Didn't See That Coming

So, the valentine season has come and gone.  And, I've still got a bunch of Steampunk Valentines on the shelf.   Happily, t hey sell year 'round.  You know, I haven't introduced a new MechaniCard design since the Anti Antikythera , in November of 2015.  I'm sort of floundering in a difficult mind space, these days.  But, I have developed a number of projects that were decidedly and ultimately unfit for market.  It's really hard to make art, with a mind towards producing and selling dozens or hundreds of copies.  The temptation is to be satisfied with just making one thing. Here are some projects I've been working on, but that you won't see for sale... not in the near future, well, not exactly in these forms. Here is an instructional model, showing how the steam valve mechanism works, as found on a steam locomotive; specifically Walscherts' gear.  This mechanism is found on the vast majority of locos, after about 1880.   Video When completed, it

I know I've been remiss in posting, family matters filling up the scant available time I have for such frivolities as this blog.  So, here for your bemusement, confusion and consternation is a bit of verse I composed as a kind of celebration of my dear ol' pappy. Happily, he's still cranking along... perhaps I should say calculating?  How He Got His Middle Name Deep breath and hearken to the still of the night Whilst this horror’s summoned to light A tale rife with bleakest misery will unfold How a moniker befamed an ignominious knave That braved a word with steel of cold I first discovered his charmings amidst Piles of fine amulets Mechanacious hypertrophy, seamed of lead And studded with quixotic Cuneiform plunder Spewing photons from a swelled head Not a full recognite, dared an inquiry non sequitur That did unhinge a great fury An unchecked flight of haphazard sine and cosine Might all have congealed to form that one great notion Now

Happy Winter Solstice Christmas Hanukkah Kwanzaa whatever ya got, everybody!  At my house, before our daughter turned eight or nine years old, we celebrated what would be best described as secular Christmas.  That is, we set up a lighted tree with presents, and had a morning gift-a-thon on the twenty-fifth; no crèche; no baby Jesus in sight.  For us, it was as good an excuse as any to give her a whole bunch of toys, all at once, just for the sheer amusement of watching her go nuts with play. My wife, having grown up in a Jewish household, was only too happy to play Christmas.  For my part, with a birthday the day before, the occasion has always been an inseparable part of my annual celebrations.  And, having been raised non-sectarian, I never felt much compunction about cherry-picking the more hedonistic practices of the season for my own.  Still, with the passing of each year, I came to feel that our peculiar little tradition was an unintentional mockery of a holiday othe

This is not a rant about what’s wrong with kids, today. Kids are amazing. They are sponges of experience and knowledge who will inherit whatever we adults can do for the human condition. It’s never going to be the other way around, at least not as long as we are inextricably bound to the forward progression of time. But, we grown monsters could certainly do better. I’m increasingly distressed by the number of adults I encounter, who’ve been blinkered against the distraction of most anything that doesn’t serve a certain economic value, that is, beyond the illusion of the utilitarian. I can’t even count the number of times my own works have elicited a judgment of “Useless,” or “I just wasted three minutes of my life watching this.” Should I be mystified that a viewer could sit through an entire three minutes of my video, and then ask, “What does it do?” Jokesters not withstanding, it makes me wonder what, if any, exposure to anything beyond a rote-programmed stumble through existe

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