Big Chief Blanket: Third Phase by RhettLynchStudio
19 August 2009
18 August 2009
17 August 2009
14 March 2009
Civilization
Art is evidence of civilization. When art thrives, civilization thrives. When art is diminished, civilization falters. 21 January 2009
Wings
As a child I learned to fly in my sleep. I spent a great deal of my attention during the day working out my fight plan for the pending nights flight. Hours went by as I practiced going fast, diving, gliding and lifting off. I did not know I was consciously being awake during my sleep. To me, it seemed it was a matter of creating the right conditions or circumstance. If you had to call it dreaming and knowing it was possible to create your dream in advance was not possible to create the dreaming when awake?I have seen a great deal of death, people, animals, what have you. Many times I have held the body as it changes from alive to not alive. I witness the shift of awareness from in the body to without. I have come to believe this body we have is the dream and when we are without it we are awake and we can fly.
This past week my relation left the body, my friends relations left the body, the bird in the yard left the body. Only now can all three truly fly.
16 December 2008
Vampires
By night, I am a Vampire. In the light of day, I hunt Vampire. I guess one could say, I am searching for myself.In the still of the night I am clairvoyant in my blindness. I am invisible and I am without scent. Somewhere in the darkness lives the truth. The truth struggles, screams and fights the perilous journey to the surface. Once in the light, the truth bursts into flames, releasing it's universal knowledge. The dog's bark means something more in the time of dark than in the time of day.
The last time I was in Austin, Texas, hundreds, no thousands of bats danced into the sky seemingly released by an inaudible signal. Radar. Even the most feral of feral has radar. Radar cannot lie. Liars and Vampires burst into flames in the light.
When it is day I am searching for night. When it is night, I live my secrets among the whispers.
11 November 2008
Camels
When I was a teenager I started smoking. I wanted to be like my dad and smoke Camels. Unfiltered, one word I would use to describe myself. I didn't like everything about smoking. The after smell was an insult. A freshly opened pack lingered the aroma of ancient. The pack of Camels was way cool. I started sketching the pack during English class in high school. Rhett, Rhett cigarette the kid beside me chanted. My cowboy boot sent him off his chair and onto the floor. On the way to the principals office I took out most of the smokes and dropped them off at my locker. I already spoke English I reasoned. I focused on envisioning a series of paintings of the Camel pack; imagine my disappointment learning Larry Rivers beat me to it and in a big way. Smoking did have its redeeming qualities, collecting Zippo lighters for instance. And then there was the college girl who, while sitting in a nightclub waiting for the Talking Heads to take the stage ask if, I had an extra one of those. We drank Southern Comfort on the rocks. A romance with fire. 14 October 2008
Red Autumn Leaves: Elvis Has Left The Building
Even when I was a puppy, friends, family, acquaintances, strangers and so on, encouraged me to write about my life. I would smile internally knowing there is no way I would do such a thing. I had too many sensitive secrets. It just was not going to happen.Decades later I find the proposition of an autobiography in my breakfast burrito smothered in green chili. Now, I laugh out loud at the thought. It's just not going to happen; or is it? My spine twitches.
How would I remember everything when so much of it is a blur? Do I tell about the time I set my furniture on fire in the middle of the street or keep it trendy and only tell stories of famous people and places? Should I mention being stranded in Haiti without money or identification or maybe living in LaPark, in West Hollywood, a few doors down from the African musicians who where playing in Paul Simon's band and occasionally seeing Ozzy in the parking garage? Do I call lovers by name? Now, that would be rich. And why write such a thing now? I am far from gnawing my life line in half.
The last few days I have been down with a cold, which should be called a hot. Fever will make a man think funny. Not clown funny, abstract funny. I will write this book and keep it in a secure place. All my life I have been flirting with death, as the book will testify. When death finally winks back, someone will find the manuscript. You can't put a dead man in prison.
01 October 2008
Coffee - Part II
When I was a little boy, about four or maybe five, I started drinking coffee each morning. My father, Alvin, woke before sunrise and waited by the door, looking for the newspaper delivery while the percolator pumped a viscus, oily brew. I positioned my bed just right so when he turned on the kitchen light, the beams would glare into my face, waking me. I joined my dad at the kitchen table and waited for my cup of darkness to cool. He liked his coffee black and hot enough to blister your lips. I liked mine with milk and sugar. I poured the milk just so, watching the clouds form and reform. I still do this. Mornings were not about coffee for me. Mornings were about watching my fathers hard knuckles wrapped around the sides of the newspaper. It was our time. Men stuff.When my father died, I took his wedding band off his finger. The 50 year groove made it difficult to remove. I knew the ring as well as I knew his face from all the years of staring at his fingers wrinkling newsprint. It is heavy and scuffed. Men stuff.
12 August 2008
Diner
Being on the road as much as I am sometimes presents challenges. For me, losing track of which day it is, is an ongoing occurrence. It has always been like this, being on the road makes it more so. I think it is Friday when it is Monday or Tuesday when it is Sunday. For the first time in twenty years or so I finally called my best friend, Scott, on the exact date of his birthday. Sometimes I would call as much as a month early or late. It is like that with everyone I know. While living in Taos, I had the weekly reminder of the day of the week when the newspaper would be for sale. Oh the newspaper, it must be Thursday.I constantly look for anchors to orient me. One of my favorites is mashed potatoes eaten in a diner.
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