Dec 1

Since 1988, December 1st has been designated World AIDS Day. The year following this designation, the group Visual Aids also deemed it a Day Without Art to reflect on all that had been and will be lost due to the many voices and visions lost to AIDS.
It’s come to pass that I only really reflect on this whenever I’ve put together a December-long project and December 1 stands at the starting gate. I ponder whether I’m denying the spirit of this commemoration by, in fact, pushing out “art”, and not pulling it away.  
But it also occurs to me that considerations of the sacrifices made in the circle of Artdom are but teeny hollows marring the sphere of the “real” world, and removing something that was already not in the consciousness of most, has little impact.
I guess I rest in the place that it may be best to represent by putting forth a vision and a voice that might yet be seen and heard, that also carries reflections of our shared losses and vulnerabilities. 

Sentinel

The drill is not the only tool that open apertures. Not all these openings are large enough to accommodate human vision, but any opening, in any form are potential ports for sensing the world.

Can’t tell if this is correct, but this sounds pretty good in French:
La perceuse n’est pas le seul outil qui ouvre des ouvertures. Toutes ces ouvertures ne sont pas suffisamment grandes pour accueillir la vision humaine, mais toute ouverture, sous quelque forme que ce soit, constitue un port potentiel pour percevoir le monde.

What about Italian? Why not:
Il trapano non è l’unico strumento che apre delle aperture. Non tutte queste aperture sono abbastanza grandi da accogliere la vista umana, ma qualsiasi apertura, in qualsiasi forma, è una potenziale porta per percepire il mondo.

Dec 2

The Middle Occhio Bro

Of the 3 Occhio siblings, Mal, Buon & Pin, Buon is the least well known. He’s the beleaguered and forgotten Mid. He’s also somewhat hard to pin down. Having the “Jealous Eye” as an older brother is not an easy affair, what with the bullying and the hexes. Buon not only makes himself hard to find, but he festoons himself with amulets to ward off any spiritual noogies. 

It’s not an enviable position in which to sit, but his adornments work for him.
Overlooking the superstitiousness nature of the regalia for a moment, given the constant threats from pseudoscience in our current moment, it’s a thought that perhaps a firm grounding in the scientific method and the seeking mind can be girded with the aura of a  little bit o’ striking personal iconography.  

Dec 3

Manikin

The free and open exchange of gases, unpeppered with the lead shot of words. At some point this was our nature.
Then our brains grew bigger than our britches could afford and built a gatehouse in our throats.
And our tongues. Well, they found a freedom in surfing the blow, developing ever more acrobatic and risky behaviors.
So our nature is now forming and shaping wind into so many vaporous golems, each in our own likeness.

So enough of that. Today, I give you all a moment to arrest the mechanisms, and unman the gates to engage in simple gas displacement this morning.

And maybe some of the currents and ripples we send out this morning will bubble out to some of the rest of us by bedtime. 

Dec 4

Medusa

I’m thinking about dreaming in color and whether the monuments to ourselves we leave behind will be fully colored or distilled into the austere monochrome *we* have known history to be.
It turns out that the former depends largely on an individual’s generation and the media one grew up with. Apparently, reports of “full color” dreams rose after the advent of color television. 
How will the dreams and memories of future generations who’ve been raised on full fidelity visuals and potential full sensory media inputs be influenced by these added factors? But maybe it’s really more a function of the attention one pays – to anything, awake or asleep.

I’m also thinking about how our sensory inputs have misled our assumptions of the foundations on which *we* stand.  Manifest Destiny being among the self-serving assurances we’ve taken to be true with nary a bit of grounding. I won’t even try to get into whatever this is about…(But I’m assuming this is the Cliff Notes version.) I’m also thinking about the false trail on which the Occi/Euro culture built its foundational aesthetic principles on the austere beauty of antiquity, since many of the remnants of that antiquity were these gleaming white paeans to achievement, when in reality, they were gaudy, garish nightmares to the “sophisticated”  modernist eye. Anyway, I’m planning on re-reading David Batchelor’s Chromophobia this month. 

