it's About Time

 I finally have a complete, unified web presence with which to market my artworks. Now that I have the website up, and all of my social media accounts linked, I can appreciate that I have cut out a big chunk of work for myself. In addition to creating and curating the art on my site, I have to create posts across multiple social media sites and the place where I sell prints, Saatchi Art. But what is complicated for me is easy for you. If you have any interest in what I am up to, just go here;

www.lawson.gallery.

Pussy Box

Worldly Possession

Poetry?

Okay, I will listen,

But you're gonna have to keep in mind,
The swans of Coole
Are in my pool.

Unleash your tortures—
Wearing your heart on sleeveless dress.
Bloody my ears with your
...hopeless mess.

Oh... good!
You haven't spared the you.
It was a genuine yearning,
Earnest and true.

This is what I get for being all about the pussy.
But I am not... really.
Your ass put me in a trance,
I hoped your mind would follow,
But here you are demanding indulgence,
For your feelings oh-so-hollow.

Of course, no one can understand you.
Of course, he couldn't appreciate you.
Of course, your emotions are rawer than others.
Of course... your discourse smothers.

One, one... so sensitive,
Except to those pinned-to-the-wall.
The sturm and drang of the words you brang
Bring gags and pity and obfuscation to the desperate motherfuckers escaping your thrall.

Another lusty litany.
Another unsuitable suitor.
Throw in a babbling brook
To muffle the mind I mistook.

On the Pledge of Allegiance

“Under God” was added to the Pledge of Allegiance in 1954 by an act of Congress as the result of a campaign by the Knights of Columbus. The Knights of Columbus is a Catholic organization, and Catholics are taught that Protestants and other pseudo-Christians, not to mention heathens and infidels of other sorts, are going to suffer eternity in Hell. So, if you are not Catholic, they believe that you can repeat the Pledge of Allegiance, including the “under God” part, until you are blue in the face, but you will still fry for eternity on the brimstone barbeque.

I bring this up because some people link a specific deity and theology to the founding of the United States of America as if there is a certain belief system that is necessary to be a “true” American. This could not be further from the truth. Religious disagreement was rife among the Founding Fathers. In conclusion, I refuse to recite the “under God” part of the Pledge of Allegiance because it is a recent invention, and inherently “Catholic”, and I am no longer a Catholic.

My current religious belief system is nobody’s business, and subject to change without notice, and wonderfully uncertain, and not-too-judgmental, and burps whenever someone implies that it is necessary to believe something without proof, or in order to achieve some level of goodness.

I am a prod American. I have to prod when people want me to make my messy mind into something to be approved of. I prod toward uncertainty because I believe that it is extremely arrogant for any human being to claim to know God’s will. It is as if that person, so convinced, is acting as God Him(or Her)Self.

If my doubt makes me unlovable, so be it. I will gladly be unloved rather than become some plastic manifestation of your will.

Swimming in Lard

Oh, there are plenty of things to do. Some things need to be done. Some things demand to be done. The ones that demand to be done get done—grudgingly. If something should happen to get done the feeling of accomplishment is there. And the reward for doing something is to ignore at least three other things that need to be done. “What? I did that thing over there! It’s playtime!”

For people like me, getting on task, staying on task, and completing a task is a lot like swimming in lard. Imagine your ordinary self. You are on one side of a pool and it has become a responsibility of yours to swim to the other side of the pool. The nature of the responsibility is such that you cannot walk around the pool. You must get into the water and swim to the other side. So you shrug. You dip your toe into the water to test the temperature. You make one last check of Facebook to see if anyone has commented on the kitten picture you posted. Then you resign yourself to the task. You get in the water and swim across the pool. It is work, but you do it. Then you pull yourself up out of the water, find a towel, and dry yourself off. Mission accomplished!

People like me are different. We will look out the window, check all of our friend’s activity on Facebook, check the news, get something to eat, take a nap, and perhaps the pool will dry up before we have to cross it. Why? Because to us that pool is filled with lard! Not really, but it seems that way to us. Are we lazy?

Not quite. Most of us are really busy with other stuff—stuff that we obsess about. We might be dreaming about crossing the lard-filled pool in the most amazing way possible. We might be hoping that a jet ski appears so we can ride across the pool in style. We might be designing a better pool in our minds. We might be thinking about how crossing the pool will impact the environment, or the implications the crossing will have on the world economy. We might be trying to figure out how to cross the pool perfectly.

Sometimes, especially if we have someone in our lives whose respect we want to maintain, we might get up to the pools edge, test the water, and slide in. Crossing the whole pool is a problem though. We might notice the lights hanging from the ceiling. We might pause and wonder if we should go back to the departure side and have one more bagel, or our significant others might discover us in the middle of the pool wearing a funny hat and blowing bubbles. Oops!

Every once in a while we manage to get across the pool without too much trouble. When we get out of the pool that little voice in our heads says, “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” To which we respond, “Fuck you! That was miserable!” Then once we have wiped all of the lard off of our bodies we might think, “That wasn’t so bad. I wish I had done it sooner. Where did the time go?”

