Dykstra Prints...

For Dykstra prints, go to annotatedpaintings.blogspot.com

Live-blogging my life

It's ten-twenty. I just finished some eggs Benedict, which is unusual; I'm wearing Fruit of the Loom brief/boxer hybrids, which is not unusual (although the chalk gray horizontal pinstripes on a navy background is a little odd); and I'm painting Paul Krugman, which is fun.

I've shelved plans for painting That Ass, Donald Trump for the moment, but you never know when the fit will seize me.

Perspective

The word is perspective.

I'll have a Tanqueray on the rocks with four olives

Do you remember my theory that, just the way guitar players are fundamentally Stratocaster guys or Telecaster guys (even if you play a Gibson), painters are either green guys or blue guys? And that I'm a green guy (although that's not to say that my use of blue is, on occasion, celestial)?

Now, dear friends, we rewind perhaps fifty years to the young boy I was then, reading comic books in the attic of Ken and Joe [redacted]'s house in Bay Head, New Jersey; staring at the amazing characters Jack Kirby drew for Marvel Comics (Have I told you my theory that people are fundamentally Marvel guys or DC Comics guys?); gears turning in my head--gears that would slowly, ever so slowly, crank out, as if I were sausage, the greatest portrait painter of the 21st Century (Division 2). What a sight that was--I can see it in my mind's eye as I type.

I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then. To a certain degree, of course.

Now fast-forward fifty years to the pathetic wreck of a man I am today, wrestling with the question of what upcoming superhero movie I feel like going to next time I'm in New York (because Troy doesn't have any movie theaters).

Brief aside: Most comic book movies are complete trash. And I don't mean that in a good way. You should spend your movie money in a better way, given that we are now talking 12-15 bucks a crack, but not necessarily to see Werner Herzog's documentary about the cave drawings in the south of France because, despite the 32,000 year old paintings, which were stupendous, the movie was stupid and annoying.

Thor jumps to mind (Kirby drew him, if I remember correctly). And I'm a big fan of little Natalie Portman. But I think I'm going to go see Green Lantern instead. Because I saw the coming attractions, and there were moments when the entire screen appeared to be filled with the exact same color green as you can find in a bottle of Tangueray gin.



And it is my absolute favorite color in the whole world (the picture doesn't do it justice). Which is why, when I drink gin, I drink Tangueray. On the rocks with four olives.

Back to the Green Lantern: I'm only going for the green acid-flash experience. I'm sure it's gonna suck exactly as much as Thor, or any of the Spider Mans, if that's the plural in this case. Don't even ask me about Captain America. Iron Man, on the other hand, was actually pretty good. Also a Kirby character, but Robert Downey Jr. deserves all the credit. Likewise some of the Batmans.

Still, it's fun to spend a couple of hours in a big multiplex, with smuggled-in snacks (I like a ham and Swiss on rye with lettuce, tomato and mustard and a Snapple Arnold Palmer), watching a movie, no matter how crappy, and remembering the boy in the house, his little brain wrestling with issues like composition and gestural fluidity and whatever that word is for when parallel lines appear to meet at a point in the distance.

Constantinople?
Of course it's not Constantinople.
Oh.
It's something like juxtaposition, but I can't quite remember it and I can't decide what to google to find out.
Oh.
Or parallax. But that's not it either.
Man, you are a wreck, aren't you.
I suppose.

The painting in question

Since we're talking about it, I suppose it would help for me to put the painting up so you can look at it.



Mmmmm. There are now 300 some comments on ZH and I can't find the other one that I liked, but it went something like: "Is that a scarf around her neck or did she slit her throat?"

It's her hand, actually. Go figure.

Zero Hedge weighs in...

... on my Ayn Rand painting. Go here to peek specifically, or to zerohedge.com for the larger picture (not of my painting, but of the financial world). 123 comments and counting, some of which are amusing. Plus somebody sent me this one for transcription by email:

Annotation: "I don't know who you are. Therefore, you are nobody. Go away!"

I'm good with that. My favorite from Zero Hedge goes like this:

Raymond has captured Rand’s intense personality, her independence - certainly the opposite of the modern girl. Raymond’s brush opposes the Hollywood look. It’s a literary look - a face in defense of individualism, demanding the right to live one’s own life. A blazing comeback for Rand in a global age that would corral men’s souls. Rand would love it.

I love it!

Me too. But I'm a mean-spirited, selfish, egotistical little shit. So of course I would.

