Because The Devil Is A Devil Only If You Make It So
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A painting without a story is an invitation to make up your own or you don't even have to do that if you don't feel like it. Just look at, mull it over, like it, don't like it, whatever you do is up to you. With that ...Enjoy!
Not A Day Of Words
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I don't have much to say right now. It is raining outside and the snow is disappearing and there is Christmas music playing downstairs and these keys feel foreign at the moment as if my hands are telling my brain that they need to be elsewhere. It is not a day of words but a day of color and portraits like this with heart bursting and wine and people and a head cloudy with the memories of past holidays like this one....Enjoy!
It Is For Her I Will Paint A Queen
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She always tells me that I don't use enough purple. It is true, I don't. However, for her I will. She also tells me that I don't paint enough Queens. It is true, I don't. However, for her I will. (She was referrencing a series of queens I painted, when she was a little girl) She says she has been thinking alot about things lately. Thinking about things in a way that she had not been thinking about them before. Things that didn't have meaning before, now have taken on new meaning. As time moves forward, she is moving forward and the world is opening up in ways that were unimaginable to her just a couple of years ago and being so close to someone who is on the changing tidal wave of youth reminds me to keep my own world open and allow myself the pleasure of having things take on new meanings and it is for her that I will use purple and it is for her that I will paint a queen. ...Enjoy!
Somewhere Between Sad And Melancholy
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I know that I sometimes share things in these stories that are not the most uplifting or they sometimes dwell on the places in life that exist somewhere between sad and melancholy. We all visit that place from time to time and as I write this I can't help but think that it isn't even necessarily that of a bad place to be from time to time. (It is just important that you don't stay there for too long) As I have mentioned before, I get a lot of letters and email from people that open up and share stories with me in return. Many of these stories make me realize that no matter how many bumps there may have been in my road, many others are 10 times more so and in comparison my path is as flat as glass and as tranquil as holding hands. These are the stories that really make my heart burst. Not only for what these people have gone through but that they would consider sharing with me and it reminds me that these portraits and this art is not really about the colors and lines but about the connections between people and time and healing and growth and existence and in all of that is meaning and in the end it is the painting that is least remembered...Enjoy!
Sometimes Paintings Are Just Paintings
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Sorry, there no story with this one. Sometimes paintings are just paintings...Enjoy!
It's Not The Real World In The Photo Of Him On The White House Lawn
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I have this crazy cold and my head feels like there is a small volkswagon parked in between my ears and on top of it all I had to go to the optometrist and get my eyes checked because I always seem to keep putting it off. (Sidenote: My optometrist is the nephew of the late President Gerald Ford and in his office is a picture of him as a kid on the white house lawn. He might be one of the nicest men I have ever met. The eye doctor, that is.) Anyway, back to this portrait. As I sat in the waiting room, with the VW parked between my ears, this guy to my right starts commenting on our new president and let's just say his view could not have been more opposite than my own view. The cold medicine was running thick through my viens and as I watched his mouth move, the words bounced off my glazed eyes like birds flying into windows and I just kept wishing they would call my name and they eventually did and I as I walked away I could hear him turn to the person on his other side and continue the conversation right where he left off with me and I couldn't wait to get to the room with the old black and white photo of the doctor as a boy on the White House lawn and take out my contacts and have the world be a complete and invisible blur....Enjoy!
I Can't Help But Imagine
(or more reasons to create your own life with your own hands and own mind)
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I have this old songbook from the early 50's. It was saved from the dumpster at an old school that was closing in the Upper Penninsula. (I know someone who happened to be there when they were cleaning it out.) The book was actually still being used in the music class up until they closed the doors of the school. She said that there was alot of old books and other things that were still being used but they just didnt have the money to keep everything up to date. (That eventually grew into not having enough to keep it open). When I look at this old song book though, I can't help but imagine all the boys and girls that sang from and read this closing page which was meant to be inspire the kids to keep moving forward with their study of music. I also like to think that maybe it really did inspire some of the kids and that they are now grown adults inspiring others with their music and that somehow these old music books aren't all left for the trash or to end up being just part of a painting that doesn't want to let it all go... Enjoy!
