This is a single day drawing project I did with my great love and CX Partner, Travis Iurato, on August 14th, 2008. We did it to wind down from our intense mindboggler Darcone Triangle, which we are printing.
My new studio is in this building, Church
I wrote this entry yesterday around 6pm. I stayed awake almost all night. I don’t have easy access to the internet anymore and am posting this now from the laundromat. Open studios are tonight and I’m finishing up here in a second to go back and do some revising.
Wolf Kahn
On tour once we were laying in a long sloping green grass field, freshly cut, full of huge moist chunks of clippings, like slabs of delicious green cake. I was allergic to them and sneezed.
So my major story which will make no sense to anyone who reads this who isn’t/hasn’t been here is that, well, okay, this.
1) I live in Art House Community Center, my studio space is in Maverick Building.
2) I can’t sleep in Art House Community Center because I can’t sleep in beds anymore re: gigantic mental block I developed at camp post break-up, where I would just straight up rather be on the ground in my sleeping bag.
3) I can’t work in Maverick Bulding because there isn’t enough space for me to spread out.
4) I am sleeping in Maverick Building in my sleeping bag in my studio, while showering and storing my things in Art House.
5) I am doing my work by squatting in Wolf Kahn in a painters’ studio nobody is using.
Meanwhile last night we had a grinder on iPod speakers at the fire, and I drank Maker’s and Heinekan from a minikeg. A lightning bolt struck the ground exactly after every step I took today. It was scary until it became calming; until I became okay with the fact that, yes, everywhere I stepped was going to be struck by lightning.
I drove into town. I drew for a long time.
The year was 2008. We had no hopes and no futures. We squatted Danny Kahn I mean Wolf Kahn. Our studio was blank but we worked in it. We wrote text that streamed like blood, we wrote text that streamed like chocolate syrup on fat ripe strawberries, we wrote text that streamed like black clouds on thin windy new england blue sky, we wrote text that streamed like every bad decision our guts have ever quietly held, we wrote text that zummed like a willing, tin guitar.
The year was 2008. Everything rules. Fuck everything.
Crafting a friday from the raw material of a day = gangbuster nuit zonk times. Dear Philadelphia, where are the juice trains now that I finally need them.
Dear Friends,
Would you like to buy this painting? I would like to sell it to you so that I might be able to drive my car home from the mountains when I’m done in them. Please get in touch, tom dot** bubul@gmail com, or forward to your moneyed friends.
My sun salutation blows out the sky
11×17, watercolor + paintpen + acrylic paint + ink on watercolor paper
Created in thirds August 2008 at Beam Camp, Gray House Philadelphia, and VSC.
Click for bigger views.
The Elementary School
Yesterday’s tales and worker’s thought after the dramm.
Masonic temple
Normal bullshit for day three on this weird compound. What a sad and perfect life we lead.
The red mill
I rode my bike to the top of the hill to Johnson State College yesterday afternoon and my ass was totally kicked. I walked back down with Genevieve; she was getting Haryette Mullen’s book Sleeping with the Dictionary from the library. I have it now and am going to read it when I get back tonight. I’m about to go to the bar with James.
Nothing terribly exciting to follow, just a quick recounting of the day’s grind. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m in residency at Vermont Studio Center right now, where I’m going to try to complete a work I started in March, so that I might have a novel to sell as merch on our next band tour, per the joke I have with Mike about that. It is currently my intention to use this blog as a self-awareness check while I’m here, until the end of September.