know, you only have a couple of days left and you still haven't seen your Mom."
Jeremy: "Yeah, can you come pick me up?"
Becky: "Say hi to 'Little-Miss-Book-Signing-Assistant for me."

(Jeremy closes phone. Looks over and sees Tamara has stopped washing dishes and appears to be crying, he walks over and silently holds her from behind.)

***last scene with Tamara here

(Jeremy comes out of Tamara's house. Old squeaking screen door opens, then closes hard against door spring. Jeremy gets in car, avoids looking at Becky. Looks out car door, back at screen door of house, fiddling with handle.)

Becky: "Are you OK?"
(silence)
Becky: "Is Tamara OK?"
Jeremy: "I shouldn't have come back."
Becky: "I'm sorry."
Jeremy: "Everything is so thick here. The air. The people. My past. It's like I'm re-living it with different characters. (pause) And everything smells like barbecue."
(Becky smiles)
Jeremy: "At home, none of this matters. As long as you do your job, laugh at the right time, at the right jokes. (pause) It's much... thinner."
(Becky looks and finds gum in purse.)
Becky: "I hate to bring this up, but do you feel like going over and seeing your Mom right quick?"
Jeremy: "Ughhh..."
(Jeremy flips his head back against headrest. Stares at car hood.)
Becky: "Look, I tell you what. I have some friends at work throwing a picnic this afternoon - they're as plastic as anybody your bound to meet up North - let's swing by your Moms place, get all the hugs out of the way, then I'll take you over there, OK?"
Jeremy: (hesitates) "OK"
Becky: (makes face) "First I'm going to get you a bath - you don't smell like barbecue."
(Becky starts engine.)

europa film treasures

2011-03-11T11:46:00.000-08:00

Maman Colibri
1929
Director: Julien DUVIVIER

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Any film history buffs here?
If so, do not, I repeat, do not click on this link to europafilmtreasures.eu if you have any pressing work to finish.
I can see a large portion of my life disappearing there.
I will put a permanent link to site on links page later.

sharpie

2011-02-21T13:59:00.001-08:00

I discovered today, quite by accident, that on the opposite end of my nearly-spent Sharpie - nestled under a small black cap - stood a thinner, more precise tip. How life could have been different had I known.

blood tea and red string

2011-02-14T21:43:00.001-08:00

I will preface with the fact that if you are not a big fan of stop motion animation, you should run away screaming - a minor in adult fairytale fan-hood is also recommended.

Blood Tea and Red String, 2006 by Christiane Cegavske has it's own pace.

I first watched it very out-of-sorts in the middle of the night. I watched it the second time - again in the middle of the night - two nights ago. The DVD sits, un-returned to Netflix, as I contemplate a third viewing. There is something to be learned here. Although rough around the edges, it is meticulously detailed where fitting. Although long and windy, it never loses itself.

I need this lesson somehow. I plan to watch until I figure out exactly what it is trying to tell me.

I had begun to get off track with my work, almost apologetically. If I am looking for aesthetic absolutes, I should program my computer to draw a perfect circle, close the shop and dedicate the rest if my life to drinking very bad wine.

2011-02-04T22:16:00.000-08:00

eerie music propels a carousel of partially-coalesced mares -
loose reins of thought steering a flux of half-dreamt dreams

dr jordan

2011-02-04T21:02:00.000-08:00

it came to me that perhaps success was pushing forward, rather than a constant attempt at suppression. In my own patients I have seen ever-increasing shackles eventually lead to a state of walking death. What measures can be deemed drastic in such a dismal prognosis? What further harm could there be in intentional exploring the inevitable? It was with this mindset that I chose to abandon conventional reason, to take controlled steps into the uncontrollable - it is from deep within this experiment that I will attempt to describe my results.

soprano jeni bern

2011-01-28T10:25:00.000-08:00

Amy (wife) and I began watching Daniel Deronda, a 2002 BBC production based somewhat on the George Eliot novel.

I liked the singer featured during the title credits, so I did a search to find out who it was. According to PBS online:

"Title and end credits music:
Act II: 'Cavatina' from Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro). This piece was recorded for Daniel Deronda featuring singer Jenny Burn."

So I checked around online for a Jenny Burn. Nothing. After a bit more searching, I found the problem. Whoever wrote the movie credits could not have spelled her name any more incorrectly if they had tried. Her actual name is Jeni Bern, not Jenny Burn.

Although the sample pieces on her website are not functioning properly yet, I found a youtube sample from the Deronda movie. Something about her voice is untamed? and beautifully haunting to me. Amy is often a better judge in such matters, and was not as enthralled - she is more inclined toward perfection in voice and difficult to impress.

new ring

2011-01-21T12:03:00.000-08:00

OK, so for what I am working on today, thought I would use the experience gained on the garnet door pendant and use it to make a ring. I am also going to salvage the 'bezel area' from the pendant. It will have 'wood' sides as the base of the bezel, and 'stone work' as the shank.

It will probably not have a elaborate story like the door. Probably with a faceted 4x6 rectangle cut amethyst.

between the fingers

2010-12-31T23:32:00.000-08:00

In all my belly-aching and griping about the serpent ring, I failed to comment on it's most notable quality. Back when I used to do shows, one of the my fondest memories was that of selling a few of my pieces to those who happened to be blind. I consider this a real complement - if a piece does not feel right 'between the fingers', the piece is a failure. When judged within this criteria, the serpent ring is, in my opinion, a success. Looking at the ring, there may be some ambiguity as to it's meaning', it's function. When slid between the fingers, it is no longer a representation, the ancient serpent slides though your grasp.

I am closer to making some final products.

dissolve

2010-12-30T16:11:00.000-08:00

This was intended to be a test study based on a favorite piece of music, however it became a victim or being born in the wrong place at the right time. This one came from a dark place - an unsustainable, frightening place.

Still hard to work with this one, but if it sells, it will gradually become a part of the enhanced white noise of the shop.

what to do

2010-12-20T22:30:00.001-08:00

So it is time to look at the next silver pour and figure out what will be in there. The next casting pour will probably be a bit boring. There are a couple of new rings and one or two creepy pendants in design phase. (Most new items start as wax models.) The metal models will be cast in the next pour from the wax originals. The actual rings and pendants will be made from these metal models, so they will not be ready until the second metal casting session. A not very reliable guess is that brand new designs will be ready somewhere in February. Ugh, that seems forever, maybe I can find a project that can skip phase one, and be ready on the next pour. It always takes a bit to get your designing inertia back after Nov-Dec sales.

dissolve update

2010-12-09T12:34:00.000-08:00

OK, so I have worked a couple of afternoons on the ring design. It is not going even close to what I expected. (Oddly enough, I have not listened to the cd while working on the ring - not sure why.) There is a strong discordant effect so far, it does not seem to belong to itself. The project was developed in a hypnagogic (un)reality - it is the coalesced substance of dreams. I am trying to avoid the impulse to 'wake it up', shifting it into an aesthetic conscientiousness.

