Didn't See That Coming

In 1913, when Marcel Duchamp mounted the upturned bicycle wheel and fork on the seat of a four-legged stool, there was basically no such thing as kinetic sculpture. It was nonetheless a highly compelling piece of artwork, even if Duchamp himself would say only that he just liked to watch the wheel spin; it being an example of his "Ready-made" art.  Ironically, museum visitors never get to see his wheel in motion.  DON'T TOUCH!  More hilarious still, the work was duplicated for MoMA in 1951, about which several videos have been produced, and none of which show the blessed thing turning.  Yes, video!  Evidently, the academic community continues to struggle with the simple fact that motion is a central element of these works.  That is in spite of the effect that the processes one's brain undergoes, as a result of perceptual contact, over time,  is the essence of experience. So what?  So, on any given day, you can find hundreds of announcements online, inviting artist

Last year, I had so much work that it started to feel like being a full-time independent artist wasn’t the worst possible thing one could choose.  But, that’s being somewhat disingenuous.  Most anyone who is self-employed will tell you that there is almost no such thing as “regular” work for us reprobates. “It’s a roller coaster,” is how we often describe it. The highs are splendid; the lows descending to the depths of desperation.  My own story is certainly no exception.  Some have suggested that these stresses contribute to the creative spirit. It’s the old “tortured soul” idea.  To me, that just sounds a little too pat, as if the person espousing this notion needs some sort of spitable bit of gristle to eschew, and call it out for its unpalatability, despite a good flavor. You’ve likely heard that many, if not most successful artists suffer from depression, anxiety; a full roster of strains in mental maladies, enough to keep a head shrink perpetually in boat payments – that i

I thought that one day I might find the time to publish a blog, or make a podcast, or you know,  eighteen-hundred other things.  Like every one of those things in my constantly swirling constellation of ideas, there's been no good reason to do, or not to do, work on any of them.  And, despite my most ardent endeavors, I'm just not getting any younger with the passage time.  So, I'd better spit it out now.  Hope you find it interesting. I first started this project with a little voice memo, dictated into my phone.  "Welcome to 'I Didn't See That Coming,' a conscious pursuit of the transcendental."  But, I promise, you really don't want to hear the rest of that end-over-end plunge down the rabbit hole, an introspective  stream-of-consciousness that falls even farther into a tangential, sophomoric cul de sac of nonsense. What is worth the telling is how I come to do the myriad of things I find that I must.  For those who don't know me, I make