Day One....

30" x 40" oil on canvas

It ain't just a couple of half naked chicks...

   People look at paintings and shit and just see it as a picture, they ain't, not to the fuckers that paint 'em and the stoners that stare at 'em. To me they ain't a picture, the overall image is cool but it's the work in different little areas that you can really just lose yourself in.  Man it's a gas, faces become choppy little blotches of high chroma larva and the hands in the shadows become supernovas.

  I finished this painting yesterday and just let it dry and gave it the 'ol critics eye basically looking for anything I did wrong and beating myself up over it. It sucks, I was broke but I had weed and just got completely baked. I pulled up a chair up close to what I had done and just road the waves.
  I can't get any good shots of the thing so I just keep trying. Last night I was stoned and had a camera and shot pictures of it because that' what stoners do.
  They have some light refraction so the parts that dry differently have a reflective surface. That's what makes the picture above's the top right corner looks chalky. Fuck it... now that's out of the way, let me take you on a guided tour. This is why I paint.

This enitire section was more or less done in about two days. Not consecutively but it took two days. Once you get past that it's two half naked chicks doin' what they do it's pretty fuckin' deep. Not deep like in 'heavy' I mean deep like you can fall right in it. It's the shadows man, with out 'em the whole thing will look flatter than Kate Moss.
  I've been working with shadows for a while and for some reason the planets aligned and it all worked. The stereo was pumpin' out whatever it was pumpin', the subs were slappin' and paint was flyin...nothing else really mattered. I lose it, just stirrin' pigment and makin' it work, don't even know what the fuck I'm doin' it most of the time.Sometimes its fun, sometimes your pissed an when you are you paint...a SHOVELHEAD!

  Yea man, when I say pissed I don't mean like 'mad at your boss pissed' I mean like big rock guitar solo kind of pissed. Just like riding angry, you paint pissed. Big thick loads of paint with big, unrefined, brush strokes. Make it seem hostile and rumbling, it ain't a dainty motor so beat it up and leave it. I think I was listening to a lot of Ministry during this.
   There is a lot of paint in this area...it's thick. I never know how anything is going to look when I'm done, but when I got all the colors right I just stopped which ain't easy to do. I always want to refine each area until it's perfect...a habit I have since broken.Shitty habit!

  These bottles are a goof...any time I paint a bottle it is. There were bottles here in the photo I work from but I eneded up just slappin' colors where the needed to go and not thinkin' about them being bottles, that's how I always do it. I used to hate that they look so Dr. Suess but now I really like that feel and do it on purpose. This time they almost look like they are melting...like half way through a Dead show kind of melting. Pretty fuckin' cool.

  

  There ain't no black in real life, just like there is now white, everyting is affected by the colors around it. No matter what color you have it will be reflected onto the colors near them and vice versa. So a flat black gas tank is whatever colors are near it also.If I painted the tank just strait flat black it would look like somebody just took a big ol' shit on it so it takes forever to get it right. Plus there are warm and cool colors. Warm colors make things seem inviting and comfortable, cool colors look dead, I don't use them much.
  Separating a flat black tank from the shadow it's sitting in was a cunt to get right but what made it worse is trying to figure out how to make something that is 'white' look like it was in the shadow... that almost gave me an aneurism. I don't use glazes which are transparent colors that you can use to 'drop" things into the back ground. I used to do it but it felt like the pussies way out so now I mix the right color. Not always easy...this time was no exception. It took a lot of trial and error and when I got it right it was just the color of one of the girls eyebrows...it always works out that way.

  This is a real shitty picture of something that my stoned eyes gazed at for hours. I had a problem, I used two completely different styles that collided right at these hands. I had the sardonic brush stokes of the motor and the slick as pudding brushstrokes of the chicks. I had to do something with the hands to tie the two styles together and hands usually already suck to paint. Pot helped on this one...it just worked...like bending brake lines. Sometimes you just look at things different.
  I don't really know what this blogity blog is all about but not many people are going to get to see this painting. Eventually it will sell and even I probably won't see it again. There's no applause at the end of these things for that very reason...I should have learned to play guitar if I wanted that.
  I thought that some of you would be interested in what I noticed AFTER I was done and it was signed. Staring at it is them is the best thing about them. You have a picture and then you have what the guy behind the brush was thinking when you get up close. At least that's how it is with mine....so fuck it, I must be right.

