Years in the making...

I started this drawing at Burning Man, summer '08 (note figure standing in between big wings; a very cool art installation).
I thickened the lines up sometime in '09.
I JUST finished it with a nice graphite session.
Sometimes if an expression isn't finished, it is good to be OK with putting it away for years even, knowing if it is to come to fruition, it will tell you. CHEERS!!
-Ray

How to turn a tragic mistake into a masterpiece of a tragic nature...

First, draw a beautiful drawing of these two figure with intertwined faces.
Next, overshadow the face of one of them so they look extremely angry and paleolithic.
Third, feel really sad you ruined a beautiful drawing.
After that, try to scribble out just the eyes and brow for some hip eyes-scribbled out look that's all the rage these days(?).
Fifth, you feel angry, cuz now it looks unsatisfactorily worse than before.
Sixth, give up and scribble the entire figure in a wash of lines.
Finally, you've created a cool drawing dealing with some dark and tragic theme (TBD).

Let this be a lesson to you kidlets out there; don't give up, be vigilant, positive and beautiful fruit will be born.

-Ray

(For the drawing, I used a Micron .05 pen whilst bathing in some January sun.)

Poetry Excercise 1: Acrostic Poem

Remember making Mother's Day poems with M-O-M written down the page and fitting words matching the letters, such as:

Makes me pancakes.
One of my heros.
Mastered Jenga.

That's an acrostic poem. Sometimes I like to pick names or words and create acrostic poems using only one word per letter).

Willful
Orders
Reverse
Direction

YOUR MISSION, should you choose to accept it, is to create an acrostic poem for your name using one word per letter and posting it in the comments. CHEERS!!

And here is MY name acrostic poem (only fair, one supposes):

Remain
Always
Yourself

AND THE WINNER IS...

THIS ONE! Thanks for everyone's imput; y'all are the best. No, better than best, you're bestest. -R

Murakami-inspired prosetry...

{ A Shower, A Charm & A Murder } by Ray Swaney

I took three showers today. The first was the social obligation. The next was to dispel a cocktail of anxiety, loneliness and that "je ne sais quoi" known as an existential crisis. I guess you can hardly call something that can be soothed by a hot shower a crisis, but I also don't want to downplay the power of a hot shower. The third is an experiment in meditation of the transcendental type.

Sitting "Indigenous American style" on the slick floor where a brace of non-slip gripping ducks once lived (they have since moved to the walls of the shower, not so sticky as in their prime, hanging on for dear life,) I empty my words with each exhale. They roll down my nudity and the drain. Behind Iids, I see my head as a window. I see thoughts and ideas passing through, but nothing sticks. Is there even a piece of glass there? Am I that transparent?

I always thought of water as a baptism. I picture a wet phoenix (whalebird) rising from this psychic medium. This multiple shower thing has been going on for the last few weeks and let me tell you, I don't feel like a phoenix, but I do feel clean. My mind throws out the idea of having to wash the shit off of a diamond that is me.

After toweling off, I see my middle-distance stare looking like a half-way house into the foggy mirror (in which I always draw a smiling face with four simple lines). I can draw a smiling face on the window which is my head, too. With the wonder of a small boy, I look into my eyes. "Who are you?" "You talkin' to me?" "Who else?" "I don't know." "You don't know who else I would be talking to or you don't know who you are?" "Both of them?" "Fair enough. Just take it easy on yourself, Ray-Ray. The world is not for understanding. Understanding only serves to drive folks crazy."

I'm glad I can talk to myself. The Ray in the mirror seems so much more put together than I, though only 2-dimensional; he doesn't have to live in this world. He can't experience a broken heart. He can't fall, trip or stumble, drunk, into love. Mirrors are biased to whatever you put in front of them. Maybe I am just biased against mirrors, but I'd rather be a broken window. Break the pane. Break the pane. Break the pane.

Draw a simple smile on your flesh like a hot shower (or three). Let the yellow charm of finches sing and the dark murder of crows go unpunished!!

Lady

{ The Search For My Dog Lady Who, Struck By A Car, Ran } by Ed Coletti


Every shadowed rock or shrub is Lady.

Every acorn dropped on fallen leaves

Birds in bushes, jackrabbits springing.

The family of three deer swushing through

brush beneath the golf course hill

near where my dog Lady surely died,

make noises similar to those once made

by our own little family of three on a walk in the woods.


I stare from my office window hoping,

half-expecting her bright blackness

to saunter nonchalantly into view.

But she departed doing what she does best,

In a full-burst charge of mindless blazing glory.


We resume and end our search at sundown.

The eastern flame no more.

On our harmonica, I play my final “Taps” for Lady.

Holding onto that last note for as long as I possibly can.



December 22, 2004

- - - - - - - - - -

I like drawing pets more than I thought I would. This drawing was commissioned by my friend Ed of his doggie, Lady. I was VERY pleased with how it turned out. Ed was satisfied as well, so all in all, a successful endeavor.

Hope you enjoy Ed's poem about when he thought he'd lost Lady to the world's clutches; he is a talented dude. Check out his poetry link on the side of my blog! CHEERS!!

--Ray

Which way looks best?

Which way do you like right-side up best? Help me out. Deciding which way is up in my abstracts is a real joy for me and a great way to hone the eyes...