One more pass-I keep telling myself-and this one will be done. I down my brushes and toss palettes, then spend the rest of the evening pacing in and out of the studio to pick holes in it, fighting the urge to paint over it, or at least crack the bastard over my knee.
Who was it said a painting is never finished, merely abandoned?
Its a kind of neurosis, I'd moot Van Gogh maddening except I'd be so lucky to be ailed by the kind of madness that has one knocking out five paintings before breakfast.
In a nightmarish purgatory somewhere, I work the same painting for a lifetime, the canvas caked ten foot thick with layers.
Quite aptly it'll be titled 'Misery acquaints man with strange bedfellows' when its done.
This particular bedfellow gives me no rest.
Just a missive to tell you that Serial Killer Culture is now available to stream for just $19.98, watch it now and receive a Free copy autographed by the film maker John Borowski when it drops on April 1st. I've not had chance to view it myself yet, as I'm doing some killing of my own, but having seen some snippets, it'll make for great viewing on this wet and windy weekend.
Stream and order from the following: serialkillerculture.filmbinder.com
Edit: You can also stream it from Amazon HERE
A work in progress of the piece currently on my easel-the Sycorax manifest as three sisters, or if you like, Shakespeare, Chekhov and Weishaupt in tow.There's a dinner party right there, and as good a piecemeal for what I have on my plate right now.
I'm at the halfway point you see , the eye of the storm I suppose, the midway curse-too far to go back, the point of no return. I have Dali up the rear, because when it doubt, one of his crutches will always do-a bigger stick to beat me with. I'll save my thoughts on the mustachioed minstrel for another time.
You can't see, but the Sycorax is spewing a fetid,toxic, black river-a virulent paint slug warping and manifesting into a mishapen hound. Like the words and images that dog us throughout, it's something that's vexed me of late-the legacy of what I do, the cause and effect, the imprint on the ether. If any.
We are all sinister architects in one form or another.
Finally bagged myself a copy courtesy of my daughter-Bad Vibes and Something Witchy sharing column space in an article about Serial Killers. Splendid.
Newcomers whose interest was piqued enough to make it thus far-Most Welcome!! For the uninitiated, the Cliff notes are as follows...
My insidious study of sinister architecture surrounding the Manson case culminated in a month of frenzied activity for the Man/son and the haunting of the American Madonna show, which ran during October 2012 at Hyaena Gallery in LA.
It was an undertaking borne in the mouth of madness,and by the end I was frazzled from dancing with dark forces and could hear Charlies grizzled voice in my sleep.
The full gallery's for the show can be found on my website:
http://davidgoughart.com/Manson_gallery.html
Those paintings, plus my crazed meanderings are noted for posterity in a book entitled Rise-which was released February last year and can be purchased from the following:
http://davidgoughart.com/Art_Books/Rise-Manson.php
The pieces are to be featured in a forthcoming documentary entitled Serial Killer Culture, which premiered in Chicago recently, and shall be streaming on Netflix soon-trailer below, details to follow:
I also did a podcast to discuss the series last year which you can listen to here:
Upon a midnight dreary podcast
I think that's about the size of it, but you are welcome to stick around,there's bigger and better things to come.
Way back when I was living in old Blighty, there was a crucial subscription of esoteric reading retinue which would inform and inspire the old muse, should she feel a dark appetite for general weirdness. That magazine was aptly titled-Bizarre.
It's with great delight and honor then, that I can announce that those awesome folks at Bizarre HQ have selected some of the pieces from the Man/son series for a feature on serial killer art, as well as decorating the cover with the work 'Something Witchy'-whereupon the deadly triumvirate of Manson,Hitler and Blavatsky glare ominously alongside a lucious redhead looking perhaps like a distant relative of Sharon Tate.
The arc continues.
I've not had a chance to look through a copy myself yet, but it goes on sale in the UK on the 21st and is available elsewhere (probably) at specialist outlets or through Zinio.com.
A yawning Satyr-a sketch detail from one of the new works, as good a point as any to state the years task ahead, or at least eight short months of it.
So-purgatory in Purgatorium- a year of dark intents, because the nights are already drawing in, the days longer with them-the stubble greying on my chinny chin chin.
At times each
painting feels like a scab you long to pick at endlessly, except Septembers deadline
spills in through the studio cracks, calling time before the year has
begun,and as much as it's about the alchemy of drying paint right now, we're already hemorrhaging eight days into January, and I'm trying hard to keep my fevered brain on the now. Anything beyond feels intangible and full of unquantifiable possibility-maybe even disappointment.
Perhaps that is the Artists modus, the relentless need to create, to quell the endpoint, deafen the inevitable silence,fill in the gaps.
Except I can't think of that right now-I have dark intents.
Onwards then.
"Oblivion shall own you-death alone shall love you"
You feel so lonely you could die-David Bowie
That's a detail from the piece "What's past is prologue".
The visage of a Bowie emerging from a bloodied scar could be a pretty apt summation of this year.
Why? Because if 2013 has seemed an endless tide of diminishing returns and fuck you affrontary, one beacon in this annus horribilis was the unexpected release of The Next Day.
It couldn't have come at a better time frankly.
It's the sound of an aging artist, fully aware of less time ahead than behind, refusing to go quietly.
When I hear it, I think of Goya's painting-"Fight with Cudgels" or even late Picasso daubing images of sirens pissing into the Bay of Biscay.
At times if there has seemed little hope than the visual echoes on canvas, the album has been a welcome companion.
For a year that's felt like merely marking time, that much bares witnessing.
Farewell 2013-fare better than I ever did in your care.
Here's to the next day.
