Room With Cotton

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“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

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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.

 

 

 

 

The Last Call of Marilyn Monroe

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 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.

 

 

For Those Who Missed Opening, Think On Squeezing Out a Fabric Ball of Alocasia Juice

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Alocasia Juice 2018. Acrylic on hardboard, 16 x 20″ (framed in metal under glass, 22 x 28″)

$130.

Christies’ Art Tulips in Amsterdam Auction House of Billionaire Rot just sold an artificial intelligence masterpiece to an art-hater for $432,500.00.

Undercut these oligarchs of grand stupidity this holiday season. Pack all your years of love and human tenderness into a tiny fabric ball placed beneath your pillow on a snowy December night. Think on your children and grandchildren, holiday decoration and cheer, loved ones lost and gained and maintained. Dream a long, deep sleep night of a world without Jeff Bezos picking his ear wax and the next minute the modern serfs of earth throwing a billion coins at his feet. Think of Santa Claus and Charles Dickens, why not? And then watch a tremendous time lapsed video into the future beginning with a solitary bird of prey landing on a mall roof and the same species of bird leaving the mall of the future, level ground of earth now grass, wildflowers, insects, worms and no human being you have ever known or will know upon it. A people unknown moving over the mall that was so long ago, that is no more. People of no history because history wasn’t worth repeating to idiots who purchase paintings made by a computer.

In the morning take the fabric ball from under the pillow. Take it to the kitchen and squeeze it over your favorite coffee mug.

Alocasia juice and a new day worth living. Drink up!

All for one hundred and thirty dollars. Created by human hands in a world shared by humans. Try it sometime. It won’t hurt you as much as celebrity worship has.

 

Bacchus and a Bald Stranger in New York

I hope to see friends and new friends tomorrow night. I have door prizes of painting(s) and a vacuum sealer. I’ve added a couple quiches to the menu and washed the floors on my hands and knees. Autumn is the surprise time, and our second gale in a week blew over Ontario last night. It’s time to batten down the hatches and set that third sheet to the wind. If you drive, think taxis. If you walk, think about making a taxi driver your private chauffeur. Pretend with me that we’re crazy rich, but not necessarily in that order.
Lena did it again, and this morning I saw Bacchus at court in full inebriation. Many birds and a bald guy came to call.
“Beautiful strangers in New York. Ancient Greek Gods and Danae. Bacchus is the God of Winemaking and Inspiration.” 2018. Acrylic, and photo by Eric Olson.

Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol

Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol
Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol. 2018. Acrylic on hardboard, 17 x 21″, metal frame, under glass (22 x 28″) $150

Here we go. I have just made final arrangements with the Frank Gordon Trio, ordered the new element for the oven, purchased fresh flowers at a steal, weathered an all-night wind storm and gale off the lake, and am ready for art lovers and friends of art lovers to meet the inspiration of Lena Ulanova.

I have planned a menu for the opening.  Please don’t tell me what you think now, just come in on Friday and break pounds of bread with me in the flesh, and Lena in spirit.

Palatable menu for expressive paintings to be exhibited:

Pumpkin Pie
Cheesecake
Apple Crisp
Chocolate chip cookies
Double chocolate cookies
Peanut butter cookies
Fresh picked empire apples
Oranges
Spiced almonds, pecans, cashews, maybe pistachios
Hummus
Tapenade
Assorted cheeses
Smoked salmon with capers and dill
Vegetarian chili
Butternut squash soup
New oven element roast beef
New oven element roast turkey
Vegetables and multigrain breads and rolls for sandwiches

Coffee and tea

Many beverages including sangria

And an autumn night filled with space.

First, a song about Andy, followed by a great autumn song:

Homage to a Painter

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Curator Ron: Ancient Peace for a New Mother 2018. Acrylic on canvas, 24 x 48″

I have woken each morning since August with this exhibition in mind, and before that, sporadically, but just as intense when imagined. I wonder often if I should have went to divinity school to become a preacher. A veritable Vernon Johns selling vegetables out of my pick up truck on the side of the road after Sunday service. I say this because I feel lately that artists and their art, when taken together, exemplify the human spirit far better than any Middle Eastern Bible can, repetitively citing another used parable about a flock of sheep, a wife to lay with, and a regular threat of a high and mighty smiting. And I realize that a Christian life would be nice, but very stale, following the same old example of a Jesus who never painted a picture, or sat on a train, or read a book about black bears in the wild.

Artists suffer and abandon, accept and howl as good as any bigoted patriarch of Canaan. It’s been so since the compiling of the good book of whichever religion your grandparents pretended to obey, and passed down to you after the atheist slaughter of the modern wars and rise of the nuclear age. Every generation since Job and Jesus has had the artist and the poet to imitate and/or reflect joy and suffering, and every age does to them just what the mighty Lord often did to his abiding flock.

And it often ain’t pretty.

There are artists like Lena Ulanova who are humble to the core, and give back in spirit and wonder so much more than what life offers. I look at her paintings throughout the gallery and am comforted that spirit and harmony with nature and man is in tact as it ever was. I see improvements made to a suffering world, joy expressed, and original compositions of the eternal human condition. If you knew Lena like I imagine to know her, you would see how I see a modern-day St. Francis of Assisi—with a palette of paint and substrate of the forest. No creature fears her presence. All of nature is her monastery and mankind is connected as before, now and always. She is a mirror of the lust of life, as any religion must be if it is trying to remain human.

I made this painting to revere the artist in woman and man. Nobody expects her to perform the healing miracles of the saint, and yet my soul is free and the birds alight on her shoulder.

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