Gyroscope

If today were last night, I would fold my pillow a little different so my head would have been laying a little softer against the night,  I would not have woke up in the middle of the night, I would not have looked out the window at the circle rainbow glow around the moon and wondered of the world. I would not have thought about how stupid some of the things humans do really are. It seems to me that keeping the human race upright with sails open to the heart is a constant concern.  We have to work at it. Sometimes we are like a living gyroscope on the whip side of a hurricane, tilted to the extreme under the prevailing pressure of passage.  We are not dead yet,  but caution is needed in making ready the up right. There are those among us who state, "I did not do it, I had nothing to do with any of it, so don't expect me to help get the ship upright in the storm". OK, I don't expect those people to help, but some one has to pull on the pulley or the load want shift.

On Being and On Being Home

Big changes coming, the holidays bring Christmas and the new year, children will drive in and fly in and our house will be full. Charmaine has started to wrap small and large boxes and then pack them into larger boxes with bubble wrap, tape them up and UPS them off to children and grand kids on the far side of the mountains. It is snowing and our kitchen smells like all the good stuff that makes a house a home. I love being here.

It was just a week ago that I drove in through an icy Leadville to get back before the sun set. A day or two to rest and get ready for the exhibition up at Anderson Ranch. I was pleased but most pleased to be back in the studio. I had been down in Athens, Texas visiting my relatives. I also had a reception over in Tyler, Texas. I had installed a commission called, "All Flowers" on a great wall in an office building. My first show in an art museum was in Tyler, that was back in 1974. The director at the time was Ron Gleason. Ron is not the director any more and has not been for a long time, but he was there. It was so nice to see him. Ron has been a friend of the Texas Art Scene for as long as I can remember, and has facilitated more on the grass roots level than any one I know. I love the guy, and it was really nice to shake his hand and say hello.

Tyler is not a big town any more, it is a serious small city, with all that goes with the word "city". It is just 30 miles from where I grew up, and it was the place every one went when they needed something. It still is.

As I was driving back home to Colorado, I went through Abilene to pick up some sculpture for Charmaine,  Tai and Laura and one of my own. That only took a short while and soon I was back dreaming my way across West Texas, where pick up trucks, vast distances of cotton fields and wind generators, cattle and oil field pumps ruled the horizon.  I listened to the FLATLANDERS and thought of all those guys from Lubbock that write music and sing. It makes no difference where you are, or what kind of terrain you are plowing through, music just rumbles its way to the surface.  Terry Allen, Joe Ely, Butch Hancock, and Jimmie Dale Gilmore, man they are as good as it gets. Jimmie Dale is at the top of any list I ever make of the great singers. That boy can sing.

All those big ass wind generators start to take on a certain field of play, they start to turning into something else other than what they are. There were two lone ones sitting out about a half mile on a little ridge that ran around a curve. One of them turned into Dave Hickey ware-ing his Ass Hole Suit, he was bobbling and shaking his arms at the other big wind generator, that had turned into a giant Jesus laughing and mooning him. It made the drive through Lubbock a lot easier for me. Sometimes it is painful seeing all those sale barns that have been turned into cowboy churches, and all those seriously ugly prefab building that meld into each other to the point that you can't tell the difference between a welding shop, a honky tonk and Babtist church, except that some of the Babtist churches have a mail ordered steeple stuck on them. Now there is a distinguishing factor, other wise how would you know. Thank you big Mooning Jesus for all that creative capital that goes to make up the Singer Song Writers out there on the high plains.

It was nice to see the Rockies rising on the horizon, snow capped and calling. I am going home through Leadville, this time of year that is slow going. It is always snowing up there, so no need to get in a hurry. I just take it easy and dream my way to the house.

I am here, I am all here.

Drawing on the wall for an upcoming exhibit at Anderson Ranch Arts Center

I spent most of the day today up at Anderson Ranch Arts Center in Snowmass, CO, drawing on the wall for an upcoming show.


James Surls: The Black Arts
Anderson Ranch Arts Center, Snowmass, CO
December 14, 2010 
5 - 6:30pm
This exhibition will feature drawings and large-scale sculpture and commemorates the 20th anniversary of Surls’s groundbreaking wall drawing, To Touch the Center, created at Anderson Ranch. On view December 6, 2010 - February 25, 2011 in the Patton-Malott Gallery. 

A note from a daughter lead me to this...