This is my mean assed dog Bud....stare into her dead eye of doom...scary huh?  AmericanMotherFucker.com "GTP"

Scooter tramps have found the Sub-Basement!

·         I’ve been kind of layin’ low and workin’ in the studio just slingin’ paint. I have been getting correspondence from people on the road that want to stop by and check out the shop and see what’s shakin’.  Today I was going to just slam out the final stages of the painting when I got some messages that someone (I thought) was going to stop by if it was cool. Repeated questions and answers were exchanged which alone made me think was kind of weird, but traveling bikers are in their own world and I just chalked it up to road brain and just went with it.

·           I got a call from Matthew Donaghe was just outside of town and needed directions to the shop. I gave it to him and he arrived shortly afterwards. We shot the shit and he told me he had been out for about a week or so and was just riding around to clear his head out. We shot the shit for a while just kickin’ back in a couple of chairs soakin’ up the sun when the phone rang.

·           It was Barry Land and he was asking directions to the shop. That’s when it hit me, the repeated conversations were because I was talking to two different people. It was all face book conversations and everyone is welcome here so I don’t check who it is. Barry showed up on his CB750 and he has apparently been on the road well into five months.

·           I put the paint brushes away and just settled in to shootin’ the shit and talkin’ about life and time on the road. It was great. Smokin’ cigarettes and eating pizza we just wasted the afternoon. Opening the shop is the best idea I’ve had since I started actually painting in ‘studios’.

·           An hour or so before the sun started to set and the weather turned cold they decided it was time to split. Matt headed to New Mexico and Barry to Jerome before heading back up to Illinois to align his life for the next trip.

·           I got absolutely no wrk done so far but the night is young and another buddy on a bike dropped by a little weed for me so I’ll just zone out and paint for a bit.

·           I’m hoping more tramps stop by sometime I the trip to trade stories and swap lies. It was great. So if you are inclined give me a shout and you’re more than welcome…bring weed.  “GTP”

Fuck your H.O.A. !!!

                                                My house can kick your houses ass !!!

...rollin'.

 Packin’ up, haulin’ ass and diggin’ in. It’s a pattern man, a reoccurring chain of events that has been regurgitating itself for years. Now it’s become serious…when I split from one piece of ground to another I can do it in grand style. No packin’ or forethought I just got to unplug the house, turn the ignition, start the 440 and suddenly we ain’t in Kansas anymore. Poof, it’s like I never been there… I’m here now.

  There’s always a reason to leave no matter what you’re leavin’ in. You sacrifice something when you leave, good ol’ country relaxin’ for work, weeping willow trees and overlooking the mountains for a chain link fence and a view of the Circle “K”. Drastic changes occur but you just have to have a good reason to leave and a future plan.

  I was feeling comfortable in the digs I was parked in for well over a year but I felt myself becoming complacent, stagnant if you are so inclined, things had to change. It was never my intention to stay here anyway but leavin’ is a bit of a shock to the system. I’ve only moved a mile or two up the road but where I stopped is in town, just like all the other towns I found myself in.

  Fuck it man, at least it ain’t a ghetto, just the industrial section of a small town…trees are a comin’ as soon as I get ahead of this painting thing. A few years ago this would be a dream come true, I’m just dreamin’ different now.

  I don’t know what has gottin’ into me as of late but painting and making a living off of it seems to be what is drivin’ me. I’ve been driven by other things in the past but this is something that I ain’t fightin’. It’s a lot like an addiction but not as detrimental as most. It’s an addiction I can live with. Just like bikes, this is something that is actually improving my life, I think…if I had one…a life that is.

