gwh art/intergalactic

2005-03-26T18:18:00.000-08:00

Sleepwaves ≈

2005-03-25T18:15:00.000-08:00

2005-03-02T23:00:00.000-08:00

My beautiful daughter, Rose.

Slide-piece

2005-03-02T22:58:00.000-08:00

Life is Beautiful but Deadly

2005-02-28T18:10:00.000-08:00

This art is not a concise, linear experience. It involves various levels of perception and consciousness, and creates a more-or-less defined space for viewer to contemplate, explore and map (as in the tableaus of Breughel or Bosch).
It can be seen as a suggestion, a question, or a group of questions, to be answered.

A collage of photo images is a kind of alchemy. There is a chemical reaction which occurs turning everything into something else, greater than the sum of parts, something beyond.

Ideally, each picture has varying degrees of depth, which extends in all directions, within and without, and can be visual. psychological, and emotional. They all contain a thought and a feeling (or a complex of thoughts and feelings). Sometimes the thought can't be put precisely into words. But the feeling is always there. Art without feeling is empty. "Emotionally, Art is always true."

My pictures are embellished by words or lines of text, not always apparently or directly relevant. Sometimes they seem to be only design elements, sometimes they seem to be labels or to comment on the image, sometimes in a disjointed way.
Language is a fun game; but truth is ultimately betrayed and sold short by it. Life isn’t really in words -- they’re a string of misconceptions, prejudices, presumptions, posturing & posing. Reality or life changes as we speak. Or before we can speak. Leaving words as ironic empty signposts like those in a ghost town, directions to something that may have once existed.

I'm interested in sketching the coordiates of a person moving about in inner reality and cultural reality, which gives everything a name and a value (which we can accept or not). The coordinates are not beautiful; we bring the beauty. Or we find the beauty. Life is always beautiful. Even though it will kill us.

2005-02-23T17:09:00.000-08:00

Moves Like Clouds

2005-02-23T17:00:00.001-08:00

Beneath her plain clothes, Beneath her Navajo blanket
Flows auspicious blood of Ancients
Synchronicity & signs, Romance & remembrance.

The Spirits guard her door, the animals speak below her window.
The trees above, the Earth below;
She walks in stillness like the Clouds.

With abashed expression on the wall,
a clouded face of doubt, a primitive heart of joy.
She waits to do battle.
Give me back my book, my silver band,
my solitude.

Trust not the White Man nor the camera.
Count hearts; collect poems.
Let the people in the street pass by without seeing
The goddess who moves among them,
like the Clouds.

2005-02-23T16:50:00.000-08:00

** Ten Tough Questions

2005-02-22T23:04:00.000-08:00

•Would a lion be the King of the Jungle without insurance?
--Or only the Head Secretary?
•Would a grasshopper’s music be fine if he fiddled the summer away part-time?
--And had a little job with good benefits to keep his pockets lined?
•If she always thought of others and always tried to do the right thing, would the
Lady still be a Tramp?
•Would Einstien be an even bigger genius if he learned to comb his hair?
•If money was only gasoline to you, would you keep it in your dresser drawers
and underneath your mattress?
•Why don’t a Hillbilly live in the big city, or a Burgher out-of-town?
•Can you give your children (pick one):
a. Everything they want?
b. Everything they need?
c. Or everything you have to give?
•What if you could take the warmth inside with you when the sun went away?

*reefer madness

2005-02-22T22:45:00.000-08:00

No Rhythm, Plenty Of Blues

2005-02-21T14:15:00.000-08:00

My feelings Hully Gully
Like lumps of lead thru my head.
My hair streams with lines I’d love to deliver
Like Coltrane on speed.
My face a ballet of zombietude.
Behind these eyes
Flash the turn signals
Of a wrecked DeSoto;
I sizzle like a logarithm
In heat/

