Witnessed it with my own eyes: A person sitting naked in a dry bathtub, washing dishes in a smaller plastic tub. Interesting...

New creations on my Lucah blog: www.lucahdesigns.blogspot.com

PARCHED

We sweat.
You say,
It’ll be fun to round the canyon
separately & wave at one another from
either side so we set off from touching to inches apart then
repelling onto divergent paths
You grow
smaller the further we go

Abhorring empty space, the driest wind blows
in like an airborne rag & sops
all moisture locked up in
bottomless clouds

Muffled moans from your matted
lips speaks for you under the painted
sky. The less you say, the more
I hear how deep the chasm goes

You stand a desert monolith-
the ledge on my side straining forth to
meet again the ledge on yours yet stretching
stones can never breach the gulf
fixed between, carved by rushing
waters

My echoed words ring out, ring
out to riddle the fog in the valley below where,
lost in distance, they fade.
Even with the hollow mile between you
read my thoughts if not my lips they
clinch tightly to your walking stick and
travel onward

My hope like tumbled boulders pierces the
membrane of cliff & air, plummets, plunges,
falls to the base of the gap exploding into
red-earth fragments to litter the canyon floor with
shrapnel prayers. Empty clouds descend to mingle with uprising
dust of clay eating you, your silhouette, devouring
the ghost of you obscured & swallowed whole

I thirst.
The last lonely drop from my little canteen burrows
into the tip of my tongue and I step-by-step
continue my trudge beneath the baking sun thinking
many thoughts which all end in the truth-
I’ll need more water soon

PURPLE [the sequel]

Purple
the color of bruises
inflicted with intention
or without
pulses with heat
at the onset

But purple melts away
with time
fades to green around the edges
Healing feathers out.
yellow creeps in-
distills
into lovely
scars

Raised memories of
the purple
that once burned
so brightly
signaling
unexpected trauma
at the impact site.

Ground zero for:
chances taken,
risk calculated as worthy,
pain deemed worth receiving,
wounds welcomed into a life
Regardless
of how much
they might hurt
in the end

Purple’s flipping over
into other form
bookend expressions
Yin & Yang
balancing out the red
& the blue
in between

The two that eased
quite close
but could never
completely
disappear

The dash between
two purples
as something:
recorded in journals,
documented in photos
transcribed
on
blank paper

Details growing fuzzy
like the border
of a bruise
the farther they
venture out
from the center
of
the wound

To toss a glance back
over a shoulder
wince, cry, remember-
long for, smile, cringe-
savor, revisit, miss-
cherish

Like long-lost bruises
painted over
with
virgin skin

CORNERS

Do you only feel the closeness of me-
to me-
when I’m there to touch,
be touched?
When I leave-
turn a corner-
do I vanish, disappear
from you
altogether?

Do your thoughts wander off
to things we’ve done-
things we’ll do?
Are there ruts in your memory-
a trail of where I’ve trod-
that you return to time & again
to walk in,
to remember-
me
when I’m miles afar & away?

Do you think of:
my feel,
my sound,
my smell,
my taste?

Does a slideshow play when you close your eyes?
Recounting scenes of two characters
sharing
a common set?
Or does the screen go blank & fade to black?
Does the seat fold up behind you?
As you leave the theatre half forgetting:
most of what you saw,
half of what you felt,
the lines we spoke so well?

Do you think of me like I think of you
once my scent
on your collar
has faded?
Can I hope? Can I dream?
That when our fingertips part that
I haunt your waking moments
as the thought of you haunts mine?

Do I drift from you like clouds in the sky
over the mountains & out of your sight?
- cease to exist -
Do you write my name high enough in the sand
to avoid the lapping
waves
of the tide
that want so strongly to wash
me
away?

When I’m gone-
do you notice something missing?
Does it cause a little sting
in tender places?
Or am I merely a wispy dream
you forget upon waking-
a vague shadow of a thing
you wish you could recall?

Do I get to linger near you
once swallowed up by the hungry night
of other lives lived separately?
Or is the ghost of me forced
out of the house
until the next time I
draw near
and peek around
the corner?　

Invention: The Unhighlighter. Removes the neon glow but leaves the text when you accidentally highlight an item. ~GypsyLuc

If the chance is taken to continue after the sad, sad death- would the outcome be more like a Phoenix or a Zombie? ~GypsyLuc

Hear ye, hear ye. The Queen & the Bishop of the sovereign nation of YelloWall take an Ambassador Tryp to the Scribes of Detroit. ~GypsyLuc

crazy idea brewing... residential/artist studio space. 60,000 sq ft bldg in Bucyrus for 50K! need investors, vision casters, grant gurus & worker bees!

YelloWall Collective - 'Substitute'

It took weeks for this random group of creative thinkers to come up with a name for ourselves. So when the thought was tossed out that we throw our collective talents into a common visual arts submission for an upcoming art show, we - of course - had to sift through quite a bundle of ideas. What we settled on was an 'exquisite corpse' project of a life-sized figure with the working title of 'The YelloWall Doll'.

The specifications:
- Allot one body part to each interested artist
- The artist would then create the 'life-size' limb/organ/part using the medium of his/her own choosing
- During creation, the artist should bear in mind the need for attachment to the other components & incorporate a hook, loop or other connection point

A total of 20 artists ended up participating:
Ken Arthur, Laurie Beekman, Jeff Bell, Linda Chevalier, Kevin Cochran, Kathy Fetzer-Goodwin, GypsyLuc Hargis, Jason Kaufman, Misty King, Jenny Lucas, Tracy McAdams, Antoinette McMillen, Karch Mohafer, Andi Phillips, Kate Shannon, Cameron Sharp, Tyler Sweet, John Thrasher, Kate Westfall, Sabrina York

With that many artists in the mix, we ended up with some amazing elements fashioned from a multitude of materials. These materials ranged from the organic end of human hair to the manufactured end of a prosthetic leg.

In addition to the efforts of each artist to create his/her body part, there was also a lot of effort put forth in organizing, assembling & transporting 'Substitute'. Through the process we experienced excitement, frustration, cohesion, problem-solving, teamwork, creation, synergy, pride & elation. We had absolutely no idea how the final project would turn out. When you throw together 20 different artists with vastly different visions, styles, skill levels, preferred media & voices you definitely go into it with a big question-mark at the end.

In the end, the hard work & headaches paid off! The exquisite corpse piece was accepted into the 65th Annual May Show at the Mansfield Art Center http://www.mansfieldartcenter.org/. But not only was it accepted, it also won a cash award for creativity.

During the opening reception, patrons of the show were constantly huddled around studying, discussing & pointing at 'Substitute'. From conversations, it seems that what drew them to the piece was intrigue, fascination and, mainly, the understanding that many individual parts came tgether to form a cohesive whole.

The one thing that remains to be seen is what will become of our little 8' tall Frankensteinesque creation once the show is complete. There has been talk of finding him a permanent home somewhere in the Mansfield community where he can continue to live & breath & share his almagous message. As a Collective, we would love to see that happen. Of course, if it doesn't, we've already got a backup plan in the works...

[See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exquisite_corpse to learn more about the history & variations of an exquisite corpse project.]

Death of a Tattooed Banana

The over-stimulating banter on a recent conference call birthed the Tattooed Banana. As my simple, nutritious, fresh-fruit breakfast lay before me I abandoned my usual distraction of pen on paper. As I sat there studying its skin in all its yellow glory, I noticed patterns in the little brown spots & nicks. They reminded me of fingerprints, birthmarks, tattoos...

So, I grabbed a nearby permanent marker and began drawing beautiful, random things to embellish it further. It was my gift to the lovely, delicious fruit. I picked out the natural markings already meshed within it then proceeded to 'tattoo' the entire banana. Obviously, it was quite a long conference call...

I then decided to chronicle the demise of said banana as it lived out its life-giving purpose. And now, it's sacrifice is immortalized for all to see & savor. Let us celebrate the truth that this simple banana lived a good life, received a beautiful addition to it's fleshy garment & gave far more than it took. I feel privileged & blessed to have been able to partake of its boredom-destroying, experimental, tasty, wholesome goodness.

Electro Dynamic Machinery

My "Electro Dynamic Machinery" piece was accepted into the "Borrowed Words" show. I used the altered book format along with collage, acrylic & a telescopic antennae for this piece. The concept is that of organic relationships vs electronic interference. The scene is that of a mother, child & family pet by a fireplace. Only, instead of a fire, the hearth takes on the attributes of a television set displaying a mechanical image and a mathematical formula. The words that peek through from the background, the image of a scale/measuring device on the mantle & the antennae jutting from the top of the piece reinforce the concept.

The vintage, homey image juxtaposed with these more industrial elements is meant to speak to the place where deep relationships & personal interaction have taken a backseat to the more distant form of technological communication. At the same time, there is still a sense of connection & interaction & shared space between the characters. Is this an altogether bad development in society? What do we need to do in response to it? Can true connection still happen with wires, transmissions & motherboards in between?


ROY G BIV Gallery for Emerging Artists http://www.roygbivgallery.org/ is the show sponsor. The exhibition is at the Columbus Metropolitan Main Library Carnegie Gallery at 96 S Grant Ave, Columbus, OH & will take place from Thursday 5/6/2010 through Wednesday 6/16/2010.