All of this is to say, man, it’s never too late to unsettle ourselves.  And to keep doing it over and over.

Dec 5

Aureole 

Geared up as if prepped for battle, or at minimum, an épée fencing match, this contraption offers about as much protection as an egg yolk.

This so reminds me of an interview I heard a decade-ish ago on WNYC with a survival expert on the topic of surviving in a re-ordered, post-apocalyptic world.  The interviewee highlighted the likely scenarios of individuals would face as they navigated the pressing needs of food procurement, defense, warmth & shelter, health maintenance, etc. in a world where society and its norms & structures had been destroyed.

The audience were invited to call in and share what hard skills they could offer to a ragtag community to help rebuild a society.  

Way more than one person called in to say the unique asset they brought to the table amounted to “people skills.”

Even the most remote fantasy benefits from some kind of grasp on reality.

Dec 6

Tell me you’re fat and furry without telling me you’re fat and furry

Depilated Poliphilius, an ursa of minor standing is not a teddy with which one wants to tangle. 

Being bereft of his full furriness has laid bare his bear trap of a mind which he bears on his nekkid sleeve.

Poliphilius’ follicly impaired state is indeed the activation point of his state of agitation. All he replied upon, all he found comfort in has seemingly evaporated for reasons unfathomable to him. The rational rationale that guided his walk in this world has turned interminably to the ‘ir’.

In a season without reason, even me most hairless bear must endure a trail of darkness, swept over with rotted tangerine toned fodder.

But even the slimmest threads of hope may serve as a sliver of Propecia-salmon dawn promising a Spring littered with a nascent carpet of familial and familiar phuzzy lucidity.

Dec 7

Vanzetti wore the Moustache

In a decidedly unHallmark move in this, the most Hallmark of all seasons, I confess I awoke with my mind bouncing along the ditty, Three in the back, klack, klack, klack.

Yesterday I skimmed over stories that focused on the divide of reactions to the recent assassination of the United Healthcare chief. At least one article blamed the discord on social media itself as the source of crass reaction and many an expert has chimed in on why this is the case. Indeed, the distanced, dehumanized interactions made possible by the angsty glory holes of Soc. Med have laid bare an incivility, but the true source lies elsewhere, I think, and that elsewhere is inside, deep inside us. 
In many speeches that have touched on such subjects as racism and violence, the current President has repeatedly said “that’s not us, ….that’s not who we are.” Of all the things he’s been wrong about, I think this is one of the most insidious in that it completely denies the true elements that make up the American (and human) body and it ignores the need to address and rectify the worst impulses we all share, and all need to take responsibility for. 
We all, ALL, also share the traits of charity and kindness, but we ourselves, driven by rhetorical and societal inputs implement complex channels that determine where those attributes are expended.
Then, you have our next President who has invested in the premise that our, all of our, social affirmatives are, in fact, assets.
I don’t know…I work with people who are grieving, and each person’s grief is their own. And although others can walk beside them, the grief is theirs alone to carry, all alone.  Let’s also say that each person’s natural place to NOT grieve, and even celebrate (distasteful as it seems…but let’s be honest, this may live in us too) the loss of someone/something is also their own. It’s not ideal, but it’s natural, given the kinds of trespasses we all suffer and also impose on each other. 
Sacco and Vanzetti were 20th Century poster children for the marginalized populations that have been and continue to be railroaded, exploited and oppressed. 
With this nation’s top spots of influence set to be occupied with a new/old strain of privileged class that harken back to the Robber Baron days of our past, the event of this week may be seen as an overture to a new Eat The Rich moment. 

Man…why am I writing to much? This is intended to be all about the masks…but as the masks are made of the moment and of the detritus of the moment, I guess it’s not a stretch to ask what the masks are all about.

Dec 8

Armare

Sometimes – maybe at all times, the armour we don is more talismanic in nature than actually defensive, but having donned it, we make it so….at least until the real sullied stuff hits the fan. 

