Demented Confessions 1 – Invocation

Invocation

Demented – from Old French dementer or late Latin dementare, from demens ‘out of one’s mind’.

Confessions – via Old French from Latin confessio (n-) from confiteri ‘acknowledge’

Invocation

My Renovation Quest was to become out of my mind. Somewhat in the same way one is out of milk or coffee but more to the point outside of the rational and the drunken monkey, like the Dadaist Buddhists were if they ever were.

I do not welcome madness. I did once or twice but there was no pleasure in it.

Dali said: “The only difference between me and a madman is that I am not mad”.

So I confess and acknowledge what is found. Each work is a confession and a confirmation. I honour each work as an actual act of art made with these hands, eyes, heart and brain.

 It was another hard winter, here in the soft northwest Pacific sense of ‘hard’. Almost endless rain and if not rain then air so loaded with icy moisture one could squeeze it like a sponge and almost get snowflakes. A chilling, foggy dank, cabin fever, mossy, dripping, out of one’s mind Gothic kind of winter as I began these wall boxes. They are a necessary transition from my free standing ‘Renovation Art’ sculptures to that which comes next.

They made me laugh and wonder and ask what, and why.

In the dark hibernation of my winter past, in the name of Renovation, I made my confessions every day and night to all who still lived and listened. Did you hear my sins? Did you enjoy them? Did you hear my invocation? Must there be sacrifice?

Self-indulgent revelations in the fur and fire of the cave.

Invocation. Mixed media relief wall box by clinock. H.8″ (20.32 cm) x W.8″ (20.32 cm) x D.2″ (5.08 cm).

April Redux-2012-Eggs

easter-eggs-inspired-by-lichtenstein-from-artclubblog21

In 2012 I began a series called artratcafe CAFE. It was slow-food art with a dash of tasty humour, a pinch of the creative unusual and a seasoning of literature with a culinary twist. It was the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party every afternoon and Tom Waits on the wonky old bar piano every night.

I haven’t posted from artratcafe CAFE for a very long time. I’m thinking I might resurrect it, dust off the juke box, buy some new lumber-jack table cloths and refill all the candle holders with heavenly beeswax.

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This is a new series, revisiting posts from the pasts of each month. This April 2012 post was all about eggs and Easter:

“Because it’s almost Easter, eggs are on our mind and feature on our over easy-menu this week at artratcafe CAFE.

girl with eggs

Our fancy lightly turns to spring, sensual longing, fertility and well, yes, the sex life of plants, hens and rabbits.

The name ‘Easter’ derives from Eostre or Ostara, the Great Mother Goddess of the ancient Saxon people of Northern Europe. She was the fecundity of spring symbolized in carnal pleasure, pregnancy and birth. In pagan times an annual spring festival was held in her honour and continues to this day wearing a Christian mask. Ostara was a playful goddess whose reign over the earth began in the spring when the Sun King journeyed across the sky in his chariot, heralding the end of winter. Ostara descended to earth then, appearing as a beautiful maiden with a basket of bright and colourful eggs. Her magical companion was a rabbit who accompanied her as she brought new life to plants, flowers, and the earth by hiding her eggs in the fields.

405px-ostara_by_johannes_gehrts1

The egg serves as a representation of new life. It stands for the renewing power of nature and by extension the attraction between female and male that results in new life. And this shell lead us, scrambling, to the following eggstremely sensual eggstract from the book:

1933 Was A Bad Year by John Fante:

“Dorothy was at the sideboard, breaking eggs and spilling them into a bowl. Just watching the oval things crack in her white fingers and spill forth with a golden plop created a series of small explosions inside me. My calves shuddered as she scrambled them with a fork and they turned yellow like her hair. She poured a bit of cream into the mixture and the silken smoothness of the descending cream had me reeling. I wanted to say, ‘Dorothy Parrish, I love you’, to take her in my arms, to lift the bowl of scrambled eggs above our heads and pour it over our bodies, to roll on the red tiles with her, smeared with the conquest of eggs, squirming and slithering in the yellow of love”.

 smiley eggs

 

Image Credits from top in order:

Easter Eggs inspired by Lichtenstein – artclubblog21.

Ostara by Johannes Gehrts. 1884.

Victorian Woman with Eggs and Smiley Toast from Google Images. Origins unknown.