The criteria for the show:
"The work must use text as a visual element in the work. Examples include but are not limited to comics, captioned photographs, and collage, to name a few. Creativity and ingenuity in the work is, as always, greatly encouraged.

The words comprising the text must be borrowed from previously published texts. These can be from a diverse array of sources - lyrics, printed articles, novels, famous speeches, slogans, etc."

The Opening reception will be Thursday, May 6 from 5pm-7pm. Come out & support local arts & artists! Be sure & study the Borrowed Words that are left behind in the background of the piece.

"Volary"

Funny.

I have had pieces juried into major art shows in Charlotte & a half dozen other cities/metro areas. In those places, I receved multiple awards for my artwork. When I moved to the sleepy People's Republic of Bucyrus almost 2 years ago, I began looking for local art venues. Mansfield, at 30 minutes away, is the closest art scene.

Show entry in Columbus has been no problem. I even had a solo show @ Kenosis over in mansfield. But, for some reason, breaking into juried shows @ Artworks on Main & the Mansfield Art Center has been an uncrackable nut - until today.

I entered 4 pieces. One actually - finally - made it through the gauntlet somehow! What's funny is that I assembled the piece that got in [literally] the day before entry. The idea, however, had been brewing in my soul for weeks. I used some recycled anatomical collage figures from another piece. And while they took some time to make originally, the assembly of the final piece took about 4 hours. And it got in. Now compare that to the hours & hours of painstaking production on each of the other 3 pieces. Each of these, I feel, are just as worthy.

Funny.

In addition, the exquisite corpse project I helped organize also got in. 14 or so artists were involved. Each artist took a body part with the simple rules of: create a somewhat life-size part, use any medium you want, turn it in & we'll mesh it all together Frankenstein-style. The final creation is a sight to behold. The figure is nowhere near as refined as we had planned due to time constraints.

It got in.

It won an award.

Funny.

Interview with Jeff Bell

Jeff Bell is a musician & visual artist currently living in Mansfield, OH. He is a key member of YelloWall Collective. He has been performing music for 15 years and, between his former band & solo projects, has put out12 CDs . He has been a visual artist for 10 years. I sat down with him in the square across from his downtown loft where we shared a smoke & explored how music & art collide in his life.

GypsyLuc: Can we start off by you sharing about the different facets of your artistic/creative life?

Jeff Bell: My art ranges from making djembe drums, mandolins & guitars to odd prototype instruments which are mostly unsuccessful but fun to do. Then there is painting, drawing, sculpture, playing, singing, songwriting & all aspects of composition.

GypsyLuc: Knowing you for a year & a half, I think it’s safe to say that music is very important to you. In addition to the actual music, your artworks usually have a musical theme. What is it about music that speaks to you?

Jeff Bell: More than anything it is probably just the freedom of expression. With art you have to have stuff & have to use just that one material. With music you can do it with almost nothing - with the simplest instruments even.

GypsyLuc: What is the nature of your relationship with music? Would you call it love?

Jeff Bell: No, I wouldn’t call it love because I think love is mostly an emotion or state of mind or feeling. I’d say I’d probably call it an obsession - something I have to do. It’s like checking the door lock two or three times before you leave. It’s more like a sickness than an emotion. Maybe like a disease… It’s sort of a relationship/obsession in some ways.

GypsyLuc: How long has this obsession with music been going on?

Jeff Bell: Since the age of three - as soon as I could climb up on the piano bench. I grew up with my grandparents. My grandma was a music teacher & probably 60 students came through there in a week.

GypsyLuc: If you see an artwork or hear a piece of music you created 15 years ago, how do you respond to it?

Jeff Bell: It depends on the piece. Obviously, some things from the past you like & are still attached to for a long time. Some things you knew you weren’t going to fall in love with when you finished them - although you still feel a connection to it regardless. You realize you were still honing your craft at that time.

GypsyLuc: What percentage of songs have you written which have never made it out to a public venue? How many artworks have you completely painted over?

Jeff Bell: Maybe 25% of songs I’ve written have never been heard publicly. As for paintings I’ve completely painted over - the number is low! Maybe 2 or 3... I don’t do that often because it’s just something you shouldn’t do. I’d scold myself for that! That would be one more painting you would have.

GypsyLuc: You recently quit your day job. Why was that? Was it difficult?

Jeff Bell: I’ve never had a lot of day jobs. If I do, they last for a while, but it’s always about the music! It’s always been about music. After 15 years of traveling & touring, I quit the band I was in to take some time off. I got offered a job building carrousels. It was great but it was easy to let that go. Music somehow always pays better. If you compare it to a day job, working 40 hours per week, you can make that in one night with music. It makes it hard to say yes to any day job.

GypsyLuc: While working for ‘the man’, how did you ensure you still had time for creative pursuits?

Jeff Bell: I only worked two days a week! I made sure when I took that job that it would be part-time. I don’t choose one or the other. I made that choice a long time ago. I decided that if I took day jobs I would keep it to a minimum.

GypsyLuc: What progression or changes have you seen in your materials, methods & subject matter over time?

Jeff Bell: It’s true that with any medium you work with you gradually go up & hit plateaus. It’s never a steady climb. With music, you notice your playing & songwriting getting better. Your wordsmithing gets better over time. With art, the more you think about it - the easier it is to come up with better ideas.

GypsyLuc: When performing or creating are you ‘present’? Are you aware of your audience & surroundings or do you go to some other place?

Jeff Bell: Both. There are times when I’m painting or creating art of some kind & I get lost. That right-brain-switch just happens & I get lost. When performing you’re aware of your audience most of the time. You can be thinking about what you might do for the rest of the evening, where you’re going to eat, sex, anything. There are times, when it going well, that you get sort of lost.

GypsyLuc: If you had to lose your hearing or your eyesight - which would you choose?

Jeff Bell: Oh man! That is an unfair question! Those are my only two options? How about half of both? If I had to choose I’d rather be blind. I could still play music & still perform. But, I’d need a chauffeur…

GypsyLuc: What current projects or goals do you have in the works?

Jeff Bell: As for projects: I’m finishing a CD. I’m getting ready to finish the writing & begin the recording. There are always some paintings coming up on the list & probably some wood sculptures. As for goals: more traveling for music - more so than the last year or two. The South is always nice. I’m hoping to get into the Woodchoppers Ball up in Kent where they pick 10 acoustic guitar players from around the Midwest.

GypsyLuc: What would be the ultimate setup for you as an artist/musician?

Jeff Bell: Hell! I think I might already have it right now. It would be a situation where if you do work a day job you don’t work much & can devote, say, 95% of your time to art. That’s probably most artists’ dream situation. But, I’m not sure most people know what that is. From talking to some people, I’m not sure they would even know what to do with that time.

GypsyLuc: So let’s say that you are in that dream situation right now. How long can you remain content in it?

Jeff Bell: I think forever pretty much! Even in a dream situation I might switch media, play for awhile, go back to art. Yeah. Pretty much forever.

GypsyLuc: You possess multiple talents. Do you consider yourself to be any more gifted than the next guy?

Jeff Bell: Hell no. Hell no! I think everybody has attributes or excel in certain areas. It may not be art or music. There are a lot of people who can do things far better than I can do them!

GypsyLuc: Any last words? Is there anything you want to toss out - one last song - before this show comes to an end?

Jeff Bell: Not really. I’m not a soap-boxer. I’m not political. I don’t really take a stand on a lot of things. I’m much happier to live life & not get too serious about any one individual situation.

Check out www.myspace.com/jbellguitar to hear Jeff’s music, book a show or find a listing of places where his art is on display.

Smediums: TAI Intro

Smashing the proverbial bottle of champagne on the maiden voyage of The Artist Interview, John Hargis kicks off his column by interviewing his alter-ego, GypsyLuc.

John: You’re one of the talented writers that have come onboard with TAI. Can you unlock the meaning behind your column’s title?

GypsyLuc: Smediums. It’s a word that splices ‘small’ & ‘medium’. A friend of mine uses it to describe pants that hang a little too short. It speaks to those times when a person has too much leg for not enough pant. Growing up we called them ‘highwaters’.

John: How does that idea fit into the concept of an Arts magazine?

GypsyLuc: As an artist, I am always dreaming, creating & experimenting with just one more thing - a new medium, a novel idea, the latest creative challenge. It’s sometimes hard to squeeze it all in - to wring out enough moments in the day to make it all happen. It’s like I need 32” long pants but have to fit it all into a pair of 30” smediums.

John: So, Smediums will present interviews with artists on how they find the time to integrate the arts into their lives?

GypsyLuc: Exactly. I’ll be focusing on how artists in Central Ohio weave creativity into the fabric of their day-to-day existence. We all have distractions, commitments & constraints that drag us away from creating. I want to discover the thrust behind the passion, the tricks, techniques & methods - whatever magic there is - to keeping art a priority.

John: You’ve got your fingers in a lot of things yourself: full-time job, three hour daily commute, taking care of wife & kids, creating & marketing your art, writing, open mics, serious involvement in YelloWall Collective… How do you find time for it all?