  I’m in a thick of it now, I’m in the middle of another day that will surely end up being another 10 plus hour day slingin’ paint. Time flies when things are like this and when you’re done you end up staring at something that was in your head for a while before the painting process even starts. Some of these things I see are cool and others are things that you would have rathered not have in your head in the first place. Case in point something that has been hiding in the shadows of your consciousness suddenly big as life and following your every move with eyes that you have painted. Creepy as fuck when you don’t expect it and you never do.

  But such is the life that I apparently chose. I ain’t bitchin’ but I wish I put this time and effort into my own comfort, that’s something that always seems to be put on the back burner…but I’m getting better at it. I have a roof, a stable studio, a bike that runs more often than not. Things are far from bad but the grass is always greener…somewhere…no matter what your own personal landing pad looks like.

  The first night I was here it rained cats and dogs bringing along a cold front that hung like snot from an unkept child’s nose. The next day was gloomy and cold.

  The weather was for shit and I just walked the few yards to my studio and spent the next twelve hours painting and getting’ stoned with the little weed I had left. By the end of the day my legs were sore and on the easel was a painting that was no more than a day away from being done. The miserable day was only miserable outside. Being well insulated, the studio got no lower than 60 degrees. A few minutes with a small heater and it got up to seventy and stayed there…even when I turned the heater off.  Once I get the woodstove piped in it should be nice and toasty for the winter months.

  There’s no sewage dump or water hook up for the Hamsteak but the studio has a full bath with a shower. It’s going to take some getting used to living half in the studio and the other in the RV,the RV now just being a place that isn’t in the studio which is a nice place to stop painting,read and sleep.

  I’m only living here for a short period of time while I gut and rebuild the interior of the ‘steak and make it something set up for one skinny old fuck and his one eyed dog. With a bit of work I can really set it up for me and maybe a guest to hang comfortably.  I don’t need much and it’s not like I have a gaggle of friends that will staying the night so I can really open the place up.

   With intentions of not only having an old RV to live in but something really functional and impressive I might be able to get a bit of the old ‘how do you do?’ from the random cutie that I can get into the back of my mobile crime scene.  It’s not going to take much to make it something cool aside from the improvements I want to make to all the systems (water, insulation , etc) and with a bit of cash and work it should be ready for its next move to a place I have lined out back in the country in fairly short order.

  Maybe I’ll stay for the winter or maybe I’ll be done before that but I know when I am ready the place ought to be a little bit of all right. The big money has been funneled into the rig, now it’s just a matter of work and planning. I’m in a good place for the next move that’s for sure.

  This morning the sun was out again. I slept like a fuckin’ corpse and opened the door, lit a cigarette and drank a cup of coffee as Bud did her ‘yey!... the sun is back’ dance and flopping down on the warm concrete with a satisfied exhale air and a fart.

   I pulled up a chair next to her and read a book as I finished my coffee. A chapter or two later I was cleaning pallets and getting ready for another painting marathon that doesn’t even seem like work at all.

  Playin’ air guitar and jumpin’ around the studio as Bud passes judgment with her one good eye and a wag of her tail it’s going to be a good day. I’ll take as many of those as I can.   “GTP”

If I wasn't driving my house to its new home this would probably be done tomorrow! "GTP"

                                                             30" x 40" oil on canvas

Random ass and new digs!

  I’m done gerkin’ in the dirtbox. I have had enough of livin’ on couches and squattin’ in people’s backyards. I’ma movin’ the Hamsteak to the Sub-Basement. Buildin’ , what I consider, my first “GTP” compound…a place to just kick it and go left on some psychotic creative tangent where I can see just how ‘left field’ I actually am.

  Everybody has the be all and end all as to what a person can be. Some people have the opinion that their opinion is what everybody should be. Fuck man, I have no clue what kind of person I what to be but I sure as fuck am damn close to being it.

  I scare the living shit out of myself when left to my own devices. I know I ain’t wired right. Give me enough leash and I’ll be humpin’ your Aunt Marges fat ankle before she puts down the Christmas pie.

         Before though was not the right time to let it get nutty but it might be the right time now. I paint, concern myself with my bike, watch my car fall apart, pay bills and try to keep the cupboard  in my truck of a home full…just like everybody else. I basically live at work so I might as well actually drive the house there and let things either spool up or just finally unspool as it takes its unrestrained course. I have no idea what the final outcome will be but all my crap is on the launch pad so I might as well hit the ‘go’ button and let the shitstorm splatter skyward.