What can turn a swimming pool of water into a swimming pool filled with lard? A direct order! This is especially true if we know that the swimming pool has to be crossed and you cannot appreciate that your water is our lard. Why lard? Once you begin a task your brain releases dopamine to make the task more palatable. You have a little procrastination hump to jump over, but you accomplish the leap often enough to become head cheerleader, or assistant manager of sporting goods. The procrastination hump to us is more like the Berlin Wall. If we manage to get over it, there will be no dopamine fix to keep our eyes on the prize, and there may even be machine guns blazing away because our previous attempts have been noted by the security forces. As a result, when we do manage to get across the pool, we want a goddamned parade in our honor!

And yet… sometimes we seem to be able to nail certain swimming pools. Why is that? Because of a crisis, for one. A crisis will trigger adrenalin, which is a much bigger buzz than your little bit of dopamine. If there is a crisis involved, my adrenalin will kick your dopamine’s ass every day of the week. For another, we might actually like a particular pool. It might be our obsession pool. That is the one we focus on because it seems to tolerate us. It soothes us. We usually like one, or two, pools. Those pools aren’t filled with water, they contain Astroglide or mint chocolate chip ice cream which we can gobble our way across.

So what’s the plan? Pffft! There is no plan! We do not plan! We are opportunity snatchers. Planning is for people who have foresight and can make milestone charts and set goals. We lay in wait and hope to seize something good that comes our way. We just hope that the shiny, new opportunity doesn’t turn out to be another swimming pool filled with lard.

Waiting for the right bus to come along is a lonely pursuit. Very, very lonely. It looks passive… very passive. And it is seasoned with plenty of self-criticism. So when you figure out that someone you know has Adult ADD, rest assured that their internal voice has already spoken the words of criticism you are about to share.

And now I take a nap!

I Hope This Upsets You

I was prepared to sit and wait for no one. Call me a positivist. However, I was determined to make art this evening. So I drew this while nursing a couple of PBRs in Kryptonite while people sang karaoke. Bare minutes before midnight I was visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.

“Are we going to do this?”

 

I was to record the events from on high with my camera. Seeing one last chance to collect some heat, I climbed the stairwell of the parking deck. I heard snoring. I smelled humans. There were people sleeping in there. I climbed to what I believed was the top deck. The tenant let out an “Oh!” I apologized and told him that I just wanted to get out of the door. I stepped over him, quickly, and felt guilty. I looked back and saw that I could have climbed one more flight. I was disoriented.

So I took up a perch on the parking deck. A shivering gargoyle. Afraid of heights. The thought of falling over the railing was all I could think of… except for the frigid snot on the rims of my nostrils. I wished I had grabbed some napkins from the bar.

Look at the beautiful library! It’s full of good thoughts and instructions for the living of human life.

Vertigo! An unseen force (Fear!) was trying to pull me over the railing to my death. How am I ever going to do a mural? Maybe if I practiced on scaffolding and cherry pickers I could get over it. I hope so. Cherry pickers look like fun. I managed to squeeze in a thought that this was a blank canvas that I had no control over. What would happen? I prayed. I prayed that a likeness of Jesus, or the Virgin Mary, would be the result and the exercise would go horribly wrong and written up in the National Enquirer and covered by Fox News. As a consolation prize, I hoped that it would look like the Stripper Chelsea riding a pole.

Fruition!

The ghosts appeared and taught me a lesson about humility. They taught it. Did I learn it? Can someone in my position use humility? I felt my body to make sure that I was present. I patted myself up and down my chest and stomach. Humble? I was cold! Cold! One of the ghosts slipped in his paint stroke and landed on his posterior. I was fumbling with the camera and couldn’t tell you which mark was made by the butt scumble, but it is in there somewhere.

  

We used to manufacture things in this town. Despite all of our shortcomings, we used to be able to get up and go to work and support ourselves and families. With all that we know, why is this becoming more difficult? For me, art is making something. I am, in my heart of hearts, a manufacturer.

Walking back through the ramp to street level, I document the presence of the tenants.

Is he dreaming of a clean bathroom where he can take a shit and shower in peace?

Christ! Can’t we, or they, make a heated doghouse somewhere? If this is part of the new normal, maybe we had better work on our shanty town skills.

Oh yeah! The Grapes of Wrath was a great book and movie, but we still have… bitter, bitter disappointment. And heartbreak. I am heartbroken. Where are the missionaries? I suppose they would just try to imprison these foundering souls. Where are the atheists? Maybe they would just try to imprison these unfortunate humans. I guess it is better to just ignore them and try to put them out of your mind.

Is this guy dreaming about alcohol? Crack? The upcoming Christmas dinner at the Rescue Mission? Or is he dreaming about the job that was exported to China?

Incongruity. That is the theme for the evening. It is incongruous to put art in the middle of a street, and it is incongruous for people to sleep in the stairwells of a parking deck. If you want to ease your mind, you have to look past the dissonance.

Back at street level. Good! Something looks figurative in this view. I believe in the primacy of the figure, even if its appearance is entirely accidental. I am always looking for people.

Just when I thought the evening was settled, someone asked if I would like to do some painting and wood burning. The painting didn’t happen, but the wood burning was a treat. I hadn’t used a wood burner since I was nine. This is what I improvised.

  

About noon the next day, this is what survives. Snow and salt will work the final magic on this piece, effacing it until it breaths no more.