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Portrait of A Corporate Citizen
(or more reasons to create your own life with your own hands and own mind)
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To be honest, the story that I want to write for this painting, I can't. Well, at least I shouldn't publish it here at this time. I pride myself on being pretty open with all these words and sometimes there are things that I can't be open about because it impacts me and those that depend on me in a way that is greater than the result of what is ever generated here. Is this being less open? Does it impact any artistic merit that may exist? Well, with my stuff, the answer is no. All of these paints and words are really just a snapshot of this moment and just like any snapshot, you don't always get the whole story but you take the information you are presented with and fill in the gaps as you feel in order to connect with it some way. It's kind of like seeing old photos of people that you don't know. To some degree it is not that difficult to find something to relate to when you look at them even without any information at all. I think that is how it is going to be with this painting. A title and an image and enough information here to make it possible to fill in the gaps....Enjoy!
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It Is Only A Matter Of Time Before The Cold Wind Blows Again
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We were in the city. It was Friday and it was cloudy and it was cold and the buildings stood up around us like trees without leaves. When we turned down some streets the wind blew down on us and we pulled each other close and I was glad the doctor gave me that medicine for the pain in my back so I could do this all without agony as she put her arm tightly around me. That is the only to walk in the city. Your arms wrapped around someone and all the other stuff is wrapped up in that embrace as well, but you don't talk about that stuff but you both know it's in there. You then turn another corner and the wind is not as strong and you loosen your embrace a bit but not quite all the way, because you really don't want to and you know it is only a matter of time before the cold wind blows again... Enjoy!
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It's All Floating Around Up There Up Above The Eyes
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I have been working on the book most of the evening and feel like I have kind of run out of words for the day. Well, maybe not ran out of them but more of ran out of the ability to piece them together in any way that might be worth a damn. I suppose it is a good thing that I have the paints. I guess as long as I don't have painter's block and writer's block on the same day, it will all turn out just fine. Either way, everything is a bit scrambled up top and everything is floating around up there above the eyes and I suppose it all works it way out of there sometime and somehow but until then I guess it just this painting and these words....Enjoy!
I Just Knew That Is What You Did
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I remember being small and looking up. Standing there in the rows of wooden church pews, surrounded by adults and everyone was singing and looking straight forward. Everyone took their singing very seriously. I would look foward too but my eyes only made it as far as the back of the person standing in front of me. I remember the songs clearly to this day. I would follow along in the book and watch the notes move along with the music on the paper. I remember the smell of my father's cologne. He only wore it on Sundays. There was no reason for him to wear it the rest of the week when he went to work at the factory. The other days he smelled of dirt and metal and cigarettes. On Sundays, as he sang, he smelled only of cologne and cigarettes. When the songs would end everyone would sit down and my feet barely hung off the wooden pew but I could see what everyone was looking forward at but I could never really figure out why. I just knew that was what you did and that is what we all did and we did that year after year and until eventually there was no more of the songs and the pew and stink of cologne and cigarettes and it is all much different now except I never stopped looking up and I am still wondering why there is still the need to take this all so serious...Enjoy!
Words Fall Like Butter Off My Eyelids
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I probably should stay away from the keys tonight. The doctor gave me some vicodin to deal with the pain in my left side, just below the ribs but above the hip and the bruise there is the size of a paperback and things are spinning and slanted just a bit and I suppose that painting is easier in this state of mind and the words fall like butter off my eyelids onto the screen. So, I am going to stop there and just leave this painting as it is... with four hearts. ...Enjoy!
Words Fall Like Butter Off My Eyelids
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I probably should stay away from the keys tonight. The doctor gave me some vicodin to deal with the pain in my left side, just below the ribs but above the hip and the bruise there is the size of a paperback and things are spinning and slanted just a bit and I suppose that painting is easier in this state of mind and the words fall like butter off my eyelids onto the screen. So, I am going to stop there and just leave this painting as it is... with four hearts. ...Enjoy!
In The Mirror You Realize How Unfinished You Are
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To be honest with you I don't really feel much like writing this evening. It was one of those days when you don't remember half of the car ride home because you are staring out the window with your mind on other things and you get home and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you realize how unfinished you are as a human being. To be honest, I don't feel like doing much at all this evening. The corporate world has taken it out of me. If it was just me, I would trade my life in the corporate world for a bologna sandwich. The details are unimportant as I can assume that most of you have had that similar thought at one time or another. You know what? I think I am just going to leave it there. It is really enough said and I can see I am getting nowhere except maybe getting a little off my chest but none of that changes things. With that, here is to realizing that you are unfinished and knowing it is OK and embracing it...Enjoy!
