my writer artist's statement -- introduction

(the artist, though also a painter, is mainly a writer for the purposes of much of this blog, including the last book length post, describing how I ran out of words and became an artist, among other things.* Writing, compared to image making, is very inefficient at conveying ideas and information, as slow as an old turtle.  It takes a lot of time to make it -- not to mention what doesn't, whatever spills out effortlessly and survives has been bought by thousands of fallen soldiers you could never afford to sacrifice if made of physical stuff, such as paint, whose spills and drips can be as adorable as babies that you'd kill if they weren't, for instance, if they were just stupidly spilled words, which you would mop up like spilled milk and toss the paper towels in the trash --  and a lot of time to take it in.  I say old because I just saw a video of turtles running at record speed; the imperialistic travesties of this age know no bounds.  Anyway, this blog is a big old turtle, and  people in a hurry need not apply. More than that, people in a hurry are the whole problem.  I credit my outrageously adorable first year architecture professor, X,  a Greek god who slept with every girl in the class, taking pity and showering his tenderness on the dowdiest -- not that I now endorse this approach, but still, something's lost with every gain --  for noting that one should never take on more tasks than one can handle with unhurried grace.  I remember him uttering those words decades ago as if it were yesterday, so deeply did they imprint themselves on my psyche.  I also remember being, given my upbringing by constantly frazzled folk for whom being in over your head was a moral imperative, quite shocked by the words, which, in a flash, offered a complete reversal of the trajectory I was groomed for.  I remember wondering how on earth one could live that credo; but you know -- or wiki or google does -- that cliche -- cliche's do get old, their voices crack and fill with slippery moss like dangerous old buckling sidewalks, and to all but romantic ruin lovers, they lose their looks, but the truth won't die just because most everybody's sick of it ---  about the will and the way.  Well,  I believe in the instant I heard that worshipped Greek god uttering that otherworldly beautiful credo, so deliciously rebellious, I willed its fulfillment in the plan and greater purpose -- though I still often slip in the everyday arena  -- of my life, whatever sacrifice it might entail. The less you take on, the more you make of what you do take on.  Slow is fast.  The speed of images makes them often careless and reverses their efficiency, and those images that remain efficient are, on closer inspection, carefully considered hieroglyphics, or texts, not that the direct experience of sight is not unique and untranslatable.  That is the cake you can have when you eat it too, the magic cake being cooked and emerging from the oven in the first become last post, the slowest therefore fastest of them all.  Thank you X.  I will always love you. Even as Don Giovanni's fate is deservedly dire, the music he inspires will perhaps earn his release at the end of the world.)  

*when you arrive at the island, you can burn the canoe or send it over to the mainland folk who need to escape and shuttle back and forth. I choose the latter.  

The Previous Post list above and to the right always shows up to ten most recently posted posts previous to the opened one,  the posts in this list reversing the chronological order of their appearance, the last appearing first.  By continually clicking on the one at the bottom of the list, you gain access to more posts until you have reviewed the whole index.  (I have, though, falsified some dates in the program, but not on the page, as this order is not always the order in which I choose to present the posts.) 

kerry rose shear (veronika) krvs at me dot com