Monday, August 5, 2013

Couple new ball-points in an epic sketchbook collaboration with Miles Frode...


And a big shout out to whoever be coming by and leaving your mark on my blogheart.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Newest batch of bus drawings - this time in graphite




T-BOIS BLUES FESTIVAL IN LAROSE, LA

I am soon to be on the road to Louisiana.

Blues is in the air and I will be doing some live artwork on a fallen tree with an artist firned, Erik Steiger.  Pictures to come.

I have some other friends coming along to dance our butts off, meet some good people, eat some good food, make some art, and enjoy the temperatures more desirable than Michigan's.

Watch out, T-Bois, here we come!  Much love!

-Ray

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Poster design...

Nate Hatt (natehatt.com) made the graphic design part possible.  Looks great!  Thanks, Nate!

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Miles & Ray = MR-

Collaborative effort by Mr. Miles Frode and myself.  Check him out at milesfrode.com & have a good day!

Friday, February 15, 2013

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Thursday, February 7, 2013

New colored pencil...

Nice ethereal feel...

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Metallic meets sunshine...

This is a painting by Gigi Hirzu I put in the sun (hadn't thought of it before for some reason) & it exploded.  I want to do more metallic painting.  :)

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

{ Chocolate Flavored JFK }


Knuckles tap tables like dancing child feet
Enormous indigenous in rain hiding fat tears
War machines play cemetery games behind enormous
Explosions wave the shock wave the dancing child feet
Knuckles rain enormous hiding
Cemetery machines tap & tear

Smoke is taffy laughing drafts to up up & anyway
Chocolate flavored Santa is Dallas JFK meet grassy knoll
Head pop… soda… coke… chewed out dead
Hydrating is communing with eternity filtered by smoke
Chewed out chocolate JFK laughs
Up up & anyway flavored eternity is taffy

- - - - - - - - -

The light in yr eyes exist outside of time
The light in yr eyes exists everywhere in space
Built of photons
Built of fairies
The light in yr eyes - a film projector…
Watching the film for so long
One can’t help but identify with the characters
AS the characters
Built of fairies
Built of photons
You are the stars lighting up the night sky

Poster sketch for Louisiana blues festival...

It is on an alligator farm south of New Orleans.  I will be doing some live painting at the event the 5th and the 6th (date on sketch wrong) on a tree fell by a hurricane (wonder which) alongside & in tandem with a woodworker & co-worker, Jake.  Never worked on a tree before.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

After Beginning Of An Abstract (pt.2)

Two posts ago, Beginning Of An Abstract, I showed you step one on one of my abstracts.  This here is step two.  Probably a good 40 minutes.  I am liking it more and more.  I hope you enjoy it, too!

New finger painting, currently untitled...

15" x 12.5".  Acrylic on card stock.  I kinda like it.  Fun to get fingers into paint, too!

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The beginning of an abstract...

This is the fresh beginning of a new abstract, about 30"x42".  It is about 30 minutes of work.  Ink & acrylic on canvas.  Wonder what it needs...

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Ball-Point Drawing...

I did this drawing a couple days ago in the morning, sitting in the sunlight in my bed.  It started as a drawing of a painting by my good amiga, Angie Brown (angiebrown.org), and became a trippy art nouveau-inspired oddity.  Needless to say, I loves it!

{ Rabbit, Run! } by Big Sway


Run, Rabbit, run!
South! South!
To suppress, merely (or more),
A mouth
Reaching out to be saved like a trapeze artist
& there is a bit of “net” in yr soulself  - a souse
A mouth, espoused toward Descartes
I think I think, I think
& therefore… what am I?
Guess one never really knows
Brain biased as gravity or grain
The battle of Fate vs. Free Will is rigged
Nobody can win
Bet on Voice & Eternity!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
the author runs you through some lines of text stylistic he hasn’t really experienced since his 2002 southern california flip trip year through san bernardino & riverside, with the dharma bums’ ray & the chateau on mt. vernon st. under the big C on the mountain desertscape dream bibliography aka real fiction, or some other non-innocuous nonsense didactic dreambomb
-       - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Baby, baby, baby!
I want you, one two
Wanting for some, but not for a cunt
More, a wanting of Want
More for some unkempt trump
With a truepenny mind & a sumptuous rump
Under summum bonum
The greatest of supreme goods
The fruit of a woman
Ripe, like a bunt
A tripe love in-field double
A stunt for the light
The horizon in trouble from the hunt
The prey of the night
The pay for the trouble, light-drunk from the height
The fruit of a woman
The fight for the fun of it
Make a deal of it
Get over it
It’s un-won
Under a sun until one day’ll come
When sight aligns with the wonder of being lit like a candle
I see it all so biased-ly clear without context
Without smoke & mirrors but for insight…
Beveled eyes are pushed to be flush
2nd rate vandals on a sinking vessel
Shining in the dark
Long lost in electrical light