I might be getting this one right.

dissolve

2010-12-08T15:48:00.000-08:00

In 1998 Robert Rich released a collection of tracks entitled 'Seven Veils'. Here is a sample of the cd - the entire cd is this good - if you like it, do yourself a favor and purchase it. It ages very well. This cd is, in my opinion, one of the most profound and innovative collections in popular 'ethereal' music. I have to admit to not having heard all of R. Rich's music and collaborations, but compared to the other work I have heard, this cd has a different energy and sound - unique from anything I have ever heard. This cd is on a shortlist of medicines that can pull me in a creating space when all else fails. I have always wanted to do a work specifically themed to this soundtrack. As with all my favorite influences, I have yet to feel up to the project. I now think that I am ready to do a 'project-sketch' of the music. The attempt will be a ring entitled dissolve. Hopefully, a test for a more ambitious project in the future. Either that, or another lesson in the dangers of poking inspiration with a stick. We will see...

dr who

2010-12-08T11:19:00.000-08:00

There are events in life that define our humanity - singular pivot points from which spring the threads of our future: the birth of a child, the death of a parent or spouse. For a nerd, there is no other singular, life-changing and magnificent event to compare with the release of the new 'Dr Who' episodes - from here we begin to understand our hero, we begin to shape our reality.

sandra arteaga

2010-12-04T16:45:00.000-08:00

yes I know, her dolls are beyond wonderful. A link to her blog should get you started enjoying her work.

2010-11-05T16:34:00.000-07:00

Spending the better part of this evening wallowing in the slightly cool, wet puddle of Nearly Done - nearly done with a way-too-big list of assignments. With over half of the items designed, cast, photoed and listed: all horrifying, cannot-work-out-in-my-head glitches passed. It all seems to fit, and does not need me or my paranoia anymore.

Just going to wallow in the funky, post-terror head-rushes a bit. Maybe longer. Before the yet-to-be-fixed infected egg pendant, mindworm pendant and sand creature ring problems resurface fully.

moon ring

2010-11-04T18:38:00.001-07:00

102:45:25 Aldrin: 4 forward. 4 forward. Drifting to the right a little. 20 feet, down a half.
102:45:31 Duke: 30 seconds (until the 'Bingo' call).
102:45:32 Aldrin: Drifting forward just a little bit; that's good.
102:45:40 Aldrin: Contact Light.
102:45:43 Armstrong (on-board): Shutdown
102:45:44 Aldrin: Okay. Engine Stop.
102:45:45 Aldrin: ACA out of Detent.
102:45:46 Armstrong: Out of Detent. Auto.
102:45:47 Aldrin: Mode Control, both Auto. Descent Engine Command Override, Off. Engine Arm, Off. 413 is in.
102:45:57 Duke: We copy you down, Eagle.
102:45:58 Armstrong (on-board): Engine arm is off. (Pause) Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.

infatuation

2010-10-23T16:00:00.000-07:00

infatuation is merely a short-list of absolutes

troubled day

2010-10-22T01:25:00.000-07:00

what a troubled day.
I had to pull out my strongest medicine.
if the happy girl dance cannot pull me out of a funk, I am done for.

yvonne

2010-10-20T19:04:00.000-07:00

I knew it would happen. It always did. I just had to be patient, passing the time in an informal game of bridge until she came. As soon as my bridge partner glanced above and behind my head, I knew she had come into the room. The other bridge players knew the game was over.

As she crept in from behind, I could smell Yvonne's jet-black Lakota hair, sweet and fresh from showering. As she leaned over the back of my chair, it cascaded in cool, wet strands over my shoulders. Her strong, broad shoulders encircled - I leaned back into a warm, reassuring wall of flesh. The silhouette of her face appeared from the side, toothbrush in mouth. Yvonne spent about half her time dry-brushing her teeth. The other half of her time was shared equally between touting the evils of 'the white man', or kissing someone. I was the one she preferred, since love of any sort is preferable to thoughtless passion.

"But I am a white man, Yvonne," I would reply. After a pause, she would counter with some illogical denial of my whiteness, or some general deflection of rage towards some recent or historical injustice. Yvonne had one of the sharpest minds I had ever encountered. Talking with her, a safe distance from her points of rage, was nothing less than inspiring. It was obvious that her brilliant mind had pondered long and hard the logic of most subjects, dismissing the obvious and simple. At night, after her shower, we would sit in the silent flickering light of the dark TV room, floating lightly the surface of wave after wave of topics.

However brilliant Yvonne's words, I was often distracted by the harsh features of her face as they moved in the dancing light of late-night television. Yvonne had a face that was at once, both beautiful and ugly. Looking into her face, it was: as weathered and ancient as the rocky land that bore it; as angry and threadbare as the reservation that housed it; as young, fertile and spirited as a blossom opening to the sun for the very first time. It is one of the few things of long ago - a time when my spirit had been removed - that I will never forget. She was a sweet, dark oasis in a small, caged world - Yvonne's mandatory entrance into this mutual cage was sponsored by a deceased relative disturbing an otherwise normal night in a reservation drunk-tank.

This evening, like many others before, we headed for the abandoned TV room, already fused into a sweet-smelling, old-as-nature oneness. Yvonne deftly placed her toothbrush into it's well-worn slot in her jeans back pocket.

untitled

2010-10-15T18:35:00.000-07:00

we were born before the wind
v morrison

rescue from gilligan's island

2010-09-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

In Rescue from Gilligan's Island, (1978), we see a continuation in a series dedicated to studying the Hellenistic search for the 'Ideal Male'. A society-within-a-society, the 'male hut' provides us with the two facets of the 'perfect male' study.

In Gilligan, we have the younger ideal: the bright-eyed, androgynous student, subservient to the older and wiser 'alpha-male'. Although somewhat the bumbling fool, we observe, time after time, the young understudy both stumbling into, and actively building a better future - albeit a mistake-prone exercise. This is represented, for example, by Gilligan naively starting a dangerous cooking fire on the raft deck; this youthful, impetuous act turns out to be the life-saving rescue signal for both the inner male society, and society at large.

