Peep Peep Peep Mr. Peeps
My paternal grandmother's name is Vogeli. Vogel is german for bird.
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Wed. night- was art night. I liked the work- drilling, twisting, twirling, but maybe not the piece...so I kept going, and it got a little better an a little better. Before, my pieces looked like a twisted female version of Kirks- the two-headed baby travel shrine for instance. Now things are starting to look a bit like my apartment...a bit more like me. I still think the crock pot babies are a good idea...even though I've been advised that such pieces imprint mental illness upon others...I like to call it...whimsical. They are the dream pieces. But now, my pieces are neutral, non confrontative, and hold some interest only upon closer looks...yet from a distance it seems obvious. Writing about it helps me appreciate them a bit more too I think.

Perhaps this is true of all artistic expression- the criticism is what gives pieces real dimension. Yet another reason why we demand audience- sort of like prayers and remembering the dead helps them to live on- talking about it makes it exponentially more intricate then the artist alone could ever establish.

Sometimes at art shows though- I like to think about how I wish some pieces were-- maybe an extra little knobby thing on the side, or more scratches, or more red in that little angle right there. I love this game... I like to imagine that the great artists realize the absolute of their creation, and some just overlooked a little something I have the insight for...but despite my plithy cynical art world experiences, I think that there is a divinity to it. The spirit manifests itself, and if the man is quiet enough and focused enough, it comes