Cities, nations and empires have fallen through out history, but art has never brought one down, Art has only brought them to greatness. When there is a choice to be made, I will go with ART every time.

KHOU.com  


Type in your name in the search box and you will get the news clip.

Today I return from the hill.

I  return from the hill with paradox as my being. "All I ever really wanted was to go home with you" a truth that happened and a dream that came true, but life is a moment by moment reality. I know the me in stability while being in paradox  following  the flow-line closely, reflecting on the space between body and soul. Body knows weights and lengths and is governed by the pull of the earth. Soul moves beyond the tides rush and knows no boundaries. Both are bound at the heart, but one is of flesh and blood, the other gives rise to beliefs governing the spirit of action, where by making the incorporeal the center of feelings and thoughts that measures vastness,  distance to distance.   Sometimes I stand alone between here and there and know that Wise Blood flows deep and gives me the gains from many. I gather close and stand ready on the joint bar, all the while tracking through the spin-drift of the horizon. 

There are many things that fill the soul, questions that whelm the core of intuit, the living language from below all levels, under the outward-ness of the eye. Questions  made of moments reduced from patterned waves washed from currants rushing,  moments layered along the rise of log jams in bows, bends and banks.  Maybe we all follow the flow of the minds river bed, where the rise and fall of edges marks our being with scarred reality giving proof of the processes of deeds done, transformed into mantels of belief. Art being the residue of lines drawn and boundaries set. The time is now to make the cut with deliberate intent and with full knowledge of how the hammer comes down and the axes deliverance being one to one with the specifics of goal. I gather the residue carefully and mold it into solidity with wood, steel and stone, objects that hinges us to the next order, I bond with the bones of history and seek the blood of forever as my truth. I don't ask, "whose truth", or "which truth" I except the vision as my on, I count me in. There are few who hold the hand of forever and come back to show the way of what is below the level as it is above the level, subconscious and conscious having a conversation. Me speaking with me, it is truth time with lots to cut away, lots to change and lots to release. It is not easy when the flow line rises and passes through each, there is a fight for survival and some are lost in the wash. Yes there are many things that fill the soul in personal battle and survival depends on the trust of the ignition, that set going moment when intuition takes the driving wheel and steers me on. I have a long way to travel today, I must be on my way. 

James 

James Drake at the Station in Houston, Texas

The James Drake exhibition at "The Station" in Houston, Texas is just one more confirming look at one of the best artist of our time. This is the kind of show that Jim Harithas does at the Station, a no bull shit view of a artist who produces in the absolute. The big drawing of a bird nest, done in red is a convincing shot at being a true master piece. But so are some of the other works in the show. If you are in Houston, go to the Station and see the Drake show.

Walking Flower times the Power of Five

Again this morning

In the morning Charmaine and I will go to Houston to be front and center at the Orange Show Ball, this is a not to miss full blown good time. Houston is home to those who will risk the leap. My kind of city. Then I will fly on to Oklahoma City and spend time looking at a site for an out door sculpture. Then comes the good part, I get to go home and be in the studio for a stretch of time. Back to art and chicken soup. Mostly it is all I want to do. Just make sculpture and draw. I wonder what any thing I do or stand for has to do with fashion in Paris, or the click of runway heels, or of what is hot or not. Art world stuff is art world stuff, like a piece of dust is a piece of dust.

Some times I feel I am the flight feathers collectively pushing against the head winds of time, to rise through the down draft is no easy task, but being a free soul I have to ask "what is out there?" What is most important?

"Me and Rough God"

I stood in the circle out beside the house this morning and tried to see the Big Dipper turning its handle counter clock wise in the northern sky, it is hard to perceive movement in star patterns, they only show movement in relation to something else, which means I have to be still, real still for a long period and  use the silhouette of the pinons on the northern ridge line as markers, and be patient, the spin will show its self in time, each moment has its glory.  So calm is this morning, before the sunrise, before breakfast,  before the hand axe starts its steady rhythm of chop chop chopping, or before the rasp gnaws the surface to form, before the maul strikes the anvil. Each stroke gives meaning to wood, steel and stone.  This is as old as human history,  conjuring from what is, it is the acceptance of "Is" and knowing "I am" embedded deep in these moments, concluding only that the the bloom of the flower is no more than the cutting edges of broken stones, all having its day.   It is "Me and the Rough God"

What is the relationship of what I do and who I am and what I represent on the path of our long walk in History. I look up from my breakfast bowl and see Blake and Thoreau. They give me comfort, knowing full well that God is as rough as any moment the Seeker will encounter. The path is long and I keep up the pace.