We observe both the initial conflict with, and gradual acceptance by the elder 'ideal' counterpart, as it becomes a passive observer into this evolving 'brave new world'.
to be continued...

More in this series:
Goddess Torn Asunder - the Ginger / MaryAnn Paradox, or The Athena Duality, Armless and Overboard

the soul of a windmill

2010-09-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

The ancient serpent adjusted his bulk on the rocky cave floor, wincing as a broken sword fragment shifted in the tender flesh beneath his scale armor. The dragon's hard scales scraped across the equally hard floor, leaving a thin trail of blood and rancid water as he searched for a more comfortable position. Looking out, beyond the fierce waves crashing against his stony home, he muttered a prayer into the wind - a wish that the mettle of all valiant knights had finally been tested. Head sinking onto the hard gravel floor, and with a heavy sigh, the battle-weary dragon first slipped into an uneasy slumber.

Briefly, somewhere between the first and the second, the gravel softened and yielded under the weight of his tired body. The sound of the ocean waves came closer and closer to his sleeping form. As the wave's watery form crashed against the sleeping dragon, he could see the virtuous faces belonging to each of his opponents reflecting off his wet, glistening armor. The dragon became each opponent in turn -- experiencing the searing pain of a serpent's fiery breath tearing at exposed flesh, tasting the swallowed fear of likely death.

Gradually, the dragon's body stopped resisting the waves, they poured into and through his tired flesh. The dragon's pain and weariness dissolved in the salty water and washed from his armored body. At peace, he fell into a very deep sleep - that sleep which is a gift of all creatures. The waves brought deeper and deeper revelations, each carrying the dragon closer to understanding. He became smaller and smaller beneath an infinitely great purpose. He saw all that is, all that was, and all that might ever be.

serpent ring

2010-09-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

What an unbelievable pain in the rump! This carving is a test and learning experience for sand creature ring.

I have carved, re-carved, made too perfect, re-carved, over-detailed, under-detailed made too thin, made too thick...

I know I have not been my finest the last week, but carving this ring was way too hard for the results - so far - I say this, but I really do not know. I look at the wax model between my fingers and cannot decide if it is the best ring I have ever carved, or whether it would better serve as fuel for my wax burning lamp - nor can I decide whether I spent too little time, or way too much time carving this beast (metaphorically and literally speaking), I do lean toward the latter opinion.

For better or worse, I am now doing final detail clean-up, then making a prototype cold mold, then storing the model in a place far from grasp and thoughts. My only hope is that I have done an Edvard-Munchian multi-layered, gouged, paint-over disaster until something usable percolates up and out of the mess. Come to think of it, that is all I ever do, so it should fit comfortably into the surrounding mediocrity.

lisa gerard

2010-09-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

This voice is on a tiny list of undeniably beautiful things on this planet.
It can, at any given moment, or affectation, pierce my soul to it's will.

veggiescape ring

2010-08-31T15:56:00.000-07:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-In Balance Act, an owl cooed.
-And the Moon blinked it's Eye in the aether.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
from:
Rumors of Spring by Richard Grant
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

titmouse and dust bunny

2010-08-31T10:49:00.000-07:00

‎"But why is it taking so long?" asked the titmouse, impatiently grooming it's tuft.

"Because there is a vast, ugly and horrible chasm between concept and execution," replied the exhausted dust bunny.

from Dust Bunny Has a Freakout - Marcus' Collection of Fractured Tales For Kids

julie 2

2010-08-23T17:17:00.000-07:00

James: It's not that I can't remember, it's that I choose to not remember.

Julie: Well, as I remember, you cried for a week over Tracy.

James: Ugh. I can't believe I once reacted to such a childish concept of beauty.

Julie: You've grown so hard, James. You were always the one we relied upon to find good in everything. That is too sad to think about. Have you thrown everything away?

James: No, but I store those kinds of things in a cardboard box in the garage.

Julie: (Stands and walks away.)

excuses

2010-08-13T18:24:00.000-07:00

When I begin to think that any artistic inadequacies are due to a lack of proper work equipment, I play this to myself. I then take out the two most broken pieces of equipment I can find, (one usually being myself), and get to work.

jumping blindly

2010-08-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a medium-sized city in the deep south. My best friend lived in a small town 15 miles north. Halfway between, a high bridge spanned a muddy creek cutting it's way through dirty red farmland. The lazy creek changed pace under the bridge, from slow to barely moving, and deepened into a filthy, but usable swimming area. Occasionally, driving past in the summer, there would be someone standing on the raised cement guard rail, encircled by admiring friends - the bravest of the group working up courage for the jump.

One hot summer day, my friend and I decided to try out the abandoned swimming hole. Inspecting the bridge, there were x marks spray-painted of the guardrail posts, apparently to denote where one could jump and survive to crawl back up the bank - too many x marks, multi-colored and faded, spanning the better part of the bridge. Looking down from some of the marks, where deep, survivable water should be, it was all too apparent that they were now in error. After climbing down the steep bank to determine an area in the center of the creek that was sufficiently deep and debris free to make the jump - trying to reconcile this information with the contradictory marks on the bridge above - we came to the conclusion that the only way to be sure of the jump's safety was to attempt it.

As usual, I was the chosen one, my friend the smart cautious one. My friend, black as the night, was a big muscular fellow that you would never want to cross. He was better than I was, however, at appreciating the value of prudence and discretion.

Looking down from the edge of the tall bridge, the distance to the water was much more impressive than it had been from the relative safety of a vehicle whizzing by. From the bridge, the swimming hole appeared to be a slow moving, unsurvivable vortex of half-digested bile. After doing my best to do a final decipering of the 'safe marks' on the bridge, and with my heart in my throat, I made the jump. On the way down, I learned a scientific constant: the distance from any bridge, to it's corresponding body of water, can be determined by the amount of time one has to contemplate the stupidity of jumping into this unknown body of water, before having to deal with the consequences of said stupidity. There was way too much time for contemplation in this particular instance, the level of stupidity completely off the charts.

The fact that I am alive to write this suggests that I was somewhat accurate on the jump - cut-offs ripped all the way up to the belt, and a nice bruise on the rear from some discarded appliance, vehicle or railroad fragment embedded in the bottom of the creek, but alive none-the-less.

I have since lost contact with most of the deep south, including my friend. Someone did tell me recently that my old friend is doing well, selling insurance at a large national firm. I am trying to sell handcrafted jewelry online.

lost cd, rach 3rd - m argerich

2010-08-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

oh where are you my lost friend? under what hoarded mass are you hiding? please, please come back.

there is a point at about 3:34, and again more fully at 3:44, where m. seems to relax and realize that she has just made something very wonderful

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2010/08/15 update: found cd. wahoo!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

as i sing madly, quiet. number 2

2010-08-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

and yet this is an achievement in it's own right - to come into some peace and acceptance of a madness that at once falls into understanding...