But don it we do, and flaunt it when we can. And maybe that’s fine and dandy in the rough and tumble-dry of our daily do. An added benefit to the burden of this “outside” regalia is when we can slough it off in softer moments with our inside folk. 

So it seems to me that all any of us need are two suits; our outside, face the world ensemble, and the other, if we are lucky, is just HOME, where we can sink inside our most holy of worn, fuzzy and frayed vestments. And if I’m at HOME, you can imagine what I won’t be wearing. 

Dec 9

Omniphuss

Omniphuss is an avatar who is also a cautionary tale. 

Scientists have found there are two moments in an adult human’s life in which the aging process is condensed/accelerated. They’re like gateways through which we all must pass, and are showered with “oh, you thought you were doing so good..” doses of comeuppance.

Remarkably, Omniphuss seems to have stalled in one of these moments. 

The reasons for this are a mystery, but for experts in the mind/body interface, there is a strong consensus that his proclivity for worried prognostication has produced this perplexing predicament.

One may forestall, or even lessen the effects of the process we are all in, but there is no way to evade this most natural and inevitable of processes. (I myself have been losing articles of clothing. A perplexing predicament itself, and a worrying escalation from car keys to pants, but I’m working through it…and generally, after a couple days, they miraculously appear.) Indeed the misstep of Omniphuss that I’m working to sidestep is to not get stuck in that pants-less mindset. It’s probably best to acknowledge the situation, and move on, perhaps with a pair of shorts….wait, is this becoming about me?

Dec 10

Humeint

So he has the face of an Inquisitor, but Humeint is trying real hard to compensate by developing a warm, inviting persona that would prompt any average person to drop their emotional drawers, open up the most closeted parts of their soul and bare their truest of truths. 
His daily regimen consists of any three archived interviews by Terry Gross, a constant rotation of anything Fred Rogers and Bob Ross, topped of with special hypnopaedic setup where his slumbering mind is bathed with anything this guy has to say.

One may ask to what end, all of this self refinement and softening? 
Well, that’s a mystery, and Humeint might suggest you mind your own bloody business.

Dec 11

Viatrix

Crimson crowned unbound
Endowed with organs of flight
Settled on movement

Dec 12

Radik 

Ceremonially thorny, and also actually so in social scenarios, Radik harbors a great capacity to become flushed with warmth and beneficence in quiet, private moments. 

But ruffle his sense of personal space one is likely to come away with a few undesirable pricks and a case of dematitis. 

Dec 13

Phanta Claus

In this most superstitious* of seasons, there’s no better month to host a Friday the 13th than December. The rare occasion of this confluence is sure to conjure an appearance of Phanta Claus, an amorphous and generally benevolent holdover from the days of Saturnalia who revels in prank, merry and angst making.

As infrequent as visitations from this spector are, (be on the look out in Dec 2030) one can argue that Phanta Claus, more than any other of the seasons apparitions, represents the truest reflection of humankind’s inner nature in this time of the longest nights. Think a lampshade on one’s head to lighting the darkness in men’s hearts. 
As with the other phantasms of the of the season admonishing observers too behave well, Phanta Claus doesn’t give a fig for the relativistic moral status of your actions -this is about deterministism of self regulation…. It’s all on you.  And it’s all in you to suffer the consequences of your own making. 
Good luck!

*a widely held but unjustified belief in supernatural causation leading to certain consequences of an action or event, or a practice based on such a belief.

Dec 14

Play It As It Lays

The only D grade I ever received was in Foundations Sculpture in my Sophomore year of college. The source of this grade was a semester long project in which we were to create a valise of sculptural sketches shaped from found objects.  
The crux of the problem for me is that I couldn’t imagine how I could improve upon the physical nature of the things I found, so I left them as is. 

