Fishbowler

I make art in strange places and blog about it.

Cat Sitting Fishbowler, Part 4

Day 3, Evening

8:30 PM, Nina Simone moans. 4 canvases here means dabs here & there and most interestingly, they’re all different genres it seems.
Mister White Whiskers wants out again. He just came in!
She wails sex like in the dark, Nina. Time for propane heat.
These moments can pass unnoticed as insignificant. Take note. Take heart. Godspeed.
Mark art from these; poetry or publication in abstract of the moment’s feeling. You Tube it, Tumber, Google + it. Sing out. Yell to the the mountain top and share it. We have this in common, that we can all put it in a certain perspective if we try. Make a story of it or a picture; maybe somethin’ in between. Whether it’s a story of your trip to the post office or laundry day, or leaning against the juke box last night. See the beauty (or horror) and share that.
Cooking the contents of a can: stir fry vegetables, cost $1.80. Looking forward to eating this.
To spruce it up I made it into Thai. Added a couple spoons of peanut butter and then garlic powder, garlic salt and black peppercorn ground in. Oh and coffee creamer- Irish cream.
It really is good.
For the last couple bites I’m adding more peanut butter. Ewwwwww.. THAT’S awesome! It’s chunky peanut butter. Not the first choice for my teeth, but tasty.
The vegetables are thin slices of carrot, watercress, bean sprouts and those lil’ corns cobs. Peanut butter is so nice with spice. It’s a dampening effect. Insulation. I tried to get  a pic of me eating it for you but the camera’s card was full AND battery’s dead!
I got the grooviest jazz goin’. Ornette Coleman from 1959.
Day 4, Morning
I should have emptied that card last night. Ornette put me to sleep after a few painting dabs. The fog this morning is killer. I’m about to go out & shoot. You gotta’ see this.
Digital frenzy. Went out in the ‘hood a bit. Historical documentation never ends. Atmosheric effects galore! The sun would come and go, filtered by these grounded clouds and consequently, the whole landscape would come and go too. I don’t know if I got many shots of the well lit moments but it’s mysterious how they become concealed so quickly.
Boesch Home, I’m told, was lived in by an old miner who was blind. He had laid a wire along the ground that he’d follow to get him to work & home every day.
This is the edge of the mining districk. One of the state’s longest continually running bars is over here. The Sante Fe is exactly the kind of place you’d expect; leather horse tools hang from the porch’s banisters.
Goldfield was so much more densely populated at one time. It’s hard to imagine.
When the lighting is right, I’ll have to get some shots of this cabin’s interior.
It’s that simple existence that’s become so foreign to us. I woke from my nap after shooting the Christmas Eve fog, thinkin’ about Mr. Boesch’s little place. I didn’t notice if any electricity had ever been connected. He wouldn’t really need lights except for visitors. Right across the street is the Sante Fe, though. Maybe he would have just taken them over there during a visit.
Seeing the stuffing come thru the walls puts things into perspective. I guess the miners would have worked during the winter. Temperature doesn’t change much down in the hole, I guess.
Mr. Boesch claimed he could feel the ore with gold in it. I believe the story is he was actually rich. He just preferred the simple life.
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