...the transcending step, however, is to befriend this old, persistent enemy - to revere the disgusting - to find it's stifled voice

to control the uncontrollable

to coax keys into lush complexity

to sing of a Lenore sweetly

to sing madly, then quiet

~

horowitz died first slowly
then quiet
(from #1)

~

i am a girl

2010-08-10T20:11:00.001-07:00

The wife and I are halfway through watching Julie and Julia, a film I would describe as somewhere between the dated 'You've Got Mail', and the chick-film 'Fried Green Tomatoes'. There is no other single element that would make a guy less attractive than for him to have J. Childs as a hero.

There are three things that come to mind as to why I am reluctantly enjoying this film:

1) At one time I was a kitchen manager of a restaurant. The movie reminds me of a time when my cooking was less 'curried' and/or 'stewed'. A time when I knew the excitement of getting a Hollandaise sauce perfect.

2) It is tap-off day for the cider keg, and I drink too much.

3) I am a girl.

In short, Julie and Julia is a biopic estrogen-fest, written and edited by a discordant committee, that the whole family will enjoy, or not.

embracing chaos part two

2010-07-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

I believe I am improving the less than perfect job of cleaning the sprue off of the ring shown above. (The sprue is a sizable hunk of metal attached to cast jewelry where the metal was poured into the mold.) In the case of traditional jewelry, the intent is to have a seamless match to the shape and texture of the surface adjoining the sprue area. The item is usually designed in a way that the sprue is in a smooth, easy to clean area. With representational organic designs, the area surround the sprue is often made with a texture that can be easily duplicated after the item has been cast into metal. However, with three dimensional, non-symbolic organic surfaces, rarely is the sprue location so conveniently located and textured. With non-jewelry sculptures, this problem can often be solved by placing the sprue on the flat, bottom surface.

I feel that having a bottom on 3-d organic jewelry items ruins the concept. What I am going for is not a representation, or symbolic version of nature, but something that would seamlessly fit in nature, whether the actual item really exists or not. (No one would mistake a bright red square box sitting in a patch of woods to be an organic, natural part of the scenery.)

Recently, I think I have made a step forward in this regard - at least in concept. In the case of the tree bark ring, instead of trying to exactly imitate the surface of the bark, it is more appropriate to find a carve-able texture that complements or belongs to the natural item - perhaps a small remnant of a mostly-peeled-off outer bark. Nature itself does not imitate, it interprets desire. Approaching the problem from this perspective, the sprue areas that I am now finishing are slowing beginning to disappear into the whole.

I am attempting to incorporate this concept in future pieces that are in the design phase. A new level of asymmetry that makes nature, nature, and makes symbolic representation, 'not nature'. An obvious example of this type of symbolism is a grade-school-level pie face. We all know what it is supposed to represent, but it is unlikely that anyone would mistake the drawing for a photo of an actual person.

This takes me one step closer to no longer making test pieces, and starting on complete pieces that I hope to get done before I am done.

this years garden

2010-07-17T14:31:00.001-07:00

This year's plants, so far:
snow peas
pole beans
lettuce
green cabbage
purple cabbage
celery
cauliflower
broccoli
Swiss chard
turnips
melons
zucchini
yellow squash
bell peppers
cucumbers
tomatoes
kale
beets
green onions
strawberries
plums
apples
acorn squash
spaghetti squash
butternut squash
delicata squash
cilantro
oregano

roads to koktebel

2010-07-11T18:28:00.000-07:00

This movie crushed my expectations at every single turn. When I expected to cry, I laughed. When I expected to laugh, I cried. Life is not even this real. Absolutely unpredictable and perfect movie by Russian writer/director team, Boris Khlebnikov and Alexei Popogrebsky.

turnip

2010-07-10T22:41:00.000-07:00

The ancient turnip sat on the windowsill, confident that it was too old and too ugly to be considered food by the spastic, foul-smelling herbivores mulling about in the kitchen.

jimmy, third part

2010-07-10T01:23:00.000-07:00

It was a long walk from Jimmy's house to the public library, just under two miles of hot, thick, unbearable Georgian summer. The walk was worth the effort. As Jimmy opens the large glass door, a blanket of cold air quick-freezes his sweat-soaked clothing. As his eyes adjust to the homogeneous light of the library, the interior clarifies and brightens. The library possesses a special kind of light, a self-perpetuating light. Each space is a self-illuminated shadow. This static, omnipresent light reveals the true nature of the library. Jimmy finds the library quiet and nearly abandoned - the library does not reveal it's true light to everyone.

The only inhabitants were the keepers.

Nearly hidden behind tall desks, sitting on high-pitched squeaking chairs, stern overlords keep watch over the library.

Young female workers move silently through the corridors of books. These roving under-librarians, smelling of shampoo and old books, are driven by a numbered and ordered will of the library. Their beauty - their thin, angular physiques, pale, cool-to-the-touch skin, and straight, dark hair - defies any ordinary standards of beauty beyond the glass doors. Pushing carts of spent books through the aisles, they use their graceful, thin fingers to restore each book to it's previous strength. Restoring order. Reassigning proper light-space.

Tended lovingly by these roving workers, stacked neatly on metallic shelves, stand the adventures that make Jimmy's life bearable - stories that crush the fragmented falsehoods substituting for reality. These stories are too profound to be contained in their physical structures. Held loosely in the book's damp-smelling pages, they slowly leak into the atmosphere of the library. Jimmy watches them move through the air like rippling vortexes. Eventually these swirling ghosts light upon, and are absorbed into solid objects. Jimmy listens to the trapped whispers of stories emanating from the walls and furniture as he walks past them.

Jimmy heads to a forgotten back corner of the library. In these smaller, less accessible aisles, the escaping stories have their most profound effect. The books become more dense, the stories more active; vegetation from the leaking stories becomes more prolific. In the back corners, against the library's exterior walls, mutated vines - gnarled and angry - sprout and grow from the metallic shelving. Murmuring rumors of spring, their strong, dark trunks bore through the gray, thickly-painted cement block walls. Growing and expanding beyond the confines of the library, they spread into the greasy mass of humanity, rebuking and tormenting a society gone mad.

Underfoot, beneath the marble flooring, secret rabbit societies burrow tunnels and engage in epic battles. Within these tunnel spaces, small but valiant rabbits, in the calculated fury of war, clench oppressor's hairy throats between their teeth, biting into their airways, compressing their throats until their life-force drains.

