Pale Face

I took off from work to see my man, Gustav, and teared up some. There are only two other artists to make my eyes all watery, Pablo & Vincent. Sadly, there were not enough of Gustav's paintings, but still enough to gain inspiration from. Incredible pencil, sometimes charcoal, sketches of gorgeous, mysterious women. Portraits, too, of ghosts in the dim light. Oh, those women haunted me through the murky subway ride home. Harlots swimming in the lightweight, neutral, translucence of the beige backdrop. It made them more erotic if that's even possible. The one painted lady in all her golden glory, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, can be seen anytime. I think NYC is her home. But what was most stunning was another oil. Her name, Pale Face. I dare say she could make Mona Lisa blush with her wily smile.

The Pink Room

I just got back from the first art session with my super-cool-Queens-Boulevard-of-death-artist-pal, "Dee." Dee, also an accomplished photographer, has surreptitiously become one of my idols. How can I deny a woman who rendevouzed with Sonic Youth? This latest experiment I'm calling, The Pink Room. The color may change depending on my mood. Kinda like a mood ring. A mood blog! For tonight, it's pink in her honor.

So I did 2 still life sketches, while Dee finished a commissioned piece. One was in graphite with a dash of pink, orange, green.... The other, though unfinished, is more involved. Graphite, strong colored pencils, & ink. My fingers are now possibly a permanent shade of gray. I like to rub... I did remember not to wipe my hands on my "girlie girl" (as Dee would call it) blouse. 'Cause I so would have done that 10 years ago.

Cycle 6

I did it! For the very first time in my life, I went riding on a trail - hootin' and hollerin' like a cowboy. I must have swallowed a hundred bugs. What sheer delight. I even made it to The Brickyard, which is the playground for black diamond riders and a graveyard for bricks from a factory long gone. But that was three quarters of the way through. By then, roots and sand became serious sore spots (literally). The air got so thick you could cut it with a jack knife. I had trouble swallowing. A little heatstroke. Naseous. My body felt wild. Sidebar: I'm forming a punk band and calling it The Heatstrokes. It will feature Zach Wylde (yes, I met him once) smoking his guitar and me rapping like Chuck D. Anyway, the ride rocked my world. If I squinted, I was deep in the woods. I rode on the narrowest path and, in squint mode, thought we were in a swamp. Like maybe a crocodile was eyeing me for lunch. Next time it was a forest. A mountain. Then we'd hit pavement. Me and the dude, who sounds like New York circa '79. I had trouble getting back what with the temperature rising after noon. It was a rather late start to get on a trail around the world.

Public Enemy is Poetry

I got so much trouble on my mind
REFUSE TO LOSE