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.

Everyman

Artworks featuring Everyman are great because the audience can easily inhabit the character, there isn't any deification of the character, and many of the real heroes have been Everyman personalities. Examples of Everyman Presidents have been Harry Truman and Gerald Ford. It would be difficult to find anyone who would argue against their ordinariness or their innate human decency. Everyman rocks. And I am going to use him, and her, as subjects for my own manufactured goods.

Artist's Statement

The following in a necessary evil to all artists. Please bear with me. Bare with me later.

We exist!

That is my foundation. It is based on Descartes writing, "Cogito ergo sum." Translated; "I think, therefore I am." The adjustment I make, "We exist," is meant to ward off narcissism. Some would like to argue with the reality of the statement. I have no time for them.

We exist. We are human. We have needs. Fundamental Human Needs (see the Wikipedia entry) of;
subsistence,
protection,
affection,
understanding,
participation,
leisure,
creation,
identity and
freedom.

The Fundamental Human Needs are pervasive and we satisfy those needs by any means available.

Morality.

Morality is innate to any human who has a conscience. Although it might be suppressed by a harsh environment, it is still--in most cases--present. Those who are born without a conscience ignore morality or use it to gain an advantage over those who feel guilt.

I feel guilt.

So I am cursed with a conscience and I feel compelled to follow certain rules within society even though they may be detrimental to the fulfillment of my needs.

Art, to this point, has been mainly concerned with the struggle between good and evil. Modernity will not happen until we become aware of the non-struggle between those who feel guilt, and those who do not.

All I can do is call attention to the observation and wait, perhaps forever, to see how society reorders itself once this axiom is digested.

In the meantime, I will make plastic art that examines the Fundamental Human Needs.

That wasn't too painful, was it? You have to admire a philosophy that is based on Wikipedia articles and draws no conclusion, don't you? Now I am going to stay as busy as I can and hope that I am not consumed by a sociopath picking off a weakened target on the periphery of the herd. Have a good day!

You're Making What?

Art making. We never say the second word, but that is what we do. We make art. We manufacture art. I imagine that art making began as soon as we began to make tools. It has always been with us, and it will always be with us. Just do not forget the making part of the proposition. Most days I am looking to manufacture something. It might take me eight or ten hours to manufacture a glance. Yes. I am a performance piece.

Newtonian Art

Self promotion is a subtle business. The most important thing is to not leave any fingerprints.

People bitch and bitch and bitch, but the thing to keep in mind is that water seeks its own level. Oh, I've heard so much moaning about the the music industry regarding its suppression of music artists, and how it is so tough to get a break. Nonsense! I've been directed to stuff on YouTube, Soundcloud, and Reverb Nation. I haven't heard any Beatles level material. Remember that they were turned down by a record company, or two, before they went on to synthesize all of the existing contemporary musical conversation into a hugely successful, and still appreciated, set of works. And then they transcended the conventions at hand.

Why is the artworld still caught up in deconstructionist and decadent motifs? (Because it is sexy!) Pop, though, taught us that appealing to the masses was a means of obtaining affirmation and appreciation for our work. The Internet and social media are tools for us to connect with a broader audience. You are not locked in and blocked by powers that be. The online world provides an alternative means for networking into the prurient world of art.

What was I trying to say?

We might be starving artists, but we don't have to be silent. Make enough noise and people will begin to pay attention. But make sure that you are actually offering art. Forget about your degree this, and degree that. They can teach craft, but they cannot teach art. If you are really making art, it will receive its equal and opposite reaction. It's physics!

I know, I know

I know you what you want to read about, but that is not allowed here. I will get cancelled again. I am not allowed to write about practices, health, fant-acies, consequences, amusing situations, repercussions, lawful-or-unlawful acts, or paying for it. It's just art, politics, economics, and other forms of idiocy. I know you're disappointed. Maybe I can post to one of those psy-burrrrr rooms you frequent. Maybe I can develop a code. Knockwurst! That would be a good codeword, wouldn't it?

Geez, maybe I need to figure out a different way to monetize this bugg-gurrr. Sorry for the misspellings, but I cannot be too careful. I cannot use the word pennitr8 even if I am talking about entering the fifth dimension. Remember that band? The whole band, and that would be... unacceptable. Verboat en! And now all I can think of is obtuse ways of referring to... gross domestic product.