GypsyLuc: It’s tough, no doubt. It comes down to art being a necessity in my life. While it might be possible for me to exist without it, I definitely can’t thrive that way. I’m equal parts planner & opportunist. I reserve Wednesdays & weekends for art creation. I set deadlines & hold myself accountable to meet them. I sketch at work during meetings & conference calls, refine ideas in my head around the clock, record writing snippets on my cell phone while driving. I reject other opportunities in order to carve out space for art. Sleep is optional at times! Plus, I have some amazing artistic friends who inspire me & push me to keep creating in the midst of the melee.

John: Is it going to be even more difficult to squeeze a monthly column for TAI into an already jam-packed schedule?

GypsyLuc: It’ll work out. The ideas are exploding in my head already! I’m excited about meeting with other artists & passing on the stories of what they’re currently into, why they choose to create & how they make the time. Hopefully, our readers can glean some wisdom & scraps to lace into their own lives. Writing is art. I strive to make time for art. And, in the end, what’s wrong with having a little more leg poking out of the bottom of my smediums?

One Breath [an anniversary poem]

The calm blows
through us
when we share one breath.

Living on common air.
mirror in mirror in mirror
Occupying identical space
in life-giving
moments.
Breathing in
mutual wind.

Ignorant bliss.
unaware
of the times we:
inhale,
exhale.
Miles from:
this place,
one another.

Sustained by the breeze:
right here,
right now.

Mouth-to-mouth:
two beings,
one breath-
inseparably
intertwined
and alive.

Cryogenics

It's warm & thumping
-perhaps too strongly-
So I carve a hole in the snow
cold & wet on my fingers
and cover it over
to muffle the beating.

Sleeping until the day
you're ready to dig it up
and feel it still
swollen with heat
in your hands.

POEM: Purple

We both know it's purple
That's just the color it is
For the longest time you would call it reddish-blue
or warm-indigo at best
You'd go no further

But yesterday -
Yesterday
you called it "violet" (in quotation marks)
You tip-toed all the way to "violet"
That's as close as you'd come

Someone - and we don't know who -
Someone
took a drop of blue
took a drop of red
set them down softly
into the watery glass

And the colors swirled
wrapped 'round one another
played & danced until they both disappeared
Red infusing the blue with itself
Blue infusing the red with itself

They connected quick together
like chromosomes
like the warm embrace of two old friends
like sunset kissing nightfall
like Legos locked down tight

We both know it's purple
That's just the color it is
And while I call it that in my secret thoughts
My lips are slow to part & say it
waiting until the one day -
The one day
when the quotation marks fall off
to clink on the ground
and the sound of "violet"
swirls into purple

POEM: Powdered Metal Flower Petals

vertical vortex laid horizontal
for ease of entry through bi-fold doors

portal petals sliding open reveal the liquid warmth inside
waves parting, whirlpool tugging
pulling me down to the depths of its lair
womb-like cave of sparkle treasure
trough of treasure chest

glimmer silk like moistened jewels
wrap around the deep-sea diver
bubbles forming - causing fins
to reach extension, fan out wide
straightened curves of tangled leisure
meshed with work & sweat of brow

stamen feathers soft as iron
swab formations on the wall
hang on stalactite for my stalagmite
thrust out poison in the well

with a quiet resolution
dilute the masculine solution
with pollen dust like cirrus clouds
sweet onset of the bends & angles
the quiet pause of rock formations
new dimension roof ripped off

the powdered metal flower petals
dissolve the vortex
kiss it closed

POEM: Between Earth & the Moon

Her coming foretold on tattooed skin
She passed between Earth & the moon
Carried on wings of comet tails
Inking the sky with wet light

Trajectory drawing a paper-thin ring
Wrapped ‘round the sun at high noon
We tried to turn eyes but failed
Transfixed by ecliptic, elliptic flight

Fire & ice hang like stones ‘round her neck
Flowing in ribbons which tie back her mane
Her song birthing stars as she dances along
Trailing a pathway behind

Gravity-bound & held firm in the womb
Young souls leap with hope at her words
Rippled & tilting & lilting & lulling
Her subjects to gaze on her beauty by night

And quick as she came she moves on to another
Land. World. Universe. Time.
As we suckle the memory of transient things
Which pass between Earth & the moon

POEM: Strange-Thought Fella

We don’t know ‘bout that strange-thought fella
Importing new-fangled ideas
Big city ways in our closed-gate village
Too much weight in that thinking of his
‘cause it makes our traditions cave in

a witch in the kitchen
cooking up a brew
smells to high heaven
of outsider stew

To the pitchforks & torches!
Hunt him down, Strip his skin
Draw & quarter, Tar & feather
QUICK! Homogenize him!

We tried so long to break his spirit
Conformity shackles, whips & chains
To beat the wild outta the stallion
Wash the black outta the sheep

But every lashing sliced thin air
Every flogging failed
He somehow passed through the midst of us
A buttered-up pig slipping right through

The truth we only whisper when the doors are locked
His scent left a stain on our town
That our wills & rituals can’t clean
We cry sometimes that he’s gone

that strange-thought fella
we loved to hate

POEM: The Anti-Nothing

What lingers on the other side of nothing?
What squirms in the pit
Where blackholes dump their trash?
Spew their collections?
Bury their loot?

Slippery lip
Where the universe spills over its edge
Into somethingness
Anti-nothingness
Perfect newness

Colors hum there
Matter, mass
Fresh amoebas
Foreign, congealing
Into new music, novel mist

That random place where anti-dust & anti-heat
Implode & churn out anti-light
Anti-matter springs, unfolds
Anti-worlds & anti-words
Anti-poems, anti-songs

Anti-planets, anti-suns
Ante up in the anti-space
Where Auntie Em looks down in black & white
Swabbing the head with an anti-rag
Dipped in antique water

Anti-thoughts in the anti-mind
Swim around in the anti-time
Where far & near are upside down
Anti-pulsars spin around
In retrograde

The anti-wormholes are antebellum
Post-apocalyptic felons
Anti-war & anti-peace
Anti-teeth in anti-jaws
Speak anti-rules & anti-laws
While living anti-true & false

Pooling up & cooling down
In the land where life creates itself
To shake the known with quasar-quakes
Giving birth
On the inside of everything
Nothing included
Nothing reborn
As something

TAI - Review & Interview

Top Notch Book-Arts of John Luc Hargis

As TAI is growing quickly, I have to say it is hard to keep up even with the talent of all our contributors, who are also working artists. I thought it would be important to start interviewing some of our very own staff who have bravely stepped up to contribute in not only writing about the arts in our community, but who also have exceptional talent in various fields of art. I am embarrassed to say, that for some of them I am viewing their work for the first time, whereas others, I have been aware of for years. As TAI readers, I hope you enjoy becoming more acquainted with their work as we continue to cover the arts in Ohio.

I personally work in printmaking and come across a lot of artists that work in altered books. I even took a few bookmaking classes in college but never really did anything exceptional with it. In reviewing John’s work, I honestly have to say that he quickly became one of my new favorite local artists. I don’t know how I haven’t been acquainted with his work before. His work is crisp, pristinely executed and ultra thought provoking. He literally uses recycled books, which in elementary terms are full of verbal information. But this fact takes a backseat role, as the books at times are used as a canvas displaying layers of visual information. His work shows an entertaining play between the concept of written information and that of visual storytelling.

Conceptually, I found his work to have an interesting weight dynamic as my thoughts were in a constant seesaw of comparison reflecting on content between title and that of visual dialogue. His work questions how various types of information are presented as language-verbal, auditory, visual and (by using recycled found objects) even the relevance history having lingual weight. In my view, he certainly accomplishes the saying of ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’. I hope you enjoy the interview below and I will certainly be following John’s work as it progresses.

For all you art collectors out there John is my Collectors Pick suggestion for this month.

-Stephanie Sypsa



You recently exhibited your work? What was the gallery?
JLH-My 'Altered Library' was on display at Kenosis Gallery for Experimental Art at 14 Park Ave South in Mansfield. It is located on the south side of the Square right next to Park Street Pottery.

How were you able to get into this show?
JHL-Kenosis is a brand-new gallery opened up by my good friends Jason Kaufman & Jenny Lucas. They concerted a downtown storefront into a combined gallery / living space. Jason & I are both heavily involved in the YelloWall Collective - a group of artists, writers, musicians & random creative folk who actively engage the community with cutting-edge art & artistic living. When Jason & Jenny opened the gallery in November, I was honored to be the first artist to display. They are actively searching for other artists specializing in non-traditional media, performance art, highly conceptualized work and anyone who is hovering at the edge of 'art', pushing beyond the established boundaries & has the technical ability to pull it off. Anyone interested can contact Jason @ 567.203.8018 or Jenny @ 440.315.7492

I am really impressed with your work. I mean I wanted to include your whole portfolio on here! What is your current artist statement for your current body of work?
JLH-Since I'm never at a shortage of words, which could take a few pages... The abbreviated version would be:
The main purpose of the Altered Library is to feed our desire for a quick story - an on-the-spot narrative. The pieces serve as a commentary on how our society has shifted from a slow/easy/taking-time-to-read-a-book-under-a-tree culture to one that snatches blurbs/sound bites/blogs/text messages/tweets on the fly.