Above the tall shelves, cosmonauts float weightlessly. Futuristic travelers streak through space faster than light - faster than normal light - only the omnipresent light of the library can trace their paths through the void of space and time.

jimmy, second part

2010-07-10T00:11:00.000-07:00

Jimmy never considered intimacy a precious commodity. Intimacy was a service to be rendered upon request. Flesh surpassed the thin veil of piety. Somewhere in it's unending, warm, salty folds lay the keys to acceptance. It invaded dreams in fragmented segments with larger-than-life faces belonging to respectable people - people uttering unnatural gasps that seemed to emanate from his own mind. Flesh became part of Jimmy, adding it's cadence to his life. Confusing and awkward, it lurked, ready to be served.

reality

2010-07-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

I reject your reality,
and replace it
with the tasty goodness of Cheese Nips
and ice cold Kool-Aid.

we're going to be friends

2010-07-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

here we are, no one else
we walked to school all by ourselves
there's dirt on our uniforms
from chasing all the ants and worms
we clean up and now it's time to learn

from we're going to be friends
by the white stripes

river song

2010-07-05T14:49:00.000-07:00

what song did the river sing
when you were folded in it's waves?

finding old friends

2010-06-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

what was once desire
has fallen to morbid curiosity:
how many cocks will crow
before someone weeps bitterly?

jimmy

2010-06-14T13:51:00.000-07:00

Jimmy knew he was too old to play under his grandparent's house, but he could not resist the temptation today. Having moved with his mother out of the neighborhood for almost two years now--an eternity at age thirteen and a half--all his friends had forgotten him, and were certainly too old to play such games as 'club-under-the-house'.

Jimmy walked around to the side of the house to use the most obscured entrance to the mysterious cavern of his childhood. Standing at the low entrance, he could feel the coolness leaking out into the summer heat, and against his face. A quick glance around proved that his entrance into the cave could only be observed from his old friend Brian's front porch through a gap in the low brush surrounding him. All was quiet at Brian's house.

Jimmy ducked into the cave with one quick motion--out of the hot summer afternoon and into the dark, damp, mysterious underworld of the house. After a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, Jimmy found himself in the inner sanctum of his childhood. Strewn on the earth floor, the old talismans were still laying about. Folded and broken-legged lie the old road construction sawhorse, with it's heavy battery that kept it's yellow light blinking for two days after it was stolen. Half-buried in the dirt, the varnished-bedpost-turned-Tiki-God stared up with it's deep, shadowy carvings. The frowning Tiki God always gave Jimmy chills up his spine, especially when he was alone.

Jimmy crawled deeper into the underworld, toward the opposite side of the house, where the flooring above and the dirt below constricted, forcing the visitor of this Exalted Shrine to crawl forward on their belly, swallowing the beginnings of claustrophobic fear. Reaching the dark space along the far inner wall, Jimmy pulled the loose brick from the cubbyhole in the cement block wall, exposing an old lunchbox. It seems that all profound objects of childhood --things too adult to be understood by grownups--were small enough to fit easily into a small box: hoarded cigarettes that were carefully doled out during bonding rites and ceremonies; cutouts from girlie magazines, folded and refolded until the reclining women bore deep, white vertical and horizontal scars on their glossy-surfaced skin.

Before opening the box, Jimmy slid back into the more comfortable domain of the Bedpost. Holding the rusted steel box in his lap, he could feel the warm excitement in his lap--the camaraderie and first lust contained within. Jimmy opened the box. A beetle was trying desperately to scale the vertical walls and escape the nearly empty box, his home-turned-prison-cell. All the contents of the box had long been removed except for a small book of matches advertising a local grocery store. Each item, in turn, had been used to grant a single club member entrance into adulthood. All that was left for Jimmy was a damp book containing two matches, and the scorn of an angry beetle.

Jimmy sat in the cool space of the clubhouse remembering times when everyone knew who they were supposed to be, and what they were supposed to be doing. Brian was a couple of years older than him, but up until two years ago they were best friends. Now, when Brian saw Jimmy, he pretended to not know him. Brian now smoked openly on his way to his new car. Brian now ferried girls in his new car, girls louder and younger than the ones kept folded in the secret box.

Crawling back to the entrance of the cave, Jimmy slipped back into the hot summer air, and began brushing off his dusty, cobwebbed clothing. He looked up and saw Brian standing on his front porch. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, Brian looked over and acknowledged Jimmy's existence for the first time in two years. Brian took the cigarette from his lips, blew smoke toward Jimmy, and laughed sarcastically at him before stepping off the porch, and walking toward his car.

Caught cherishing some discarded fragment of time, crimsoned-faced Jimmy took his time removing the last of his childhood from his clothing.

sand creature

2010-06-14T01:20:00.000-07:00

Judy winced as the sand creature first conformed itself, then sank it's lower tentacles into the base of her index finger. An unpleasant sensation crawled up her arm. First numbness, then burning pain. Judy cried out loud as the pain hit her elbow joint. "That was plenty loud enough to be heard over the com," she thought to herself, hoping no one was listening. She had promised herself to not be a crybaby, regardless of how painful this procedure might be. She did not expect it to hurt this bad.

For a moment, Judy wished she were back on earth - to be off this over-baked, poor excuse of a planet - curled up in bed, plugged into her VPod, experiencing a virtual adventure. This was no VPod game. For one thing, the pain would have already triggered a shutdown, and the pain was getting worse as the burning sensation crawled up her arm and into her body. The puking would also have triggered a shutdown, as the fire reached her stomach. Down on her knees, she caught herself before she fell completely forwards. "A little more gravity on this planet, and I would be face-down in my lunch," she thought to herself.

Judy placed her other hand on the ground to brace herself, "Why did I choose this assignment in the first place?" she though, "I had seniority. I could be exploring the lush, blue Kanthar moons right now. But no, I had to prove that I was up for any assignment...they are laughing at me right now...I am such a fool!" Judy deposited the remainder of her lunch onto the gray-black sand.

The creature attached to Judy knew exactly what it was doing: It had been lying in the sand, waiting for decades, perhaps longer, for a potential symbiont brave enough to stick an appendage into it's burrow. "Probably not brave, just stupid," Judy thought as she weakly stood up, noticing that her finger was dripping blood, spiced with streaks of a pale-green substance, onto the warm sand.

