davidgoughart

Calico

2012-01-29T20:01:00.000-08:00

Took a very short break from the paint and solitary confinement this weekend. I make it sound like Steve McQueen bouncing a rubber ball on the inside of his cell, but it's really not.

We drove to a ghost town three hours north east, called Calico. It's been mostly restored from the original settlement,but amongst the usual touristy tat like a house made of wine bottles (?) are a few original buildings, rusting machinery and pock marked mines. It didn't have the same dark undercurrent as somewhere like Tombstone, but there was enough character to conjure the haunted bedrock of America, as well as somewhere over run-rather aptly-by stray cats.

It set me thinking about the psyche of this country, how it's genesis is still tangible and close enough to almost justify the vainglory it suffers.I said almost. No dark ages or plagues,no Roman occupations or blitzes-just the Atom bomb and McDonalds, the Moon landings and Snooki.

From little acorns.

Speaking of which, the next Cielo Drive post is up-entitled Darchitects part one-the Liverpool Fuhrer. Click the link below:

And I'm days away from posting the completed self portrait, which I can tell you looks rather like a psychotropic Van Gogh.

From Hitler the failed artist, rejection burning in his bitter black heart, scorching the earth, to Van Gogh failed artist, rejection in his bitter broken heart, killing himself.

What a message for anyone with an aspiration to paint for a living.

Staring at white walls

2012-01-25T21:57:00.000-08:00

Felt like a corpse today- one of those plastinated exhibits by Gunther Von whatsisface-posed in permanent stance, brush aloft, eyes like razor slashes, skin like alabaster. The irony isn't lost on me of all people.

I've been buried beneath a pyre of art books, and cds,grimoires and wet palettes this past week. You could be forgiven for thinking I'm auditioning for Hoarders, but it's actually kind of like my painters alchemy, and one day I imagine they will find my paint spattered carcass crushed under the detritus of my influences.

It struck me that I hadn't left the house in five days-it did rain for two of them, and I did spend the other two obsessing over the subtle hue's of a white wall only to discover it was grey, but regardless-the studio can be my retreat and my prison.

Ventured outside and walked to the local park, and sat in the sun, straining to hear birdsong beneath the hum of jets and the traffic on the 5, and for once didn't wish I was somewhere else, though did wish I had a dog.

It was the most clarity I'd felt in days.

I think it was Monet (or was it Manet?) who once said “color is my daylong obsession, joy, and torment,” Its so easy to walk that razors edge-its not like drinking or drugging or fucking, but when it's good it's addictive all the same.

Twenty four years separate us

2012-01-12T21:19:00.000-08:00

With the self portrait currently consuming me, I thought this sketch was too irresistible a prospect not too do. Of course there's a part of me that balked at laying the cruel ravages of age bare on the slab for all to see, but the perverse side won out.

So 1988 to 2011.

Maybe I'll make it a decagonal thing-laugh in the face of old age.

Carry on Painting.

2012-01-10T17:00:00.000-08:00

Week two of 2012 and I'm battling my annual cold, between a commission which I cannot share and a self portrait (which I want not to just yet). I've also been trying to bring Rise to completion-Trying being the operative...a perfect case of disconnect between whats on the canvas and in the minds eye.
Will Rise be my fall? Pun not withstanding.

What do other artists do at such times I wonder? Persevere stoically or make a pyre of failure? That could be an encapsulation of the creative process right there. As well as a splendid title for a painting. I'll carry on regardless.

"Carry on painting"...now there's a movie I'd love to see. Sid James as an old spiv Art dealer, Kenneth Williams and Hattie Jaques as sniffy collectors, Jim Dale would be the undiscovered Art ingenue and Babs Windsor his muse. It would all have to descend into a nude covered in paint farce, Yves Klein style of course.
Perhaps Damien Hirst should option the rights for his next post modern foray into celluloid. He could re-title it "Ooer Misses."

I digress,forgive me it's the fever-Sid James and Yves Klein all in the same post, what a cocktail.

In the absence of anything new then, here's something old-a curio from the archives of 1989, in which I briefly flirted with a kind of surreal cubism- Max Ernst style, making forms from string dipped in paint. Its called 'Woman attacked by moths' or something hopeless like that.

Quite rightly, I was leathered by the Bridewell studio crew for my callow affront- I was so crestfallen, but... I carried on regardless.

...the rumour spread that I was aging fast

2012-01-08T09:50:00.000-08:00

Can't believe this chap is 65, perhaps because it means I am getting older too.
He's been a soundtrack to my life for over thirty years now, and whilst we can all lament that there shall be no more new music, there's enough legacy to relive our teens for several life times.

The drawing is from when I was a young dude myself,back in early 1984 I believe.
Below are my ten favorite Bowie tracks-at least this week.

Many Happy Returns Mr Bowie.

Ashes to Ashes
Quicksand
Word on a wing
A small plot of Land
Always Crashing in the same car
Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud
This is not America
We are the Dead
Planet of Dreams
Untitled no. 1

Rise and Arisen

2012-01-03T20:55:00.000-08:00

Despite best efforts, Rise cannot rise to the occasion until it dries. I think it's the new organic turps I've been using, it's like a drying retardant, which would be fine except the snails pace makes it feel like it's still 2011.

Since reading about that time Frazetta lost the ability to paint because of the cheap turps he was using, I've been weary. Toxins be damned however, regardless of my studio's lousy ventilation and it being 80 degrees I am going to have to fall back on the hallucinogenic stuff for the time being.

In the interim, I'm working on a self portrait of sorts, which shall be part of the ongoing assimilation (working title) series. It's my epic project for this coming year, punctuated with occasional diversions into the American Madonna (another working title) sidearm.

Suffice to say, the first post of my sister blog is finally up, which are my working notes and research which accompany said series. So without further ado...

End Game

2011-12-31T15:41:00.000-08:00

It's already twenty twelve in England.
Do people still honor the tradition of letting the year in with a black and blond haired couple I wonder? I'd be interested to know where that tradition began-something to do with the balance of light and dark over the coming year perhaps.

Lani shall be the light to my dark when it strikes midnight. She always is.

What of the light and dark's of twenty eleven?

Publishing D3ad/Ends, the Momento Mori show at OMA, the ensuing press, good friendships old and new, securing representation by a proper art agent, finally getting my drivers license here, my sons visit, trips away with my wife, the site relaunch and the work-always the triumph of the work.

And the dark's...all the usual suspects, poor sales, unensuing press,the depressing appetite here for poor abstract contemporary, the insufferable little man I worked for trying to make ends meet for a few months...

Nevermore!

Frustrations aside, my focus is forward, the hungry canvases, the gallery walls-there's more to look toward than back in the coming months.

So onward and may it be a happy, healthy and prosperous 2012 to you all.

The space between

2011-12-29T16:48:00.000-08:00

It's the no-mans land between discarded gift wrap and end of year processing.

And it feels like the longest holiday's ever.

Somewhere there is a purgatory of endless Christmas dinners, a Harold Pinter ensemble of Port wine, and turkey leftovers. Outside it never snows because it's 60 degrees in the shade.

Still, by degrees the end is nigh-or 2012 at least.

There's something about an end with the 'Rise' piece-a cypher for the end of an era, heralding a realization of something unspoken and sinister, and I'd wank on, but I'm saving it for my sister blog, which-if I ever complete the epic first post-shall be titled one hundred and fifty Cielo Drive.

Anyway, I'm on a self imposed deadline to finish both for years end, so in-between the space between, the obligatory year end review, the obligatory 'Withnail...' and 'the Man who..' viewing, and another Christmas dinner-expect a post about a post.

...Way up north where the air gets cold

2011-12-24T10:13:00.000-08:00

The stockings are stuffed, the tree is piled, the eggnog chilled... here's Sharon Tate to remind you to all to have a Merry Christmas.

Staying Mum...and Dad

2011-12-23T16:58:00.000-08:00

Neither of my parents have internet, so I believe I am on fairly safe ground when I share the gifts that await them this Christmas.

Other than drawing's of my ex wife and son twenty some years ago, I don't believe I've ever approached the Mother and Child subject before. That may change as I continue with the Sharon Tate series, but this piece-modeled after a work by Sander's-was done with a rather more traditional Pre Raphaelite approach.

It shall likely make my Mother weep with happiness when she see's it, though it does strike me in retrospect that there is a touch of irony to the painting, since she wasn't particularly tactile growing up.

Long haul readers will know that in past years I have compiled a mix CD for my old man. It's become somewhat obligatory with him mailing me list's of song's month's in advance, but I do enjoy the little jolts of nostalgia hearing his old standard's again.

Here is the cover I designed anyway-having long since proclaimed that I shall never work in advertising again as it is inhabited by sociopath's-it's still nice to occasionally dabble for personal end's.

There's no angels

2011-12-21T21:43:00.000-08:00

Each Solstice, I try to make a concession-or antidote- to the sentiments of the season, and create limited edition cards for my friends. This year being no exception, here is a drawing entitled 'There's no angels' that shall be gracing mantles across the country.

He screams and he bawls

2011-12-21T21:28:00.000-08:00

I've made reference before to Bowie's relationship with Yuletides past, and this year Christmas comes early for fans in the form of this previously lost footage from Top of the Pops-1973.

Apparently at the time the BBC in it's wisdom wiped the tape-possibly in favor of archiving Jimmy Osmond or the ghastly Peters and Lee.

Fortunately, cameraman Peter Henshall kept his own copy for posterity, and now unearthed in all it's glam glory, here's Mick, Woody, Trevor and his sideburns jamming good with David on Jean Genie-love the way he drops in a rendition of Love me do on harmonica at the 4: 15 mark...

The Jean Genie on Top of the Pops

Now if only someone could unearth Starman from Lift of with Ayesha....

High Rise

2011-12-19T19:09:00.000-08:00

There's almost an autonomy to painting the 'Rise' piece. It's not that I am disengaged-far from it-but dare I say that there are times when the strokes seem guided by something other than my hand...

Or perhaps the studio was a little too heady with turpentine and oil today.
In fact I know it was-it being too chill a prospect to crack the window and ventilate. It's reminded me that I want to move the studio from home in the new year. I must.
Lots of other things to look forward to, but I can't say too much because we aren't 'there' yet.

Enough for now to complete this painting by years end.

The Shore

2011-12-18T14:04:00.000-08:00

"The Shore" 1994
Acrylic on canvas

He're's a curious little painting I just rediscovered from the archives, circa mid 90's.

Someone I was emulating for about five minutes was Graham Sutherland , and for all his influence I like it much better in retrospect than I did at the time.

It was painted following a holiday in Cumbria,where I remember the fallen trees lining the lakes, made me think of rotting torso's washed up on the shore.

There may be the odd cadaver beneath those cold waters.