I still have a sense of wonder at that the natural things I encounter in the gutter (that is still the place I look the most) that are near perfect in one way or another. Just so for this blythe yellow headed fellow I found in the trash. He’s kind of perfect, doesn’t even smell and I could use him as is.

But I guess I do now have a broader imagination for “grander” schemes in which the treasures I encounter can play their own special role. And many of the personages in this calendar are embodiments of such schemes. 

Of course, even I know that societal situations are not equivalent to the potentially immutable character of detritus we met in the gutter. It should be clear which parts of a scenario in which we find ourselves are worth keeping and which need reworking. Somehow though, “we” are earning an F in not seeing the possibilities or enacting some kind of manipulation for the better. 

Today is the 12th Anniversary of the Sandy Hook shooting. Yet another in a line of occurrences that have seemingly been ignored  passed by, and left in the gutter of our consciousness. 

If I am ever invited to grace the centerfold of Playgirl my list of turnoffs would be tourists and other people’s children. Of course, never having children myself makes that a pretty universal claim… that has some jest in it. 

I’m an admitted foreigner to any and all a kinder enclave. Only once I was afforded just a taste of what, for a parent, is having the floor dropping out from under them. On Dec 14, 2012, was in a theater in Lausanne Switzerland throbbing with a frenzy of the sub 12 year old set for a Xmas Xtravaganza put on by Sonia Grimm. I was set on a visceral tidal wave of toddler fandom (there was a bit of creepy dad fandom in the air too)
Then, whiplash the next morning I learned of the event in CT.

What is unimaginable is to think of any of the people in power in the US, most of whom are parents, who have been presented with a tragedy and made not a vision of a new reality with it, but have left it still present and unchanged. 

Dec 15

Salvagium

We be the flotsam, not the jetsam. We are not unwanted or sacrificed.
We exist in tandem and at random.
We are orphans of the effluent, knitted together as a raft.
By chance gravitational accretion we are linked in species-ship

Here’s a bit of linguistic trivia: in Philippines English, salvage means to apprehend and execute (a suspected criminal) without trial.

Dec 16

Ein Kleiner Mann

The little man in me is littler even than I can ever be. 

He carries the angst and the slights and embarrassments for me.
It is I who carries he. 

He’s a jaunty little man with a gaily tipped hat and he does my dirty work for free. 

It is a nearly perfect situation for a coward like me. 

Dec 17

Taj

The two back bench philosophs on the local doing Genesis calculations and tracing the divinity of the living, breathing “Chad GPP” back to a fuzzy haired scientist in ID4, would have been better off consulting Taj, the oracle of sewer grate and arroyo.

A self-styling automaton with aspirations on par with Robbie the Robot, Taj might just guide public transit riders more directly to their hare-brained conclusions with fewer missed connections.

Dec 18

Papine

The effigy of Papine is known to elicit calm, contented and painless states of being. She is the personification of the opioid of living, a gender bent embodiment of Morpheus. 

If you’re lucky enough to experience an encounter with her, you might have visions of yourself being swaddled and lulled by the sway of a donkey’s traipsing gait through crisp alpine air.

Dec 19

Chasden

When moving into a time guided by grievance and where punishment replaces justice as a motivating principle, fair minded folks will look to an antidote, a kind of Grace Reaper.

Chasden’s entire persona is forged on the concept of principled justice. A figure standing in the breach to chasten the mob, Chasden’s true power is to exude a palpable spirit of rightness and fairness as if those qualities were distilled into an aromatic essence that can fill the breath of all those who too stand witness. 

Dec 20

Kardynal

Tonight we will reach our apex and the nadir of the sun’s position relative to us (Northern Hemisapiens). It’s all downhill from here for us as we now slide into longer doses of cosmic light.

But for now, whether accompanied by candlelight or not, I’d never curse The Darkness.

Dec 21

PurryFuss

The now lengthening days could be just the final ingredient you need to start strutting around with some PurryFuss IDGAF swagger. 

Now get out there!

