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  


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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

Flatbed Press, Austin, Texas

DOUGLAS BRITT article Houston Chronicle

Book Signing

I hope to see you all tomorrow!

Celebrating the Completion of the newest addition to the Blue Star Print Project and a Book Signing of James Surls: From the Heartland, published by The Grace Museum, on Wednesday, June 24th from 7 - 9 p.m. at 410 E. Aresnal.

Generously Hosted by Jerry Gore

Please RSVP to Giselle at giselle@bluestarart.org or at 210.227.6960

A signed copy of the new publication, James Surls: From the Heartland, is $65.00, a special Blue Star VIP price. $20 dollars of the price point goes directly to the ARTsmart education program. (Retail value $70.00)

Charles Cowles Gallery

This has been a long week, I loaded up the sculptures for the Charles Cowles Gallery exhibition and left home on the morning of the May 24. By eleven o-clock or so I was out of Colorado, and running due west through Nebraska, all was green along the North Platte River bottom, just open road, green cotton woods, and blue sky. I made it past Omaha and shut down for the night. The next day took me through plowed field as far as the eye could see, and on into Ohio and Pennsylvania, beautiful country. The next morning it was New Jersey, and then the skyline of New York, I crossed over the George Washington Bridge and into the lion's throat. For the next hour I went 178th street on Broadway down town to 57th then over to 11th, and then down to 24th. Charles Cowles Gallery is on 24th between 10 Ave and 11th Ave. We unloaded the trailer and then I went across the East River to the Navy Yard, parked the rig, then went to my daughter Eva's place.

The next day (the 27th,) we hung the show. It looked real good, I was at that moment beaming like a new daddy. I felt really good, then Charley told me he was closing the gallery when the show came down. Mine will be the last show from a dealer who has showed some of the best for well over 35 years. Shit fire, now that was a dampener for sure, but after a few minutes, I just thought OK, now make the best of the day and move on, so I did.

The show opened on the 28th, and I must say it is one of the best I have ever done. It will be up for a month, please see it if you can. When it comes down, there will be a hole left, but life will go on and no one will even blink. Life is what it is, and it can turn on a dime or on the tone in the voice of a messenger. After the opening 24 of us walked down the street to Bottino's restaurant. Good food with good friends.

The next morning Eva and I loaded up her things and started backtracking our way west. We got to Boulder on Sunday afternoon, unloaded her things, and I said good bye to my new NYU graduate, and drove on home. God I love driving in over the mountains knowing it is where I live. I am home. James

It is about the Numbers

I thought my morning through and through, about the difference between Five and Six. Odd and Even, each projecting a way towards and end. There is a big difference between these two numbers. I wonder if it has a greater or lesser difference between 5,285,000 and 4,582,361. What are the odds on an elephant falling on me. There was a "place", at one "time", where this could have happened to you. It is different with flowers, in that world the numbers meld. I meld, you meld, they meld, we all meld. Right in by giving and receiving, start to finish, end to end. Bodhisattvas all. We just lost Leonard Shlain, his was for us all. I know that some feminist friends disagreed with him. I never could figure out why. If any one out there wants to give it a shot on the "why" part, please let me know. May be that I should stick to 5 and 6. 

James on May 17th,  

A word on an all black sculpture

I have made another all black sculpture, it is figurative in nature, with a very large head, this head is made up of a "wading up or knotting up " steel rod to look as though it were thread, with this thread running through the eye of a four foot long steel fabricated needle, all coming from a split neck, the other head is a large flower, both are growing out from a burned torso made from a root off of a large spruce tree that washed down from the mountain into lake Rudi. This sculpture reads as a silhouette for it is black in its entirety. This sculpture is called "Me, the Black Flower and the Knot and threaded Needle", This sculpture hangs from a cable and is about 8 feet tall, and it will also be in the May 28th exhibition at the Charles Cowles Gallery on 24th in Chelsea.

May 14th, 2009

A Knife, a Tree, and a Morning Glory. One title or three? As all three, I will say the knife is blood red, and cut from a mahogany heart, once it was sucking life in the Amazon, now it lives again and rests on it point, and is life size, tall as me. From its handle grows a bronze Pinion Pine, and a stainless steel Morning Glory, side by side, each as big as the other. Bottom up, it stands 9 feet, the Knife is 6 feet and the Tree and Morning Glory are three foot high and across. This sculpture stands on the point of the knife. I am going to drill a hole in the floor of Charles Cowles Gallery and stand this piece by inserting a one inch stainless steel rod 18 inches up through the knife blade and 5 inches sticking out of the point of the knife that can be stuck down into the one inch hole in Charles Cowles Gallery. The show opens on May 28th. This is but one of the 7 pieces in the show. 

It is Thursday, May 7, just before sun rise, spring is in the Rockies and buds and birds show themselves. Charmaine and I have been home for a few days. We have been down in Texas where I had a show at the Grace Museum in Abilene. It was great fun being there, they rolled out the Red Carpet for us. On opening night the place was packed with people, all kinds of people from all over the country. It sure made me feel good to see so many old friends and so many new faces.

After the opening about 350 of us walked down the street a couple of blocks to have diner in the court yard of a "cowboy museum" called Frontier Land. There was a stage set up for a group called the The FLATLANDERS, they have just released a new CD called "Hills And Valleys, I got to chose who I wanted to play that night and this group made up of Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock and Joe Ely was my first choice. Charmaine and I danced every dance, and loved every minute of it. These guys are really great.

My time in Abilene, Texas was the best, I loved it. And the fact that they published a beautiful book called "JAMES SURLS / From the Heartland" sure made me happy. I have had several books done on my work, but this one is on new work, 28 drawings with an essay by Susie Kalil that is the best essay on my drawing ever. There are also 27 sculptures in the book, with a great essay by Patterson Sims. Folks, this is a good one. I will post how you can get it a little latter.

But back to now, today I work in the yard, back to birds and buds and water in the irrigation ditch. It is a good time to be alive. In a month or so we will have flowers all around our house with bees and humming birds sounding off and looking good.