Interestingly, the tree motif of twisted roots and peeling bark has found its way into a lot of subsequent work.

Eminently Unqualified

2011-12-16T10:01:00.000-08:00

Tracy Emin was just appointed to London's prestigious Royal academy as professor of drawing.

Emin, who recently contributed the most risible etchings for a series entitled "Love is what you want", is to be the shaper of young, impressionable minds, the yardstick (or charcoal stick) for every budding young da Vinci or Blake-a former pupil of the college.

Of course, like Art sales, it's all about the name-I daresay attendance at the Royal academy shall be healthy this coming semester, and the school has already trotted out the usual suspects to defend the decision. "There will be a lot of people who say, 'What a lousy idea, she doesn't stand for classical drawing'..." said Tate director Nick Serota, before steadfastly back tracking with the rebuttal that he thinks it's a "great appointment."

Serota of course is said to be a fierce advocate conceptual art over figurative painting, and allegedly had some pretty dodgy dealings with NACF (Art fund) over the acquisition of works by Emin, Hirst, et al, calling for demands he be sacked by artist Stuart Pearson Wright and the Stuckist group, but we'll come to Serota in a future article.

Perhaps it's uncharitable to disqualify Tracy on the basis of her complete level of apparent skill, the aging Picasso upon seeing his sons doodles, was said to have turned forlorn to the young Paulo, and told him he had spent his whole life trying to master such innocence.
Of course, Picasso could draw.

Is it me or are there sinister undertones in the relegation of what used to be 'natural talent', fighting for elbow room with incompetent scrawl?

If naive renderings can said to be artistically viable then talent no longer carries any currency, draftsmanship is outmoded, and sadly,what you end up with is art diminished to a child's scrawl, what I call the continual aspiration of nothing, the elevation of ignorance.

The artistic equivalent of Snookie.

Christopher Hitchens

2011-12-15T21:27:00.000-08:00

t“What can be asserted without evidence can also be dismissed without evidence.”
― Christopher Hitchens

11" x 14"
unfinished portrait-2010

So, Hitch has finally departed this mortal coil-a singular voice of logic and sanity in an age of unreason gone.
I still keep a copy of God is not Great handy to sell to religious interlopers when they call.

I daresay the self righteous will make a toast in honor of the fact that the grand master heathen is toast for all eternity.

Still, I'm hoping he finds some way to drop us a line to let us know if he was right.
Though I suppose if he doesn't , then he was.

I endorse this Christmas message.

2011-12-15T11:03:00.000-08:00

The degenerate Banksy has been at it again-courting controversy with one of his little stunts. Banksy of course is about as anti establishment as Saatchi exhibiting the Chapman Bros-in fact Banksy is probably the brainchild of Saatchi, but that's another story.

I've given enough column inches already to this philistine, and this would have been just another note of irrelevancy, except to say that his latest wag is on my old stomping ground-The Walker Art gallery in Liverpool. I daresay the Walker was in on it-good for them, it's a splendid gallery, that deserves national attention.

But what I also like about the work in this instance, is that it's casting a light on an issue that far outweighs any of Banksy's usual media whoring for attention, at a time of year when religious sugar coating is predominant.

You can read the article here: Banksy unveils church abuse work

Artistic Endeavour

2011-12-14T22:08:00.001-08:00

I realize it may sound a little like a fortune cookie, but Art-like life-is an endless endeavor. Often, it means persevering whilst trying to ignore the ever diminishing voices. You know the ones ... the resume of failures, the unscaled peaks, the petty jealousies, the diminishing returns, the bank balance, the crows feet in the mirror that remind you it's another year. Sometimes you ignore them, sometimes you don't.
It can be a din in there, the unrealized dreams fighting for prominence against the reminder that there's rent to be paid, whilst stacks of unsold canvases line the walls, and the nights draw colder, longer and closer to Christmas.

Did Vincent burn canvas stretchers to keep warm I wonder?

Then there are the mornings, the battle with the fatigue of a restless night before, the cold, the umpteenth cup of tea, the news that the economy seems unsalvageable and Tracy Emin is now a professor of drawing, the what the fuck should I paint today, and what's the point anyway.

And then I walk into my studio and this is what awaits me.

Yes,it's a game of endurance, but its the only game worth playing.

Gough Medicine: Christmas

2011-12-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

"Christmas...is the first terrible proof that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive"
-Stephen Fry

Photo: Still from Black Christmas (1974)

Prosaic

2011-12-12T23:01:00.000-08:00

I recently trawled through my archives, and discovered some lost poetry.
Before I threw my lot in with daubing, I suppose I had partial aspirations of being some kind of poor mans Larkin or Donne. For their merits or lack thereof, they are a curio for whatever they are.

Welcome

If it came today,
I shouldn't care.
No reason to stay.
for little remainder.
Like some vicarage party,
I’d welcome it in.
I’d pour it some tea,
and show it some sin.
I’d make it my duty,
to show I was worth.
Say, "I detest beauty."
And was "tired of the Earth."
The articles I’d unfold,
as I buttered a scone.
Of things I’ve not told,
in the hope to be gone.
Such a litany of ill's,
that I’d left in my wake.
Of a heart that spills,
of an empty, dark ache.
Of pictures and words,
procured with despair.
A legacy unheard,
Of a life that’s not there.
And after my hearing.
Of waste and of grief.
Of the emotional swing
Of when life’s been a thief.
It might turn with a hint,
of a sympathy spare.
And I hope with a glint,
Take me off to its lair.

Britain

Mottled sky, the rain descends,
nothing does it ever cleanse.
Empty lives-lives to cram,
the host of cruel Britannia’s sham.
In sardine tins, traveling here and there,
and still we seem to get nowhere.
A daub of paint, another year,
A scribble on a distant fear.
“This place has gone to the dogs.” They say,
I see no change from yesterday.

Nothing

This hollow inside,
A feeling of less,
this empty divide.
A chill winds caress.
In a cavernous echo,
a horizon of white
where nothing will grow,
and its blacker than night,
no phantasms or visage,
no unsettling of dust,
just a vastness too large,
an abyss which to thrust.
An all and a nothing,
a nothing at all,
not a ledge left to cling,
not a face to recall.
Just nothing.
Not a thing.
No-thing.
Nothing
...

Photo credit: John Hatton, Bebington cemetery, circa 1999

Dorothea Tanning.

2011-12-12T18:38:00.000-08:00

"I get the impression that the idea is to shock. So many people laboring to outdo Duchamp’s urinal. It isn’t even shocking anymore, just kind of sad"

That's Dorothea Tanning describing Modern Art.

At 91, with a body of work that could make the most prolific artist hang up his brushes, and having been married to Max Ernst, I'd say she is more than qualified to know what she is talking about.

You can read the rest of the article here:

Oldest Living Surrealist tells all

Death and the Maiden

2011-12-09T16:50:00.000-08:00

Death and the Maiden
9" x 9"
Felt tip pen on paper

The Death and the maiden motif has been one which has always fascinated me, so using Sharon Tate's likeness was going to be an obvious progression. Little did I know that Polanski titled one of his films in the same vein.
Anyway, I produced this sketch using felt tip pens-something I used consistently when I was a child-so it gives the impression of observing the murders from quite a naive point of view.

I think it worked out quite well for a sketch.

Gough Medicine: Love

2011-12-07T23:36:00.000-08:00

Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground.

- John Lennon

Photo credit: Ian Hanslope-taken twenty one years ago whilst we were both strolling the banks of the Mersey. www.ianhanslope.com

Turneround.

2011-12-05T14:13:00.000-08:00

And so, the winner of this years Turner prize has been announced. Twenty five thousand nicker goes to Martin Boyce and his ironing board.

Quite honestly, it really didn't matter who won, the prospective Art scene would still have been the loser.

Poor old Turner.

The difference between oil and water

2011-12-04T19:12:00.000-08:00

For me, a painting never really comes to life until I paint it in oils-it doesn't fight with me in quite the same way that acrylics do.

Something else that I've been battling...

Since first reading the Bugulosi book way back in the 80's, there's been a wealth of material made available, published both in book form and on the web, so I've been revisiting the Manson story in depth as these pieces take shape.

As my sketchbooks margins swell with side notes daily, it's becoming obvious to me that what was intended as a smaller series is transitioning into a larger collection of work, with the necessity for a complete artistic case study.

Rather than inflict my diversion into the territory of conspiracy theory , onto the readership purely here for the art, I shall be starting a second blog-title as yet undecided-early in the new year. I shall of course still be maintaining regular updates here.

Henry Miller

2011-12-02T13:14:00.000-08:00

Henry Miller
11" x 17"
Acrylic on canvas

If I were to be any writer, it would be Miller. His personal odyssey was a lifetime spent in pursuit of beautiful women, quantified as a spiritual, artistic journey.

Enough reason right there, except he also lived until the ripe old age of 88 and was still pursuing the tragic muse through his correspondence with Playmate Brenda Venus.

No dawning light, snuffed out too soon through a haze of alcoholic, druggy excess for old Miller.

Good for him, and better for us-for his books, particularly the Tropic series,which has been like a manifesto of aspiration through the years.

Not so much his drawings however. Sorry mister Miller.

Have a Holly Giclee Christmas

2011-11-30T17:11:00.000-08:00

Giclee signed Art prints

Forgive the cheesy post title, but I made another site update today, which includes a small print gallery for signed giclee's.

For the moment I've just added 'Crevolution' and 'Death of winter' in an 11" x 17" sized format, but will happily add more as demand justifies it.

And it being the season, I am also open to doing occasional one offs, just email me at orders@davidgoughart.com and let me know which piece you are interested in seeing.

It'll be better than sending a card for the holidays.

Legacy-an artist's general truth

2011-11-29T13:14:00.000-08:00

"Legacy-an artist's general truth"
48" x 24"
Oil on Canvas

My homage to Jen Trute-using the paints and brushes I inherited from her-a painting that infused my thoughts and feelings about an artist's legacy along with her own passions for the environment.

There's more I could say about it, but I'd rather leave part of it's mystery intact-it feels a fitting tribute in a way.

I think she would have liked it-she was certainly worthy of this artist's contemplation.

Ken Russell-The Old Devil

2011-11-28T18:51:00.001-08:00

Today, we slipped further into the mire of bad remakes and Avatar shlockbusters, because Ken Russell died. Russell of course directed 'Women in Love', 'Tommy' and two of my favorite movies-'Mahler' and 'The Devils', the latter notable in my formative years, because it was blacklisted by the 'Whitehouse' brigade as a video nasty, and was therefore as difficult to come by as an edible school dinner.

I did manage to get a dodgy VHS copy however, and over the years it surpassed it's novelty shock value to become as impact-full as Bosh's Earthly delights.