Dec 22

Knersie

“Tiptoes in silence ’round my bed
And quiets the raindrops over my head.
With her everlasting smile
She stills my fever for a while.
Oh, nursie dear I’m glad you’re here
To brush away my pain.”

Nursie – Jethro Tull

Dec 23

Santa ED

From moments of mental vacancy to extravagant obesity and the naturally resulting joint pain, to any number of interior plumbing clusterf*s brought on by the time/age paradigm, we generally recognize that no mere mortal gets out of here unscathed by what we can affectionately call the ravages. We must, however, also accept this state even applies to saintly Elfen folk. 

Just today the latest ravage became apparent as the Jolly Old Sack arrived, seemingly now suffering from E.D. or Early Delivery. This seemingly innocuous ailment may appear to not have any negative effects – what’s a day, give or take? But think of the potential compounding deleterious effects for both the giver and recipient when the giver is particularly promiscuous, serving a whole line of recipients…. and if those recipients happen to learn of one another, and they start yapping with one another, as recipients are wont to do…. The compounding effect could be truly calamitous, once that first gun gets jumped. It really is a condition that leaves almost no one untouched. So, ’tis the season to try to practice patience and self love to avoide some  lamentable carol scenarios …. even if their opening chords did much to punch up our 2nd Pandemicmas.

Prior to my time at a well known cultural institution that rhymes with GoMA, there apparently was a large painting to be sent to another institution on loan.  Apparently when the crate that could comfortably accommodate five of your best friends hoisting a sixth best friend above their heads was opened at its destination, and it was empty. Now, that was likely a different type of E.D. (Early Dispatch), but on whichever end it happens, it really dampen the mood of yool. 

Dec 24

Jol

The heartwarming story of Jol is sure to inspire anyone who has a Who-heart. Jol is a fragment of a log that was destined be to turned Yule on some human family’s oversized hearth, but a team of stouthearted individuals liberated Jol and his constituent parts prior to the excruciating ordeal of fire. 

Jol is now extravagantly pampered, living his best holi-life and for once, enjoying this holiday season at a sanctuary dedicated to the survivors of human herbaceous sacrificial rites from around the world. He’s even struck up a caring relationship with a dandelion whose petals were cruelly being plucked out one by one in an agonizing soothsaying exercise to prognosticate whether the affection of a select individual would indeed be directed toward the petal puller.

Dec 25

Verrily Terrestrial

There’s little more cosmically eery than seeing the moon hanging in the sky in the middle of the day. It’s presence seems more real, more haunting in the banality of its smudgy self just fastened to the blue there in it’s daylight makeup. 

When not in the spotlight, not the center of attention, the true reality of the sphere is revealed, as it is for any banal body. Yet it’s there, of its own nature. It’s the puppet on the shelf as it actually, hauntingly exists, without the extra-animating effect of a foreign arm reaching up through its pucker place. 

We are so geared, we solipsapiens, to expect that all things exist for our benefit that recognizing, just for once, an instance of something present, not for our benefit, irritation or entertainment, that I believe some archaic and fundamental perplexion inside us is triggered.  I think the effect makes us alien, native as we are, in situ. Not too comfortable, perhaps, but what a thrilling way to be.

Here are two non-xmasisch tunes that so verrily are:
The Main Title Theme from Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid
&
Tequila (The Pretenders)

Says Me.

Dec 26

Tentarey

Tentarey is a devotional sprite rooted in the messy starts, in the tangled takeoffs of fanciful excursions sans map, save for the magnetic impulses of internal pulls, and she is full to the brim of the juice of youth. 

She was the first effigy to appear for this ensemble and from the start her representation embodied the easily attained footholds of regret and abandon, but just past those points, her spread web of curiosity led to corners worthy of exploration and pine needle pricks of fascination that prod one on. 

She is a tempting specter at the door who opens the way. But her inculcating glow illuminates not just the possible path but also the consolation of not crossing that threshold.

When one has reached a certain point, say maybe, an age, the spotlighted latter appears most natural to pursue since the projection into the former fades fast with no immediate body or form to reflect back any sense of definition, or purpose, even.