The creature attached to her finger had protruded four upper tendrils and was groping the air, searching for something else to cling to. Judy had a sense that she was groping the air. When the creature felt movements in the air current, or when it's body was stretched as Judy made a fist, Judy felt these same sensations. She was feeling what the creature was feeling. If she concentrated on the creatures tendrils, she could make them stop moving, or make them move from side to side - losing her concentration, the tendrils would again blindly grope the air. She also had a an overwhelming, almost sensual desire to attach herself to something else. "This is so disgusting," she murmured - quietly enough not to be heard on the com system.

The sand creature was becoming part of Judy, or was she was becoming part of the creature?

excerpts from the work of Bruno Schulz

2010-06-13T22:11:00.000-07:00

My plan was to add some excerpts from Bruno Schulz's The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories while re-reading the book, for how many times? However, I am finding it difficult to dissect his work. Like a fractal, any part of the whole is complete and noteworthy, yet it is difficult for me to select any given slice, since the text on either side of my demarcation is just as profound as what I originally roped off. I find myself scooping up more and more border material until I am left holding the entire contents of the book. If you have never read the collection of stories, my suggestion is to purchase a copy and place it beside the bed. The following might give you an idea if this suggestion is appropriate.

An attempt:

Excerpts from Street Of Crocodiles and Other Stories by Bruno Schulz, translated by Celina Wieniewska

(from forward by Jonathan Safran Foer)
There are things Schulz wrote, "that cannot ever occur with any precision. They are too big and too magnificent to be contained in mere facts. They are merely trying to occur, they are checking whether the ground of reality can carry them. And they quickly withdraw, fearing to lose their integrity in the frailty of realization." Our lives, the big and magnificent lives we can just barely make out beneath the mere facts of our lifestyles, are always trying to occur. But save for a few rare occasions--falling in love, the birth of a child, the death of a parent, a revelatory moment in nature--they don't occur; the big magnificence is withdrawn. Stories rub at the facts of our lives. They give us access--if only for a few hours, if only in bed at the end of the day--to what's beneath.

But rub is too gentle a word for Schulz's writing. And what it uncovers is nothing like a fairy tale. I remember the first time I read The Street of Crocodiles. I loved the book, but didn't like it. The language was too heightened, the images too magical and precarious, the yearnings too dire, the sense of loss too palpable--everything was comedy or tragedy. The experience was too intense to be pleasant, in large part because it reminded me of how mundane--how unintense--my life was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(from introduction by David A Goldfarb)
Schulz maintains that, when viewed through the "poetic" imagination, any degraded scrap of reality-- anything that might be found in the world's tandeta, a Polish word describing goods that are shoddy, cast off, second-rate, or trashy--might reveal the qualities of the sublime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(from The Street of Crocodiles)
Once Adela took me to the old woman's house. It was early in the morning when we entered the small blue-walled room, with it's mud floor, lying in a patch of bright yellow sunlight in the still of the morning broken only by the frightening loud ticking of a cottage clock on the wall. In a straw-filled chest lay the foolish Maria, white as a wafer and motionless like a glove from which a hand had been withdrawn. And, as if taking advantage of her sleep, the silence talked, the yellow, bright, evil silence delivered it's monologue, argued, and loudly spoke its vulgar maniacal soliloquy. Maria's time--the time imprisoned in her soul--had left her and--terribly real--filled the room, vociferous and hellish in the bright silence of the morning, rising from the noisy mill of the clock like a cloud of bad flour, powdery flour, the stupid flour of madmen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a deer in headlights

2010-06-12T21:55:00.000-07:00

For the most part, I stand stunned, caught between zeros and ones fashioned into deception, and the tight, unexpanding circle of vices and menial tasks that expose nothing.

hypochondriasol

2010-06-09T14:34:00.000-07:00

cut to commercial

(chance meeting of two friends in line at grocery store. cut into ongoing conversation)

Friend 1: So, how have you been doing?
Friend 2 Oh about the same, I guess.

(freeze and pull back from conversation)

off camera voice: Do you have average health?
Are you concerned you might be sick even though you feel OK?
You may be suffering from Average Health Syndrome.
Average Health Syndrome is a condition with a specific set of symptoms that can be diagnosed by your doctor.
Studies show that over 80% of people with prescription drug coverage suffer from untreated Average Health Syndrome.
Now there might be help.

(cut to man in doctor suit)

Doctor: I am here to talk to you about a new medication. (hold up bottle) Hypochondriasol. In clinical studies, people with average health who took Hypochondriasol, and were asked if they felt better, were three times more likely to respond, "yes", or at least "I think so".
(new camera angle)
Hypochondriasol was designed by a person with average health, for a person with average health.
(new camera angle)
Only your doctor can determine if you have average health for your age, and if Hypochondriasol might be right for you.

(cut to very non-threatening view of children playing in a grassy park)

Really quick voice:Warning: Hypochondriasol is not for everyone. Hypochondriasol should not be taken by people who are really sick. This medication may cause headaches, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, bleeding from ears, or dry mouth. Discontinue this medication, and consult your doctor if you experience periods of elation lasting more than four hours, as this may be disruptive to future pharmaceutical ad campaigns, and also may be a symptom of a rare, but serious side effect which could cause your head to explode. Hypochondriasol should not be taken with other drugs that were developed before their corresponding illnesses were concocted.

(new scene of friends in line at grocery store)

Friend 1: So, how have you been doing?
Friend 2 Oh about average..., actually..., maybe a little better than average.

(freeze image of friend 2 smiling)

off camera voice: Ask your doctor about Hypochondriasol.

duct tape

2010-06-06T15:25:00.000-07:00

As yet another proof of the wonders of duct tape:

Remember the difficulties NASA encountered finding a material that would allow space shuttles to re-enter the earth's atmosphere without overheating and burning up?

A little known fact is that Russia had this problem solved nearly a decade earlier using an extract from ordinary duct tape. This compound, dubbed 'Factor D', has extraordinary insulation properties. A layer of Factor D one tenth of a millimeter thick has the same insulating properties as a stack of space shuttle tiles stacked over twenty feet thick.

To put this into perspective, if the surface of the sun was sprayed with a thin coat of Factor D, and hotdogs were placed on this protective layer, you would have to wait over 10,000 years before the wienies were warm enough to serve!

When two Factor D molecules touch, it is also nearly impossible to peel them apart - Factor D more than likely plays an important role in duct tape's adhesion.

Presently, the high cost of Factor D makes it's use impractical by the general public. (Nearly 8,000 cubic feet of duct tape must be refined to extract one milligram of pure Factor D). It is estimated, however, that the average single-family home, properly insulated with Factor D, would have a combined heating and cooling bill of US$0.11 per decade.