Russell inhabits the same stable as Roeg for me, belonging to an ever dwindling club of auteur's from a lost era when film makers elevated mainstream cinema to art house-bums on seats be damned.

Of course, you still can't see 'The Devils' on American TV or on Netflix, and I could be wrong, but I doubt Ken even has a Hollywood star, but here is 'the' scene that got the state censors knickers in a twist.

The apple never falls too far from the tree

2011-11-28T17:54:00.000-08:00

My daughter-Emma is in her final year at University, and recently began a series which I feel is her best work to date. Entitled the 'Competition' series and dealing with female identity through the use of makeup, I'm hugely proud of her accomplishment and thought I'd share her newest works here.

Incidentally, Emma has a blog of her own and I recommend my followers check it out.

Emmas Blog

Occupy Kickstarter

2011-11-27T09:43:00.000-08:00

Recently, I came into contact with a tremendous film maker-Jeff Durkin-who is trying to kickstart a project called "Art as a weapon". If the title sounds a little combative, then it's because it portrays the street Art movement in Burma as a liberating force for democracy-not only there, but as a model for potential change across the world.

Shephard Fairy is in it, and whilst regular readers will be aware that I have in various posts expressed my distaste for his work and the urban art movement in general, I do support and believe in the proactive message of Art for social change.

You can read about the project and donate as little or more than a $1 here:

Kickstart Art as a weapon

Night shifts

2011-11-26T22:39:00.000-08:00

Providing that I don't hate it in the morning, then the piece I am calling 'Legacy-an artists general truth' is finished.

Forgive the poorly lit photo, I'll post a better one once it's dry and in daylight.

Gough Medicine-Lest we forget.

2011-11-24T09:29:00.000-08:00

“They made us many promises, more than I can remember, but they kept only one; they promised to take our land, and they did.”

- Red Cloud

(photo)Two Indians beside burial platform.Original photograph of an Indian Burial by Roland W. Reed- 1912.

Healter Skelter

2011-11-23T17:23:00.000-08:00

Healter Skelter
12" x 12"
Acrylic on canvas

Oddly, the murder of Sharon Tate is in the news again-an auction house claiming to have the ring she was wearing when she died-Tate's sister contesting the story. It's strange that artifacts of murdered victims are perceived as having increased value-almost as if they contain some residual, spiritual essence.

Anyway, this one is just a painted sketch, but I'm looking forward to expanding upon it when it comes to scaling it in oils. Being the signature piece of the series, I wanted it to look almost like a dark mystic totem,as well as denote the ancient Indian burial grounds said to be beneath the Spahn ranch-the one time home of the Manson family.

Speaking of buried tribes, it being the eve of Thanksgiving , the next few days shall be spent visiting my wife's family, but I hope to do some more daubing in between.

Turner classics

2011-11-22T12:03:00.000-08:00

It's Turner prize time again, that ultimate bench mark of high brow accolade in British contemporary Art, or as plummy art critic Brian Sewell once noted-"as inevitable as the pantomime at Christmas."

Former Turner prize winners have included such notable entries as Rachel Whiteread's plaster cast interior entitled with obligatory irony-'House' and Chris Offli's 'No woman no cry', a primitive portrait decorated with dry elephant turd.

This year promises to be rather more subdued-though no less a sensation-with the tabloids in on the joke with the usual fake apoplexy-Karla Black's painted bin liner sculptures, Martin Boyce's wonky bin. Trash if you like.

One of the entries this year however, is a practitioner of traditionalism-someone whom you could say is a true recipient of an award for whom it was named after-a landscape painter.

Much has been made of George Shaw's materials, because he doesn't use oil or acrylic-rather the Humbrol enamel that model makers use. His subject matter is the Coventry council estate were he grew up in, or those beleaguered eye sores on the peripheries-the dog turd on the pavement, expletives graffitied on a wall. It's all rendered immaculately with the sterility of a photograph, and I daresay meant to be some ironic statement about lost heritages, and the shadowy corners that lurk in forgotten towns.

Except there is nothing romantic about lowly provincial life, no mystery in the filth of urban sprawl-it's a skewed viewpoint as naive as the Airfix kits the paint was meant for, as detached as painting it from the secluded idyll in Devon, where he now resides. Its also literally soulless, for there are no people in Shaw's paintings. Perhaps that's the whole point-but I don't think so.

To my mind its as cliche as the shopping cart in the park lake, the traffic cone on the town hall statue-post modern.01-all done before by every amateur photographer and far better by art yob Banksy.

For all its technical bravado-sadly-Shaw's work is no different then than the other entries in this years prize-making an artform of grim poverty, and the elevation of the mundane, as some conciliatory artifact of the times.

What a further insult then to that percentage of a speculated 90,000 visitors,emboldened by a desire for a cultural pick me up who leave the gallery and return to what Shaw refers to as 'somewhere, where very little happens.'

The Turner prize is announced December 6th

Artful Dodger

2011-11-21T20:15:00.000-08:00

“Give me the child until he is seven and I’ll give you the man”
St. Francis Xavier

These arrived today from England. They were taken around 1969-1970 I think, I believe in our first real home in Liverpool, in what was the back yard.

It had an outside toilet which terrified me at night because it was unlit, full of dusty webs and spider carcasses, and a coal bunker, which I was always crawling into and getting into mischief.

It's odd looking at them from a California suburb over forty years later- rather like peering at something out of Dickens. I remember the picture with the building block being taken, my Mother telling me to leave my juice cup on the floor. I think I looked a lot like my eldest son as a baby and now my grandson.

Was I a happy baby? I think so, I had absolutely no concept about the future, though I was drawing even then.
I still have those scrawls somewhere and will dig them out for a future post.

Tracy Emin

2011-11-20T17:45:00.000-08:00

You can't really see from the photo, but that's meant to be a fragment from a recent Tracy Emin etching in the magpies beak.

Emin, of course is famous for her unmade bed, and infamous for making a complete arse of herself on British television.

I actually prefer her latter contribution to be perfectly honest. As for her work, to my mind it has always smacked of not just flogging Duchamp's dead horse, but excavating its dry hollow corpse and trying to sire children with it. That would probably make a better installation. Perhaps Damian Hirst ought to consider it for his next outing.

No doubt-Jen Trute-the artist who this work is a homage to-would fall under Emin's resentfull classification of stuckism, but then Jen was a considerably better painter than any sad sack of shit Emin could pass off as art. Perhaps that was the point.

Emin of course has already eclipsed any accolade one could hope for in the eternal pantheon, whereas Jen's legacy shall be eclipsed by time and the endless clamor for the shock of the new.

There go I and all that.

It's something of a pleasant nod and a wink then to make Emin the footnote in this piece.

At any rate, I'm around two more sessions from completing the piece.

Kerouac

2011-11-19T12:32:00.000-08:00

"Jack"
12" x 12"
Acrylic on canvas

To a certain generation-Kerouac is the one. For every aspiring writer or artist (although we had Gauguin) crippled with wanderlust from the paralyzing periphery of the every day, "On the road" was a bible manifesto.

Not that one can relate very much from a Liverpool back bedroom about road trips from Texas to Loredo-one would get as far as a Birmingham bus depot before becoming utterly disappointed.

Still one can dream.

Celestine

2011-11-19T11:30:00.000-08:00

Extinction Dance
60" x 48"
Acrylic on canvas

Someone I've recently had the good fortune of getting to know is a lovely young artist who goes by the name of Celestine. Having exhibited together at a couple of group shows here, it was a real pleasure the other day then to be given a personal tour of her solo exhibition at Pulse gallery.

Celestine-or Fei as I know her-was raised in China, and although she trained briefly in what she calls 'the Russian school of painting' when she was young, didn't begin her artistic odyssey until very recently.

One would never know.

The mess you left behind
30" x 24"
Oil on canvas

Her work seems thematically placed somewhere between the sensual half light of 80's film noir stained by an underbelly of vice and the muscular strokes of expressionism. Her paintings give that uneasy vantage point, through the so called Hollywood high life, late night last bubbles of bourbon and cocaine, and the toxic haze of cigar smoke.

The brittle beautiful child of Terry Rodgers and Eric Fischl without the sterility.

Beautiful Liar
40" x 40"
Oil on canvas

Sadly it's the final day before her show comes down, but anyone in the vicinity should catch this showcase if they can. Everyone else should follow what she does here-I fully intend to:

Celestine-in Darkness and Light.

About Face

2011-11-18T22:34:00.000-08:00

Whilst I've some catching up to do on blog duties, this post comes to you in a shiny new wrapper, along with news of my sites relaunch.

www.davidgoughart.com

It's a much more pristine affair, less Charles Barry -a bit more Walter Gropius, and whilst certain technicality will always elude my right brain, my years being stiffed on the sidelines as a designer, work in my favor for once.

There's some featured Limited Edition prints available, and in the coming weeks there will be additional Giclee prints added to the store.

Don't take my word for it, go see for yourself.

Fare warning

2011-11-15T08:21:00.000-08:00

I'm a few days short of my site revamp-not so much a spring clean as a fall overhaul.

In keeping with what shall be a more sparse affair, I am radically reducing the print section to a few featured items with limited availability. I shall also be dispensing with anything pre Theothanatos.

It's out with the old and in with the new.

If you've been sitting on the sidelines toying with the idea that one day you'd like to purchase a print from me, then now would be the time to do it.

2004-2007 Prints.

Duly noted.

Black Man Ray

2011-11-12T10:14:00.000-08:00

There aren't many songs I can think of about painters. Andy Warhol by Bowie, Pablo Picasso by Modern Lovers, also covered by Bowie.
My Dads old stalwart that would get him all dewy eyed-Vincent by Mclean.
The less said about the Lowry song, Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk cats and dogs the better.
Dali's car, by Bauhaus which was more about the Rainy Taxi than the artist I suppose.

Its raining here today. Monochrome drizzle. It could be a little slice of England outside my window-privet hedge and chimney steep.

Black Man Ray by China Crisis is playing on my itunes. That's a perfect slice of England right there-I'm sixteen and in my bedroom overlooking Anfield cemetery-probably in the rain-all my future hopes and dreams etched on every palid weathered grave stone. The rain falls like a curtain between the past and the present.

I think its my favorite song about an artist, even though its not actually about Man Ray. It could be more of a manifesto-Black-Man!! Ray!!

It has a lovely descending melody line near the end which always clinches a song for me.
They were from Liverpool too I think.

Pig

2011-11-11T14:36:00.000-08:00

Pig
12" x 12"
Acrylic on canvas

This one is meant to be reminiscent of so many of those early seventies pulp novels and film posters, all heralding some Satanic rite and the gory sacrifice of some buxom vixen-sort of Robert McGinnis meets Pan book of Horror.