In The Mirror You Realize How Unfinished You Are
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To be honest with you I don't really feel much like writing this evening. It was one of those days when you don't remember half of the car ride home because you are staring out the window with your mind on other things and you get home and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you realize how unfinished you are as a human being. To be honest, I don't feel like doing much at all this evening. The corporate world has taken it out of me. If it was just me, I would trade my life in the corporate world for a bologna sandwich. The details are unimportant as I can assume that most of you have had that similar thought at one time or another. You know what? I think I am just going to leave it there. It is really enough said and I can see I am getting nowhere except maybe getting a little off my chest but none of that changes things. With that, here is to realizing that you are unfinished and knowing it is OK and embracing it...Enjoy!
My Words Are Not Like Poems
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I suppose the painting says it all. My words are not like poems and this daydream about means so much more...Enjoy!
And All The Air Was Empty
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I worked late last night. This happens more often than not and at those hours of the morning you don't need the vodka to help your mind wander because it will do it just fine on its own. Did I say that I worked late last night? At those hours there is a thin line between dream and daydream and the lines and the colors seem to work no matter how you shake it. It must have been close to three this morning and this painting was on the desk right before I tip toed up the stairs and slid into a cold bed and found her warm hand and in the morning I was still wearing socks. Did I mention that this happens more often than not?... Enjoy!
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Beauty On The Rocks. A Poem.
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It was a long conversation and there was adult beverages involved so needless to say there was alot of poetic waxing on both sides of the table. Her brain was working in high gear and under the dim light and across the white table cloth she looked as beautiful as ever. Her lips where painted red and as we talked I could see the words float right into her ears and sit there behind her eyes, circulate and then new words came out of those red lips and this happened over and over and over and there was also laughter and during pauses I could feel her hand and hear Jazz music playing over the speakers...Enjoy!
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Daydream On US131 North
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I was thinking of him while driving down the rainy highway this evening. I think of him often. I have not seen him in years. It has been about 15 years, I suppose. I remember when I was young and things weren't going well and life was much more complicated and I didn't have a place to sleep and eat and he let me in and there was a couch in his room and it was brown and there was heat and blankets and every day was about art and music and freedom and life had no boundries and and either did we and I look back and can't believe that most of us survived (r.i.p Brandon) and it seems like an eternity from this moment as I sit here at these keys but I know that if it wasn't for him and his kindness and his openess, that there is a good chance I wouldn't be here either. Well, with that, here is to him and his generosity and kindess and not forgetting those people in your life who help you grow to become something more than you are...Enjoy!
Three Days, Four Nights (a painting for The Castanets because that is what I am listening to)
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Well, I am afraid it is time for a storyless painting. Just art for art and color for color and line for line...Enjoy!
No Words Are The Right Words
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This story is short because there are tears and there is sadness. Two things that go together but should never go at all. I hate to see her sad. It makes me sick. Tears have a way of making you stop everything and then look at everything again from another way as a way of understanding how you ended up like that. Well, this story is short because there is tears and there is sadness and no words are the right words in moments like these... Enjoy!
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End of Something. Start of Something.
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I was in line at the post office in Easttown and the line was long and people were getting impatient and it was Friday and it felt like everyone just was just ready to be done doing things that had to be done (like going to the post office) and maybe that was just me but I guess that is what Fridays are right? The end of something or the start of something and these were the things that I was thinking about when I heard, "Hey, I remember you" from behind me. Knocked out of my daydream I turn around to stare a really tall guy right in the chest and I look up see a big smile and a big bald head. "Well, I remember you too" and we shook hands. It was right around the time of the election and it was a Friday, just like this one and there was a long line and we started talking and we hit it off and standing there we made an unlikely pair but we hit it off again and we made small talk again and he brought up politics a bit and the economy a bit and the weather a bit and before I knew it I was getting called up to the desk. I hitched my thumb to the desk, "Well, it's my turn" and I turned and went to the desk. By the time I finished up, he was already at another teller and I walked back past the long line of people all staring straight ahead and not saying a word and afraid to make eye contact and as I walked to the car it started to rain and I kept my pace the same and let the raindrops fall as they may...Enjoy!
Memories Are Made Of This
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It is Saturday today and there is music as I write this and there are paints too. The green, red, white, blue and black that you see here and many other colors to my left that are laying and waiting and did I mention there is music? I have the music library on shuffle and up now is Dean Martin and he is singing how "Memories Are Made of This" and what a damn fine song that is to hear right now and I know in the back of my mind that this moment will probably be one of those that gets forgotten when I look back 10 years from now. I suppose that is exactly the reason that I write about these small moments that happen during a day that will be forgotten in between all the big moments and so maybe by writing all these down day after day that Dean Martin is hitting it on the head and memories are indeed made of this...Enjoy!