Must be said that I am at a point where any impulse sparked inside of me can use any and all spritely intervention to move this bulk to an elevated plane of action and from there discovery of some font of youthful juice. 

Tantareys all-round. On me. 

Dec 27

Scrawbed

The less than obvious peril of asphyxiation by powdered sugar inhalation has occupied my morning’s thoughts as I feel I’ve nearly succumbed to this seasonally induced fate more than once in the span of this project.

Dec 28

Scutio

Bright of limb and loin, not so much of mind, Scutio is nonetheless a loyal and careful watcher, and he takes his role quite seriously, perhaps watching a bit too closely, in the glass-to-the-ear on the shared wall kind of way. 

In any case, his nature has impaired his ability to speak..and even a little, his ability to breathe, so rest assured your secrets are safe with him. 

Dec 29

ave atque vale

I occasionally engage in an exercise inspired by my buddy Rich who introduced the idea of subtracting your age in years from the year of your birth to get a different sense of history on a personal scale. At the time he suggested it, I realized for the first time realized that WWII, in its entirety was closer to the year I was born than I was at that moment.  My mind boggled a bit. It’s a marvel to think how much closer we are to history than we generally conceive. Likely because world that existed before us will never not be foreign to us even as that foreign world slotted us in with no turbulence and suddenly became our own.  I think the boiling of a frog in a pot of water thing is the ruling paradigm at the root of any kind of self and near to self reflection. 

Much is made of looking forward.
Making art is said to be an act of memory, of remembering. I don’t deny that, but I see it as something more as an enmeshing of past, present and desire to create something representative of a Futurepresent.

Perspective is everything, therefore nothing is static. We simply jump, contort and shuck and jive with vigor to maintain a perspective of our liking. 

Returning to the time regression exercise, my birth year, walked back by my age sets me in 1920. My grandparents had yet to be born. Women earned the right to vote in the US, and Swiss men denied that right to women in that country. The League of Nations was formed. Prohibition began. The first commercial radio broadcast was made. The Dept. of Justice began a series of raids sweeping up suspected Communists, Anarchists and Leftists.  The KKK was revitalized in that year, with a visible campaign of terror.

These all stand out as pillars of history with consequential effects, but as with events of today, they were just ripples in the pot, some disconcerting to some, some heartening to some others. 

Perhaps the only things that do change over time are our accessories. 

Dec 30

Milkitawalt

Milkitawalt is a being of few words. Just Drill Baby, Drill. But he drills for the renewable resource of memory and experience to both inspire and drive his heroic pursuit of putting one foot in front of the other, then again, and again, as he moves forth into a great, not quite unknown, but into the great unremembered. 

Dec 31

Phleorge

Phleorge, our final character is a fluffy kind of a patron saint of nearlyfits everywhere, because nearly fitting is good enough, and a misfit is a mythical concept, which doesn’t exist if you have the right tools and the right perspective. 

Phleorge is also a representation of the creative impulse that reigns over some of us. Before there were bucket lists, there was the “what would it look like if I…”  repeated over and over again til death doth arrive. That is how much of my own behavior is ruled. And I think it’s not a bad place to be grounded in as the coming year moves into our mindspace.  Be the Buddha, let it come to you. We are already who we be. This coming year ain’t yet nothin’ to us. Let it prove itself to us, or let us simply Ariana Grande that shit and say “Thank you, NEXT!”

Thanks be to you for hanging in with this endeavor. Even as every other Advent Calendar petered out by design, We took rode this shit all the way, together.
As usual for me, this has been an “what would it look like if I…”  If you couldn’t tell, the text accompanying these images (the images are what this should be about) was all off the cuff, squeezed out of the tube each morning before hitting send….so more thoughtful editing, and stricter word count limits would have benefited us all……Also, that yesterday’s email had today’s date will haunt me for annuses to come….a reminder that grace should be self served as well as spread out….