That is what censorship looks like. Pretty, isn't it?

Student Paper Column Preview

Now you're in for it! I mean, you're in for a treat. I am writing a column for the student paper at college, and you get to preview it here due to a fortuitous coin on Ken White's Coin Flipping Page.

And now, without any further apologies...

The Joys of Being a Non-Traditional Student

 by Jeffrey David Lawson

           First of all, you are viewed with confusion. “Are you the professor?” No, most assuredly not. I am a full-time student at an advanced age. There is no satisfying way of explaining this situation other than to say, “I won the lottery and decided that finishing a degree would be an enriching experience.” If you would like to engage in a thought exercise, try to think up a good reason for a middle-aged person to be a full-time college student. It cannot be done.

            People know this intuitively, so once they know that you are just a student, you are placed in the suspicious folder. The best policy is to recede as near to invisibility as one can. Just assume the down low and wait for people to gradually decide that you are… harmless. Maybe, if you are lucky, some might decide that you are… smart, entertaining, helpful. No. That is hoping for too much. Learn to appreciate benign tolerance and call it a day.

            So if you successfully register as an inanimate object (lamppost) that can give simple directions, you will have a smooth time to appreciate the surroundings. Whenever I step out of the Lion’s Den (on campus student center) and head toward class, I get this odd feeling that I am at a resort in Wisconsin. I keep thinking, “Where is the lake? I want to go for a boat ride.” (In the case of winter, just substitute snowmobile for boat.) However, instead of darts, pool, and beer, all I get is lectures, labs, and term paper research. It leads to a different kind of hangover.

            And then there are the girls! Blocks of wood! And you get an attaboy if you catch the reference to Professor Henry Higgins’s stated attitude in Shaw’s Pygmalion. It is difficult to not look at people. You end up colliding with them. So I have to look. But I am pretty innocent about it. Being the artistic type, I might allow myself to appreciate raw beauty. However, I have a reputation of some kind, and it needs to be maintained. You get another attaboy if you recognize the artistic ambiguity in that last statement.

            Truthfully, I had thought that I would meet a CONTEMPORARY nursing student who had returned to school for similar reasons to my own. Think of it; smart, practical, and able to care for me as I ease into decline, a nurse would be a wonderful choice if men actually had some control in those matters. Alas, fate has managed to keep my nurse away from me. And I’m feeling kind of achy. My back has been making clicking sounds when I sneeze.

            I suppose I should mention the curriculum and faculty. The curriculum is pretty much what I expected, but the faculty is wonderful. They are very approachable and helpful as a rule. They seem to be sympathetic to those of us who are sticking out like the lone dandelion in a lawn. I think they appreciate our maturity. (Read maturity as “those who have suffered copious abuse.”) The one criticism that I have is that they have habits. The most glaring one is that when they are explaining germane things their voices shift tone in a way that makes you think that you are an eighteen year-old who is having something explained to them. This flaw does not bother me. At my age you do not complain about anything that makes you feel younger.

            I am sure I have other impressions and opinions about being an almost-elderly college drop in, but I am having a senior moment. All I ask is that you dial 911 if you ever see me lying on grass, concrete, or linoleum. A couch is okay though. I do take naps. Thank you!

 

A Peak at the Future

I added a PayPal Donate button over to the right under the header LOL Tips. Will people use it? Rather than answer that question I am going to listen to a white noise generator for fifteen minutes to clear my mind of impure thoughts. It might clear out about 85% of the current content.

Good. I am once again a tabula rasa. Innocent. Idle. Un-besmirched. Just waiting for the genetic code to re-afflict everything that it afflicted the first time around.

I have forgotten all of your names.

I have forgotten all of your faces.

I have forgotten whether, or not, I am good at making friends.

About all I have left is the godddammmend "I" and a flashing cursor on what I guess is my laptop.

Now... what is the first thing you want to tell me?

I bet my response to 90% of the statements will be "You've got to be effin' kidding me!"

I am a skeptic.

Message Sent to Google Feedback

So I get canned from Google AdSense for using naughty words and adult situations. The email, as I recall, said that my stuff may not be porn, but it is still not allowed. So I leave this mess for awhile, and I am perplexed because ads had appeared on my page that were naughtier than me. Upon my return I notice that AdSense is displaying on the parked blog. What gives? Has there been a policy change, or are you taking your hypocrisy to a higher level?