  So tomorrow I put on my house slippers, jump in the driver’s seat and move the Hamsteak to the studio. Fuck it, it’s time to step on the loud pedal and get gone. All I need is a bike tank full of fuel, take a few minutes to unplug and hope there’s enough brakes to stop me when I get there.

  Upon arrival (no matter what condition we arrive in) I am officially living “between the grid” again. I won’t even have a legal fuckin’ address! Ta-lee-hoe…release the hounds!

  I’ve been trippin’ out pretty heavy on the work I’ve been plowin’ through and have been doin’ it non-stop for a minute or two. Tomorrow, however, is movin’ day. It will be cool startin’ my own gig again. I want to thank everyone who has lent me a couch or a little parcel of land for a bit but I think I’m done with it. I got an empire and an empire needs a kingdom. I’ll have mine, a place to put the kickstand down for a bit and huddle in for the winter. Come springtime though…I got bigger plans.   “GTP”

 

  

 

 

 

...dunner

                                                             More dunner then before

I've been waiting a long time to paint this one.

                                                          Not done 30" x40"

Tell me this...

  How bad does your life have to be to end it by your own hand? Aside from chronic, unmanageable pain what does it take to actually pull the trigger and send your grey matter splattering all over your brand news floral print wall paper? I would assume things have to be pretty bad to do it but fuck man people do that all the time.

  It was all the rage when this EMO thing started but those faggots view hard times a lot different than anyone that still has a pair. Sure it gives your girl pants wearin’ cronies something new to cry about but what good does it do you? “He killed himself to know that he was actually living.”…undoubtedly the stupidest comment I actually ever heard anyone say and they actually said it. Credit card cry babies have my whole hearted permission to rid the planet of themselves…they are granted a pass on tryin’ to muddle on and just punch your way through things, the rest of you don’t.

  Terrorist fucks and religious zealots do it with the intent on carrying out their Gods plan but if that’s the case your God is pretty stupid and you’re a dumb fuck for following his plan. 70 something virgins waiting for you on the other side…did you ever think of why they are still virgins?

   My assumption is that nobody wanted to fuck ‘em and that is a sure sign that when you get there you banquet of intact hymens will be far less then appealing. What if you got to the other side and someone like me was one of those virgins? Would you be happy then? Besides dumb luck and cold hard cash there is a chance I could still be one so think twice before you hit that little red button because if I was waiting… I’d fuck the shit out of you!

  I get periods of time when people are takin’ the easy way out in droves and in most of those cases I do my damndest to forget about their existence. There were a few unfortunate few that I still think about often but that is usually because I didn’t see it comin’. I will sit and ponder for hours what would have become of them if they just got past that patch of rough road.

  I bring this up again because I have thought about it often and even gone as far to put the barrel in my mouth only to reconsider my decision and wait it out. Inevitably within a few days I find myself in some kind of stellar situation that would have never occurred if my head was currently wall art. At that point it never seems like a good idea, years later I find myself very infrequently even toying with the idea. My life sucked hairy, homeless ass but now shit just ain’t that bad. Looking back all I had to do is fix things not end them.

  I’m not sitting here writing some kind of life enhancing, emotional crutch to keep you going through the hard times, if you are going to end it just do it, I could care less. I’m just askin’ how hard does life have to be to make all go away. I don’t get it. I suffer from serious depression problems and my actual life is a lot harder than it appears on paper but I just can’t get my head around dying because it seems  better…how that fuck can it be better, you’re fucking dead! Wouldn’t it just be better to get up and leave you current surroundings and see if things are better somewhere down the road? No? Then die you fuckstain!

  There are plenty of ways to die in normal situations…I ride a motorcycle, it will probably kill me eventually and that’s good enough for me! Besides, I might get laid again sometime and that in itself is worth gettin’ over things and movin’ on. Sweet ass and motorcycles…how bad can life be?  “GTP”