With impatience, short attention spans & the desire to have what we want right now being undeniable realities of where we are as a culture, I want to create an appealing visual snack to satiate our bent towards immediacy. Perhaps the works are nothing more than another spineless offering to our flaws. Or, perhaps, they are providing the viewer an opportunity to quickly & bluntly experience the equivalent of drive-thru, hot and ready art.

Do you visualize your Art before creating? Do you know what it will look like before you begin? What's your process?
JLH-I would say that 90% of the time I know what 80% of the finished piece will look like. My basic concept behind book altering is to take a used or discarded hardcover book & transform it into something new, alive & different from the original stream of words. Yet, I still seek to retain a ghost of the original book somewhere in the final piece.

For this series, I decided to focus mainly on wall-hung altered books where the book itself serves at both the artwork & the frame. The inspiration can come from the physical aspects of the book's cover design, color, size or title. At other times, I begin the process with a specific concept I want to express. And then there are the times when an idea springs forth from a particular item or illustration I want to incorporate into the piece.

While individual books get uniquely altered based on the story I want to tell, my main techniques include carving niches & nooks in the books, adding 2-D & 3-D material to help the plot develop & finally sealing the pages shut - never to be opened.

Through this experimental process, the final 20% of each piece develops. Serendipity, necessity, chance & 'Eureka!' moments further polish the piece as it is created.


What are the most important influences that have moved you as an artist?
JLH-Always seeing the innate potential & undiscovered beauty in things: pine straw, mistakes, mud puddles, discarded things, overlooked people, dusty old books which smell of time & story & word craft.

You work is so intricate and very unique. Is there anything you consistently draw inspiration from?
JLH-Actually, I'm hard pressed to find something from which I do NOT draw inspiration! It flies at me and bombards me from every side: the sky, conversations, lyrics, thrift stores, literature, friends, emotions, waffles, bumper stickers... the list goes on & on & on...

How is your work a reflection of you?
JLH-Man - I hope this doesn't end up sounding pompous...lol. It is an outflow of my inner life. It is intelligent. It wants to speak - to say something worth saying. It wants to be heard. It wants to move people to think & to change & to affect change around them. I hope my work reflects my burning passion for passionately living a passionate life.

Do you see any emerging local, national, or global art trends that interest you?
JLH-Honestly, other than Juxtapose and Art:21, I have very little knowledge of what's going on in the larger art realm. What I do see & know firsthand is that there are amazing artists all around me who inspire me, drive me to jealousy & push me to push my craft even harder. I am experiencing the trend in my own art community of dissolving the membranes between different genres: music, visual art, poetry, performance. That excites me! The creatives I am connected with are actually beginning to execute the crazy ideas we've been toying around with during special moments when our randomness brainstorming hits critical mass. I feel that our goal of intentional engagement of the community-at-large with the arts [whether they like it or not!] is being birthed right in front of my eyes.

Do you see anything exciting developing within your community that you feel will have and affect on the local art scene?
JLH-Oops! Seems as though I jumped ahead and hit on this one already... I can say that I have seen an increase in public awareness of 'other' art because of the direct actions of some creative folk... I don't know if a huge number of people have converted, but I definitely know that some eyebrows have been raised, some have found out they are not alone & others have decided to throw stones. At any rate, the artists have started to speak & some - indeed - do have ears to hear.

Your work seems very time consuming. How do you balance your personal life as a working artist?
JLH-First & foremost, I have an amazing partner-in-crime who gives me the space I need to do what I was created to do. My wife, Stacie, grants me the freedom & unalienable right to live life creatively. The rest is up to me. I've been pondering this question of 'balance' with both myself & other artists. What I have found is that if something is important to you - no matter what - you blaze a trail to make it happen. While I could go into specifics of calendars, scheduling, sacrifice & the like, I'd rather respond with a greater answer. My personal life is important to me so I make time for that aspect. My artistic life is important so I make time for that aspect. I put worth on each of these areas and try to marry them whenever I can. I'm not sure if I'm writing a book or just altering one I've already had around for awhile. But when it's all said and done I want it to say something worth saying. If that's not a good enough reason to find that balance, I don't know what is.

Collectors Pick: For you collectors out there, I would highly recommend viewing John's work in his Facebook Account.

ASHES ON WIND

As wood turning to ash
he makes nothing out of something
Something that would not be
if he hadn't imbued it with life
then drawn it away
releasing its power
A sweet nothing blown on the wind

Oddly enough
He hit it on the head
hammer on tentpeg
Spiking our kinship to the ground

It's a good note to leave on
to pack up the things
that don't really matter
Douse the fire
Pull the stakes
Watch as the tent floats to the ground
And move on

He's moving on now
Sideways step by sideways step

It looks as though
he'll never return
or pass this way again
With a map or without one
'Cause the clouds call his name
as they call others' names

But he-
He hears them
and follows

Perfect Scents

I love catching random scents on the wind
Doesn't happen a lot in the wintertime
But today
In the chill
I caught one

I hunted the archives
Trying to place it
It was close to - but not exactly like - freedom
Not the wave-your-flag, America-rules-the-world kind
But a deeper sort

And it had a tinge of love
Not the hard-core-passionate-sorry-excuse-for-love
But something more intimate
Softer

Like
The smell of another on your clothes
Remaining after a lingering hug
Or the aromas that only poke their head out at Christmas
The sweetness of new rainfall soaking into the afternoon
Fresh snow
Warm nights
The touch of light on a lovely face
Carressing with elegant fingers

I savored it
The rare taste of the perfect morsel
Stroking the tongue
Reminding me that beautiful things
Still desire to be near me

And I loved it
This visitor passing through
In the wintertime

Snowfire

A house catches fire in the snowfall
Orange on the swirling of the air
Heat reflected warm upon crystals
Smoke entwining fog entwining sky

Snowflakes into raindrops into vapor
Sizzle on tongues of painted light
The hot & cold of found & lost desire
Turning lukewarm to cool into ash

Uncloneable

Love like the womb of a great red star
and the folk that fill up days with life
and some move on like blazing suns
and banners flap atop the upright sticks

The micro & macro have merged into cosm
with the happy/sad feeling of feather touching softly
the wonder & the meaning of bubbles kiss'd with frost
to gather all the people onboard the shortest bus

Mouth can't find the words to place a name upon
what heart is feeling
what scent is carried on wind
what handle needs a sword

To hover in the space between
the place within mysterious skin
tattooing words in foreign tongues
as life turned upside down

The hoped-for incarnation of a dream unheard aloud
when lock & load at nightfall is a gentle wave goodbye
to all the hungry teardrops hidden hot behind wide eyes
underneath a top hat brim

The golden egg like cocoa beans unbrewed inside the pot
woven from a spinster hand swathed in crimson rope
as sister fabric pieces come together in the loom
and crown the head like flower children's light

As if to ever pass this way or choose this way again
a perfect time alignment
a once-forgotten day
of red stars falling through the black & landing in the palms

A finger string of brightest blue to mark the fourfold slide
from there to here in endless loop
from binary orbits above the clouds
yet close enough to flow through veins with ease

A Wig Story

On a recent business trip to Detroit, I found myself surrounded by wig stores, nail & hair salons, check cashing services & bulletproof glass. While asking a native Detroiter about all the wig shops, she said, "Well you know, you've got to take care of the temple!"

That got me thinking. In a town facing major urban decay, economic decline & just all-around getting a bad deal, that makes sense. If your house is rundown & you drive a clunker, the one thing you do have is your body - your temple - your 'self'. You take it with you wherever you go. Personal style & expression becomes a priority in that climate.

So, I took a series of photographs to celebrate that truth. Can plastic/styrofoam mannequin heads & fabricated hairdos serve as the vessels to help us understand what a sliver of the culture of an area like Detroit is like? Can we find humanity in a wig shop?

Appreciation goes out to:

Ethel @ Juno's Wig Center
15334 Grand River Avenue
Detroit, MI 48227

Ryang CHA Wigs [Pronounced "Yong Ja"]
15234 Grand River Avenue
Detroit, MI 48227

Thank you both for opening your shops to me, answering my questions & allowing an outsider to enter your world & tell your story.

Pole Party Performance Project

So, I would like to have left the veil of mystery on a little longer but...

After the Telegraph Forum article: http://www.bucyrustelegraphforum.com/article/20091106/NEWS01/911060306&referrer=FRONTPAGECAROUSEL

& someone posting a link to the online photos in the article's comment section...

I guess a detailed explanation of the Pole Party Art Installation in The People's Republic of Bucyrus is warranted. Here's the full story - from the artist...

It was time for an art installation. Since I moved to The People's Republic a little over a year ago, I felt that my new hometown would be the perfect place.

PLAN 1:
My original idea was to wrap poles in the city from downtown - the usual location of the Brat Fest- to the fairground venue it called home this year. There was a lot of negative chatter around town about the move & I wanted to make that physical connection between the two places - show that even with a change of scenery, & a different 'feel' to it, it was still the Bratwurst Festival. Unfortunately, the idea came to me too late to actually execute it in time.

PLAN 2:
Since I got a the donation of a bolt of bright orange fabric, I thought the black/orange color scheme would work well around Halloween. Thus, the Pole Part Performance was born.


