5 Minute Break

Acrylic on matte board, 26 x 18. Framed in metal, matted, under glass, 40 x 30″ $250

At present this painting hangs above the fireplace mantel at Fuel Gallery. It borrowed the honor from “Seedlings” by Alexey Stepanov. After it sells, I will give “Badger and Book” by Michael Flanagan winter right of way for the coveted spot.

Late capitalism deems us “consumers” because so many baby boomers and their spawn studied the social sciences in college, and economics sneaked in somehow as a worthy subject of study. The national radio host talks about the “consumer” class as if there is another class not consuming. Ecologically, all humans are tertiary consumers, and that’s how I remember the term from grade school. Like cave people, I ate meat and vegetables whenever they were placed before me. Except boiled spinach from a box. I’d starve in a tar pit before eating that Popeye lie!

Consumption is a biological function that fuels any life worth living, whether dinosaur, fish, or human being existence. It is real fuel, necessary to life, but that’s it. Now live.

The radio host spoke about tariffs on China and the struggle for dollar stores in the United States. A fifteen minute slot for millions of people to be propagandized into thinking that dollar-a-bag outdated pretzels are a necessary convenience to the consumer, like any rotting carcass on the path of a hungry Tyrannosaurus Rex—we cannot live without them because we are too stupid to not be dependent on the death of life—which a dollar store most certainly is.

So let’s stop using government words to talk about the stuff we like after acquiring food, shelter, raiment, and fuel. If our parents and guardians were half decent, all the necessaries have been supplied initially, and lessons taught and studied for their future acquisition.

The U.S. and Chinese governments, and their oligarchy swindlers deem you consumer as if these entities were providers, like immortal gods and devils. They don’t want you to spend your labor on a true luxury item, (i.e., a painting for your fireplace mantle). Obsolescence is the factory plan and you are just one in a billion protagonists trading your labor and creativity for their macroeconomic dystopia. I offer a painting today to save you from the T-Rexes. Recent studies show the latter ate their own kind when their own kind was breathing its last breath. So too, the businessmen of Wall Street, and the hyper-masculine greed that marks the dollar store an advancement of the age. They eat us, but only because we’ve pushed art and artist out of our lives, and expect to be fed by a poor mommy and daddy replacement.

Not necessary to be a dancer to appreciate this beautiful painting for a lifetime. More study into economics, on a micro level, can change your tastes and improve society. Let’s say you have thirty years to live, and this painting costs $300 (shipping and handling included). How much does this cost you a day, like a bag of pretzels costs the manufactured consumer class at the ubiquitous dollar store(s)?

x(cost) • 365(30) = 300.00

x = 2.7 cents a day. Let’s round up to 3 cents per day to possess fine art for a lifetime.

Now at death day you can leave it to your progeny, and if they loved you, then the price goes down, more and more, for each future generation that loved its forbears better than a cannibal T-rex could comprehend while crunching through the collar bone of its Aunt Martha.

I will be available all day and over the weekend to take your order(s). Thank you.

Room With Cotton

“Room With Cotton” 2018. Acrylic on cardboard, 13 x 17″, framed in metal, matted, under glass, 18 x 24″ $150

I had several adventures with the artist last night, two I remember now as if I could open my front door and walk into them. Rarely do I have vivid dreams to recall the moment I wake up. This morning was an exception.  One involved the setting of a placid seashore shared with another Saint Petersburg painter, Andrew Makarov. The three of us were walking on a sand beach discussing the power and the glory of human happiness. We walked out to a pier and jumped in with all our clothes on.

The other was with Lena at a communal dinner in a fine city restaurant where everyone spoke Russian besides me, yet I had to prove my camaraderie with the group, so I cleared and wiped down the table, and went to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

Not much, but there was more, as any stark dream will unveil to the dreamer. To retell it with any detail is folly, as witnessed above.

I have 25 paintings left hanging in these rooms. This one is its own room of cotton. Hang it on your wall and sleep beneath cotton sheets, head on a cotton pillow, and dream of anything you can while you can still dream. Especially if the dream left with its power to surprise you.

That is art in a cotton boll.

The painting is yours! Priced above.





The Weekend With My Daughter

2018. Acrylic on cardboard, 16 x 21″. Framed in metal under glass, 22 x 28″ $175

Thank you Lena for these beautiful paintings to show!

Eager buyer, I shall wrap it up with the greatest care in a box you will save as a conscientious example of all future packaging to come.

So, that’s two works of art for the price of one, although the latter is industrial art and not at all mantel pretty. Bring it to the office and show colleagues how to mail an order out, and then invite a colleague or several to dinner and show off the Ulanova you recently purchased because life is worth living, and we do it one time, and spending on beauty is your right practiced without the threat of military police and search dogs.





Vincent Directs the Sun at $150. Do I Hear $151?

