soft island

needless to say – the gorgeous face here is my darling mother at 18 –

this piece is one of those experimental canvases – like picking up a pencil and doodling – unsure of the journey – but comforting all the same ūüĆĻ

just passing above the middle

I am 53. Just passing above the middle, should I hit 100. I’d most enjoy cliff leaping in the saddle of a ’56 Cadillac Eldorado Convertible. Metallic silver and yes, big ass whitewalls‚Äďare there any other kind. If I make it to the other side, goodie for me. If that Caddie craves a good old-fashioned swan dive‚Äďfeel its metallic skin synchronize with the sun, far be it from me to begrudge a classic its last butt kickin’ ride. Blaze away on fumes of glory‚Äďodiferous but bright. At the end of this particular road, don’t want anything else but that Caddie’s brilliant grill smiling in my cheesy face.

So here’s the thing about passing just above the middle. I’m a painter sometimes. Not always. Not often enough. Words seem to flow more (lately) off my cheap brushes than grade-two level paint. The good stuff, authentic pigments magicked with fine mediums are out of my studio basement league. And if we’re waxing oils, nothing ever more brilliant hit gessoed linen. Long ago the art person hiding in my head bought a big ass white canvas‚Äďis there any other kind. This 5′ x 4′ blank rectangle partially disappeared behind a bedroom dresser. The rest was concealed by a painting done ages ago when I wasn’t drowning in midnight words.

Change has been hanging out with me. He can be an overbearing bastard and so enjoys boxing ears. He’s been asking all sorts of questions lately. When you’re passing just above the middle, you have more questions than answers. All along, you’ve been sucking in a portfolio of answers. Hit the alarm clock and drive into a day of questions and answers. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until change dude starts banging you from behind. He wants to know what will satisfy you now. Really get you down deep in your sweet spot. You’ve done many things already. Some stuff has been figured out. A few hidden memories still flush red. What is it you really want? What is it you haven’t done yet?

My mind is blank but I need to get this guy off my back‚Äďhe’s a load. Then sometimes things come together. My first just-passing-above-the-middle epiphany. Mind blank. Blank. Blank canvas. I’m a painter sometimes. Not always. Not often enough. I haven’t touched gorgeous oils in awhile. In my 53 years of living, I have never painted an ocean.
first ocean

so here she is, my first ocean, not quite finished, need to hit a few more spots, used no reference images just a wing and a prayer and lots of eye squinting, waiting until change dude eases up a bit



it’s never perfect

out of body
feet in the clouds
head below the rest
not moving forward
but losing no ground
heart and soul
right now
a keyboard duet
for an invisible piano
will be studious again
at rock bottom
where the colored paper plays
the pencils swirl
and the brushes sweep into dance
the melody heard
by intruments
not requiring perfect circumstances
they know life
is never perfect
even at its most musical
guitar man

it was just a room

studio gone
it’s just a room
isn’t it
wasn’t it
what has been lost
it was just a room
if one is passionate
about their work
walls shouldn’t matter
or doors
only the spirit
only the heart
the room might be empty
but the mind is full
always full
if one is passionate
it was just a room
after all






I can think of many things
none quite right to say
nothing is the same
nothing at all
the clock chiming in the background
is a sorry replacement for your voice

something that happens
when our eyes are open
and time can slip through
the sockets

five cent pump pencil
art previously published

Rock Not This Lobster

Dear Friends,
Sometimes¬†life is uncontested,¬†yet we choose to¬†punch it¬†around. For the last few days, I’ve been guilty of a few uppercuts for no good reason, other than to say, I don’t always like change. There are multitudes of people¬†with serious issues and problems, I’m not one of them.

Last week, the¬†local newspaper changed its headline font. The print articles look¬†like advertisements to me now. This silly typeface modification¬†bugs me. Why? The delicate daughter with permit in hand, has been ‘driving’ me crazy. Her sitting behind the wheel¬†will take a long time getting used to, if I don’t poke my eyes out first. The big son is more of a young man and less of a boy since beginning high school. Where did my chubby-cheeked¬†baby go? And, my blog is different. It is exactly what I wanted. The wonderful and extremely patient designer did everything I requested. I’m annoyed at myself for my tech ignorance. Things are a bit different behind the scenes and it seems I’m starting from scratch. My accumulated stats are set back to zero, including followers. And I have to push a few extra buttons and understand why.

I hate admitting I don’t often like change. But I hate dishonesty¬†more…

dinghy cork

dinghy cork

Thank you. May you dream of sailing on the good ship lollipop of¬†your favorite flavor…
Loboat created last week after eating imitation crab for lunch