And whilst I've often lamented the passage of simpler times, when such imagery would shine like a beacon from my local newsagent shelf, the introspectionn that permeates such chauvinism, is as eloquent as a comic book exclamation when faced with the brutalized reality of the murder of a young pregnant woman.

Which is why the curled pigs tail is like a semaphore-a ridiculous appendage taunting a schoolboy fantasy.

"Pig" of course was another of the bloodied messages left at the scene of the murders.

Rise

2011-11-10T15:29:00.000-08:00

"Rise" (study)
12" x 12"
Acrylic on canvas

Despite living here six years, I still haven't done "the Hollywood murder tour." Perhaps next time we visit.
Regardless, I believe the infamous house of the Manson murders has long since been demolished.

Its one of those visceral stories I remember being told by my father as a child.
Long before I saw Rosmary's Baby or the fearless Vampire killers, I knew about Sharon Tate and Charles Manson. Of course when I did catch the latter film, I was immediately captivated by her beauty-that tumbling red hair and pale alabaster skin-how could I not?

Since her murder, shes become an icon. That's what America does, it fosters the grotesque death of its celebrities and interweaves them as some part of its mythical fabric. JFK, Monroe, Dean...

That's why I have it in mind to do a mini series entitled- "the Haunting of the American Madonna and child" -though perhaps that title is rather lofty and wordy in retrospect.

This prelude is called "Rise", after one of the bloody epithets written in blood during the LaBianca murders. I've done it in a sort kaleidoscopic style of the period, her ethereal visage choked by Satanic horns and reptilian eye-a beauty lost in a dark tapestry.

Like I say, this is only a study produced in a couple of hours, but it's given me a foretaste of the direction I'll go in when I scale this and the subsequent pieces in oil.

Far beyond our Halloween

2011-10-31T19:06:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it was too bold a pronouncement, but I didn't complete the piece by All Hallows as I hoped I would-time eclipses ambition.

It can wait for another day.

For now, the Horror classics are queued and the Pumpkins are lit so...

Hellicious Halloween everyone.

Halloween Hoarder

2011-10-30T13:26:00.000-07:00

Growing up, there was no trick or treating in our neighborhood.

Our one concession I suppose was bob apple, and I remember one year my Mother even buying a turnip which she carved for us.

That didn't deter me from cracking my piggy bank and plundering my newsagent shelves for Horror fare however. Titles such as House of Mystery, Vault of Horror, Dracula and UK's own House of Hammer, were the bedtime stories I read to myself beneath blanketed torchlight.

I had quite the collection.

Unfortunately they were all lost when-under the ludicrous misconception that large quantities of paper attracted vermin-my Mother made me throw away my entire comic collection, and I recall swallowing back tears as the garbage truck swallowed my treasured childhood stockpile.

That's not entirely true, I was able to liberate some issues before they disappeared off to some Mersey landfill forever, and every year around this time, I leaf through there well thumbed pages.

Art After Death-Momento Mori-Oceanside Museum

2011-10-29T09:24:00.000-07:00

Last night could have awakened the dead. Or at least rattled a few bones.
We were at the posthumously titled "Art after Death" event at the OMA-attendees and patrons in full costumed regalia.

I must say its a singularly surreal experience to see a succession of zombies file past ones work-art imitating life imitating art.

The misses and I plumbed for something a little more subdued-sartorial period homages to Poe and Mary Shelly-or faux Poe as one of my circle quipped.

Another bedazzling blur of faces (masked or otherwise), consigned to the faded memorabilia of crumpled programs-thank you to everyone who made it happen and made it out to see us.

The show closes on October the 30th.

The Beat Goes On.

2011-10-26T08:40:00.000-07:00

"Gough’s oil paintings are beautifully done narratives often dealing with the cruel inevitability of mortality...

There's a pretty solid interview and review of my book in San Diego City Beat today, courtesy of Kinsee Morlan.

We actually talked for almost an hour early the other morning, and despite only being on my third brew-she somehow managed to make my ramblings lucid..

Thank you Kinsee.

You can read the full transcript from the following:

Art Depicting Death, by Kinsee Morlan

OMA closing reception just two days away, clobber out of moth balls.

In between I've set myself the task of completing the painting I am now calling "An Artists Hommage-a general truth" before All hallows.

I may need to conjure spirits to help me.

Day of the Dead

2011-10-24T20:05:00.000-07:00

No, I've never celebrated Dia De los Muertos before. Not until this weekend at any rate. We were there with our good friend and writer-Dahlia Jane, who was also our convivial tour guide.
Looking at the sugar skulls, garish alters and painted faces, it struck me that death has been made caricature in Mexican religious culture-a more palatable cartoon of its austere Catholic origins.

Afterward's, we wandered over to one of the Mausoleums to see the makeshift gallery-which would have been an unfortunate jumble of Sylvia Ji knockoffs, save for the exquisite Paul Koudounaris prints.

The true find was discovering Rudolph Valentino's tomb, icon of the silent era as well as the odd Bowie song.

From LA to Malibu we spent the latter half of the evening at the Crimson and Scarlett festival, and after watching lithe flame dancers and knights spin lightning on Tesla coils, I got to see the true magic of the evening -Christopher Ulrich painting live.
Chris and I first met at the Hive some years back, and regulars will know that I am huge admirer of his work-and consider him possibly the best artist currently in LA.

Chris cuts his own lightning swathes through linen, and moves like a shaman to a techno beat.

In between flourishes we spoke of the artist lot-as artists are want to do-and he told me he once worried that I was a protestant, which I thought was hilarious.

it was a pleasure to see him again and an honor to watch him work.

A splendid run up to this coming weekends festivities, and my thanks to the lovely Dahlia for making it happen. You can read her own blog's excellent summary of our visit Here and Here.

Momento Mori-Oceanside Museum of Art

2011-10-19T09:32:00.000-07:00

I think any artist will tell you that opening shows feel like a brief bittersweet culmination. Lost in the whirlwind hubbub of meet and greeting, and word trifling, and back slappery, one rarely gets the chance to meditate in tranquility, the earnest ambiance of the voices on the wall, the months of travail that brought everything to this point.

Which is why it seems so fitting then, that what thus far has been my most prestigious showing, opened without the usual trappings of champagne embellishments. Of course, the champagne shall still flow on the 28th, in what will be not so much of a reception as a closing, but that this particular show is a testament to the celebration of 'The' ultimate end, seems somehow oddly apropos.

Some thoughts on the collection-putting aside my own modest contributions for the moment, I was struck by not just the quality of work by my fellow journeyman, but the thematic restraint of the exhibit.

With All Hallows looming, thankfully this is no descent into what could have been the easy quagmire of schlock horror.
Other than my own pieces of course, my standout favorite painting was a work entitled "Horns". by Dan Allen, but my compliments to all the artists involved, along with the sterling work performed by the curators and staff at the OMA.

Full details of the Art after Death event on the 28th to follow.

On this day

2011-10-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

Depiction of Depict

2011-10-12T20:27:00.000-07:00

Dropped by the OMA today to pick up some flyers and a copy of Depict magazine.
Great full page of The Valley.

Since the exhibit hasn't been fully hung yet, I didn't get to chance a sneak peak at the work that will be on display, but I know something of my conferees, and the company shall be sterling.

Three long hot sleepless nights aead-fall santa ana relentless.

Pacific specific

2011-10-10T08:53:00.000-07:00

With the OMA-Momento Mori show opening in less than a week, here's another nice little article that someone drew my attention to in Pacific Magazine.

October is ramping up to be a month of activity, punctuated with the obligatory late night mining of Netflix for 60's and 70's Horror classics.

I did however make it into the studio yesterday, and spent the hours embellishing details on the (working title) "Red reaper" piece.

Depict Magazine article

2011-10-07T08:36:00.000-07:00

Further to my City Beat unpublished interview post, I've discovered a rather wonderful new magazine has posted this article for the forthcoming OMA show-remember your mortality, featuring a large splendid picture of 'The Valley' and a mention of someone you've never heard of.

You can read it online here:

DEPICT MAGAZINE

City Beat interview

2011-10-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

I did an exclusive, comprehensive interview with San Diego City Beat some weeks ago for my book, with the view that it was scheduled for the following issue.

It never materialized.

Whither it ever finds it's way into print, is on the bewildering whims of that particular papers editorship and a continuing indication of the support (or lack there of) that I receive from the media here in my adopted home town.
Sad but true.

Here nether the less it is, in it's full unedited glory.

I must give credit to journo Michael Misselwitz for his great vainglorious attempts to get it in last/last/this/next weeks/years issues.

Upon moving from the UK to the US, why did you chose San Diego specifically?

I wish I could say it was arbitrary, except we moved here purely because it was my wife’s home-turf, and since she had roots here, we thought it would be easier to make that transition from anglophile to American. Of course the reverse proved to be true.

It says in your press release that you were effected by what you saw as “extreme fundamentalism” in the media. Can you tell me more about this? In your opinion, what is extreme fundamentalism and how is it affecting media?

Having gotten my news from the good old stoic BBC for most of my life, the shocking thing for me was to suddenly be confronted with news that was delivered as opinion. It wasn’t news relayed as factual, dry reportage-it felt filtered through some scary party rally cry, where the fires of nationalism are stoked through paranoia and the fears of McCarthyism. In some respects, I think a lot of if has a certain amount to do with recapitulating the news as a theater, a sort of aspiration to be the Peter Finch character in Network-”mad, and not going to take it anymore”, but certainly if you look at what’s happening with Murdoch and his crew, the sense is that there is an underlying corrupt agenda beneath the surface that goes beyond mere ratings.

What do you think compelled the San Diego Art Institute to label you their featured artist for 2010?

Firstly, I felt extremely honored when I was approached, although I must admit that when I was told that they felt my work had a certain youthful appeal, there was a small niggling doubt in the back of my mind that I might be recast as some ghastly Ed Hardy knock off. Of course, that’s not giving the faculty or the students enough credit, because as it turned out, the exhibit was received with a great deal of reverence, and in fact I was told that often the kids would come and sit in quiet contemplation through out the day, almost as if they were meditating in church, which I thought was a delicious irony.

When you transitioned the emphasis of your series from the themes of The Theothanatos to the themes of Dead/Ends, you shifted focus from themes of “human origin” to themes death, death’s aftermath, and post-apocalypse. Your book describes the transition as a natural evolution, part of art’s ever-changing intention.Tell me more about this. What inspired the 180 shift?

Particularly with this series, the questions seemed so intrinsically part of journey-both personally and conceptually-one question seemed the counterpoint of the other, so: “where do I come from?” would always segue into “how long have I got?”, and those questions became more emphatic, the more I considered loss and grieving-in this case three friends who had expired over a fifteen year period. Eventually one looks inward, and as I had just tured the cusp of 40, all the questions of my own mortality were brought to the fore.

