Sunday, June 3, 2018

Stego '78


Old pencil sketch in 11"x8.5" sketchbook, cropped. From way back, and way off, out there, somewhere...


Saturday, May 26, 2018

"In my youth, there were dinosaurs."

This 5x8" or so pencil was my response (along with the title to this post) to the blog meme "Six Word Memoir," from back in the days before FB took the place of free-form blog-o-sphere.

Back in the 70's, my girlfriend posed for this one, which is not really finished...

She was good about that, posing for me; unfortunately these are the only two I have now.


Sunday, May 13, 2018



I was googling this: 

              "You'll see much more if you don't require to understand everything you see."

It's something I read somewhere decades ago, amongst material pertaining to the 'spiritual search,' and I thought I might find the long lost source of this assertion, perhaps explore the context, glean the meaning, figure out why it made such an impression all those years ago. The statement is clear as a bell in my mind, like it has it's own room in there; ain't goin' nowhere. But I can't remember where I got it. If you recognize it, please tell me about it in a comment. Eh?

So as the results page comes up my eye lands on this image and my mind recalls an old blog challenge where you answer a question with the first image that comes up when you google it. And this one even seems rather appropriate. Apparently it belongs to Darius Foroux. So, Darius, if you want me to remove this picture, let me know.


Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Nancy Bush


"Squall Line" Oil, 40"x48" by Fredericksburg, TX artist Nancy Bush. Here's a link to her website:


Friday, April 27, 2018

"Memory" by H.P. Lovecraft


In the valley of Nis the accursed waning moon shines thinly, tearing a path for its light with feeble horns through the lethal foliage of a great upas-tree. And within the depths of the valley, where the light reaches not, move forms not meet to be beheld. Rank is the herbage on each slope, where evil vines and creeping plants crawl amidst the stones of ruined palaces, twining tightly about broken columns and strange monoliths, and heaving up marble pavements laid by forgotten hands. And in trees that grow gigantic in crumbling courtyards leap little apes, while in and out of deep treasure-vaults writhe poison serpents and scaly things without a name.

     Vast are the stones which sleep beneath coverlets of dank moss, and mighty were the walls from which they fell. For all time did their builders erect them, and in sooth they yet serve nobly, for beneath them the grey toad makes his habitation.

     At the very bottom of the valley lies the river Than, whose waters are slimy and filled with weeds. From hidden springs it rises, and to subterranean grottoes it flows, so that the Daemon of the Valley knows not why its waters are red, nor whither they are bound.

     The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon of the Valley, saying, “I am old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them who built these things of stone.” And the Daemon replied, “I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old. These beings were like the waters of the river Than, not to be understood. Their deeds I recall not, for they were but of the moment. Their aspect I recall dimly, for it was like to that of the little apes in the trees. Their name I recall clearly, for it rhymed with that of the river. These beings of yesterday were called Man.”

     So the Genie flew back to the thin horned moon, and the Daemon looked intently at a little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling courtyard.