The Russian scientist, Dr. Alexander Morozov, who first discovered Factor D has authored two books on the subject that are now available in English, Finding 'D' - One Scientists Journey, and The Effects of Tape Adhesion on the Class Struggle.

wild rose

2010-05-17T20:32:00.001-07:00

the starts and stops of summer's showers and droughts -
the cracks and freezes of winter -
fresh shoots from spring's plentiful rain
the rose wears it's history on it's weathered stalks

rain

2010-05-14T00:14:00.000-07:00

it feels like it's raining all over the world

jep

2010-04-08T15:26:00.000-07:00

Jep accepted most of the changes in spring weather with resignation, sleeping indoors with the coming of clouds and rain, strolling into the yard and napping when the warm spring sun peeked through the clouds - occasionally waking and halfheartedly barking at feline passers-by. He considered the harsher bouts of spring weather, however, as the greatest insult - the heavy winds and sleet that crept up from nowhere to shake and pummel the status-quo of the neighborhood. These general attacks on his character and residence would launch a barrage of retaliatory and sincere barking that reminded one of earlier days when he actively sought out worthy opponents to test his valor.

leon

2010-03-31T13:01:00.000-07:00

Earlier in life, Leon Phillips was a school teacher until some sad event had necessitated a change in employment. Leon had then taken a job as a 'cook's helper' in an institution. Leon's primary job as cook's helper was to stir a large basin of steaming water. Into this basin was dumped a random selection of limp, aging vegetables which were boiled and stirred until any remaining flavor had yielded to the homogeneous mass.

Over the years, stirring the floor-level basin with a boat paddle, Leon's large body had conformed to the job at hand. His back had begun to slope permanently over the basin. His shoulders had curved inward toward his chest in an insect-like manner, adjusting to the task of making short, circular paddle strokes in the hot liquid. Leon stirred this basin of liquid with a melancholy, inward gaze until his early retirement for health reasons, at age 62 - Leon's work had over-exaggerated the unnatural bends in his posture until his body had found it difficult to perform other human activities, such as standing erect, or moving from one place to another.

After his retirement, Leon's body, rather than beginning the change back to normalcy, continued in it's journey to the 'something different' that the basin, the heat, the mindlessness of the task at hand, had begun. The curve in his back had developed into a skyward hump, pushing his head forwards and down. The forward arch of his shoulders had continued until it appeared that his body was now trying to encircle some invisible object pressed to his chest.

Leah was Leon's wife. Leah's appearance had refused to yield to any inevitable decay. Leah's heart was sick. As her weak, broken heart daily threatened to abandon it's vocation, her outward appearance maintained a gentle beauty. Her dark hair of earlier years had aged to a silver perfection. Her gentle smile was now reinforced with creases that spoke with confidence and warmth. Her demeanor barely revealed the efforts this, or any other task required.

locals

2010-03-05T09:24:00.000-08:00

The locals are pathetic creatures, you have no idea what we must tolerate on a day-to-day basis. You cannot blame them, and, in a way, they can be sweet in their innocence. They consider us beautiful, and often say so. Imagine that. I suppose by their standards...

how to make a monster

2010-02-28T16:28:00.000-08:00

It has been difficult to chronicle the making of a work from start to finish. My greatest hurdle is the fact that when starting a new work, I do not have the slightest confidence that I will be able to complete the project.

A second problem is my absent-mindedness. Once involved in a project, the rest of the world seems to recede in the background - my surroundings de-evolving into a slightly annoying hum - suddenly finding myself on step 7, without any photo documentation of steps 2 through 6.

Casting the former hurdle from mind, and documenting steps 1 and 2 while working on step 3, we begin:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Step 1: This particular item is to be a ring with a wide shank. Starting with a hard wax will allow for detailed carving. This photo shows the wax cylinder with a slice cut off that could serve as a base for a ring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Step 2: This is a photo of the wax cylinder slice carved into the basic shape of the ring. (Ignore the 'step 3' workings on the back of ring.) This step is done by hand to begin removing the 'machined' look from the model. The final piece must look as 'organic' and natural as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Step 3: Spinning the ring around, you can see the early stages of step 3 where the ring is taking shape by both manipulating the wax base itself, and adding elements that are easier to attach than carve by hand into the wax surface.

'Grafting' a garden snake's shed skin gives us a textured, outer skin for our monster. Veins are placed under the area to be grafted so that once the skin is added, you are able to see and feel the raised vein under the surface of the skin. Each element needs to be fused onto the ring in such a way as to appear as part of the whole. Completing the project to this step gives us an idea of the problems that we will encounter in trying to finish the project.

As you may be able to see in the photo, even after accounting for the obvious differences in color and surface texture of the two elements, the item as a whole is not working. The 'skin', even if trimmed in a realistic way, looks too thin and unnatural, not mammalian. The skin needs to be a substantial organ with depth. This could be rectified by giving the wax a more prominent edge where the skin meets the exposed 'internals'. This deeper edge could serve as the creature's subcutaneous tissue. The exposed internal area of the creature will then have to be carved to a lower depth to account for the skin's thickness. This also means that the 'sutured areas' to be added to the ring will need to be more three-dimensional than originally planned.

A second problem is that the clearly defined skin makes the 'internal areas' look as they were carved out of a single piece of hard wax - a loss of continuity that ruins the overall effect - it is neither realistic or hideous, merely ugly and amateurish. The creatures exposed internals will need more clearly defined fragments - less shallow, vaguely-textured areas. Solving this problem, in addition to giving depth to the outer skin, on both the exterior and interior of the ring, may mean starting over with a thicker wax base. Time will tell.

...to be continued, I hope...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

video of the day

2010-02-27T08:24:00.000-08:00

Today's video is brought to you by Etsy Crystals. A tablespoon of delicious Etsy Crystals dissolved in warm water for breakfast will be all the Etsy you need for the day. No more surfing through webpage after webpage of useless hipster junk...not any more! Drink a delicious cup of Etsy Crystals every morning, and before you know it you will be cheerfully rummaging through stinky trash looking for missed recyclables...that's Etsy Crystals folks, and you know it's gonna be a good morning!

Today's video, 'Pirosbetüs Napok', (roughly translated 'Important Day'), is by an early 1980s rock band from Hungary that called themselves 'Trabant'. Forgive the quality of the video (adds to the mood, methinks), as 1980's Hungarian New Wave videos are as rare as... well... 1980's Hungarian New Wave videos.

Notably, Víg Mihály on guitars went on to collaborate with film director Bela Tarr.

it's alive!!!

