Death Mariachi and the blizzards...

There must be some connection between the sun-soaked desert sounds of death mariachi and the sun-soaked deserts of Antarctica. Because listening to the entire Calexico catalog for the past week has spurred me on into a frenzy of ink, water and broken brushes, and ta da! I have completely finished the pieces for the upcoming show!

They are all here, in all their blue and white glory. (the images might look a bit dull, have no fear, it is my lack of photoshop on Stephen's computer.)

and the last for the day!

painting the second

Shackleton's wife asked him when he returned from the Antarctic why he didn't press on to the South Pole. His reply was....

First of the morning....

After spending the morning feeling excruciatingly guilty about not giving Cat fresh water in a couple days, I decided it was his just rewards for vomiting on my art. Okay, I didn't really decide that, but thinking that I did helps assuage my guilt.

And, here is the first piece of the day.


Two more to go.

first painting, first antarctic night.....

....after a twelve hour day, crippling hand pain and even skipping my facial, i've finished the first of the 10 or so i have left. Also, the second is almost finished, but I am opting instead for a dinner with Collin at the Harmony Grill as opposed to finishing. This means- gasp- three to complete for tomorrow.

impossible? never!

This also happens to be the image for the show's postcard. It is based on the Belgica which was the first ship to purposely freeze into the fast ice of the Antarctic waters for a winter.

"Through the First Antarctic Night"

Restless Days and Sleepless Nights

After a yesterday's fantastic meeting with the Swimming Pool Project Space and Annie Heckman, to discuss tidbits about Love Letters to Antarctica, I returned home energized and excited to finish up the work.

This was a bit dissuaded when I looked down at the stack of completed work later that night. Cat has taken to laying down on my long suffering drawing board, and while we were at dinner created the biggest brightest hairball on the work. I, like most artists am open to criticism, but this was tantamount to throwing a tomato at a performer.

I decided to just worry about it in the morning and I turned in. Things were going splendidly, till 3am when I was bright-eyed and not so bushy tailed. So, after spending the wee hours of 3am - 7am putzing around. I am going back to the drawing board and starting again.

The challenge now: 2 paintings a day.

We will see, we will see.....

Confessions of a Postage Stamp

Through a long and circuitous route I slowly developed an interest, bordering on obsession, about Antarctica.

It all began when my mom would read the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, and as she read this poem I would visualize the ill-fated Albatross. Years later I remembered the poem and began a fascination with what I consider the most amazing bird on the planet.

Of the many books I got on the species, I bought one coffee table book, simply titled- The Albatross, which included heart stopping pictures of the Antarctic. And though Albatrosses can be found many places the Antarctic is home to the Wandering Albatross (my personal favorite). As I collected images, I slowly found myself lingering, looking more at the landscapes than the birds, and through this wandering giant I was led to Antarctica.

The people who work at McMurdo base have a word for people like me, Postage Stamps. These are people who love Antarctica because of the history of the continent. And as a postage stamp I have spent the better part of a decade collecting artifacts, reading any book I could find, and boring my friends (and willing strangers) to tears with anecdotes and facts of the icy south and those before me who were even more obsessed.

To be able to go to and walk on Antarctica is a lifelong work in progress. Until then, I satisfy myself with my books and newspaper clippings, and through them, I am developing my own story.

“Love Letters to Antarctica” is my sonnet to the explorers and the explored. It is a suite of ink washes that exists a as moody narrative, highlighting both the naivety and the brutality of human involvement in the early days of modern Antarctica.

People do not belong in Antarctica and this can be said especially of the Victorian British Explorers. While the strength and boldness of these men is inherent throughout the tales of their tribulations, there is also an undercurrent of absurdity. These men went to Antarctica hauling their china, crystal, pianos, and old-fashioned ideas of class rule; simply to plant flags in the snow. The explorers so fetishised the continent in their books and lectures that they in turn couldn’t remember Antarctica for what it truly is; a viciously hard place to inhabit. The men would then return to conquer the continent without having gained any knowledge from the past mistakes they suffered and would blindly blunder on just the same.

These stories have given me mental images and inspiration for the melancholic scenarios of the stolen moments I seek to portray in my work. The diaries of the explorers and their men were originally published to emphasize the conquering hero, but I find the side notes more telling and interesting, as they show glimpses of the fragility of the man underneath. From the comparison of the explorers to a boat-load of Peter Pan’s to one diarist’s description of how the suns reflection on the ice looked like kittens playing. These are the lines I pick out to amplify and in turn have excuse to fetishise Antarctica myself.

Love Letters to Antarctica is also a two person exhibition opening this August at the Swimming Pool Project Space here in Chicago. Annie Heckman and I will be showing in tandem to present our two views of the Antarctic.