Mundaka Upanishad

Mundaka Upanishad

Letters cut from the Koran

30" x 22"

2012

~~~

Finally finished this tonight. The Mundaka Upanishad is an exquisite piece of writing. It starts out:

Brahma was the first of the Devas, 

the maker of the universe, 

the preserver of the world.

...and plopped in the middle somewhere:

 

He is the breath

shining forth

in all beings.

 

...and the last effulgence:

Salutations to the highest Seers!

I was thrilled to finish this up so I can start another piece that I'm excited about. I celebrated with a gin & tonic, and toasted to the Rishis, anchorites, and blokes whose oblations were undoubtedly more spotless than my own. Here's to you, my homies! Salutations, indeed.

Mid-Summer Ramblings

Psalm 54

Letters cut from the Koran

10" x 7"

2012

~~~

This has been the longest summer of my life. The days grind by like a parade of slugs, dragging their tired butts along the baking Bushwick boulevards. It's miserable hot during the day, the kind of hot where your glasses perpetually slide down your nose in a river of ooze. To borrow from Dickens, you take on "...a general appearance of having a good deal of train oil in (your) system."*

Ah, but the nights! They're warm and muggy like purple velvet, but cool enough that I can inhale deeply, swing my arms, ride my bike, and smile at passers-by. The summer nights restore my trust that this too shall pass, and soon it will be Fall, and I will wear scarves and sweaters, and see my breath, and sleep without fans, and shop for the holidays, and be of good cheer evermore.

It hasn't helped that my newest acquisition, a husband, whom I shall call Eliphaz**, is in the Ozarks, or Appalachians, or one of those southerly mountain ranges. Marriage without the hassle of a husband! Alas, in an odd twist of fate, I am married but single, with the advantages of neither. This too will end in September, thus my over-zealous watch of the calendar, which, like the proverbial pot of water, refuses to boil or budge.

So, to while away the days, months, and millennia, I've been spending an inordinate amount of time, one might say an ungodly amount of time, in my studio, slicing up sacred texts serif by bloody serif. The mind-numbing monotony of my process has got even me questioning the sanity and relevance of my art form. I'm just one dangling chad away from ending it all, and finding a new hobby - bingo, perhaps, or bowling. Or maybe I'll buy a plasma TV and ice my mind in a more entertaining fashion. The good news is that I'm getting lots + lots of text work done, and am not unhappy with the results. Larger pieces, more ambitious, and the more I work, the more the ideas come. Creativity is like that. You have to be working regularly for the inspiration to find you. The juice that I'm getting from working long hours is my reward for a husband-free marriage; a nice consolation but a poor substitute.

Ah, life. It's good, even when it's complicated. 

* From "Bleak House".
** Comforter of Job, and, presumably, Job's wife.