I finally put some paper on the floor of my front room and clamped three lights to some screws in the ceiling. I guess my new house is going to be my new studio.
I went to three "events" this last week in Seattle. They were all like totally inspirational (add vocal fry). Good people, inspired people, and spurring their sleach people. I talked about painting, I looked at paintings, and I scribbled in another person's sketchbook.
But check it out, I came home and I actually wanted to make a blog post. "Dear Diary. . . this week I met some really cool people and I wanted you (the Other) to meet them too."
It is Boxing Day and I have recently returned from Seattle. Zaida and I spent a week up there visiting my family. We spent much of the time goofing with her cousin.
Her cousin is as cute as a bug's ear.
Insects can detect very miniscule and high-pitched sounds, hence they are "acute".
Family stuff. I didn't take many photographs of my family this season. I missed a lot of Kodak moments, and yet I paid more attention to my time because I wasn't trying to brand it. I never once thought: "Dang. . . there goes another Fish or Cut Bait moment".
And yet, here I am and why do you care?
Is it enough to behave as if we are our own First Audience?
Apparently, I am of the opinion that we should all share our shit. We should all romanticize the mundane.
That is why you are experiencing this; you dag-nab hill-billy.
This past week I took two evening excursions out into the pre-holiday-Seattle nightlife. In case you might not believe me, I took this picture of Carla Torgerson and Jim Sangster talking at Whiting Tennis's party. I actually have video from this night of me barking into a microphone while Mr. Fotheringham clawed at an electric guitar. I will not inflict that upon you. We have to draw the line somewhere. For example, I was ok blogging about my brush with cancer (rectum, nearly killed'im), and yet, heading towards a divorce (as common as it is) is not something I can share. Well. . . I suppose I could but that is where I draw one of my lines. Instead, check out this blurry iPhone picture I took of a painting Ed made of Whiting.
Brilliant. He's got him painting grapes. Ed captured the modern nostalgia that is Whiting. It is more than "illustrative".
At the first party, I got to sit in Whiting's command chair. Every painter has a command chair. A "command chair" is an "in-sight, in-mind" chair. Usually, a painter has a chair that they can nap in, but only for a neck-crinking length of time. From that chair, I saw this.
While in that chair, I tried to capture/filter some other people who were at the party and hold them in Whiting's sketchbook.
On the right is Doug Parry. Both in the drawing above and the photo below.
Doug is admiring David Kane, who made the painting (the center piece of a triptych) below that was being exhibited at Vermillion. (This was on my second night out).
I thought about David's paintings quite a bit that night. His limited palette of house paints was echoing the spiel that Whiting was giving me the night before. Also, I think that this was the first time that I have ever seen burlap used as a convincing ground. David's paintings were large enough to make the knobby tooth of the burlap seem proportional. To top it off, there were UFO's involved.
It is no wonder that at breakfast the next morning, the ketchup bottle across the diner was abducted.
But while I was at David Kane's opening I got to meet Bette Burgoyne. She makes some awesome stuff (like the image above).
I also gave a high five to Janet Galore. She writes speeches for Microsoft and also made this video:
This was part of Don't Assume I Cook, an evening of performance and film at the Northwest Film Forum, December 2011. Two hands fight over and play with a knife in a lonely and liminal world. Here, time is fluid: rushing forward, slowing, suspended.
Direction, hands, animation by Janet Galore
Filming by Edward Galore
Sound design by Christopher MacRae
After David's opening, I went to a party and chatted with Mike Musburger. We both had a good laugh over our self-conscious chins.
I also got to pose with Kurt Bloch that evening. (photo credit goes to Whiting).
I bet most painters don't know about Mike and Kurt. Here is a video of them goofing around.
Imagine what they could do if they were being serious.
Seriously. Anyway. I sat down to make a blogpost that I might be interested in.
I actually have video from this night of me barking into a microphone while Mr. Fotheringham clawed at an electric guitar. I will not inflict that upon you. We have to draw the line somewhere. For example, I was ok blogging about my brush with cancer (rectum, nearly killed'im), and yet, heading towards a divorce (as common as it is) is not something I can share. Well. . . I suppose I could but that is where I draw one of my lines. Instead, check out this blurry iPhone picture I took of a painting Ed made of Whiting. 
While in that chair, I tried to capture/filter some other people who were at the party and hold them in Whiting's sketchbook.