EXECUTION:
I measured a few poles to get the average circumference, created 3 pretty time-intensive stencils & cut the fabric. Then, I began spraying the pieces with a little help from some friends. Then, on 10/24, I got together some of my creative folk - artists, musicians, poets, a tattooist, vocalists & our kids, etc for dinner & a public art project.

We split the city into thirds. Next, 3 drivers volunteered to chauffeur. We drew names to form the teams & set out w/ 60 pieces/banners/posters/panels/images. Armed with hoodies, masks & staple guns we swam out to distribute free art around the community.

Pole selection within each area was left up to the individual team. We set the goal of balancing residential & commercial areas. Some locations were planned ahead while others were just randomly placed as the creativity led. We fanned out & made it happen, taking a few photos along the way. Afterwards, we returned to the mother ship & laughed & shared & celebrated as we viewed a slide show of the night.


INTENT:
First of all, 'malicious' is not my thing. More of a lover than a fighter... Contrary to many popular theories heard around town [as far as I know...] there were no aliens, occult members, a specific band, heroin users, al Qaida, gang ruffians or stupid kids involved in the process. It was simply an art project intended to peak curiosity, cause people to pause & take note & [hopefully] regain a sense of youthful wonder for a moment in time. [??Mission accomplished??]


MEANING:
Images: I chose tentacled sea life for a reason. [I love that some people interpreted one of the creatures as a rooster, though!] I wanted to pop a question in the minds of the discoverers. Why sea life? Why a squid/octopus/nautilus? After all, we're quite a bit inland & sea life doesn't really belong here...

Arrows: The arrows were added as an extra bonus! These made the project participative & interactive. One could follow the arrows and see where they led. There was no intentional rhyme or reason in the placement, so the randomness would take a follower wherever the arrows happened to direct. [Thanks to all those that took a chance & followed the arrows! You got the point! And wasn't there 'life' in the process?]

DEEPER PURPOSE:

So why even do it at all? I wanted to get community members to think for a moment. I have always wondered if 'Lower Lifeforms' truly have the ability to think, calculate, wonder, have true consciousness. Do they know what they're doing or do they simply respond to natural stimuli?
- "Oh, light - swim over there."
- "Cold - must move."
- "Touched something - eat it."

Often, I believe we humans fall into the same cycle - the same invertebrate mindset. We swim along reacting to external stimuli without really feeling, living, thriving...

What if - for an instant - I could help the inhabitants of The People's Republic of Bucyrus to cross into consciousness? What if, through 30 hours of work & $10 worth of supplies, I could entice them to see, ask questions & breathe fresher air for a time?


THOUGHTS:
Although I'm new to town, I am aware of the plant closings in the area. I have friends & family who have experienced layoffs from local businesses. We can respond to that stimuli as
- "Makes sense. Automotive industry struggling."
- "Sucks. Move on."
- "Hungry. Where food?"
- "Bills. Need help"

But what if - instead - we asked deeper questions? What could we do to turn this area around economically? How can we approach this problem creatively & affect change upon it?

- "What if we created industry that would set little Bucyrus apart in the Midwest as the leader in a new capacity? A breakout industry"
- "What if we tapped into the coming demand for clean energy & started manufacturing windmill blades or rechargeable batteries or the infrastructure needed to power electric cars?"
- "What if we reinvented the mobile home & began manufacturing 2-story models, round ones, 2-story/3-story round ones?"
- [Insert your own living, breathing, creative idea here]

Hopefully you get the gist. The old paradigms have changed. This part of the country has experience in manufacturing. If we're gonna stick with that - then let's set the example. Let's think creatively on what that would look like in the new economy w/ the changing culture of the world. How do we get in on the ground floor of what's coming next?

Back to the tentacles...
Each of the 3 images selected have 'arms/hands' of a sort. I could have used sponges or sea urchins or coral or slugs... I chose animals with the capacity to grab, to hold, to manipulate, to work with their 'hands'. We can dream & hope but we must also put our hands to work to make things happen.


CONCLUSION:
So, the Pole Party Performance Project was/is:
- A free public art installation
- A distraction from the mundane
- An opportunity to wonder again
- An opportunity to wander again :)
- A challenge to revamp who we are as a community

Perhaps we're floating downstream with the current. Perhaps it's time to fight against the tide. Perhaps it's time to recognize the stimuli & not just react to it, but affect change upon it.

Thanks for participating! The conversation has started...

~GYPSYLUC

-----------------------------------------------------------------

COMMENTS? WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN FUTURE PROJECTS?
email: hesaidfollowme@hotmail.com
facebook: http://www.facebook.com/luchargis
myspace: www.myspace.com/gypsyluc

INTERESTED IN SEEING MORE ARTWORK?
http://www.etsy.com/shop/gypsyluc
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=117793&id=656233114&l=07f51c00d7
Matters of the Art - Bucyrus
Mansfield Art Center - Mansfield
Kenosis Gallery - Mansfield [Solo Show opening Thursday 11/12 - Details Upon Request]

Death of a Loved One

ANTIWAROTIC PEACE COMPOUND [APC]

Many experience discomfort during the first few injections of the Antiwarotic Peace Compound [APC]. The body - accustomed to recurring bouts of injustice, war, violence & needless confrontation - initially rejects the ‘invader’ cells. Only after much upheaval of ingrained organic paradigms can the system begin to accept the serum. Slowly, however, the biochemical regeneration will take root, multiply within the DNA of the host, work its magick & precipitate the anticipated internal transformation. As the new sensations burn through one‘s being, intense feelings of euphoria may result. Unfortunately, this effect can be surprisingly temporal. For the time being, anti-peace relapses are especially common in those with a family history of prejudice or elitism. Researchers are still perfecting a more comprehensive cure. Until such time as a viable & permanent antidote is formulated, the APC serves as the preeminent antiwarotic weapon in Man’s arsenal against anti-peace sentiments & actions.

MIGH & HIGHTY

We think we’re so might & highty
tanging the chime
Fing spoward, Ball fack
One hour
yice a twear

Hying our dair
& fifting our laces
Electing sanother
to dighten or larken our skin-
ralter our aces

Stere I hand-
an example
Waying these sords
with paper & pen
Expressing dy mistaste

So might & highty
to offer opinion
athout being wasked
My fersonal peelings
I wiv them gaway
Nonetheless

For Photo's Sake

"fOR pHOTO'S sAKE" pROJECT:
a. photograpH aN existinG artworK
b. tweaK photograpH
c. shoW peoplE

lOCATION: dETROIT iNSTITUTE of aRT
dATE: 20091030

For Photo's Sake

"fOR pHOTO'S sAKE" pROJECT:
a. photograpH aN existinG artworK
b. tweaK photograpH
c. shoW peoplE

lOCATION: dETROIT iNSTITUTE of aRT
dATE: 20091030

For Photo's Sake

"fOR pHOTO'S sAKE" pROJECT:
a. photograpH aN existinG artworK
b. tweaK photograpH
c. shoW peoplE

lOCATION: dETROIT iNSTITUTE of aRT
dATE: 20091030

For Photo's Sake

"fOR pHOTO'S sAKE" pROJECT:
a. photograpH aN existinG artworK
b. tweaK photograpH
c. shoW peoplE

lOCATION: dETROIT iNSTITUTE of aRT
dATE: 20091030

Pole Party Performance

59 fabric/stencil/spraypaint artworks
stapleguns
hoodies & facemasks
fellow ninjastic, clandesinated cohorts

1 night
the People's Republic of Bucyrus

Dissemination into the city [divided into 3rds.] Random & Studied posting of tentacled polewraps throughout the city. Zero (0) incidents. 100% success.

FUTURE: they will remain living in their places until blown away, stolen, adopted, or rotted

SPIRITUAL THINGS

A while back I took all my understandings of Jesus and placed them over to one side. I put them in a box labeled ‘jesus’ with a lowercase j, a box with the name “Jesus” in quotation marks.

And I set about finding out, as best as I could, who the one with a name so big really is.

I have come to find that many people have stolen, copied & hijacked his name for their own agendas, beliefs & causes. Yet, underneath all the sludge & attachments there is an amazing figure worth following. For what it’s worth, this is what I have found in the midst of it all…

• I believe that God has indeed created us & wants to be in relationship with each of us. Therefore, he communicates with us. The greatest way he has done that is through the person of Jesus.
• Jesus loved, laughed, loved, ate, loved, drank, loved, lived, loved, taught hard things & loved some more.
• In Jewish culture, a rabbi would have his own interpretations about the words God had handed down through the years. This set of teaching & interpretations was called a ‘yoke’.
• Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
• Jesus did not seem at all interested in judging people for breaking other rabbis’ rules.
• He seemed more interested in sharing his own interpretation, his own yoke. And he believed that by teaching and living it out, he would show us the ‘Father’.
• He seemed quick to forgive anyone who truly wanted to be more like him.
• Matthew chapter 5 seems to be Jesus’ outline for living a life pleasing to the one who created us.
• I wonder if ONE ANOTHER is really what it’s all about…?
• Jesus said that to love God with all your heart & to love your neighbor as yourself are the two greatest commandments and that everything else hangs on these two truths. And then he showed us what that looked like by actually living it out himself…
• From that place of authority Jesus said, “Follow me.”
• So I have set out to see what that looks like. I have committed to living a life of following this Jesus. Not the one who’s been hijacked & stuffed in a box too small for him - not the one trapped behind stained glass.
• The only yoke I have found that fits right, is the yoke of Jesus himself. I am still looking for a ‘rabbi’ & a community that teaches & lives out the yoke of Jesus as I understand he taught & lived it.
• At this point, I am living out that yoke in the context of family & friends - loving one another, serving one another, praying for one another, turning the other cheek, loving when it costs me something…
• I believe that all truth is God’s truth & that his attributes show up in many places and are made manifest through many & varied means. I strive to keep my eyes open for his hand in the world.
• Jesus’ yoke seems to me to be about pleasing a God who makes it easy to please him.
• Jesus’ yoke seems to me to be about doing what we know we should be doing anyway, and reaping the joy that flows out from an others-centered life.

