Sunday, April 20, 2008

falling house recycled

Went to the "country" yesterday to drive around and walk around small towns and relax. Then went out further to a deserted farm (the land is in the family) to see what had changed since the last visit. There is a house on a slight hill overlooking the mesquite and oaks and cows.

Many years ago it was abandoned. The paint peeled off, the door knobs and hinges rusted. A few years ago it had slipped from any vestige of human usage to hay storage. The hay was no longer there after a while and then there was a tornado. The little house with the gray planks and hand built bricks now slumped down on itself in an almost graceful way. Aside from some twisted sheet metal fallen from the trees you would assume the house had a peaceful death. There is an old tire near by and a corral all bent in on itself, a sister to the house.

So, you pick up a brick and hold it warm from the sun in your hand and wonder about the hands that made it so long ago. Then you notice there are tiny bugs in the crumbling brick and let it drop. This is real recycling.

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I am living and painting in the little town of Houston. A far way from my San Francisco beginnings. I paint what I see of the human condition, be it human, animal or object. The glimmer of humor, pathos, and spirit in so much of what I see is the basis of what I paint.


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