Ladies of the Fright

Depingo  left, Woman right in  homage to de Kooning

Willem de Kooning

Misogyny looming, blended flesh into ground

Uncommon ground! I would not tread if no one else were around

He painted wild-eyed, menacing girls...ladies of the night

Who angry vigor transformed into ladies of the fright.

Willem rendered sharp, fierce teeth with a hard jagged poke

Gaping eyes stare out at me as if I were a joke

Dismemberment, distortion born of his  hooked stroke

Bodies shredded, heads imbedded; all hope goes up in smoke.

These unfinished records of an extreme violent encounter

Show the action painter's wrath coming down upon her

Her body's deconstructed, disfigured face is fuming...

An expressionistic masterpiece, she's shameless, all consuming.

Engorged, Woman on a Bicycle is apt to split her seams

She seeks my adulation while listening to my screams 

With densely layered color this lady's been conceived

As a conduit to nightmare. All women have been grieved.

Sinister smiles scare me more.
In Women One, Two, Three, and Four 

Medium and subject converge

 Painting myself with Woman to purge.

Magritte Bites It

Ravenous, that twit, Rene Magritte

Bites into an apple and swallows a pit

Enters a trance...has sort of a fit -

Countenance greenish, brightly lit.

An apple appears - center face

Hides his nose -  there's not a trace

No eyes, no mouth - what a disgrace!

He peeks under his bowler just in case.

The fruit grew there he must admit

Because he didn't spit out the pit

Now branches sprout where he must sit

Ouch!  That's got to hurt a bit.

He contemplates while having a cry

It's nothing that will  make him die

Picking apples to paint and for pie

He becomes the apple of my eye.

Salvador Dali's Chauffeur

It's moving to be an artist's chauffeur

I prepare myself by drinking liqueur

Pick up my idol,  Salvador Dali

Take a wrong turn in Tin Pan Ally.

Dali is dressed in tails and two ties

What happens next -  I'll tell no lies

I open his door, then shut it quicker

That's when I see lavender flicker.

One of his ties, the long  one - wrong size!...

Gets caught and  Dali is stuck to the car

Worse than that, his tie I mar

Then when I  free him, I step on his finger

That crunching sound will always linger.

Dali finally arrives, moustache all a twitter,

Smoothing his glitter, he is no quitter.

But says in an abstract surrealist moan
Wanting so much to be left alone, 

"No need to fetch me with your  hack

 I think I'll take a taxi back!"

Postmodern Shark Attack

Damien Hirst

Nearly burst

Trying to out-camp

Marcel Duchamp.

To top Marcel's conceptual urinal

Damien worked in an air force terminal.

Eventually something fishy did fit

For the iconoclastic, ditsy  Brit.

Executing his fame-obsessed wish

In formaldehyde he dipped a fish

The resultant preserved postmodern shark

Enclosed in glass,  made its mark.

Bought by a hedge fund guy... funny -

Only he could afford the money

No shrieks of envy pass my lips

I'd  rather have my fish with chips.

Andy Warhol's Models

Warhol, who stopped painting phrenology

Was the master of painted technology

He found his self portrait and that of Jackie

Unsatisfying, underwhelming and a little bit tacky

Because each model had only one head.

While wishing for more out of models' faces

He tripped on his shoes and over his laces

Broke out with a fever,  pushed the wrong lever

Lost the maneuver, became an achiever

And created four faces instead.

Pat Barkman

Pat Barkman is really fast, man

I saw her demo (paints faster than I can)

Her paintings are great whether landscape or fruit

If that's not enough she's extremely cute.

 She's as tall as the sky,

Her bod makes me cry

Pat's wardrobe? ... To die!

Her credentials?  ...  Oh, my.

She saves the environment, won't let you pollute

She's charming, brainy, witty, astute

Does she belong with art masters? Is she resolute?

I think you'll agree, those questions are moot.

I don't know, but think I'm her greatest fan.

She's a better gardener than Holmes (that's Dan)

Happy Birthday, dear Pat. It's off with my hat

You're the best at all things with no caveat!

Joe Flom's Doodles

I am proud to be the keeper of  the late

JOE FLOM'S DOODLES. 

I am the caddy and
they are totally inspiring to me as an artist. 

When I illustrated the Skadden Newsletter,

Mr. Flom was kind enough to give them to me
to incorporate into my drawings.  

Here are some doubling as Easter eggs. 

Happy Easter and Happy Passover 

to all Depingo's readers.

Facebreath

DO YOU HAVE FACEBREATH?

Facebreath is a serious and heartbreaking affliction.  It is one of the many adverse side effects of using Facebook and it can infect anyone. Oh, you're not sure whether or not you have it?  Check out the  Facebreath symptoms and warning signs enumerated below to determine if you have or are developing Facebreath.

