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Back in art school my friend Randy found a dead Pigeon and hid it in a cupboard in the painting studio. After hours a group of us took over the place, like cockroaches having a nightly party in the pantry. We painted, drank gallons of cheep wine and sometimes had big time wrestling matches. Randy would take his little rotting corpse bird out and paint his portrait. It seems like that bird was around for a long time. I can still recall that painting! It was about 4'x5' black and white and very expressionistic (we were all digging the New German Expressionist at that time). I think he did a few diptychs of it too. Relax, I am not going to keep this little guy stashed, for a memento moire painting. I have already given him a proper funeral, Frankenstein is my witness. But his colors and his life have entered my conscious. Thank you little bird. Thank you little Bombycilla cedrorum.
1 comment:
great story. the weaving together of art, life, memory, death--and cold hard fatality from an invisible glass wall.
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