I still have many questions, much to learn & much to unlearn. Among them...

• On the cross, Jesus said, ‘It is finished’ and then breathed his last. How universe-altering was that moment? Or the moment his spirit & body were reunited & resurrected? Do we even vaguely understand it?
• What does it really mean to be ‘born again’? What is the pure, unhijacked version of what Jesus meant by that beautifully pregnant phrase?

Jesus spoke a lot about the “Kingdom of God”. I want to purposely live in it & help others be a part of it. Jesus said, “You will know the truth and the truth will make you free.” I feel freer than I ever have, yet I want to be freer still. So, I continue to seek him out - the truest, purest Jesus - the only one spelled with a capital J.

Looking Glass Life

He’s gotten really good at looking in mirrors
Interacting with reflections
The image transferred
In reverse
Looking right through him
Now able to decipher
Behind his back
Over his shoulder

He’s gotten really good at forgetting people
Packing up
Moving on
Leaving behind
Rarely remembering back
Some meal he ate
A hand held
Expendable love

The best gifts to buy him:
Luggage
Walking shoes
Signed with a sharpie
Perhaps they’ll spark a memory
A thinking back to conversations
Shared laughs
Tandem dreams

Those things you hold so dear
Which he has all but lost
He’s gotten really good at letting go
Bonafide gypsy
Migrant reflector
Newness junkie
Mostly addicted to
His looking glass life

One?

He tries to unscramble the pieces
like a puzzle
unravel the riddle

But what if the One is the one?
And all others playing charades
constructed by Enemy
to draw him away?

What if The Way is the way?
With no other to get to the Place
where the One longs
to have him come near?

Can he even relinquish the idea
he holds so dear
That there may be more than one One?

The puzzle already solved
The only riddle left:
Can he even believe?

The Anti-Nothing

What lingers on the other side of nothing?
What squirms in the pit
Where blackholes dump their trash?
Spew their collections?
Bury their loot?

The ragged cusp of creativity
Where the universe spills over its edge
Into somethingness
Anti-nothingness
Perfect newness

Colors hum there
Matter, mass
New amoebas
Foreign, congealing
Into new music, novel mist

That random place where anti-dust & anti-heat
Implode & churn out anti-light
Anti-matter springs, unfolds
Anti-worlds & anti-words
Anti-poems, anti-songs

Anti-planets, anti-suns
Ante up in the anti-space
Where Auntie Em looks down in black & white
Swabbing the head with an anti-rag
Dipped in anti-water

Anti-thoughts in the anti-mind
Swim around in the anti-time
Where far & near are upside down
Anti-pulsars spin around
In retrograde

The anti-wormholes are antebellum
Post-apocalyptic felons
Anti-war & anti-peace
Anti-teeth in anti-jaws
Speak anti-rules & anti-laws
While living anti-true & false

Pooling up & cooling down
In the land where life creates itself
To shake the known with quasar-quakes
Giving birth
On the inside of everything
Nothing included
Nothing reborn
As something

So She Sings

Snow shafts like ‘shroom stems
Shift slow so sleet stings
Slipshod shaped shadows
Slice straight through sun strings

Slung south since smooth skin
Sail silent sea springs
Side-saddle soldiers
Swing swords so steel stings

Sticks, stones stab sutures
Shown shut yet sap seeps
Sleep softly, soundly
Sweet song her soul sings

Sweet song her souls sings

Sick

Tick tock ‘til ten ‘til
1:50 nightmare
Side-saddle she sits
Horseback misfit

Starving out the nitwits
Soaking all the sexy twits
Sperm sponge sloppy thick
Spilled seed oilslick

Sweep away the scary bits
Sorry suitors she submits
Six o’clock clock tick
Sleep engulfs the swollen sick

Summer Colors

Sometimes I see summer colors
In the wintertime
A swath of green
A streak of blue
There

Even in the coolness of colors
On the frigid days
The heat warms me
The fire burns
Through

Porcupine Pain

He clawed at the tree
One, two, three rings
Years deep
Ferocious vigor

The bark of the tree
Like porcupine pain
Shot under his nails
Red hot slivers
Quivers, quills

Pain
Electric
Shooting, shooting down
Out

Fire in his skin
His veins
His muscles
Pain
His bones

Blowing up inside
Explosions
Tons
Explosions

Pain
Excruciating quills
Terrible sharp
Poking through his callouses
Soaking through his meat

Piercing
Deep pain
Coming from the inside
Porcupine pain
Screaming from the tree

Non-Religious Hypocrite

You can’t wiggle out of it
You non-religious hypocrite
Saying this while doing that
Skinny mind, marbled fat
Empty words of pompous weight
Nothingness upon your plate

Eat it sucker, suck it down
Pass the empty spoon around
Chew it well you tell us all
Recipe you can’t recall
Squirming two-face call your bluff
The tried & true have had enough

Thank you for a stab at this
You fire-breathing hypocrite
You scorch with words and burn with lies
And have no clue that we’ve surmised
The empty calories you sell
Have plumpened up the guts of Hell

Choke your propaganda down?
Another chef has come to town
Take it. Leave it. Watch it go.
Your final pup & pony show
Lid ripped off and you revealed
A bloody mess of smothered veal

Hypocrisy - the latest craze
To sweep the world at end of days
From earth to sky from shore to shore
Not just religions anymore
Swallowed whole with indigestion
Atheist beliefs in question

Groundhog

It’s not the groundhog’s day
I didn’t know they could get that large.
Is it bloated?
With its salt & pepper pelt
Big enough to make a small jacket
Or at least a large vest
Entrails still steaming
In the February air
Fogging the glass
A flattened shadow
Lies beneath him
Pinned to the permafrost
For at least 6 more weeks

This English

Recessed & depressed
Regressed in the best
Sort of way
Sense of the word

Addressed & sent West
The game is afoot
The love is abreast
Distinguished, distressed

This English request
This anguish, bequest
A language, bereft
Soon extinguished

Dragon Lady

Dragon lady spews
Her fire-breathing smoke
Billows, plumes
Razor sharp tongue
Slicing
Cutting deeper
Cutting quicker
Cutting stronger
Cutting down

Dragon lady harsh
Words
Braids flying
Mouth flapping
Nose flaring
Lips going
Hands moving

Making him smaller
smaller
This man
Belittled
Mistrusted
Slowly destroyed
Word by dragon lady word

Teeth, Scales, Claws
Coming down
Billows of smoke
Attacking
Killing
Flying
Soaring
Swooping

Talons out
Down
Cut
Crush
Devour

Fib

Well, I guess I just
told a fib.
‘Cause there’s no way
I’m paying you
to pee in your pot.

Loveliness

Nine finger Nanny looks at me with her lazy eye
I think
Then she flips me the bird
With that one finger that isn’t there

She’d be able to pick out my lisp
If I hadn’t swallowed my tongue
Of course, the deafness in her left ear
Keeps her from hearing half of what I say anyway

She hobbles along
As we stroll down the beach
Prosthetic hand in prosthetic hand
In the sand

She stops at least 9 times to dance on her one good leg
‘Cause she has to pee so badly
It’s been an issue ever since she sold that kidney
To buy me a valentine

Just as she sets out to recite
A love poem from memory
Her chronic amnesia kicks in
Again

So I slide out of my wheelchair
And plop down next to my sandy Nanny
As she pees her pants
And the waves lap up our loveliness

Spirits

:::For Forest:::

The living dead
Haunt
Tiny holes in the wall
Little dives

Having walked out
On their skins
Long ago
To sit side-by-side

Spirits in bars
Drinking spirits
Themselves
Past death

No life to breathe
Pulse-free
Green livers
Shining through sheets

Wrapped in chains
Rattling, clinking
Metal on metal
Glass on glass

Sometimes crying
Boo hoo beers
Lamenting
Tragic lives

Scared & scary
Slip into the grave
One sip slow sip
At a time

Last call
Ghosts drift out
Bloated, floating
Into the dark & stormy night

Colors & Lines

I started school in the south with my baby teeth falling out
Right away, Miss Arrowwood taught me about lines:
How to stand straight in them
How to squeeze letters between solid & dashed ones
How to color inside them

She also taught me that colors don’t have to stay in the box
Beginning with the exotic tone of her skin - creamy & brown
Like the sweet chocolate-milk I chugged down in the lunchroom

I learned a lesson about the taste of white craft paste
Bland & starchy on the tongue
If you get caught eating it
You have to learn
The cold steel of the punishment pole in the center of the room
How many times did my nose freeze with the cold of it
Cross-eyed
Living within the lonely & torturous world of that avocado green

In rows of rust & mustard
Purple was the color of the books with the rarest spines
My five year old eyes would seek them out
As I drifted on the smell of must & ink down the library aisles

My only sworn enemy - naptime
No matter how I tried to resist, it’s undeniable power would overtake me
And cover me with its gray blanket of sleep
Except for that one time - the day my tiny fingers
Found a crack in the plastic of my blue & red nap mat
Dug out the yellow sponge inside and carried it to my curious mouth
Three trips to the boys’ room sink for secret water
To dislodge the lump in my throat taught me silver
The color of the safety pin securing a note for my parents to my shirt

A few of us were chosen to leave the others behind to take turns
Playing with tangrams, 3-D puzzles & the single, sacred computer
Black screen. Orange cursor blinking at me all electric, mysterious & wild
I loved its amber glow more than recess, but less than I loved Miss Arrowwood

Afterall, she was the one who schooled me on numbers & letters
Dick & Jane
Chocolate-milk skin
And that most of the time, it’s better to color outside the lines.