All things Houston

Last Wednesday (Nov 27th, 2010) I flew down to Houston to meet with Susie Kalil and Linda Clarke, and go over to the home of a couple who are having me put a major sculpture in their back yard.  "Yes", this will be a beauty, it is due in March.

The next morning at 8 AM, I met with the grounds manager and a couple of other people to walk through moving the outdoor sculptures home. (then I worked with Rice students all day) The next morning bright and early we started loading the sculptures. There is always a loading issue when it comes to big sculpture, but we got it done and they are on their way home. Rice bought two of the pieces and the city bought one of the pieces. Again this is a major "Yes" for me, certainly I am happy about this.

I got home last night in a wind and rain storm,  lightning in the Mountains is particularly beautiful. It is nice to be home, but it is back to the yard to grind some  work from the minds eye. I love it.

Oct 19th through Oct 25th

Charmaine and I had an easy drive to Boulder, picked up our daughter Eva and then went on to the airport, we landed in New York and went to dinner with friends. I think New York is measured from dinner to dinner. On the morning of the 20th we all took the train down to Grounds for Sculpture to look at their indoor space. I will show 6 major sculptures there in the spring. The show will have an opening on May 1, 2011. The indoor space is big and open and very nice. There is a Debra Butterfield show up now.

The Grounds are very beautiful and a pleasure to walk through, but like most sculpture parks, there is to much work. "To many notes", the question is "which ones do you take out". Now that is not for me to say. I just walk and look, I did enjoy it.

The next day Charmaine and I and Linda Clarke met with some New York City Parks people, and visited Museums and Galleries. But the best thing is that we went to the International Sculpture Center Gala on Friday night, it was like going to a family reunion. Lots of the people who were there that I have known for 30 or 40 years. It was nice to see them for a fact. When I saw Albert Paley from across the room, I went over to congratulate him on getting a major commission down at Texas Tech in Lubbock, Texas. (One which I tried very hard to get and did not, Albert got it.) I can tell you for a fact  there is a lot of work that goes into these things, so I was very surprised when Albert told me that after a 20 person art committee chose him and he went to work on it, the Provost of Texas Tech killed the project. Go figure. It certainly renders the decision of a group of people who had worked long and hard, kind of meaningless.  Just another walk down the road to nothing. Welcome to the world of "fair and equal give every one a shot" art world.

We got home Sunday afternoon late, back to the mountains and cold and rain, by Monday morning it was snowing some serious white. I really love it because my studio is warm year round. I just eat chicken soup and work. I love being home and I love making sculpture. But as life would have it, in the morning I fly to Houston. Houston is my friend on an absolute level.

This trip to Houston will cover some territory, giving a lecture at Rice, working with students, and seeing what Jim Harithus is up to at the Station. (The Station is one of the best show places in the world, not because it is a great space,  which it is, but because of the shows Jim puts together) The Station is a private museum, no board, no committees, Jim does not go to who is "hot" young and beautiful, nor who is in fashion, there is no trying to show what the in crowd shows,  and there is no bull shit, just great shows. I also will be taking the work down from the Rice University Exhibition and bringing the last four home to the "here and now". It will be nice to see them out the kitchen window.

But maybe the best thing about going to Houston is that I will spend some time with Susie Kalil, Susie is one of the best art writers in the world (and there very few), spending time talking with her is like digging in a Diamond Mine, she is a psychological digging machine. She can go to the bottom of the well and keep going. She is as intense as it gets. But that is what makes her a great writer.

I will let you know how all this goes when I get home on Saturday night.

Monday morning - On Being Ready to be Born Again

"On Being Ready to be Born Again", it is a good phrase to set the stage for another Monday. I start over each and all my days while walking with the Blue Angel. It is a slow rain that falls around me, steady cold comes to call me out in the open spaces between the Pinons and the big stones. I stand in silence to listen.

Soon the house will light up, and the smell of coffee will fill the kitchen, we will be cooking flapjacks the size of the bottom of the skillet and getting ready for a good bye. Chakaia Booker and Alston have been here for three days. On Friday night Charmaine and I had about 50 or so people for dinner. Jesus Morolas was our house guest on Friday night.   Lots of conversation on the world at large, lots of laughing out loud, lots of eye to eye and lots of fun. 

