A Goat Rodeo is a real mess--just picture it--goats flying everywhere, an essentially unresolvable situation in which stubborn, opposing forces lock horns. As it happens it's a great descriptor for my art process. Things pile up in the studio—materials, ideas, sketches, books, objects, each wanting their own say, each pressing their own agenda. People drop by—hanging out just outside the door, chatting. The craft brewery downstairs opens just after lunch, voices and music drift up gaining volume throughout the afternoon. I'm starting work, without an idea, with too many ideas. I try to work through it, marks on the paper or board just as chaotic as the surroundings. Music floats through my head, I'm listening to Amy Weinhouse, no listening to Phillip Glass. Lines from a song, or the bad cable news the night before drift through my head. I add more and more; I love minimalism. Gradually, sometimes over days, everything starts to settle. What do I really want? What does the painting want? These are things that can't be answered with words. The cover up begins, the erasures, the commandeering of space. The artwork calms down—the goat rodeo is still there, but the goats have momentarily been corralled. 

 

Goat Rodeo

John Cage informs the process
Making art. Hard enough to do it. Should I write about it? Yes? No? But what about...

First Out Of The Gate

11/19/2020

A Goat Rodeo is a real mess--just picture it--goats flying everywhere, an essentially unresolvable situation in which stubborn, opposing forces lock horns. As it happens it's a great descriptor for my art process. Things pile up in the studio—materials, ideas, sketches, books, objects, each wanting their own say, each pressing their own agenda. People drop by—hanging out just outside the door, chatting. The craft brewery downstairs opens just after lunch, voices and music drift up gaining volume throughout the afternoon. I'm starting work, without an idea, with too many ideas. I try to work through it, marks on the paper or board just as chaotic as the surroundings. Music floats through my head, I'm listening to Amy Weinhouse, no listening to Phillip Glass. Lines from a song, or the bad cable news the night before drift through my head. I add more and more; I love minimalism. Gradually, sometimes over days, everything starts to settle. What do I really want? What does the painting want? These are things that can't be answered with words. The cover up begins, the erasures, the commandeering of space. The artwork calms down—the goat rodeo is still there, but the goats have momentarily been corralled.