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As A Novelist, I See Art Everywhere

As a novelist, it is my job to take a variety of drugs—smack, clappy, scrim-sham, bluppies, etc.—get really, really up there, then ride out the comedown with dark liquor and a tube of glue. Then, and only then, do I even think about writing a novel. You see, reaching these extreme highs and lows allows me to achieve the realization that there is art in everything.

‘Hey look, a tree!’ You, as a normal, drooling dullard may exclaim at the sight of a tree. But you’d be wrong. That tree is actually art. And I know that.

‘Wow, that cloud looks like a hamster!’ Your underdeveloped sense of vision may tell you. I’m sorry, but that cloud actually looks like Hobby Lobby, because that is the true birthplace of art. And also because the universe wouldn’t waste time sending you, a person who hasn’t even written a novel, a giant rain-filled rodent. Give the earth art, and she’ll give it right on back.

‘It transcends space, expresses the notion that there are no limits, no control; yes, chaos rules here—and it is beautiful,’ you cluck as you observe Autumn Rhythm. But as the novelist, I see…..a close up of ass hair? Maybe there’s some genitalia hidden in there somewhere. No, no. Just a bunch of ass hair clogging up a drain.

autumn-rhythm

Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock

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The Sunday Evening Art Corner

 

Sriracha and Mustard on Cafeteria Tray. April 11, 2018.

My harshest critics have called this piece a half-assed socio-political commentary on the current state of trade and culinary relations between the U.S.A. and Thailand, with a minor emphasis on the systemic sandbagging of mustard farm workers throughout the ‘yellow belt’ (the region of America blessed with ideal mustard plant growing conditions, which seems like it should be located in the southeast corner of Idaho).

In reality, all I did was try to pump some mustard out of the mustard pumping thing. There was some dried mustard caked up on there causing a partial clog. So the mustard came blasting out in an erratic spray pattern. Then I squirted some sriracha on top of the mustard. Then I finished the meal that I was using those condiments for, and sketched the above drawing using graphite on papyrus.

All Epochs Must Pass

I’ve been locked into a Cubist epoch for the past seven days. At the outset, I was extremely prolific, producing two paintings over the course of two days. Since last Friday, however, I have been toiling away on what I have decided must be the last of my Cubist works.

A floccinaucinihilipilificator might suggest this piece belongs in a dumpster behind an orphanage.

But it doesn’t. It is pulchritudinous. And sublime. And very, very lumpy.

Here is my ‘Late Cubism’ masterpiece, entitled Self Portrait, or also, The Bulge.

cubism3

Self Portrait, or, The Bulge, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

 

Rap Music: Does It Belong In My Cubist Epoch?

If you missed yesterday’s post, you have to be asking yourself “What the f*&k is an epoch?”

It’s okay, I was flummoxed too.

Two hours into my Cubist phase, even I was still thinking epoch was murdered by Notorious P.U.F.F. Daddy back in nine-six. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What in the world could Cubism have to do with rap music anyways?

Nothing, until now. In yesterday’s post, I also claimed I wasn’t creative enough to produce a Cubist work. I couldn’t have been more wrong there either. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called rapism? That looks bad. Try again. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called Curap? No, an uncreative person would not have that idea. That’s why I had that idea.

If yesterday’s painting was an example of my ‘early Cubist phase,’ then today’s installment is surely ‘high Curap.’ Here we see the artist (me) rip through the fabric of our tangible universe and stumble into a dimension all his own.

Heaven for a G, Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

Heaven for a G, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

The painting again makes use of cubes, there’s some liquor in there, and double meaning is incorporated—the ‘G’ in question stands of course for Georges Braque, and also for the way that rap music uses the letter, as an abbreviation of ‘guy.’

The epoch rages on.

 

My Cubist Epoch

After reading The Cubist Epoch by Douglas Cooper, I have decided to enter into a Cubist epoch of my own. While I do not possess the vision, creativity, or even paint necessary to complete a true Cubist work, I do have the desire to sarcastically mock the movement, much in the same way the book told me Marcel Duchamp did some 100 years ago.

So, I sat on my balcony, taking in the scene, wondering how Picasso and Braque would analyze and break down the space and figures before me. I opened a blank canvas in Microsoft Paint, and created the following tableau:

John Solicits Prostitute, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

Behatted John Solicits Prostitute, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

We can see me up there on the balcony, some cubes, the titular Behatted John, and of course, the prostitute wanting to get in on that dollar sign above the man’s head.

Not a bad first try if you ask me.

Categories: Books Tags: , , , , , , ,

My Life—‘A Brilliant Cadenza’

February 25, 2014 2 comments

The other night, while The Chick That Hangs Out At My Apartment Sometimes and I were sitting around, having a few beers, we decided to do something crazy. I got out a book that had just arrived in the mail. Within the pages sat a smorgasbord of moves and new ways of thinking that could be a lot of fun for a couple kids with a buzz on.

The book I’m referring to is My 60 Memorable Games, by Bobby Fischer.

It contains move by move notations of 60 matches handpicked by Fischer himself. Imagine being in the same room as Michelangelo wrote homoerotic poetry to Tommaso dei Cavalieri, or shaped a block of marble into the form of a nude man. Only on the rarest of occasions are we allowed to witness genius in action.

We chose a 1962 showdown between Fischer and Argentinian Julio Bolbochan. The match, titled in the book as ‘A Brilliant Cadenza,’ was immediately mistaken by me for ‘A Brilliant Credenza.’ My confusion was soon cleared up, as it was brought to my attention that a glorified cupboard had nothing to do with a chess game.

The whole point is this: when I write my autobiography, documenting the time I got my master’s degr—landed my dream jo—accomplished something, I am stealing A Brilliant Cadenza for the title of the book. Or I’ll use Brilliant Credenza, just to screw with people.

Categories: Books Tags: , , , , ,

Fan Art

This letter came in today:

Dear Mr. Philosophunculist:

I painted this owl for you in the hopes that you will recognize our spiritual connection. This is actually a painting of you, or as I see you in my imagination. You are wise and elegant, yet fierce.

I will be your field mouse, and you may hunt me.

Swoop down on me with your sharp beak, and eat me for dinner. I’m okay with that.

You may notice this owl looks like a combination of angry, suspicious, and judgmental. I imagine this may be how you see me.

As I painted your eyes, they pierced my soul. As your blurbs of wisdom often do.

Look at this note as creepy, haunting, weird, I don’t care. Our souls are connected, and you don’t even know it yet.

But you will in time. YOU WILL.

My sincerest regards,

Your soulmate.

owl

Categories: Random Tags: , , , ,
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