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

in a dream i had right at this moment i slumber as ice traipsing i from distant moment to distant moment laughing & crying in balmy abandon unable to abandon i reading the language of contradiction song bird cement slab i remember to take toys apart jack in the box with a screwdriver driving screws into my substrata a small crack lengthening horizon on windshield sky light the light i am off & on oscillating alternating currently in the sine wave pool audio and radio jacked conscious conscious consciousness with a big C the great i am or so i would seem this pronoun i to be my local theatre critic giving a fresh fate production an unfair shake in scope & making toast & eggs in free-will’s boxer shorts I a picture inside a picture inside a picture inside a picture inside a scripture inside a sacral pulse… pouting there like a sacred suture … gigantic as a mouse

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

Blonde On Blonde plays from an ancient white on off-white Mac laptop
Dylan’s subaudition is tangy & anxiety is a peach pit
The organ is hunting for hips
The drums are dancing for an audience of feet souls
Strings are plucked with tacked fingertips underneath lily pads

I have a trusted veteran dictionary of a million-word war
Lying spread eagle on the dark, faux wood kitchen table

I am doing double duty
Painting Christmas gifts on the night of the 23rd
 Working on new words for new insight & out
For today, the 28th of December
In the year of our Lord, Santa Clause
& that cute punishment/reward structure of his
& his horrible iPod playlist
Full of self-aggrandizing lyrics

Ya know,
I am growing very wary of omniscient snow bearded
& largely fictionalized authority figures
Bearing eternal sweets & threats of unpleasantness-
Making a mockery of being good
Standardizing & marginalizing many a kind act
Robbed of the integrity of doing right, even when nobody is looking

I grew up bombarded by & embroiled in unrealistic sit-coms
& endless crap Hollywood drivel
I should have worn a helmet on my eyeballs
I can see how it’s an escape
I see it snowball into life on the run
I don’t seem to have much interest in my autobiography
My life is so slow & boring compared to 90% of television programs
I’m not scored very well
Wardrobe seems severely under budget
I don’t know where to buy a can of laughter
& I think I am a pretty decent narrator, though prone to diatribalism
& I think unrealism has become the new realism
How much entertainment is a cure?
How much entertainment is a poison?
I better Google it

I always thought Bukowski wrote medallion-level shitting poems
Ginsberg’s were as funny as a self-portrait of himself
Mine are better served behind a closed door with matches
Sandburg’s defecation would be democratic & smell like Chicago’s asshole
Saul Williams shit is TIGHT!
Senor Pablo Neruda’s would become anything but, perhaps…
A daily feeding of the world at-large or a bed of floral beauty
The great denominator
The inevitability of waste
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

Karma is in the recycling business
& Heaven’s offices are now based in Hollywood, C-A
Jesus Christ, the best storytellers generally get no press
Crucifixion via indifference
Yet, due to the power of the exception, I implore
Practice your freedom of speech
Say the things you are afraid to, because
Suppression gifts us acrid bouquets of power & viciousness

-       - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If there is no ear around when a tree falls, there is no sound!  The sound of one hand clapping is a testament to the limits of the human sense organs.  Hands turn.  Organs are grinding.  Monkeys are singing & dancing.  Wet hand towels are twisting in steamy shower stalls.  Cymbals bang together.  Polaris is a birthday party, dripping in drifting lineage.  Shadows run across the ceiling like turning pages, again & again.  In between again & again turned pages, scenes of localized luminosity, animal lunacy & electrical spinal chords, serpentine like DNA.  I play a game of Candlyland & I don’t even need to be present.  I pull a cinnamon roll & take the lead.  Neck-in-neck.  Hands turn.  I’m playing 14 games of Candyland right now (& 8 games of War).  Strategy went out the window with controlled sobriety.  The grinding of the organs creates a groundswell of lurching monkeys, screaming & beat-boxing.  The DJ turns the tables deep in the discotheque.  Pilot flames, my eyes, flicker & lick my brainpan.  Gas is included in the rent, which allows you to keep it cooking.  Gears spin.  Cymbals bang together.

-       - - - - - - - - - - - -

Run, Rabbit, run!
Through a crowded field
The gift of not knowing
Makes you uncatchable
Better as sport
Ever alert
To threats hemming in greatness
Yourself, solipsistic agitator
Through a crowded field of self
The gift of not knowing
Everyone together & alone
Each & every I:
The way the truth & the light
Joneses be damned!
Amen….