2010-02-26T15:09:00.001-08:00

*Dr J. lifts sheet from creature, and gasps. Creature lurches against it's shackles.*

Dr. J:...*Pause*...Doctor Gates, you must destroy this abomination at once, before it is too late.

Dr. G: You do not understand - it is now a living, breathing entity - it has shown intelligence and intent. I am not qualified to serve as it's executioner or champion - nature must decide the creature's fate.

*A faint moaning is heard from the operating table.*

Dr. J: Then Heaven help that poor creature...Heaven help us all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

journeys and ruins

2010-02-26T01:15:00.000-08:00

I watched two short films from Alexander Sokurov this evening, "Elegy of a Voyage" and "Hubert Robert, A Fortunate Life".
(It is now technically morning, I suppose.)

These are precious films for me as I am no longer able to travel to museums - one of the few pleasures that once tempted me far from home.

vine ring is done

2010-02-16T21:58:00.000-08:00

OK, so I got the ring done. I have temporary molds in sizes 10ish - 12.5ish. My next task is to get permanent vulcanized molds for sizes 9 - 13.

This is my first men's ring design in a long, long time. The design is an old texture that I recently used for the back of 'garnet door' pendant. I expanded the old brick texture with vines on the back side of 'window and branches pendant'.

I believe the deep three dimensional surface will retain a measure of the dark patina when worn - depends on what the wearer does with their hands.

This ring was a test for designing more wearable wide bands. The inside of the ring is convex in shape. When measuring the ring, I allow the mandrel sizing mark to slip over the ring until it gets near the slightly bulging center of the ring, where the convex shape finally touches the mandrel. This makes the ring fit a person closer to the same size as a thinner band would fit. It also seems the be more comfortable to wear, thus the phrase 'comfort fit band' that some designers apply to this style of band.

The band seems to hold its convex shape when sized up 1.5 sizes. When sizing up beyond that point, there seems to be a noticeable flattening of the interior.

A size 11 weighs about 11 grams, nearly bang-on what I had in mind. After being remolded and recast, it will end up being about 10 grams. I think this will be my target weight for convex, wide band ring designs in the future.

I have mentally sketched and purchased the stones for an onyx orb ring that will use an insect/alien design similar to the upcoming mindworm pod pendant #2. I hope to get both these designs in the next pour, along with an 'industrial decay' bronzite bracelet.

moo

2010-02-11T11:38:00.000-08:00

Prehistoric times...

Cow 1: "In the future, super-intelligent creatures will use our udder liquid to enhance their warm beverages. They will suck the liquid out into giant vats using high-tech, metallic pumping devices."

Cow 2: "yeah, right"

fishstick pizza

2010-01-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

One Totino's 3 Cheese Party Pizza
1/3 box Walmart Great Value Fish Sticks, 24.7 oz
Smiley face's worth of Huy Fong's Sriracha Hot Sauce -
(Hot sauce with angry red rooster on label)
0ne box Sunshine brand Chees-its Crackers (optional)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Remove Totino's 3 Cheese Party Pizza from cardboard box and heat-shrink plastic bag. Sprinkle escaped cheese slivers and anything else left in shrink wrapping back on top of pizza. Arrange Walmart Great Value Fish Sticks atop pizza in a spoke design emanating from the center of pizza.

Bake pizza in oven for 12 minutes, then impatiently crank oven all the way to broil mode. Remove pizza when popping noises are heard. (Pizza should be slightly blackened on peaks and bottom, slightly cool to the touch under center fish sticks.)

Place on large plate and cut into 4 pieces. (Cut with fish stick grain, not against.)

Draw smiley face on pizza with hot sauce.

With one shaky motion, pour Chees-its over pizza, and off one side. You should have an equal amount of soggy, (top of pizza), and dry, (off to the side of pizza), Chees-its.

Eat pizza.

chunky monkey jewelry time

2010-01-20T15:44:00.000-08:00

There is a long period mid-November, to mid-January where all resources go into filling orders and replacing stock. After this period of production, it is difficult getting my 'sea legs' back in regards to designing new items. The first few attempts usually find themselves in the scrap metal heap as I struggle to remember what I actually do for a living.

The first new item will probably be a heavily textured ring in larger, men's sizes. It has been some time since I specifically designed anything for men - this is also a bit cumbersome - a bit clunky. Uncomfortable is better than scrap heap.

An unfinished mindworm is making funny noises over my left shoulder, but I am not yet up to the task. A couple of successes this side of sane complexity, and I will tackle that monster.

hungarian to english dictionary

2009-12-20T19:48:00.000-08:00

Anyone know how to say 'far out' in Hungarian?

According to babelfish, literally: 'rump out'

...which is, in itself, pretty far out.

damnation

2009-12-17T08:17:00.000-08:00

The bar scene from Tarr's 'Damnation'.

The outside-the-wish-room scene from 'Stalker'.

Bittersweet, delicate Monkey - Zone color against the monochrome landscape.

julie

2009-12-03T18:41:00.000-08:00

The warm evening sun made sultry, glowing figures of the twenty-something girls playing in the lake. James snapped several shots quickly from his bench in the grassy park.

Julie came up stealthily from behind. She slipped onto the bench, and slid toward him as close as possible. "Which one do you like?", she laughed in his ear.

It was a sweet, deep voice from the past. Before seeing her today, James had nearly forgotten it. How easily it could hold him in it's clutch. He blushed, sounding some poor excuse about an interesting sail boat beyond where the girls were playing. Julie giggled as his words stumbled over each other. The same playfulness of 12 years past. Marriage, children, the responsibilities of adult life had not changed her.

"Want me to pick one out for you?" she asked, leaning around in front of him, so that she could see his face and judge the effect she was having - he blushed to another level. Turning back toward the water, she put a finger to her chin in mock concentration before pointing out toward the swimmers, "the dark one in blue is pretty."

They sat silent for a while, bathing in sunlight and old memories.

Julie had changed clothes since lunch, from a over-sized shirt, into a one-piece swimsuit. As she leaned her chest defiantly forward against the oncoming scenery, her exposed thigh pressed hard against the bench. It was not as he remembered. What was once a thin and tanned leg was now the pale, thick appendage... of... of... someone's mother. For a moment the spell was broken.

"Do you want me to go out there and get 'blue girl' for you," she said, "or would you like to go back to the campsite and drink a beer with me before I have to leave?"

James stood obediently and followed her back to the campsite.

misdirection

2009-11-30T20:58:00.000-08:00

I dreamt last night that i was drowning in a large can of mushrooms.