1 - Do you write a Facebook post to someone who is sitting in the same room right next to you rather than just talking to them.?
2 - Do you pretend to know somebody just to make a new Facebook "friend?"
3 - Do you cajole your hundreds of "friends" to" like" your Facebook posts?
4 - Do you "like" their posts in return - whether you like them or not? or even know them?
5 - Are you are no longer concerned with producing good content. Does content just mean getting "likes" to you?
6- Do you get panicky when your friends merely "like" your posts rather than "comment" on them?
7 - In addition to begging for "likes" are you now asking your "friends" to mark your posts "top news" so that your  edgerank won't slip and  you can actually make "top news?
8 - Does your breath become even more foul if your posts  just make  "rancid"... um... that's "recent news?"
9 - Do you sit around scheming how to outsmart algorithms at your own affinity score, edge weight and time decay as if your social networking life depended on it?.
10. Do you think Mark  Zuckerberg is your friend?
11.Did you get in on the IPO?

If you have answered two or more of the above questions affirmatively, it is imperative that you start googling Google straight away before your Facebreath gets out of hand and progresses to the dreaded  terminal stage - Facebite. In this stage  your eyes and a major chunk of your cerebrum is frozen and eventually devoured by Facebook leaving you blind, thoughtless, and totally dependent on Father Facebook, who BTW will be delighted to select your friends and information for you.  Just follow the little blue arrows to "top news." 

Of course, you'll have to have somebody else read it to you.

Paint on,

Depingo

The Mellow Mushroom

I AM ENJOYING an extremely pleasant dream when it capriciously morphs into a nightmare. Terror-stricken, I am on a treacherous ride, scared to death. It might be the Cyclone in Coney Island for I am being mercilessly bumped up and down, nearly to death, at high speed on rickety ground. But for the restraints around my chest and hips, I would be airborne. The banging, grinding and scraping noises insidiously forewarn of impending doom. Are there words too? If I concentrate, above the noise, I can make out words competing with the awful mechanical cacophony. I wish I had not, though, because the message is clearly condemning. "The car's out of control," is being screamed over and over until it is etched it into my very being.

"This is not a dream," I suddenly realize. Our situation is far more dire than a scary roller coaster ride and most likely to be fatal. What I had dreamed was a roller coaster is actually our car. It is out of control at 70 mph on a rough shoulder between a busy highway and a steep incline leading to a ditch. We are driving to our winter cottage in Sailboat Bend. I realize I may never see-Sapodilla Cottage (named after the tall, beautifully aggressive trees that cloister and adorn it) ever again.

"Step on the brake," I shout, and then get the horrifying news that neither the brakes nor the steering work anymore and the accelerator is frozen. Always the optimist, I try to think of a remedy for this dismal state of affairs. As a last resort, I think, we might jump out of the car and roll down the side of the hill into the ditch before the car veers into the speeding traffic.

We do not need to jump. The car rambles down the steep incline at high speed to the ditch for us. I view this Hollywood stunt in amazement. Had I not been trapped inside, it might have even seemed amusing. The uphill wheels are cartoon-ishly spinning in air, while the downhill wheels dig in and scrape huge chunks of mud, stones and grass off the hill with such force I can smell rubber burning.

Against all odds, we land upright at the bottom of the ditch, leaving parts of the bottom of the car on the hill behind us. But we do not stop. Again, there is a glimmer of hope: We can ride out the length of the ditch, albeit at 70 mph, until we run out of gas.

Hope is dashed as we imminently approach a deep, car-sized hole within the ditch. Even the firmest of optimists like I know that we are out of options. Hopelessly, I brace myself for the finality of it all. I wonder how badly it will hurt which part of my anatomy, and for how long. I have come to grips with the fact that this muddy ditch will be my final resting place.

Serendipitously, the impact of the fall into the hole jogs the steering and brakes back into action. The accelerator is still frozen at 70 mph, so the 4-wheel drive powerfully kicks in and the back wheels lift us out of the hole and up the 10-foot incline back onto the shoulder. We are back in our original predicament. Sympathetically, the car sputters a few times and then dies. We are hyperventilating and stunned but we emerge from this horrible incident without a scratch.

That's when the screaming and the shaking starts up all over again. "Depingo...Depingo!... Come on, Depingo...Wake up!...we're at the Mellow Mushroom. We can finally eat!"

Paint on,

Depingo

Butterfly Eyes

Now and then they hear her sighs

when she creates with paints and dyes
untethering constrictive ties
confirming it–painting good byes.

They'll never know how hard she tries
negotiating the lows and highs
she always wears the bright disguise
deflecting the pretense and lies.

Outside she's looking for the prize
Internally she almost dies.
It's perfect! They can't see she cries
'Cause she's got butterfly eyes.

