Painters
Ruscha Torments Museum Visitor
What the hell? Last I remember I’d stolen a car somewhere in L.A. and started driving around town but now it looks like I’m somehow parked inside a big ole art museum. Right away I see a huge painting named Boss and read a label that it’s by Ed Ruscha. Who is this guy, a…
Read MoreThe Golden State
I hope this isn’t merely a dream I’m touring California and seeing fog soothe rocks by an ocean shore, lush trees shade a lake, a river glisten under clouds and sky, serene cows calm a meadow, an electric-orange sunset light exotic desert plants in the foreground, mountains overwhelm powerlines and trash in a pond, spring…
Read MoreFeud at LACMA
“Ladies, stop it,” I shout. “Shut up,” says the one to the left in a sleek black and gray striped dress baring arms, shoulders, and back. “You’re young and beautiful,” I say. “Why are you doing this?” “You’re a fool to ask,” says the lady on the right attired in a black and gray polka-dotted…
Read MoreDisposable Bodies
Where are my sisters and comrades? Where is the beautiful lady without head or legs below her thighs who instead offers a torso nude and smooth red curving into a svelte waist clinched by a lovely but lethal belt of black? Where is her aesthetic soulmate naked and sensually blue save for elegant feathers and…
Read MoreNet Galley Reviews “Paint it Blue”
I’m honored that my book Paint it Blue just received the following insightful review by Net Galley member Susan D. Net Galley is one of the world’s most prominent online reviewers of books. “This is the first time that I have read a book by George Thomas Clark and it is like nothing I have…
Read MorePainting in Color
Joe started drawing when he was very young. He drew horses, cartoons, Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger, airplanes, things he related to. He also liked drawing on walls and in coloring books. He wasn’t thinking of art as a career and never took classes or followed guidelines that someone has to declare him an artist…
Read MoreDrink the Giant Orange
I rush into the art museum and within minutes feel thirsty and hot and dizzy. I spot relief in a painting called Giant Orange topped by a tall orange and black sign and staffed by a pretty young lady inside a huge orange ball below. “Whaddya got to drink?” She looks at me as if…
Read MoreIranian Art, David Hockney, and LACMA
Boyd, an art lover visiting California the first time in years, reads with increasing concern a two-sided handout titled: The Future at Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and waves the news at a museum employee. “What’s this? Almost half the galleries are closed and soon the others’ll be shuttered, too.” She smiles and says,…
Read MoreAngry Bird
You don’t like bird eyes and I hate human eyes so am already enraged when I dive for milk that isn’t milk but plaster almost breaking my beak. Next time my beak’s striking the painter’s nose. Source: Angry Because It’s Plaster, Not Milk by Ed Ruscha at The Broad. Click Here
Read MoreFour Forbidden Scenes
I know you think this is a wonderful upper middle class neighborhood but beware blossoming girl who wears shorts too short and bites apple while squirting black hose, serene dog whose barks close master’s ears, sharp-breasted lady blowing smoke her mother sprays to overcome, and ominous lady legs in high heels hovering over dapper hat…
Read MoreAndy Warhol at The Broad Museum
Elvis empties holster standing cowboy wide in boots gun pointed straight eyes aimed too far right. I doubt he ever shoots anything but TVs. Meet Thomas Francis G FBI most wanted for staring uneven and grim so you don’t really want him. He’d shoot anyone who tries to stop him from robbing Chase Manhattan bank…
Read MoreMama Can Sing
Hey, I like that poster. It didn’t actually start that way, the original’s acrylic on canvas bordered by pieced cloth called Mama Can Sing, Papa Can Blow; Somebody Stole My Broken Heart. Faith Ringgold’s the artist. I don’t know anything about her but I like that hot lady she painted thick-haired, red-lipped, big-busted, arms-spread, round-hipped,…
Read MoreSunday Morning in the Mines
Are you looking at my legs? I bet you are because they’re the best damn legs of anyone in Sunday Morning in the Mines. I know you wonder how my pants, held high by my chest, got those big holes. I don’t remember and don’t want to after another six days digging for gold in…
Read MoreExtra Credit
I don’t like elementary school much because in books letters jump around or reverse themselves, and my friends read faster and get better grades and that’s okay, but I don’t want to flunk so I go to teachers and say, “Can I do extra credit projects?” “Like what?” “I’ll turn in some drawings and find…
Read MoreKerry James Marshall Paints Big
Skin Portrait of the Artist & a Vacuum, 1981 my black ass smiles a missing tooth over a vacuum i never use Self-Portrait of the Artist as a Super Model, 1994 photographers ignore my face until i bury it in dirty blond hair When Frustration Threatens Desire, 1990 black cat black snake black glove black…
Read MoreWalter Challenges Margaret Keane
All right. You’ve read them. You should have. There are plenty of interviews when Margaret Keane admits she wouldn’t have had a career in art unless I’d virtually swept her off the streets and romanced and married her while teaching her to paint and permitting her to accompany me to exhibitions and benefit from the…
Read MorePicasso and Rivera Talk
Really, this is quite unusual, self-portraits talking to each other from a wall on either side of a gallery door. The man on the left, a short muscular brute standing bare-chested, says, “Get out of that frame.” “Okay, as long as you do, too.” Pablo Picasso, cocky at age twenty-five in 1906, steps naked, it…
Read MorePursuing Frank Romero
On a recent Saturday afternoon, enjoying paintings at the Museum of Latin American Art in Long Beach, I hear a security guard say, “Sir, you didn’t pay,” and turn to see him walk fast toward a man in a suit who draws his wallet and says, “Detective Jones, LAPD.” “How can we help you, sir?”…
Read MoreImages of War
Young Ed Reep enters Bologna and photographs a brick wall marred by bullets under partisan blood, and shattered buildings lining the path of U.S. troops, and tanks recently hot now at rest, and a fascist’s hands touching the sky, and three citizens applauding from a balcony, and smiling young women as they rush to extend…
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