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<CENTER><P><BR><br /><STRONG><FONT face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size=3>Memories Are Made Of This</FONT></STRONG></FONT><br />Click</P></CENTER><P align=left>It is Saturday today and there is music as I write this and there are paints too. The green, red, white, blue and black that you see here and many other colors to my left that are laying and waiting and did I mention there is music? I have the music library on shuffle and up now is Dean Martin and he is singing how "Memories Are Made of This" and what a damn fine song that is to hear right now and I know in the back of my mind that this moment will probably be one of those that gets forgotten when I look back 10 years from now. I suppose that is exactly the reason that I write about these small moments that happen during a day that will be forgotten in between all the big moments and so maybe by writing all these down day after day that Dean Martin is hitting it on the head and memories are indeed made of this...Enjoy!<br /> <br /> <br /><FONT face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size=2>www.KeemoGallery.com<BR> Stay Updated! Get the Keemo Newsletter</FONT></P>
200 Paintings from 3.13.09-9.25.09
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I like artwork that creates itself. When the story of the piece actually IS the piece. Now at first glance, some of you may look at this and think, "oh this piece is not very original, that is very pollockesque." I think you might be wrong and let me explain. Since, I usually work small, I tend to run off the paper all the time. So, I always work on top of a heavy thick paper surface. (this way I don't get paint all over my desk, table, counter, etc...) This surface travels around with me so I can paint in hotel rooms and airplanes. Well this is that surface that has been used for the last 200 Keemo paintings. So, when I look at this piece I think of the last 200 pieces of artwork and I think of all the hours and days that have gone into this and all the people that have those 200 paintings and how they are spread all around the world from Norway to the UK to Romania to Hong Kong to Hawaii to Canada to Switzerland to Austria and I like to think that whoever has this piece has a little bit of every one of those paintings... Enjoy!
So Long And Thanks For All The Green
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OK. I have to be honest on this one. Today is my wedding anniversary and there are other things I should be doing that sitting at these keys and screen. I am fairly certain there would be none of these paintings and writing and the hours and work if it wasn't for her and all the support through all those years of self doubt as painter. So, I am afraid that is all there is for the story. I am going to be keep it at that and save the rest of the words for a proper painting and the proper moment... Enjoy!
Portrait Of Guitar, Song and the Past
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It was the lyrics that drew me to this old sheet music from 1935. They are simple. They are precise. And they say so much more than the few words on the page.
"A million stars shining bright
that glorify the sky
A million lovers out tonight
but here I am... Alone."
I think that is really enough for this one and I am going to leave it at that... Enjoy
Throw Open The Curtains And Let The World In
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I think it was about four years ago that we went to that city. I keep thinking that we need to make time to get back there. I suppose it is just about travel in general. You know, throwing your bag in the car and heading out leaving a locked up house behind you along with all the crap that goes with it like the alarm clock and the punch clock and the more miles you get between you and there and the less miles you get between you and here the world begins to shape up into something other than you are used to and you begin to see new things from new perspectives and new people and new everything and it is in that moment that you reach over and hold that familiar hand and look into those familiar eyes and you can briefly imagine never going back and running away, just the two of you and just leave that other stuff and run off into a world that is all new and everything seems possible and even if it for just a few days you keep remembering that everything is and it always will be as long as you let it...Enjoy!
Cypress Trees Draped With Spanish Moss At Lake Eloise
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I was invited by a gallery down in Houston to participate in a group show in which all the artists work is on postcards. So, I set out to work on some pieces that I would send down to Houston for the show. Well, after working on a few, I thought, I needed to be sure to do a couple extra that I can post here. I know this isn't much of a story tonight. More of a description of events but I thought I would share them and the postcards with you. So, with that, here is a to great vintage postcard by the well known Tichnor Brothers publishers from the 1950's at Cypress Gardens. Good vintage stuff. Good vintage stuff, indeed ... Enjoy!
Radio Free Keemo
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The email read, "I feel like this is a call in radio show. I have seen your paintings where people have emailed you ideas and you did it. So, I thought I would give it a shot. I am sure you receive a bunch of email and probably won't do this, which is OK. But I thought I would try anyway. I have short black hair but since my favorite color is green can you make it green? I also like pink. I don't know what else to say. Is that enough? Let me know if there is anything else that I am supposed to do. Thanks for your time..." It goes on to say a few more things but I'll leave those things out because they don't have anything to do with the painting. Well, L, I hope this is OK with you and I wish this was a call in radio show because that would be a ton of fun. Although, it would pose some problems when it came to viewing the artwork. With that, ... Enjoy!