The New Story

It was late September when he looked up with
Those beautiful saucer eyes of his
Tugging on her sleeve
She smiled & sat down to share
One of his favorite stories
But all she could find was darkness
The blackness of a hole there
The words fell out silent
Spilled out all blank

Her brain ached with the effort
Sharp pain of emptiness
The sides sucked in upon themselves
At the query
Even the failsafe failed
Not only had all his stories disappeared
But so had all of hers
The cold of late December
Painted her face in bright red blush

There were the shelves
She could see them
through the snow
Outlines in the dust
Where the ancient books of memory
should have been
All barren
Lonely
Stolen

In the void
she had to stutter something - anything - out
Quickly now
He’s waiting
The retelling of someone else’s story
Only half-remembered?
Or observations of the then & there
The here & now?
Sweet smell of April drifting near
The color of life shining out
From those saucer eyes of his

She paused.
She chose.

And the words flowed out so liquid smooth
Full & rich
A new story
Caressing his ears
Tickling her lips
Refreshing drops
Of July rain
Overflowing the cups
Filling up the saucers

A Clean Kind of Dirty

The blue tones come off
Whitewashed
In the nightlight
Fading
Disappearing
Into nothingness

The shadows cast on
Wallpaper
Live in warm hues
All it costs me
A little body heat
After sundown

A small price to pay
For the debt I owe
At the watering hole
Wetness
Flowing freely
From the wellhouse

The water comes across
Drier
Than it used to
At the homestead
When the dust was light
And washed off easily
In the sunlight

Handshakes

Overcooked linguini draping over saucepan’s lip
Limp, soggy noodle fingers dangle there

Overzealous, more than eager boa constrictor grip
Firm, squeezing coil vice of angry meat

Underfed, gaunt little skeletal twig of digits
Thin, bony pipe cleaners wrapped in paper sleeves

Oversized pork sausage swollen tight links
Plump, greasy clogging our connection with fat

Underdeveloped seed of esteem, timid shrinking back
Small receding, recoiling, quick retracting stem

Understood instant longing resting within my welcome hand
Firm but gentle, perfect size, hold me longer, don’t let go

Biker Man

Look at you straddle that Harley
On your way to work
Downtown

Cautiously stopping
At the yellow light
Highly-pressed khakis

The biggest patch
On your jacket says
“Live Free. Ride Hard.”

But those papercuts
You hide inside
Those leather gloves

And the neatly trimmed
Hair parted
To one side
Safely tucked inside
Your helmet

Speak volumes about
How free you are
How hard you ride
Your rebellious ways

Biker man-

I know these might be
Fighting words

But the polish you
Expertly laid
On those square-toed
Dress shoes

Is outshining
the chrome on
your bike

But you keep on
Living free
Biker man
Keep on
Riding hard.

Amputee Scarecrows

He resisted the chill with all he had in him
[Which wasn’t much]
But cold seeped in
Nonetheless

Frost formed on his hat
Ice latched onto his boots
Angry crystals grew on his collar
Turning him brittle and stiff

As hard as he tried
[‘cause he really did try!]
He could not stretch his arm stubs
To hug himself for warmth

A fate suffered by all of his kind
Amputee scarecrows
Cursed to wander through Autumn
With short-sleeve shirts

The Dance Above Me

Shards of light like icepicks piercing
Drive through eyelid skin so thin
Causing moaning, groaning, wincing
Squeezing tight to keep night in

But Sun runs wild, a slave set loose
To burn the world with shine so free
A necklace now - a lovely noose
Surrounds the throat of captured sleep

Daystar climbs into his glory
Shredding shadows, rising high
Peaking where apex so lofty
Bilaterates the bluing sky

A lasso flung from deepest west
Ensnares the beast and draws him down
Until the sizzle sound of dusk
Is swallowed up by hungry ground

Then tiptoes out the timid moon
Dressed in lace with shoulders bare
And glides across the tapestry
Of clouds and love, of stars and air

Tired now, she yawns a bit
A rumble shakes the eastern shore
Proud lion breaks his binding bands
And thrusts through dawn to roar once more

Morning

I love it when the cold sting of
the freshly peeled sheets
frozen by moonlight

Fades away into the warm toastiness
that swallows me up
just before dawn

But I hate how that splendid comfort
is destroyed
by a whoosh of the covers

And the scent of a frost-laden morning
fights against the heat
hiding in my eyes

Sad Song

Slow woodwinds play
I am a sad bird
Alone
Moaning for something
I've loved
And lost
Longing for sky

Slow drumbeats bump
I am a red fox
Slinking
Grazing tree bases low
Sneaking along
Unseen
Looking for rest

Slow voices sleek
I am a blue stone
Sunning
Open to the heat
Then cold
Closed up
Waiting for dawn

Slow reeds quiver
I am snow falling
Drifting
Floating to earth
Tiny ice
Blown white
Touching down soft

Slow branches wave
I am a cedar
Dancing
Swaying in wood winds
Breathing in clouds
Evergreen
Tasting the rain

Slow birdlings sing
I am the wind
Blowing
Over hilltops
In valleys
Running
Chasing the fog

I am a sad song
Longing
Waiting
Reaching
Hoping
For home

Birthday Dung

The oversweet icing from the birthday cake
has tinted my dung

One birthday in
The same birthday out

Exiting an olden green
from Blue #40
black

Luv Ya

“Luv ya.”
She spat those two half-words at me
Like seeds from an orange
an involuntary reaction
a sudden sneeze

Escaping, flying out
without weight
without thought

I remember when they were full-words
Large and velvety loops
carefully written
lovingly impressed

Like lipstick kisses
On the vellum of my soul

Now - just ugly letters
Scribbled out in haste
on scrap paper

Empty

Little more than items
Jotted on
The Shopping List
- Hot pink lipstick
- Antihistamine
- Oranges (seedless)

Girls

Fast girls, Fast girls
Wear
Thin gloves
Faux Pearls

Slow girls, Slow girls
Wear
Mystery thick
In velvety swirls

Parallel Rails

Blink, blink
Blink, blink
The red & white stripes
of the crossed arms
Tell me, “NO!”

The pain
of the wait
As the slow, slow
Slightly moving shape
Trickles its way
Down the track

“Come on!”
I beg aloud
Punishing
An innocent steering wheel

The lights wink
Imperial red
Back at me
Blink, blink
Blink, blink

Just me
And the train of
almost empty cars
Trapped
On our
Parallel rails

Height Depth

Blue light
Crystal meth
Night life
Hardened edge
High time
Golden egg
Wired spine
Shrunken head

Gone blind
Walking dead
Warning sign
Cliff ahead
Downward climb
Riverbed
Icy crime
Frozen sweat

Liquid mind
Soaking wet
Leaking eyes
Blood red
Tortured cries
Wasted breath
Endless lies
True regret

Stay alive
Left for dead
Coming night
Growing heft
Out of time
Heavy chest
Hours fly
Minutes left

Pain subsides
Numb collects
Twilight
Facing west
Final sigh
Peacefulness
Sunrise
Sunset

Charmer

He could have sworn he heard hissing
So he approached her from behind
Afraid to look at her face
And sure enough

Her hair didn’t cascade down
The full length of her back
But pooled up
Between her shoulder blades
Like a jumble of nesting serpents
In her hood

And when she asked him,
“What kinda music you into?”
He stared at his shoes
Because He knew
She was hunting his soul

“Depends on my mood,”
He mumbled.
“Figuresssss” she answered.
Then smelled the air
Between them
With the quick flick
Of a slightly forked tongue

He slowly
Found her eyes
And felt himself
Turn to stone

Vapor

Life is a vapor-
Thick and awaiting.
Quick dissipating,
wispy
then gone.

Excuses

But the water’s too cold
And the sun’s really hot
And I’m feeling quite old
And the smell turns me off and makes my eyelashes itch
But what if you had to?

But the line is so long
And my time is so short
And the price is quite high
And I’ve got lots to do before the junkmail arrives
But what if you had to?

But the moon’s almost full
And I might oversleep
And I eat lunch at 12:30 sharp
And would hate to stop working on my Soduku before it’s solved
But what if you had to?