In some ways the work was mercurial, the result of its own rational equation, although the emphasis for me was always more emotive than from a logical standpoint.

Did you abandon the work from The Theothanatos Series completely? If not, what elements were carried on into Dead/Ends, and why?

The series actually culminated in the Ghost pieces, once I’d painted “Is there life after death?” the question seemed to be about decay and legacy. Dead/Ends was the thread-tying them together, plus with the book in mind, there was the connotation that it sounded like dead friends. I suppose if there is one residual element to it, it’s that there was an arc because with an end there is always a beginning that follows, so were back to some framework of origin.

Do you truly believe that God is dead, as implied by the Theothanatos titling? Why or why not?

In less the Nietzschian view that implies-for me it was, do I believe in a God at all-an omnipotent figurehead-and sadly I would have to say no. Faced with that realization,the question for me became how does one mourn the passing of something that never existed? The series and the book then I suppose is a reconciliation, but also in doing so makes the assertion that one has an abiding need to supplant one God -or spiritual epicenter-for another.

How long have you been working on The Theothanatos Series and Dead/Ends?

The pieces themselves were produced over a three year period,the book was a year, although I like to think I’d been working towards this series my whole life.

If you had to title yourself professionally, what would your title be? How would you describe yourself as an artist?

Titles sound a little too groomed for the nine to five, I’m just a working man trying to survive by doing something I love.

Can you give me a list of your most popular past works?

That’s tough-I don’t know that one could ever label my work as populist, since popularity in any contemporary sense feels like the antithesis of what I do. People have a soft spot for “Incarceration”-I think that piece really speaks of the human condition. Before that, it was probably “Killing Time” (2006) or “Gods and Monsters” (2004). I don’t really know.

When is the exact date for the expected release of Dead/Ends?

Currently its available online from the link below as a limited signed edition until September 30th, after which it shall be available from October through Amazon and various specialist outlets. http://davidgoughart.com/Dead_Ends.html

Any news on the book tour? When will it begin?

No venues confirmed as yet, but books will be available at the Momento Mori show at Oceanside Museum of Art, where I am showing Oct 15th. Just to say that there will be three or four appearances in the fall here and possibly in LA. I’ll be posting regular updates through my site.

What do you see yourself doing in future with your professional artwork?

Aspiration will be my undoing- the disappointment can be so crushing. I know the work i am doing right now has no agenda beyond the journey, which is utterly fulfilling and enough to me for now. Beyond that-its as unknowable as an afterlife.

Our Father

2011-10-04T18:27:00.000-07:00

Further to it's recent release, here is another exclusive excerpt from my book-of Dead/Ends:

My dad Joseph, was a demolition man. Liverpool was a dereliction of extinct tenements, waiting to be razed to a landfill.

Caked in the muck of a days toil, he would often return with some relic—a yellow paged book or a faded tin toy.

The empty buildings were embellished with a forgotten era -cornices or metal fireplaces, wooden doors or roof slates could be stripped and sold for extra subsidy.

That’s the way it was during the searing summer of 77, when my Dad had clamored through a window onto a two- story building to retrieve the slate. Except the slate wasn’t secure, and as it slipped from its battens, my father lost his footing, falling thirty feet to the pavement below.

His body was shattered, his back broken and he spent the next eight months in a hospital healing, forcing himself to walk again, though he never truly recovered.

My Dad was a demolished man.

Years later, he would recount that there had been no slideshow of life flashing before him, only the presence of mind to land on his feet.

People would thank God, and say it was a miracle my Dad survived.
At the time I wondered why any merciful God would set him on a path to fall in the first place. To my mind, my dads suffering made the almighty fallible, a brat petulantly toying with lives on a whim, all for the sake of being afforded some graciousness for abstaining his hand from an untimely end.

It wasn’t any God I wanted to revere.

Two fathers fell that day.

Dead/Ends is available to order from HERE

Tentative.

2011-10-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

Tentative. That's how I've been feeling for sometime now. It may have began to percolate months ago, but probably manifested when I went to pay my respects to Jen Trute.

In that little studio of hers overlooking Oceanside bay, stacked vestiges of an artists working life condensed into boxes, unpainted canvases and medical equipment.

That it reminded me of John Liddy's post legacy, was all too much like bad de ja vu.
That arc again-that shadow.

It made me wonder what my own ramshackle legacy would be, how the final tally would be disseminated-the books, the materials, the art. When personal effects and debtors are settled, would the most I could hope for be a hidden artifact collecting dust in a thrift store corner?

So, on the day I was interviewing for my return to the bourgeois lot of a regular paycheck, I was also at Jen Trute's former studio, inheriting boxes of oil paint and brushes, stacks of canvas, volumes of art books.
Irony gluts like a bloated slug.

And yet, for all her penultimate generosity, for all my gratitude, I couldn't shake the sense of feeling like some ghastly vulture. It made me tentative, especially when I got home and unloaded the boxes.

Let me tell you that Jen Trute was as meticulous with her materials as she was her work. High quality paints were ordered into color category, whilst thousands of swatches on cards annotated mixed values, and brushes separated into jars by size and material-everything as pristine as the day she had purchased them.

It all felt a little intimidating-I felt a little unworthy of the torch being passed.

Until finally I realized the best way to break the spell, and honor her, would be to paint her-or at least an imagined portrait of her-since we were acquaintances but never met.
And what better way than to do it using the materials she lovingly procured. Here then is a progression of the new piece-"tentatively" called Red Reaper- but done very much in the spirit, honor and paint of the incomparable Jen.

I think she would have liked it.

Upon a Midnight Dreary book review

2011-09-30T21:39:00.000-07:00

Written by the delectable Dahlia Jane for her blog of all things macabre-Upon a midnight dreary-the first review of Dead/Ends is in, and its really rather wonderful.

You can read it in full from the following:

Dead Ends Review

Ocean aside.

2011-09-25T09:31:00.000-07:00

I was forwarded this the other day. It's the flier for the Momento Mori show at the Oceanside Museum of Art.

What a lovely honor.

Speaking of which I dropped the two pieces I'm showing there yesterday.
They looked beautifully dressed in their new frames,as you can see below.

Momentum Mori

2011-09-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

Now that the book is out, and we are two weeks into the release, I can report with a resonant sigh of relief that sales of the first edition have been steady, and nobody has demanded their money back-yet.

Of course, I have to tip my hat to my regulars-you know who you are-from antipodean to anglophile-thanks for keeping the Dead alive.
So far reviews amongst my coterie have been positive, and having done a couple of interviews with local press this week, it seems to be gathering some momentum.

We'll see.

Momento Mori show at OMA is October 15th-both the "Valley" and "Legend" shall be exhibited, and I'll be on hand to sign books which shall also be available.

Meanwhile, work in the studio continues, even if it does feel sporadic for the moment, so between tickling "the wall" piece-today I began a new painting, which you can see taking shape in the studio shot below.

Dead/Ends-The Beginning of the End

2011-09-01T09:16:00.000-07:00

DEAD/ENDS ART BOOK

Here it finally is-A project literally three years in the making-Dead/Ends...as it were.

The order page is up and running, and I'm making a special limited edition signed (soft) release available for just 30 days.

There after, the book will be available through Amazon, Indie Store finder etc, with full ISBN.

Those who would still like a signed copy after that date, can come and purchase one in person, as I shall be doing a short tour here in San Diego.
Whilst venues are still to be announced- suffice to say that I can confirm that one of the dates coincides with my Momento Mori showing at the Oceanside Museum of Art on October 15th.

Exciting times ahead.

Below is the full official press release:

Enjoy.

==============================================================================

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

1/8/2011

San Diego

DEAD/ENDS words and pictures by David Gough

In 2005 artist David Gough left his English roots to live and work in America.

Affected by what he saw as extreme fundamentalism in the media, he began a series entitled The Theothanatos Series, which would deal with broad questions of religious dogma and human origin.

However, as the series developed, he began to confront more existential questions of his own mortality, bringing to the forefront memories of personal loss, and an obsession with both the human skull and the number three.

Dead/Ends presents twenty-five works as well as the annotations and recollections that shaped the series.

A special limited signed edition is available for a thirty days online from the following link:

http://davidgoughart.com/Dead_Ends.html

In October, the Book shall be available on Amazon, followed by a short book tour in San Diego. Venues to be announced.

FOREWORD BY DAVID BUCKLEY

Author of Strange Fascination: David Bowie — the Definitive Story, No Mercy: the Authorised and Uncensored Biography of the Stranglers, R.E.M. Fiction: an Alternative Biography, David Buckley,reflects on parallels between the lyrics of David Bowie and Gough's Art, as well as growing up in their mutual home town of Liverpool.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Raised in Liverpool, England, David Gough has been working as a professional artist for over twenty years.A former commercial illustrator, now living in the U.S, his work has been collected and licensed worldwide, as well as being exhibited and collected both in prominent exhibitions in the U.K, as well as being a regular addition to shows on both the West and East coasts of the U.S. Recently he was honored with the distinction of featured artist of 2010 at the San Diego Art Institute, as well as being featured at gallery’s in LA and Monterrey.

In the coming months, his work shall be included at the Oceanside Museum of Art as part of the 'Momeneto Mori' show

###

Better Days

2011-08-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

Simple as that really!

Fare to Middling?

2011-08-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

Remember this one? I sold it to a private buyer in Switzerland today.

Last month I sold one of my flagship pieces-Home is where the hurt is.

Both pieces I sold on my own volition-that is to say, no gallery, curator or agent (discounting the inter webs) was involved in the sale. It has been the case for 99% of everything I've sold.

I did fifteen shows last year.
I sold three pieces.
Two where to people I already knew.
The third was to someone who was already a fan.

Whilst it is true to say, that as the artist-I(me) shall always have my (own) best interests at heart, the reality behooves-what use the middle man?

If anyone-artist/curator out there has an answer,I'd love to hear it.

Footnotes

2011-08-22T09:10:00.000-07:00

Worked some more on The Wailing Wall piece this weekend, tickling details for hours and lost in the translucent layers of marbling the skin. It's becoming so intensive, and as I wandered around the el Greco to Dali exhibit at the San Diego Museum of Art yesterday, I couldn't help but feel like a serf.

When historians account the long shadow of everything that has gone before, I shall not even be a footnote.

Bumped into living master Lance Richlin in the gift shop, who was also naturally there to see the Spaniards, and reminded myself that I need to get up to LA to visit his studio and get some pointers.

Having wandered amongst an indelible cannon of the permanent collection at SDMA , it was almost capricious to see this list on San Diego Magazines site entitled-100 works of Art to see before you die in SD.