2015. Acrylic on hardboard, 16 x 20″. Framed in metal, under glass, 22 x 28″

Buy this today and I will toss in a swab of true artist DNA which will improve taste in any human gene pool seeking to unwind and uplift its mortal burden. The art market could use a reforming GMO to pop the TIA (tulips in Amsterdam) bubble that floats above all realities, laughing at them. Sometimes the bubble breezes into a private plane, and this painting here shall become an accurate rocket launcher from the ground, from the base, from the real reality where artists pine for an equal playing field. Aim. Fire! That’s some GMO not to mess with!

And the oligarch no longer enters a world he was never invited to. We are the salon of the future but only if we cease with stupid phraseology like “the cream rises to the top”. Cream comes from cow’s milk and after 5,000 years, science tells us that lactose makes our guts turn inside out. Some also declare the milk protein is causing us cancer like it does in rats. So I don’t want cream anymore. Leave it in the cow for the calf. The putrid stench of rot also rises to the top. When we need a new metaphor to share the story of the big city art market, lets embrace our mutual intolerance and call out the oligarchs as the putrid stench that rose to the top.

Amsterdam had pretty tulips to sell as if there were no other perennials to flower in the early spring. The super rich were bored and super stupid.

Nothing has changed, so buy a painting on your own today because unlike 17th century Holland, you, the outskirts peasant, can afford these more colorful tulips, and at the same time ruin the stupid game of stupid rich people spending enormous sums on what nature and the artists give practically for free.

Four Foxes and Three Hunters

2018. Acrylic on cardboard, 8 x 10″, Framed in metal under glass, 11 x 14″ $75

In honor of these foxes, we shall end the exhibition on Black Friday®, and begin to pay more attention to the fox eyes of our own families and friends. There’s a Kohls® demanding your cash for apparel made in the outskirts of Guangzhou. Kohls® is hunter and our tastes the hunted.

Ron the curator suggests skipping the big boxes of stuff this holiday season and find love again beneath the stars. For the price of two pair of sweatshop jeans, steamed and folded into a box, set in a shipping container with a thousand other boxes, put on the sea, and delivered via greenhouse gas asphyxiation to a registered Kohls® near you, a loved one or trusted friend can have this Ulanova painting until the Mozluk race evolves, long after the initial mass gene jump triggered by the insatiable purchasing of crap set the stage for the devolution of the human beings.

Unwrap the gift of a painter. It is the appropriate luxury good for happiness to regain its power over our lives.


Friday Gallery Special: Purple Granny and a Banner

$175 Acrylic on cardboard, 19 x 25″, Framed matted at 24 x 36″

Purchase these well appointed ladies and I will toss in one of our 6 x 3′ exhibition banners. Great for the kid’s room or the man cave where the football posters and pennants used to hang before we realized that the NFL is just an oligarch plantation where wealth drops down in bags of gold, but dignity is fumbled, time and again.

And you can place the beautiful painting where your dignity still seeks appropriate outreach. The parlor or dining room. Below the purple granny we pass the potatoes on holiday and look upon the world with delight. Life is easy for the industrialized cultures. We know we’re lucky, so we make or purchase a painting and raise our young to be better than we are. It is the joy of responsibility. Those who refuse to seek it, are just jackasses, and there are many. That is why we have pain in places where its always Christmas on earth. Know an artist. Be an artist. Save the world from our wealthy self-pity.

¡Viva Lena Ulanova!








The Last Call of Marilyn Monroe

 2018. Acrylic on card board, 12 x 16″, framed in metal, under glass, 18 x 24″ $130

To avoid a bidding war, please contact me immediately to expedite this painting to your favorite room’s wall. Shipping and handling domestic (USA) will be about $30. If you’re local, I will drive it to you wrapped in paper blessed by an aristocrat of the spirit.

Take the “million” out of “aire”, and we will all be free again to feel. Paintings by the living are and should be as affordable as aperitif and dinner for two, maybe an Uber and foursome if the painting is larger than a picture window.

We can do this. We can decorate and sip our coffee and look up each morning to the genius on the wall and re-recognize the corporitos as the toilet paper providers they have always been. Dealers on the TP market. They can hide away in private planes until tomorrow’s tomorrow as long as we never run out of toilet paper. But they are forbidden to bid on our humanity and set the thinking price of an artist’s gift of expression. Ignore them and they go away. I’ve seen it happen.

And they leave aisles upon aisles of toilet paper stacked to the ceiling six rows back.

Stick to the ca-ca exchange Christies®, while the enlightened denizens of the new age express their taste with an Ulanova painting. We’ll call you when we need you. “Ah, damn! Honey, bring me a roll of toilet paper please!”

Our suppliers are filthy rich, yes, but necessary for our daily hygiene. Give them their $1.29 for another roll. Let them keep their private planes and stupid trips to an ugly Dubai. But never give up your art. It’s what separates you from the serfs of the supply line.