But my arms are quite weak
And I don’t like to sweat
And I’m allergic to pain
And I’d rather lie on my couch and get fat eating pork rinds
But what if you had to?

But I just washed the car
And my wrist hurts a bit
And the air has a chill
And there’s some kind of meat stuck between these two teeth
But what if you had to?

What if I had to?
What if I had to?
What if you stopped whining
And just did what you need to?

But

Travel Agent

Exotic destination
Three rows back
Window seat available
This job is in the bag

Wet footprints
Invertebrate tingling
Broken ribs
Void of meaning

The sign on her back says
“Be Quiet”
That way we can read it when
She turns around

Bushels & baskets
Lifted & filled
Acres of okra
Slaughtered & killed

For what?

Travel Agent
of guilt trips
Booking again

Selfishness

Hurtful & cancerous thing-
It eats at the soul like a rotting gangrene!

It throbs & it itches
Chomps away as it twitches

What a loneliness
[Slow death]
Terminal.
Sickness.

Lust

A sparkling shroud
Pulled over flush faces.
Who blindly lie down in
All its dark places.

Heaving & hoing
Touch, pleasure, flight

Slink in its
Darkness.
Fool around in its
Night.

Holidays

Once upon a time
There was this virgin
Who gave birth to
The Son of God.

So go to sleep now
And some fat guy’s
Gonna bring you tons
Of plastic crap
You don’t need
Wrapped in shiny paper.

Then, a few years later
Jesus popped up
From the dead
and said,
“I’m alive!
Go find some eggs!”

And they all lived
Happily forever after.

True Star

All of them sparkling up there
Twinkling.
Shining.
Quietly beckoning, “Look at me. Look at me.”
But which one is that true star?

They all sing so brightly. There together.
Sweetly.
Gently.
Like tiny diamond sirens, “Come to me. Come to me.”
Which one shall I choose?

Each takes its turn at peeking.
Pulsing.
Poking.
Peering through the velvety veil of darkness.
On which will I lock my gaze?

My heart is set on the one of the many.
True.
North.
I listen for the voice, “I’m the one. I’m the one.”
Yet can I chase the sound amid the glitzy noise?

Somehow the choice is narrowed down a bit.
Closer.
Smaller.
My soul is honing in, “Here I am. Here I am.”
A million stars recede to black.

Then the shining slows to one.
Bright.
Alone.
Speaking in the night, “This is the way. This is the way.”
So I tiptoe towards its light.

Timeless Question 17

Q: Would it be any harder to walk up invisible stairs in the darkness than in the light?

Free From Form

She wandered through the ugly duckling
Dancing there with gloves unseen
Until the sound of foreign nothing
Landed near with thoughts unclean

And so fair lady with her toes
Dangled in the autumn breeze
Unsure of what to do with time
Aware of all the brittle leaves

FAUXALIA Series

I have been creating a new series of worked entitled FAUXALIA. Here are is a link to an online album for the series:

http://picasaweb.google.com/JohnLucZArtiste/FAUXALIASeries#


Artist Statement

The FAUXALIA series is an exploratory commentary on what makes something 'genuine' & 'real' versus 'inauthentic' or 'fake'. FAUXALIA also tests the boundaries between plant & animal, sentient & non-sentient life. Where does one begin and the other end?

This series was created mainly through direct modeling techniques with paper, aluminum, joint compound, latex paint, wood, yarn, fabric & copper wire. These ‘organic’ forms are then mounted onto faux fur wrapped boxes. The pieces are modular & can grouped to create unique 'pieces' from the unrelated modules. At what point do disparate individuals connect to others and become part of a community or a colony?

As in all my art, the FAUXALIA series is an attempt to obliterate the myth that some things are merely ‘secular’ while others are somehow inherently ‘sacred’. Symbols, materials, spaces, colors, forms, ideas - are only as sacred as the value placed upon them & drawn from them. My pieces are allegories for whittling away at this mythical dichotomy in a quest for that place where humanity & divinity collide. Does value placed on an item really exist apart from the one giving it value?

By connecting the space around, in & through the works with the space the viewer occupies I hope to encourage the viewer to find a sacred value in the interaction. My pieces echo the results of a struggle to entice a creation off the flatness of a two dimensional plane & into the viewers’ space. This projecting is accomplished through the use of visual inlets, highly textured media, tactile elements & negative space. At what point does a 2-dimensional piece become a 3-dimensional piece?

My pieces, like life itself, serve as convergence points. They are birthplaces where thought & idea become solid and alive. They are points of decision where opportunities for exploring the sacred can be either investigated & discovered or written off & ignored. Can new ‘life’ be created by the interaction of a living being with non-sentient materials?As the FAUXALIA series continues to unfold, I plan to recreate [and create new versions of] oceanic forms which particularly seem to blur the plant/animal division.

As my art continues to develop, I hope to break the static nature of surface-anchored art & entice it to enter the viewers’ experience with even more presence. I will also continue to experiment with - and push the limits of - varying, nontraditional media as I express my deep-seated inner faith & spiritual understanding.

The Tracks

Glimmers at first. Now - a remnant.
Faithful but inward. Hospitable. Build there?
Old stones on this side of the tracks.
The roots of a heart on the other.

Homemade quilts in the backyard of a stranger.
Cookies. Koolaid. Safety. Concern.
Exhaust through the cornfields leads from emptiness
To mint chocolate chip
And craft paint.

The dwindling.
A restart? A regenesis? A death? A rebirth?
The bridge crosses the tracks & beckons me home.
Will I walk it? Will I go? Can I make it that far?

Character Puzzle

Piercing through the thick unknowing
Shrouded droplets cling with roots
To darkly tinted glass
Surely unsure of the weight of the keystone
Heavy or light? Needed at all?

Unable to commit to the one or the other
Unwilling to choose from the this or the that
Unstable fence-rider!
Splinters & splits

The privilege - not robbery
Equality. Identity.
The crux, a crutch, revolving portals
Breaking through the utmost finish
Entrance there through force-field doors

Many rivers flow and merge
Only to plunge from the downpour cliff
In a fiery crash of mist & whitewater
Whittling away at the rock of offense

The Tallest of 4

Her toothbrush is the tallest of four
Worn out, frazzled & leaning to one side
Quietly
Inside the cheap plastic cup

And her life is so hard
With the bills, mismatched pajamas, tantrums
Scary nights
It's a struggle, it's a fight

But at least she struggles & fights

Her bed is the warmest in the house
Not quite as wide as it needs to be
For 40 toes, 8 knobby knees, 4 resting heads
A couple of snores

That stupid van never runs like it should
A knock, a jolt, a belt
A whatsamathingy
But the road never stretches too far too fast

(How far could she get
If she slammed the pedal down hard
Bald tires screeching
And never looked back?)

But, her toothbrush is the tallest of 4
And her bed is the warmest in the house
And even though it's a struggle, it's a fight
Worth fighting

The quiet breath of sleeping angels
Is her favorite sound in all the world
So they brush their teeth, crowd in together
And dream pretty dreams

Original Write Date = 20071230
For a friend...

Ekklesia [a prophecy]

The jet black vultures hover & circle, darkening the sky
Descending on the perfect brick building - clean and polished - steeple aimed high
The spire jutting upward - piercing - the clouds with its whitewashed paint
Yet unseen beneath the fatal wounds, an underground spring flows to new places

Original Write Date = 20071223

Holy Discontent

Monotone ringing out
Heavy sighs of unsure groaning
Escaping from a numb-like breathing
Only wanting evermore

Good stuff? Yes
But what of better?
Greater still
What of the best?

Burning discontent with simple mediocre
Aching drive inside to thrust for the upper rung
Golden ring in shiny splendor
Shining forth with Spirit life!

Ever reaching, grasping, stretching
Out a hand that longs for light
Perfectly content with going one
Step further, one inch more


Original Write Date = 20071104

A Sure-Coming Summer

As I awoke this morning, I found myself thinking about seasons & how they gently meld into one another. God could have kept us in a constant state of summer & we would never have known that other possibilities were even out there. But, He has chosen to give us seasons. And we are only aware that there could even be such things - because He reveals that truth.

I can imagine the seasons working in reverse: spring flowers closing, shrinking & the new sprigs sucking back into the ground. Water seeping up through the soil, forming a layer of white that separates and then floats upward in tiny flakes. The crisp, fallen leaves taking flight back into the warming air, reattaching themselves to their limbs and changing into a uniform green.

But, when God wants to make things new He doesn't take dead leaves & reattach them - He lets them decay. Trees go bare for a time. But, sure enough, He creates fresh, new, vibrant leaves to replace the dry, lifeless ones.

I can't quite draw all these thoughts together but there is a connection here somewhere with putting new wine in old wineskins. My faith is intertwined somewhere in here too. I am not willing to live a life that is a constant attempt at reattaching old, dead leaves to a tree that wants to fall asleep...

Even if it means the ice of winter - the cold of a temporary death - I want that newness of spring. I will shiver for a time - if that's what it takes - to see the bud shoot forth. I just want to find that new wineskin & discover what it should hold. For I know that in so doing, I will reach that promise of a sure-coming summer.


Original Write Date = 20071009