Church of the Nativity? The Soledad cross? Snake Path? Trolley Dances? Nikigator? Normal Heights Neon Sign?... my god, I could go on and on and on about how these choices inhabit the unbridled ineptitude of understanding the aesthetic, of what constitutes even a vestige of artistic relevance.

Instead I shall differ to trying to see how the total plum the depth vacuousness of any of these choices can take precedence over anything in the SDMA, with the notable exception of "Quince, Cabbage, Melon and Cucumber" which the curators actually chose to include in the list.

What else but a collection of bland vegetables, however.

Perhaps I have no issue with being less than a footnote after all.

Dead/Ends book site.

2011-08-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

Here-as promised-is the sister site for my forthcoming Dead/Ends book, which doesn't have all the working links yet, but does have some preview pages up. In the coming weeks, there will be additional pages detailing reviews, the upcoming book tour and that all important how to order a copy.

Check it out.

http://www.davidgoughart.com/Dead_Ends.html

Crashing out with Sylvian

2011-08-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

Here's a detail of the piece I've been laboring over for a few months now. I'm calling it "The Wailing Wall", which I realized when I listened to my playlist today, is also the lyric from David Sylvian's song "The weathered wall."-

"...Grieving for the loss of heaven,
weeping for the loss of heaven.
By the wailing wall."

In the foreword of my upcoming book, David Buckley talks about another David (Bowie), but it's Sylvian who has mostly been the aural accompaniment to this series these last three years. I still trot out the "main man" from time to time of course-nothing like the first funeral bars of Warsazwa to help me get in the mood to plough that furrow-but the former Japan front-man's, avant, melodic, jazz melancholy seems to set the perfect studio ambiance when I paint.
So credit where credit is due, and perhaps I should send him a copy.

Before the book goes to press next week, I'm launching a Dead/Ends sister site in a couple of days,where you will be able to order your own printed edition.

Trimming the fat

2011-08-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

September has always been my favorite month-the last of the summer sun casting long shadows could be my disposition manifest-o. Its apt then, that September the first shall be the official online release of Dead/Ends.
Finally!
I'm relaunching my site on the same day. No small potatoes.

I find myself at a crossroads with this blog then.
Part of the reason why I've been on hiatus from blogging duties, is because I've been trying to decide whether to continue in the same vein, or to reboot entirely.
In the endless ether of Twitter and Facebook status, its difficult not to feel like the verbiage of blogging is an archaic art-form, just adding more noise. And whilst I've always tried to keep this blog as lite, esoteric and accessible as possible, I can't help feeling that the keyboard confessional has begun to feel akin to flab drooping over the hemline.

One of the main selling points I've felt of doing it, was to give subscribers sneak peaks at whatever happened to be evolving on my easel and include whatever else was influencing me on the periphery. However,I've noted that there have been one or two other artists out there, who have been approximating my ideas and trading them off as there own, effectively beating me to the post (and the gallery) before the paint is even dry.

I've also sensed that the nature of making my posts as culturally inclusive as possible, has taken the focus away from my art, and done little in the way of favor for generating sales or broadening my exposure.

So, I guess its time to trim the fat.

At the moment, I'm unsure if that means I shall discontinue this blog, and migrate like a lot of people have to Tumblr, or if it means archiving the last four years and beginning from scratch here, but if anyone has any input on what they would prefer, then please let me know.

Jen Trute-1960/2011

2011-07-27T15:54:00.000-07:00

Whilst I am sad to admit that I never met Jen Trute in person, I knew her art.

In the past, whenever I've been too swift to dismiss the superfluous excesses of San Diego's art scene, it's always been a welcome reminder to myself that Jen Trute more than eclipsed the chasm of vacuousness and artifice, with the astonishing yardstick of her mastery.

Technically of course, she was flawless,tossing off the kind of flourishes that would leave the best of us slack jawed on the periphery, but her work also had that rare thing of conceptual clarity-never suffering the obliqueness that so often subdues the viewer, and is a perfect get out card for so many surrealist poseurs.

Despite the darker themes, her work was also as disarmingly bright and airy as the long hot summer days that she spent in her Carlsbad studio, where I paid my respects yesterday.

Like I said, I didn't know Jen,but from the meticulous way that she organized her brushes to the hundreds of carefully mixed swatches she compiled, I can tell you that she was the "real deal". So many of us are just charlatans in the incredible, remarkable wake of her work.

We are all richer for her astonishing legacy and she shall be sorely missed.

Lucian Freud

2011-07-21T14:12:00.000-07:00

Lucian Freud is dead.

What a tremendous, prolific, uncompromising shadow he cast across the ever diminishing artistic landscape of figurative painting. Certainly, everyone from Jenny Saville to this no mark has been touched by his impressive legacy.

Meanwhile, Banksy and Damien Hirst are still alive.

It doesn't seem fair somehow.

Change the record.

2011-07-14T08:40:00.000-07:00

Whilst cycling through my local sun washed suburb yesterday, it struck me how incongruous it was to be listening to Iggys "the Idiot."
Granted, reading Dostoevsky's tome on a bike would have been further up the incongruity scale, but it set me thinking that "incongruous", has been my default of late.

For instance, I felt it when standing in the Huntington gallery last week.
Have you been there?
If you are ever in San Marino, I recommend you do so for its tranquil gardens alone, but it was whilst standing between it's collection of colonial paintings by Gainsborough and the like, offset against a room overwhelmed by Sam Francis ghastly abstract 'Free floating clouds' that set me feeling at odds.

Then I felt it the day cy Twombly died, as the usually suspect capital "A" arse as art-o-sphere, tumbled over itself with wet lipped genuflection.

It reared its head again, listening to David Sylvian's latest outing "Died in the Wool" ,as I sat before a blank 11" x 14", and considered the work I'd prefer to be spending my hours on right now, over the drip drip trickle of trying to sell fifty buck a pop study's that leave me barely scratching for a living at the moment.

Sometimes the soundtrack of descent drowns out the internal soundtrack with its relentless drone, but I've decided it's time to turn up the volume on my incongruous tracklist and play what I like from now on.

Its not as if anyone is dancing anyway.

The con in context.

2011-07-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

Here is one of eight etchings from Tracy Emin's new series-"Love is what you want".

A former Turner Prize nominee, Tracy of course, is a highly renowned contemporary "artist" with installations and exhibitions in gallery's and museum collections worldwide. No doubt Tracy spent many months carefully preparing for the latest exhibit at the London Hayward, in which work will likely fly off the walls during its run through August. Splendid.

Here is something I drew when I was five years old.

It's all about context though isn't it?

Back in the day

2011-06-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

As I write, my eldest son Joe, and his young lady are mere hours away from staying with us. Ten days of the best that the West has to offer, whilst taking some much needed time to catch up,relax and restock.
We are very excited.

In the absence of any new art news then, here is a token self portrait from way back in 1988, when I was my son's age-look at those specs.

Time takes a cigarette.

2011-06-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

What is it with the unrelentingly jaunty Bob Marley at Starbucks? Should I be supping my coffee from a bong?

Fathers day weekend was sublime, even from this distance-brunch at the 94th Aero squadron, additions to my burgeoning graphic novel collection, foreign mondo horror, time with my beautiful wife, and still enough time in the studio to continue working the new piece.

Just a tid bit for now, and I wish the photo wasn't so washed out, but at this stage it could all turn out differently anyway.

Enlightening conversation with another artist this weekend too.

It dawns that some of the higher profile curators here in San Diego, are nought but used car salesman,happy to pass off old banger's and foreign knock offs as pedigree, but shying from vintage models for fear it'll expose them for the charlatans they are.

Status quo.

It looks like the book shall finally be put to bed or grass or wherever these things go. Yes I know I've been promising this for eons, but I received the foreword from David Buckley this weekend-talk about endorsements of high gravitas, yes sir indeed. City who...?

Currently it sits with my editor, and all being well, I'm looking at a late July release online, with a full release in the fall.

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it-Marley.

Kafka

2011-06-16T16:52:00.000-07:00

"...the balls of his tiny limbs had a little sticky stuff on them—and rested there momentarily from his exertion. Then he made an effort to turn the key in the lock with his mouth. Unfortunately it seemed that he had no real teeth." The Metamorphosis-Franz Kafka

For me the surreal, absurd horror of Kafka's masterwork, is up there. It inhabits the dark neurotic corners of every paranoid mind, and depicts a killing jar for all the isolated angst inherent in the human condition.

That he was largely ignored as a writer through his life is a microcosm as telling as Gregor's grotesque transformation from man to dung beetle.

Here then is my painted homage, rendered in a semi German expressionist style-bug eyed and liquefying.

Incidentally, Tim Roth did a wonderful performance as Gregor directed by Steven Berkoff for British TV in the 80's, which I feel was definitive. if anybody knows where I can find a DVD copy of this I'd be hugely grateful.

Gough Medicine: The Detractor

2011-06-13T15:36:00.000-07:00

"It is easy - terribly easy - to shake a man's faith in himself. To take advantage of that, to break a man's spirit is devil's work."

George Bernard Shaw

Above: Hitler at an early Degenerate Art exhibition, Dresden, 1935. Paintings: Erich Heckel: Seated Man; Ernst Ludwig Kirchner: Five Women; Hans Grundig: Boy With Broken Arm; Johannes Tietz: Double Image

The House of the Future Show

2011-06-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

Don't really know where to begin telling you about Saturdays show. I could tell you it was like PT Barnum on LSD.

Or that it was like the entire San Diego underground had converged on a house on a hill and held an end of the world party.

Or that I'd wandered down a weird rabbit hole, dream,vortex, but no...NO!!...none of that really cuts it.

Maybe it was that holographic Dali clock, warping time, but as trite as it sounds, at times if felt like being submerged in a bizarro dream.

One where I talked at length with legend Selwyn Lissack, the designer of Dali's clock,who had me on the floor with anecdotes about meetings with the surreal grandmaster.

Or one where I bumped into my wife's beautiful cousin Juju Namjai, and discovered that she was in fact this incredible, talented, sensual lead singer of a band called Orchestra Mustachio.

In fact, it was a night of old friends...

Except I wasn't dreaming, because I captured some choice shots before my camera died. I only wish I had more.

Me with two Legends Patty Rangel, Selwyn Lissack

Lovely Alisha, one of my buyers.

My gorgeous wife sitting on what we called the 70's porn couch, wearing a top she designed as a homage to the surreal expressionist masterpiece-Bride of Frankenstein.

The incomparable Juju with her band, wearing make up inspired by Dali's Mae West painting.

Some thank you's in order-Ian Ashley and her husband for hosting the extravaganza, Dennis Batt and everyone from San Diego Visual Arts Guild who organised the event, as always my extended friends and family who came out in support of my work and everyone who had such great things to say about my art.