Jesus left on Saturday morning for somewhere and Chakaia and Alston leave this morning for New York. We will see them again next Friday night at the Fifty Year Anniversery Gala of the International Sculpture Center, which is being held in New York. The get together will be like a family reunion. Lots of friends will be there. I am ready, it is a new day.

Dreams of Snakes and Monkey Business

I stand on a floor of jungle leaves, watching snakes move between the tree trunks and vines and over and under and through the covered ground. I see a friend from my child hood high in the canopy above, he is pretending to be a monkey. I tell him there are hats even higher up in the very tops where the branches are thin and small. He goes higher and retrieves one of the hats, but the small limb gives way and he falls, holding the brim with both hands, he uses the hat as a gliding wing and settles down in front of me. He hands me the hat, which I take in my left hand, in my right hand I am holding a soup spoon that has a flower pattern on the handle. The spoon belonged to my mother.

Are dreams a real dimension of collected memory projected in the minds eye? A Cobra or a Monkey or the Spoon, all bring signs and clues.  I am the Spoon, feeding the snakes and the monkeys and the wolf, I feed the beasts, and rub there ears, I keep them close at all times, even when they snarl and give out low guttural growls that rattle my bones. I trust them to be true. They will not lie to me, nor will the wolf do me harm, so I look them all in the eye and do not turn away.  They are my friends.

I need the Signs and I need the Clues, I leave the threads of chemical language, the scent of my being touching the stones on the way to the  
                     
                    "Overlook"

Broken lines mark the path from home.
Ways that pass again and again,
causes left in disregard, unconsidered
and let go with out notice.
I step over and through bridges and rivers,
going beyond a point, a degree, or a stage.

I lean into the wind on the highest mound,
uncensored and unchallenged,
while allowing and letting,
and breathing deep the air of history
complete and believed.

Who among us has found the way back home by following the broken lines, back home to the safe here and now. Safe with friends gathered from  across the horizon. We all mill the kitchen floor waiting for the bread to rise, with bowl in hand we speak of children and future. We are all Spoons.

Through it All

 

Through it All

Cut 1988 - Printed 2010

"In 1986 I cut a woodblock while working with Chip Elwell at Anderson Ranch Art Center, in Snowmass Village, Colorado. The block was called "Cut Hands, Hurt Eyes". Chip was going to hand spoon rub the entire edition of twenty of this block but, as reality would have it Chip died a week after the block was cut. This wood block was six foot by three foot and was the parent block for the one to come. 

The second wood block that I cut came in early 1988, it was called "Through it All". This block was four feet by eight feet. A fine arts press in Houston tried to print it, but could not make it work, so the block went dormant and has been in storage for the last twentythree years. Some months back I partnered with John Smither on pulling this block from the back room. 

John Smither from Huntsville, Texas is now the publisher and Flatbed Press in Austin, Texas is the Fine Arts Press, together we have brought this wood block back to life. We have done an edition of only twelve of these large-scale prints. The paper used is Kochi Mashi, a very heavy and raw paper from Japan. The paper size is 52 inches x 100 inches. I signed the prints by noting that the block was cut in 1988 and printed in 2010. 

This is a very important work of art in my personal history. "Through it All" is always in the now of our existence and is as applicable today as it was twenty or more years ago."

Good Morning from the Mountains

After months of work/work and more work, I am about to start writing on my "Thoughts from James Surls" again.

From the vault.

"Me, Tree, Flower and Knot”

Arthur Roger Gallery
432 Julia Street
New Orleans, LA 70130

A Day at Rice University

Seven Sculptures at Rice University, Houston, Texas

Seven Surls sculptures to be exhibited in and around Rice...

The Rice campus will be transformed into a canvas this weekend for James Surls, an internationally recognized artist. Surls will install seven large sculptural works in and around campus near the Brochstein Pavilion, the James A. Baker III Institute for Public Policy, the Jesse H. Jones Graduate School of Business and the Shepherd School of Music. The artwork will be on campus for about six months.

The exhibition, "Magnificent Seven: Houston Celebrates Surls," is presented by Rice University, the Houston Arts Alliance and the city of Houston. It is a project of the Rice Public Art Program.

Sculpture For New Orleans 2010

I am very proud to be a part of "Sculpture for New Orleans".

Artists Michael Manjarris and Peter Lundberg describe their New Orleans sculpture park project.

Sculpture For New Orleans 2010