The Annotated Nails, Volume 2

Here is my Lenny Dykstra painting, almost done. The black annotations were taken, almost exclusively, from Dealbreaker content and comments. The exception would be, I suppose, my own personal annotation, which starts "this is the look of a man..." or something like that and traces an arc across the top of the painting, just above the title.

Are we calling that an arc?
Yes we are. A flat arc.
Or a line?
No, an arc. Look at the way it trails off near the end.

Anyway, I also included, because I'm a softie, the '86 Mets Opening Day starting lineup, in blue of all things, and Lenny's lifetime stats, in orange. Because, as they say, attention must be paid.

And now, as a bonus feature for you Mets lovers, I'm including what I believe to be the finest movie ever made--in the under-20-minutes category, of course. I mean, it's no McCabe and Mrs. Miller. But what is? And besides, it's good clean fun, although there is a brief bit of male frontal nudity around the 16 minute mark and subsequently the occasional exposed breast.

But do not miss the play at the 5:28 mark. It tells you everything you need to know about Keith Hernandez. Lord have mercy.

Personal confession: Sometimes I like to pretend I'm Keith.
Don't we all.
Particularly when he's kissing Elaine.
Okay--that might be too much.
Perhaps, but what's the point of having a blog if you don't bare your soul on a regular basis?

Here's the movie:

I'm Keith Hernandez from water&power on Vimeo.

The money is gone. They're taking the paintings

A friend just sent me this poem. It's quite something:



It's by a guy named, I'm thinking, Millard Fillmore.

You are perhaps thinking of Miller Williams?
Nicely said. That's exactly who I'm thinking about.



Meatballs ... or, living-blogging this whole bin Laden thing

Of course we're not actually live-blogging the bin Laden thing. It's over, except for the screaming, and we had to find out on the television, just like everybody else.

Which is fine, given our security clearance. But I do have to call your attention to a line from today's New York Times. It's in the article that gives the blow-by-blow of the day of the attack. It starts out with the usual thousand words or so of blah-blah-blah, but then launches into a description of how all the key players gathered in the sit room to watch the mission from start to finish. Ahhh, the miracle of technology.

The Times then writes:

A staffer went to Costco and came back with a mix of provisions--turkey pita wraps, cold shrimp, potato chips, soda.

What? Are they kidding? Doesn't the White House have one of the most accomplished kitchens in the world? I count 13 people in the now-famous picture of the team watching the mission in the basement of the White House.



Apparently, the White House has a fully-finished basement. Nice--living the American dream.

That look on Hillary Clinton's face is something, isn't it?
Boy, is it. Tense much?

Anyway, the White House can't come up with wraps and snacks for a dozen or so people? They have to send an aid to Costco?

I wonder if they got any meatballs.
I was just thinking the same thing.

For those of you out of the loop, Costco's frozen meatballs (you gotta heat them up or you'll break a tooth) are really just spectacular. I think they make a pork/beef blend and they are really tasty. I know several high-end caterers who buy their meatballs from Costco. When I first heard this was when I started realizing that caterers are really charlatans. I don't think they cook anything at all.

Anyway, how about that look on Hillary's face. The smart money says six years from now she's totally the POTUS.

Mazeltov.
Nicely said.
Beat's Trump doing it.
Donald Trump's candidacy ended at the White House Correspondents' Dinner, after the two or three minute savaging he took at the hands of Seth Meyer.
Trump looked really steamed, didn't he?
Yeah. You could have cooked your Costco meatballs on his head.
Totally.
Couldn't have happened to a nicer person. The man's an ass.

Mouth Under Construction

Barry and Shelly:



I wish I had a big Obama down on Wall Street right now. Nonetheless, this is the result of annotation at Daisy Bakers (a bar) during Troy Night Out. Which was good clean fun, mostly.

Easter Painting

What with O. Bin Laden dead, what better time to inflame religious tensions that are already running at an all-time high by posting my recent Easter painting?

I don't know about you, but I got my times screwed up and missed Easter. Or at least the church part. As penance, voila:



It's inspired by a stained glass window by the same title in St. Joseph's Church here in Troy. At the same time, there's (at least as I see it), a Matisse-like, joyous dancer thing going on.

For you completists, this canvas was originally painted horizontally and looked quite different. It was titled, at the time, "The Myth of the Rational Market (Reclining Nude)".

It stands six or so feet high and fills a corner of my studio quite nicely.