7 little drawings drummed

For the Drum of the Draw event, I prepared way too many surfaces to work on (4 hours goes soooo fast!).  In the time since then, I’ve continued to work on these 5″ x 7″ -ish sized sheets.  In the spirit of the evening, I’ll send one to you for $50 + $5 shipping if you’d like to call one your own.  Whaddya say?  Yeah?  Okay, just email me and we’ll work out the details {galabent(at)gmail(dot)com}.  You live in Seattle?  Well, just come pick it up!  Yeah!  See all seven (Weepin’ & Singin’ through Emergency) on flickr.


this painting is stuck in my head

I saw this painting by Cat Balco the other day and it stuck in my head.  It’s magical and rare for a pared down gestural abstraction to hold weight against masters like, say, Robert Motherwell.  I don’t know the name of this piece, but I love the way it’s full of centered energy, bordering on figurative or symbolic without being too heavily figurative or symbolic.  It also reminds me of the full body gasps of painters like Arnulf Rainer.  Bet it would be nice to see it full size.

{Arnulf Rainer Untitled (Body Language)  circa 1973, Tate Collection}

the immersion factor

{Lake George, Adirondack Mountains, upstate New York… photo via}

If I visit a body of water, I don’t feel like I’ve actually been there until some part of my body has touched it.  It helps to dip my hand in, to wade a bit, but the best version is swimming, of course, if it’s an option.  It was in this way that I felt very connected to Lake George in upstate New York when I worked up there for two summers during college.  Nearly every day, rain or shine, balmy or chilly, I would jump into that lovely clear green mountain lake and somehow try to comprehend the mass of its depths and the history of its shores.  A kind of knowing emerges that only comes through slow, physical, patient immersion and observation.  Even then, I only scratched the surface of this giant’s secrets.  It’s a picture to me of the process of seeking truth and looking for the contours of the universe from the perspective of my humble size.  Even if I know I won’t grasp the depth and breadth of it, it’s so satisfying to swim rather than standing to the side of it, detached.  Writing and art-making are also like this for me.  Both help me to more fully experience life as it whizzes by.  If I can focus and immerse myself in some corner, within the hum of serious play that children model so well, I am perhaps at my best.