Keep it Surreal San Diego

2011-06-04T09:59:00.000-07:00

Let the surrealism shindig commence, San Diego's menagerie of collective dreamers, in the house, and one Salvador Dali.

Actually it's one of his holographic clocks, not the man himself-how awesome would that be...a zombified Dali?
Although I'd spend the entire evening cowering in a corner, so not to melt beneath that withering mustachioed gaze.

I dare say the grand master's spirit shall be there.

So to recap:

8:00 until late at The House of the Future,
5481 Toyon Road, San Diego, CA 92115

See you cats there.

But not this one-this on is channeling Mother Theresa.

One wilderness for another.

2011-06-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

Tough day yesterday-first day post holiday blues, little helped by the relentless feeling that I'm nought but a stray dog in this damn town.
You know the kind-the one that chases passing cars or its own tail.
Hours of snarling misanthropy ensue.

Such as the delightful slice of scrawled solipsism-'Portrait of the Artist as an Old Man,' (above) which you'd be forgiven for thinking is the culmination of all my post rebuff venting, but has actually been percolating for a while.
Painted version to follow soon.

Or this photo of one of my lovely young buyers, proudly holding one of my paintings-'Oracle'. Thank you Alisha.

Or the hilarious painting I completed last night, which I can't reveal yet, but had me laughing out loud for the joy of doing it, purely as a gift for someone special.

Perhaps yesterday wasn't so bad after all.

Idealising in Idyllwild.

2011-05-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

If we could live anywhere, it would be in a place like Idyllwild. That's where we spent Memorial weekend, in a little wood cabin-just the sound of rustled leaves and woodpeckers to break the tranquility, or hiking through nature trails beneath the brow of Mount Tahquitz.

Naturally, I love towns that are like a frozen pocket of time- little mom 'n pop shops cluttered with old books and antiquity, dirt roads lined with rusty old trucks.

So I was surprised then, that it also has a good deal of gallery's, betraying the usual hobbyist fare with some really strong contemporary work *

The food was naturally wonderful because I had the best chef in the world-Lani, concocting the most mouth watering deliciousness-hearty fuel for those long steep walks, food for the very soul.

In an ideal world, a world shrunk to the size of small town, a world small enough to make sense of, I would enliven days spent in seclusion of an airy studio there, in an enclave overlooking the mist covered peaks.

It would be perfect.

It would be enough.

*paintings Carol Mills

Looking to the Future

2011-05-16T10:36:00.000-07:00

Not heard anything of how Friday's New Brow show was received.

Seen nothing in the way of press from the usual suspects either-oh well.

Regardless, if anybody reading did stop by and perhaps took some pictures, I'd love to hear from you.

The weekend was full to the brim at any rate, delectable dinner at Urban Solace and a painting exchange with family on Friday (they bought this piece-with thanks), before a portrait sitting with our friend Shawna the following day-of which the first raw flourishes are going remarkably well.

Also stopped by Impact and picked up some stretched canvas prints, which are so incredible as to be almost indistinguishable from the originals.

They are going to be shown as part of a featured event through Synergy, which runs annually here in San Diego.
Apparently the venue is a huge Art Party-the only Art party worthy of attending by all accounts, at an open residence called 'the House of the Future'.
Surrealism is the theme this year, and as well as the chance to showcase in this very unique way, the real sweetner was that my work shall be displayed alongside a Dali hologram. Yes-that's right- that's grand master Salvador Dali-you may have heard of him.

The show starts at eight till late, Saturday 4th June, tickets are $20 before event, or $25 at the door. Part of proceeds go towards helping the San Diego Artists guild.

House of the Future
548 Toyon Rd,
San Diego,
CA 92115

Something for the weekend

2011-05-13T13:30:00.000-07:00

A reminder that the New Brow IV show is occurring at the Alternative Cafe this evening. Unfortunately, the costly logistics of getting up there, mean I shalln't be in attendance , but in my absence, I've sent three of my pieces to keep you company.

If Monterrey is too far a prospect , my old mucker and fellow art journeyman-Mark Jesinoski is showing here in San Diego tonight.

Mark is one of a few great abstractionists working today, so I recommend checking out his work to see how it should be done.
He's showing at Coalesce Gallery 2360 India Street, Little Italy San Diego Ca 92101-6pm | 9pm

And finally, my daughter-Emma- just got her first write up for a recent showcase in a local Liverpool inkie called Object of Dreams on page 6 of the Like it / Love it section.

This is wonderful news and I am so proud of her for all her hard work paying off.
Well done Emma.x
You can see the full magazine through the link here:

http://issuu.com/objectofdreams/docs/issue5

Momento Mori

2011-05-12T11:03:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know I said I wouldn't be painting any more skulls, but with the end of the world looming on May 21st, it seems as good a time as any to trot out some good old fashioned Gothic fire and brimstone.

Actually, I wish I could take complete credit for realizing this piece, except I must come clean and tell you that it was painted verbatim from a photo of a marble sculpture I've been storing on my hard drive for a while. I'm presuming the sculpture is medieval, possibly by some unknown artist since a general search has garnered little, but if somebody out there has the knowledge, I'd be only too happy to revise the piece with the obligatory post 'after...'

Whoever the artist was, I think the original work is beautiful and is typical of the kind of artifact that you see in European churches and mausoleums everywhere, conveying how adept even the most anonymous taskmaster was at one time.

As an exercise in aesthetics there is none better.

Like doomsday, the Alternative Cafe show is pending, and it was lovely to see this photo on Facebook this morning, of preparations for the show. That's Osmosis sharing wall space with a Chris Mars I believe.

Talk about a party like its 1999.

Ghost Ships of Mars

2011-05-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

I really like this small study I produced today-it could be the ethereal fragment from a half recalled dream, a didactic comment on Bin Laden's final resting place, a reconciliation of memories of my hometown or the illustrated cover from a proposed 1970's sci-fi novel, as yet unwritten-possibly by Heinlein.
It's ambiguous enough to say that it has no meaning other than the potential for every meaning, which is entirely what art should be I suppose- open to endless interpretation.

For shits and giggles I comped another cover, this time in the style of those pulp stalwarts-Pan books. Oh how I'd have loved to have been an artist in that lost Golden age before Photoshop and Getty images. Perhaps some budding Heinlein or Asimov out there feels thus inspired to write prose for the imagined jacket?

New Brow IV

2011-05-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

Packaged and shipped the three pieces for the New Brow IV show in Monterrey this week, which knocked me back over a hundred nicker-Cor blimey guvnor!!

It'll be worth it though, with such luminaries as Chris Mars, Eric Joyner, Buddy Nestor et al, my work shall be in amongst some stellar company.

No fear of this one being publicized then, I even saw my name taking equal space on an ad in Juxtapoz.

Sadly, the logistics of making the nine hour trek there this time around, mean we are unable to attend.
Sorry we are bummed about it too.

Still, anyone in the vicinity that night will still be in for an evening of grand guignol.

Let the work speak for itself.

Show opens May 13th, 6pm to 12pm at The Alternative Cafe gallery.
1230 Fremont Blvd, Seaside, CA 93955

Charles Bukowski

2011-05-05T08:42:00.001-07:00

"...Made crazy and sick by this,
Made violent,
Made inhuman,
By this.
The heart is blackened..."

"Dinosauria, We" Charles Bukowski

Where have I been?

I've been unplugged from the relentless 'Fuck Yeah-America' and 'Obama still blows' since the news about Bin Laden broke on Sunday night.

As homesick as I'm feeling, it's no bad thing.

I wonder what old Hank Bukowski would have made of all the hoo haw.
Possibly he'd have procured some acerbic sleight or laconic bon mot about cowboy ideology, or perhaps he'd have just sacked off the whole sorry shit and gotten wasted at some seedy dive bar.

He'd have not taken to Twitter or Facebook however-most certainly not.

Anyway, I resurrected his incredible visage, that face that looks ravaged by shrapnel, that jawline that could blot out the sun, those eyes that narrow like razor slashes, and painted it in a few spare hours yesterday.

Dead/Ends Announcement : David Buckley

2011-04-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

For those who have been inquiring about my book-'Dead/Ends' which was originally scheduled for online release today, there has been a small delay of a month or so.

One of the reasons is because we are now going to be fortunate enough to have a contribution by none other than David Buckley, who shall be writing the foreword.

For the uninitiated, David is a tremendous writer and biographer, whose credits include 'R.E.M. - Fiction: an Alternative Biography', 'The Thrill Of It All: the Biography of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music', 'No Mercy: the Authorised and Uncensored Biography of the Stranglers' and the wonderful 'Strange Fascination: David Bowie-the definitive story'-the latter being what I consider the uncontested authoritative work on the Thin White Duke. As if that isn't enough he is also a regular contributor to Mojo magazine as well as writing the official sleeve notes on major Bowie reissues such as 'Ziggy Stardust', 'Diamond Dogs' and 'Young Americans', and currently he is working on a bio "Electric Dreams- the Human League, Heaven 17 and the Sound Of The Steel City", scheduled around the time of the 30th anniversary of "Dare"

A full bibliography is available to read and purchase here:

David Buckley Amazon List

As well as sharing a mutual regard for all things Bowie related, we also both grew up in Liverpool in the Seventies and so this is very exciting and something we are hugely appreciative of.

More news about the official release date for Dead/Ends coming soon.

Get off my Damned Back

2011-04-29T11:33:00.000-07:00

Truth be told, I came to this drawing, paralyzed by momentary artists block. I seldom suffer from the problem, and if I have in the past, it's come as a result of crippling self doubt or an overwhelming feeling of despair. This however, was just an off day, a case of the blah's.
Over the years, I've developed a few fast antidotes to get around it, one is that old warhorse of letting one's subconscious take the reigns, because often it will throw out some surprising results.

Certainly that's the case with this automatic drawing, done free form in one sitting with no preliminaries-'Get off my damned back', is one of those pieces that as much as I am going to pick at the bones of it's execution, on reflection is honest and could relate to so many different things going on beneath the surface, which is entirely the point of being an artist.

Auction Here.

Naked contemporary

2011-04-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

Here's a quick nude study in oil I did today just for fun. I think that I could spend my days in painted contemplation of the human form, I suppose it's the transcendence of adulation, the depth of just merely relating or some such wank.

Talking of playing with yourself, Huff Post had an article today entitled Top Ten Artists to watch. Unsurprisingly, Bruce Helander almost creams his gussets with genuflection,over a selection that wouldn't look out of place in a Home Depot skip or Fukushima landfill.

