Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Domestic Interior II


You don't get to know if what you did was the right thing or not.

You can spend the rest of your life eating your liver over it.

They spin the wheel, you put your money down.


This picture reminds me of my Mom, for some reason. It also reminds me of Eric Fischl.

"What I did on my summer vacation."


I am in a bitter, lost, restless frame of mind. I find myself to be poor company. But I'm getting a lot of art done.

That's worth something, at least to me.

I won't ever make money or garner fame from my work, but it feeds my soul and that is what it is supposed to be doing. I think it could feed some other souls, too. There's enough. But how cool that I don't have to have a gallery or a rep or even enough storage space for all this shit. I just make it, and put it up on my little space here, and there it is. Some other living people can see it, and if they like it they can copy it and look at it all they want. Or they could do like I do, and use it as a jumping off place themselves.

Anyway. I'm lucky that I found photoshop. I can't paint or draw worth a shit, but I think what I'm able to do with my images is real. It feels real to me. I get to see what I kind of see in my mind's eye when I'm starting the work. And it comes out pretty good, not hamstrung by my own inabilities.

I never tire of the play. I could do it twenty hours a day, seven days a week.


There is highs and lows and right now I am diving, diving, diving, reaching for the darkest bottom. Swimming through the depths, feeling the bone-chilling cold and the ear-squeezing pressure and the solitude and the loneliness and the soundlessness of the deep.

It could be that soon I will burst out into the sunlight, lungs heaving.

It could well be.





Blogger Maggie May said...

i hope not to spend the rest of my life eating my liver, but the last month has been liver every night.

love this image. it evokes my grandmother for me, and innocence, and the encapsulation of memories, how they take one moment and magnify it, to mean whatever meaning we trap it with.

10:21 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

i'm very glad you make this art and that i found your blog and get to see your work.

love the words too.

and love to know about the love between you and your wife and the love you have for your kid, even inside the troubles.

that pretty much covers things.

4:28 AM  
Blogger susan t. landry said...

scott, your artwork is compelling, dark, sardonic. i was immediately hooked.
in unpacking, repacking, my endless cartons, i came across a postcard i've had for years...and just now tracked down the artist, online. you might find him/his work intriguing.

many thanks for all you bring to the after-party.

8:10 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm a huge fan. Would love to see it all in a book.

9:03 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I know you are struggling right now. I am sending good thoughts your way.

You know, you give me hope, and faith in the human condition. I see you fighting the good fight, and I am inspired. Not to keep going, because I will always keep going, but I'm inspired to know that there are others really fighting for love. To the death!

I'm real proud of you, girl. I hope Ever brings you all the love you can stand and more.



4:07 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Dottie Bones-

Well, you made my day. I gather the same kind of strength watching you as you raise your boy and deal with family and work and bad hair days.

You are definitely one of the good ones.

Thank you for everything.



4:10 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I suspect that you and I are kindred souls. And 'compelling, dark, sardonic!'

I will take that to my grave. You say the nicest things!

And yes, big fan of Guy Johnson.



4:13 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I'd like to see it all in a book, too.

Something big and heavy that you could flip through on slow days.

Thank you.

4:14 PM  
Anonymous flamingo dancer said...

Grateful that you create your art.

2:05 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

flamingo dancer-

thanks. I'm glad you get something from it, and grateful.



10:30 AM  
Blogger Maggie May said...


Your message to me was the message I'd like to get from my father, if I had one. One I would ever be in the same room with, or could look in the eye. I never really had a Dad. Thank you for that support. It made me feel...choked up.


7:53 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


yr welcome. don't choke, though. bad for baby.

7:56 AM  
Blogger Maggie May said...


12:41 PM  
Blogger Ms. Moon said...

Just saying I'm reading. I'm liking. Sigh. Oh. For all the time in the world to go back to the beginning of all of this blog.
I'll grab what I can in snatches.

1:43 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Ms. Moon-

I'll let you in on one of my deep, dark secrets:

When I am at my absolutely rock-bottom lowest, I'll load this bitch up and go back to the beginning of it and just read and read and read.

It never fails to astound and amaze and bring profound comfort.

I shouldn't admit that, I suppose, but what the fuck. I like my work.

Anyway, if you do engage in such a pursuit, I hope you get something out of it you can take with you and keep.

I hope so.



2:15 PM  
Blogger Petit fleur said...

Whoa. I hope you don't have to spend too much time in the depths. It's right chilly down there.

Good for you for appreciating your own work and the process. I remember that satisfied exhaustion.


5:50 AM  
Blogger Petit fleur said...

PS You are officially blogrolled my friend. So is Lu!

5:51 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Petit Fleur-


5:32 PM  

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