Sugar Ray's Taxis

2005-02-21T01:14:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night. I sat drumming, krupa-style at my desk. Drumming on an open copy of the yellow pages, surprisingly resonant, redolent of Canadian Club and the Larks I had lifted from Stella's purse. Show me your Lark, goddammit. The phone book was open to the listing for my legman, Frank Appraisals. That bastard, I thought automatically. Trying to move in on Sugar Ray. We'll see about that.
Pick up the red rotary phone inherited from uncle Red's rotary office girl Hilda (pronounced EEL-DA) and dial Frank. A merry little go-round accompanied by jingling bells that always put me back on my first bike, terrorizing the playground.
"Yeah." Frank answered the phone wasting no syllables or consonants.
"Yeah? As a matter of fact, No," I said. "No, you're not getting away with stealing my customers or using my cars. Get over here now, jerk-off, I need to hear you explain a few things."
Frank hesitated a tell-tale moment before replying. "Now? You kidding? It's 2 am, Ray. I got a little something in the works when Sally's closes."
I knew I had him. "Don't make me send Benny over there to get you, chump." I hung up, so much more satisfying than just pushing an 'end' button.
I was feeling good despite everything, despite standing Violet up,despite finding my customer lists book missing from my desk, despite the empty bottles of Wild Turkey and C&C and the Larks. There was a reckoning coming.
I reached down and touched myself for good luck. Then I touched my Walther ppk for even better luck.

toro toro toro

2005-02-20T13:45:00.000-08:00

Ideas-For-Sale

2005-02-20T01:33:00.000-08:00

•A courier/delivery service that will deliver ANYthing to you at any time, or place, if you call and describe it.
•A computer that sounds like rain, the ocean, or a babbling brook.
•A DVD of a dog or other pet to play on your TV, like the one of a fireplace. (Cat? or a Woman?)
(Incorporates limited range of interactivity, such as recognizing and answering key questions--e.g. "who's a good boy?" or "who's your Daddy?")
•A surround-sound DVD of a really good band jamming, where they back off and leave room for you to play the solo, whereupon the other guitar player looks over at you and yells "Nice fuckin' solo, dude!"
•A toothpaste that combines mouthwash, tartar control, powerful whiteners, and cocaine.

organic valentine

2005-02-14T19:38:00.001-08:00

Who Am I?

2005-02-14T17:40:00.000-08:00

George Warren Hughey-- Born to a poor itinerant Navy family shortly after WWII, he played as a child in a secret nuclear waste dump, which stimulated his overactive brain to develop many more than the normal number of neurons & neural connections, enhancing not only the obvious aspects of what we commonly call 'smarts', but in fact, all of the four Areas of Human Intelligence which determine our natures-- the Intellectual, the Physical, the Emotional, and the Spiritual. This development naturally led him to become an amazingly unique and disturbingly out-of-step child and a source of constant chagrin to his parents, family and friends.
In the Classic tradition, the ideal he pursues is Truth, as opposed to money, fame, or wordly accomplishments. This, of course, is highly irritating to everyone, along with GW's unfortunate habit of constantly borrowing money from those he loves, or needing a ride somewhere. Nevertheless, he stubbornly asserts that"Truth = Beauty, and Beauty = Truth, and this is all I know, or need to know!" What a Pill!
Among the other exasperating maxims followed by this ne'er-do-well are such as: "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff", "Money Is the Root of All Evil", "Rules Are Made To Be Broken", and "Danger Is My Business".
It goes without saying, therefore, that such a misguided Societal Misfit is extremely lucky to have been associated with a Media Midas like the great JACK 9000, who is adept at turning the most casual passing idea into a culture-bending Masterpiece.
This enables GW to get by on his single apparent skill, the uncanny drawing ability he gained when his irradiated right hand was removed as a child, and he was provided with a bionic appendage programmed to draw with great precision in the style of MAD magazine, which was his favotite source of inspiration at the time (1954).
GW's stated ambition is to remain as free of gainful employment as he can manage,given his wife and eleven children, in accordance with his belief that, as spoken by the great Bambino, "No man who works for another man is ever overpaid!"

Da

2005-02-14T01:50:00.000-08:00