The following is a sampling (large sampling) of artwork produced around the Mash Up series over the past couple of years. Some of it has shown up on the blog before but I thought it would be good to show it again as its own group. When I view it together it really makes me smile.
For those of you have not heard of the Mash Up, It is a musical event. In the past it has been a series of three concerts. They show at the Chautauqua Music Hall in Boulder Colorado. The purpose of the program is to produce new original performances. It is really awesome.
Here is some art.
Well I got on line tonight. and I thought I would start a flurry of entries because that is just how it works for me. Time moves slower than it does for a lot of online bloggers. I am out here looking around and digesting. It seems like inactivity but really I just don’t have stuff to say all of the time. Today I got on line and I saw that one of my on line blogging friends Leslie White is working on splatter painting. Cool Leslie. I really like that because it is an acknowledgement that imperfection is a worthy goal. Now I am not putting any words in Leslie’s mouth. These are my reasons for the attraction. Any one looking at my work can see that I am not interested in the common notions about perfection. Also because I am finally here, I would like to say a big on line thank you to my long time patron and friend Jack M. Hope you are reading this. I haven’t met many people who are passionate about the arts like Jack. It is cool to care.
On another topic here is a painting about colon cancer. I know when you look at it you will wonder what in the heck is Sam talking about? I will explain in brevity. Cancer is a condition that produces intense emotion. The person affected is plunged into a life and death battle. All the while loving friends and family are reduced to sideline players. But love does get through. That is why this painting is called the Tempest. Above the water a storm rages. Beneath is calm. But a connection exists. We are all caring a burden.
Let kindness prevail
I think some one once said that?
Tonight I want to write poem, but i am not a poet so if i might beg, don’t be to hard on me.
Two souls connect through orange.
Life is full of insignificant detail,
But connections are made. Fibers build.
And somewhere there is crackling. Like energy in the line.
No prediction can be made.
Like a boulder atop a hill, there is latent power.
Heres to friendship.
Now that the image has been restored it is time to let it sit for a little while collecting finishing touches. For our purposes here, we are done. The final painting is 3 feet x 5 feet.
This painting is starting to get to the point of real inspiration. I hold on to an idea which I call the fabric of imperfection. The fabric of Imperfection holds that something is truly more beautiful for the imperfections bestowed upon it.
Once upon a time, in a place nestled up against the foothills of the majestic Rocky Mountains there was a boy who believed almost anything was possible. He witnessed impossible things happening all around him, almost all of the time. He would relay the stories of these events to his friends and family and they were often entertained. But the boy sensed that to others they were only stories. The boy, of course was only relaying the facts as they had been presented to him by the world. He began to jot these stories down. Time and time again. So frequently that people who knew the boy began referring to him as artistic. More and more wonder was unleashed upon him. And that wonder he recorded. Because the boy liked to record these wonders in color, and they were colorful, his friends and family began referring to him as a painter and a dreamer. Though to the boy these were not dreams. These records were as real as anything else in the world.
Like any story I suppose the wonders of impossible beauty, impossible happiness, and impossible joy, were descended upon by a different kind of impossibility.
Sublime rage. An inferno of impossible destruction. Tears and loss. His community was beset upon by forces of impossible destruction. Heat and flame, melting solid things. Explosion and smoke. He had friends who lost everything.
The boy was confused by these events. He had never seen this kind of pain and destruction. Then it happened again in an almost diabolical circumstance. As if to quench the heat of flame, a trickle became a rivulet became a rush, became a torrent. This torrent was impossible. So violent, of such force that it had never before been seen by a living sole in the community. The boys friends and family and his community were shaken to the core. And the boy too. He lost much.
Even so, other miracles began to evidence themselves. Unlikely heroes rose and protected. The community gathered in embrace. Souls were awakened from slumber. And events of even more dazzling beauty started to emerge. Poking tentatively through ash. Slowly springing back from the crushing power of the torrent.
This thing was as impossible as any thing that the boy had witnessed. Of course he could never have imagined such a thing. Some one must record this impossible circumstance. Lift it as a shield. Witness the rage and heat and torrent. And tell the story of the beauty, love, friendship and compassion it revealed.