David Ellis-'True Value'

Notably in the list, was the only figurative piece by artist Peter Buechler, although it's hard to actually label the piece figurative, since he has chosen to decapitate the study leaving an empty featureless, muddy gray background.
Which on reflection, is probably as near a testament to the whole sorry travesty of contemporary art as one can get. I dare say he wasn't thinking that when he painted it, just cynically playing to the gallery no doubt, but with dross like Will Ryman's 'Roses' endorsed as a yardstick by the White House National Endowment for Arts, what hope is there for the future of Art.

Who watches the watchmen

2011-04-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

It's the 25th Anniversary of Chernobyl today, so one could be forgiven for thinking that this study was painted as a response to that.

In actuality, it was more generally about paranoia, the notion that depending on one's belief, something all knowing, omnipotent and powerful sits forever on the periphery watching our every move. It could be God, Big Brother or Extraterrestrial depending on your preference.

As a nice aside, My wife thought it looked like the cover of an old pulp novel, so I threw together a quick comp, just for fun in Photoshop.

Cruci-fiction

2011-04-23T10:45:00.000-07:00

Easter weekend. No holiday concessions or chocolate confections here, not even a Chuck Heston epic on Teevee.

May have to see if Netflix is streaming 'Last Temptation', 'Life of Brian' or 'Watership Down' though. Shall not be entertaining the gore porn of Mel Gibson's 'The Passion...'

I think it speaks volumes that the Christian right love that snuff movie.
Eli Roth ought to take note's.

Despite what one might imagine, I do love how darkly twisted the whole crucifixion 'story' is. it even ends with a zombie Jesus.

Whenever one of the self righteous feels inclined to lob a hate label at my work , it's always nice to remind them of some of the beautifully subversive examples of Gods venerated son, hanging as Al Pacino so succinctly put it in 'Devils Advocate'-'Like a slab of veal'.

Here are some of my favorites:

Mathias Grunewald-The Crucifixion

Salvador Dali-Crucifixion-Hypercubic Body

Max Beckman-The Descent from the Cross

Zdislaw Becksinski

Osmosis

2011-04-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

'Osmosis'
Oil on Canvas
24" x 36"

I couldn't tell you who said a painting is never finished, merely abandoned.

Certainly I could have tinkered with this piece for weeks. In the end, that old warhorse of time was my enemy, but having labored four twelve hour days in a row, the end result can hardly said to be rushed, or hopefully any the less for having stepped away now.

I think its a vast improvement on my original drawing at any rate.

It shall be one of three pieces I am showing on May 13th at Alternative Cafe for the New Brow IV show.

George Orwell

2011-04-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

'Orwell'
Oil on Canvas
11" x 14"

“The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.”

George Orwell

So, George Orwell-soothsaying, scribe of totalitarianism, a harbinger of future assimilation-that eternal jackboot on the throat of the proletariat.

'Orwellian', has now become a vernacular as common as lobbing the stink bomb of Nazism, on any legislation or party one refutes (or should that be 'refudiates?')

It's all come to pass in one form or another of course- Doublethink, Newspeak,historical revisionism, peace through endless war with an unseen assailant-was he merely anticipating an endpoint, or did he unwittingly become the architect of a Bible for demagogues and tyrants to cherry pick from?

It doesn't matter, we'll never see his like again, the 'powers that be' would never allow it.

Dead / Ends-a taster part two

2011-04-14T09:48:00.000-07:00

Continuing with preparations for the forthcoming release of my book-Dead/Ends-here is another exclusive excerpt for you to read.

I shall also be making an announcement in the coming weeks with regards to a special contribution from an esteemed writer. More to follow soon.

FINDING / DOG

"When I was 16 I became all consumed with getting high-anything to elevate myself from the gray dirge of provinciality, anything to get me closer to knock, knocking on heavens door, and finding God in a ring of fire or the Garden of Earthly delights.

Sitting in a circle sparking a spliff did nothing for me, it had to be the total mindgasm of hallucinogenic submission.

I’d tried unsuccessfully with a girl I was fond of on my Art course, after we’d convinced ourselves some fungus in the adjoining field held promise. Unfortunately, it provoked nothing more than a puking session in the adjoining toilets.

Finally, at a party in some ghastly council house backwater, magic mushrooms were procured at which point without prompting, I chomped the little black headed veggies like candy, before swilling the gritty remnants from a cheap beer can.

An hour later, and I’m in the midst of a spastic freak out, convinced that the Cyprus trees across the road, are involved in a brutal fight to the death. I am consumed by mortal terror at the sight of this, & take flight, avoiding the valley chasms that are opening between gaps in the pavement, and marveling at my ability to traverse them.

Somehow, and it felt like days but could have been hours, I find my way home, and am met by the neighborhood mutt who stands between myself and my front door.

The little dogs head inflates like a balloon and I dwarf beneath its bulbous magnificence.

No ring of fire, no God, just a little sausage dog with a fifty foot head."

Fukushima

2011-04-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

So I read that Fukushima has finally been elevated to a level seven-the same par as Chernobyl then-that's good. Apparently, level seven is the highest category for a nuclear event of this kind-I imagine there is no higher grade for when your hair falls out and your internal organs begin to bleed from your orifices.

It's difficult not to be paranoid about radiation-paranoid as in Glenn Beck paranoid. You can't see it, you can't smell it, but it's there ever waiting to be a shadow on your lung-a goiter in your thyroid.
EPA monitoring reported a spike here in San Diego, and for the last three days both Lani and I have had streaming allergies. Could it be...?

I recall reading once that back in the 50's, when they were still trying to advocate radiation as having hygienic properties, some bright spark thought he might stave halitosis by swilling radiated water daily. Eventually his jaw fell off.

You know what's worse than radiation-Googling about radiation!?!
Fukushima is happening because of a new world order conspiracy. Or It's project Blue Beam. Or It's Aliens. Or HAARP. It's divine retribution. It's the second gunman on the grassy knoll. It's the man behind the curtain. The jet-stream flies right over our house.

There ought to be a public health warning about Googling before bedtime.

I long for the days when radiation meant a different kind of webslinging.

With great power...except in this instance, it's not some smiting deity or shadowy government, we are all responsible, because we never demanded anything else, just as long as we could still plug in our wide screen TV's and have hot running water...

We never learn.

Lani Inc.

2011-04-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

I've heard it said somewhere that behind every good man is a better woman. Certainly that's true of my wife-Lani.

I realize I don't acknowledge it enough, but not only is she my greatest champion, but she has supported my flights of fantasy unstintingly, some times in the face of possible destitution.

At Art events she is my eternally patient companion, standing by my side whilst my attentions are diverted by the throng before chauffeuring me home at some ungodly hour. She never complains.

On days when I am floundering, she elevates my diminishing spirits with belief in myself again.

I am beyond lucky.

This weekend was fairly revelatory about a few things, and at her suggestion, we have decided that Lani will be taking an even more active role in my career and shall now be representing me.

Two heads are always going to be better than one, and my time and focus is better served in the studio, than haggling with dealers and seeking out new walls to exhibit from.

I shall still be blogging here regularly of course, so no change there, but there may be additional updates from her too, which will be fun.

So in the spirit of our new arrangement, I did as I was told and retreated to my studio, and christened my brand new easel.

See what you think.

Byte Size

2011-04-08T15:55:00.000-07:00

Between battling a head cold, keeping busy in the studio, an artist friend stopping by in the interim to watch me work, and then Shay's thing tonight, there's been little time for a full update, so my apologies.

However, I did finally manage to get the link for the Art Rocks show I did last month-I've only listened to a portion of it, since I'm not comfortable hearing myself-but it's available from the following link for those that want to:

Art Rocks Radio Featuring David Gough

Pacific Power

2011-04-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Finally picked up a few copies of Pacific-it looks none too shabby.
My minor contribution came out a little heavy on the blacks, but still-it's there in glorious CMY and lots of K.

Sean's (Brennan) winning entry looks suitably contemporary on the cover, and could sit comfortably alongside an issue of Modern Painters.
Good for you Sean.

Cherish it, or use it to wrap up old potato peelings, but get yourself a copy.

Dead / Ends-a taster part one

2011-04-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

All being well, my book-Dead/Ends shall be receiving it's premier release on April 30th, and so in the intervening weeks, I shall be posting exclusive excerpts from it. Please note that the following is as yet unedited and may differ slightly in it's final incarnation.

Death/Mask

"We moved three times when I was young.

The first time, was to a Victorian Terrace in Toxteth, Liverpool.

It had an outside toilet, a coal-bunker and rooms you could still refer to as a parlor and vestibule. Of course it was pretty dilapidated, and as more of the neighborhood tenants moved out, leaving the adjacent houses vacant, the rodents moved in.

My hysterical, irrational fear of rats began there.

I would have been five when upon investigating a tapping noise in the electric meter cupboard, a large brown rat fell as unceremoniously, as only a rat can, into my lap.
Its pink worm like tail twitched, as a bubble of spittle and blood formed on its greasy, gray lips, from the poison it had ingested.

In that moment I felt an epiphany, as all of my understanding of what it meant to die, seemed crystalline in the revulsion and horror I felt from that point, because in those black beaded eyes that rolled to yellow white, I realized that death had a face."

Mourning Tea

2011-03-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

Mourning Tea
11" x 14"
Acrylic on Canvas

Still life isn't something I ever felt a calling toward, but it doesn't hurt to occasionally stretch other muscles.

This quick study started out as an idea I had for something I wanted to ruminate on between the pages of my forthcoming book-Dead/Ends.
It's much better served I think as a quick study, which I've done in a semi-impressionist style for incongruity, but it deals with that thing we English have of procuring tea whenever there is news of a bereavement. Having been the recipient of such news and the obligatory brew, its always struck me as an odd juxtaposition-the cold chill of mortality served with a hot, sweet comfort of a tea in a delicate china cup-the forced civility of familiar rituals and table etiquette over human frailty and any potential social discomfort.

For such occasions, I've oft been tempted to craft a teapot from an skull, of course the various cracks and crevices of the dome would have to be plumbed to avoid leakage, but there the pot would sit amongst the doilies and china, grinning like....well death.

Here however-a black kettle will have to suffice-(because of course its a pot calling a...you got it), and as well as being a nod to my own artistic legacy, the skull having fallen (and oh how I delight in little symbolic gestures like that) there's that whole thing of a 'watched pot never boils', which could be as much about my artistic fortunes as anything.

And if there's any doubt sill left about my intent for this piece, there's the discarded pine cone, spent of its seed and looking for all the world like a lumpen, shriveled turd, either casting a reflection or staining the virgin white of the table cloth, depending on your preference.

Not bad for a mornings work.

Most Modern Art Contest-Pacific San Diego

2011-03-28T17:13:00.000-07:00

So my entry for the Most Modern Art contest has taken fifth place in Pacific magazine as voted for by Facebook supporters. Thank you.

The magazine is available from all Ralph stores, or to view online from the following:

Pacific San Diego Magazine.