In support of another Bay Area artist ... oooh lordy.

I'm bereft of words. I have been following the work of Alex Pardee for the past 5 years or so, since high school basically. He's better known for his grotesque portraits, blood-thirsty Smurfs and other nightmarish creatures that really just want to love. Or eat your face. Probably the latter.
But, the video is amazing, and so is the look on Shia LeBeouf's face.

A Twitter for the Twat ... what?

I apparently have joined the "final frontier" of realtime updating and got a Twitter
I guess if I'm really serious about this networking and getting anything of mine off the ground, I'd better start kissing some twittering ass.

Scanning of the start of a possible screenprinting project may be in the works, hopefully with the careful guidance of a Paul Barron, whom you should check out anyway because he's awesome.

Continuing in the mollusk direction ... why, you may ask. Finally figured out my obsession: I will never ever be able to reach the depths of the sea at which these creatures can survive because of my ears (eardrums ruptured at age 4, any more pressure than just flying in an airplane gives me vertigo and immense pain), and I can't stand to be away from the ocean or water. We're biologically similar and it also gives a strange sense of the "uncanny" because they tend to resemble parts of ourselves (genitalia, limbs, etc.), somewhat in the same arena as zombies creep us out (living but dead) or prosthetic limbs. And yes, I am more or less quoting Mr. Eric Olson, whom was mentioned in an earlier post. At least some of what I learned in school is sticking and being applied, despite that it was, yes, art school.

Going back to sleep, despite the two cups of coffee.

If you really love me, let me eat your brains ...
♥
Caitlin

Death of a Swordswallower

This is pretty much every art critique I've ever had.
And also how I feel people will interpret the next poem.

In our avoidance, sharing that
same tide that eddied and
flowed through the hallways
Before the light rushed
Breathe in

Bad habits and genetics pouring from
sleepy skin, large unwashed ears
The cure cost me all but
two locks of hair twisting upward
and your bottle of cheap brandy Breathe
Out

Alone you pluck the same song
Head cradled on a block of cedar breath
Stricken, leave me some navigation,
And wait for the Sans Hecate's lovechild
Turn