Last Walk

There is a gaping wound
where my heart once was.
I thought it would eventually close up
and something similar to a heart
might grow back.
What used to be my heart
is a huge aperture now
and is no longer heart shaped.
The resultant gap is filled
with chilly air,
which does not help me breathe,
but chills me to the core.

The emptiness has taken over now
eliminating my torso altogether.
My remains consist of
my head above the empty space
and my legs beneath it.

My head: in which I can recall
the enchanting days
with my golden girl.
My eyes: which sight a fluffy white phantom
swimming toward me in the lake and, of course,
my lips: which call out her name,

Bella ...
Bella ...
Belle of the Ball ...

in case she gets lost on her last walk.

But she won't,
for I still have my legs
beneath the spot that was my heart,

and I will walk with her
until the end of time.

Flawed

There was a hairy caterpillar
crawling on my face.
He tickled me while moving
at an extremely slow pace...
(without, I might add,
the least pretense of grace.)

So, I shot him with a can of mace.
~~~~
Moonlighting as a mustache now,
he stays pretty much in place.
'Tis alarming though and
quite the disgrace...

now that
knickers trimmed with antique lace
can't get me to first base
with men
of the human race.
~~~~
'cause I got a caterpillar on my face.

Happy Thanksgiving

My TV Interview on Creative Women Today

Watch Susan on TV

Uni-Man

IT IS 7:30 IN THE EVENING. After finishing up work at Uni-Corp, Uni-Man leaves the Uni-Corp building, which he himself conceived, designed and built. He had a little help from others, but it was mostly the result of his brilliant ingenuity, dedication and hard work that got it built. Uni-Man is the owner, president , CEO, COO, CFO and lead designer of Uni-Corp. Let's face it, he does the work of 100 people every day while the sun and moon rise and set around him. Still, he is a true gentleman and a really sweet guy, and is well-liked by everyone, especially his employees.

In the elevator, he runs into a group of his employees, including me, Depingo, who ask him to join them for dinner and drinks at 223, the hardest ticket in town. Magnanimously, he agrees to come with us. This is our lucky night. We all jump into his raspberry colored '58 Caddy and off we go.

When we arrive at Uni-Bar in 223, even though the place is jam packed, the maitre d' gives us the best table in the house. The waiters, manager and chef fall all over Mr. Uni and seat him and us prominently in a spot where Uni can be seen by everyone in the restaurant and also be shown off to passers-by in the street. Everyone is sneaking peeks at Uni because he is so handsome. (Don't tell anyone, but I saw the maitre d' politely but firmly tell a large group of diners that they had to leave to make room for Uni-Man and his party.) Very undemocratic, but what can I say? They love Uni-Man at 223 and are delighted and exceptionally proud when Uni graces the establishment with his presence. I like to watch him light up the place with his charismatic 150-watt smile. The trio that plays there likes to watch him dance. They are mesmerized by his rhythm, style and cool moves.

Uni's tablemates and all the diners at nearby tables are laughing hysterically at his witty, insightful bon mots. His conversation is absolutely scintillating and all his companions are enchanted. Tonight he is regaling us with a charming story about how when he was a little boy he believed that he invented lemonade and only later found out that it already existed. As if he didn't invent it! Honestly, the man is so modest! We all adore Uni and are having a wonderful time. How could we not? Uni is the most charming, handsome, smart, amusing man in the entire world. In fact, he is the only man in the whole world, or woman for that matter.

You see, way back during the primordial slime, on the sixth day God created man. That's right, man,–Mr Uni-Man. He created Uni in His own image. On the seventh day, God said unto his favorite creation, "Uni, I just worked six days straight and I'm tired. Why don't you be the boss for a while." And knowing that in Uni he had created the perfect man, God decided not to bother making any more people. "I'm never going to do any better than Uni," he figured, "why mess with perfection?" So, on that seventh day, God actually did rest and that's why today Uni is the only person, period. He's solo... unique...alone... however you want to say it.

There is no "rest of us." We all just exist in Uni's mind. We are merely figments of his imagination. Oh, and don't count yourself and say that two people exist. I assure you, you do not exist. You, I and every one else, as well as the world, the solar system and the universe are only conjured up in Uni's mind for his own amusement and to keep him company.

There is a tricky little philosophical problem associated with being figments of Uni's mind. To wit, when he goes to sleep at night, we, every one of us, disappear. That's right, we cease to exist because he is not thinking about us. We are no longer us ... we're gone ... outta here ... we've really never been ... history! In addition to no "us," there is no world, no solar system, no universe - just Uni, upon whom God bestowed the power to conjure up all these things. God must have been feeling a little guilty about the slacking-off-not-making-more-people-thing, so He gave Uni that power. Otherwise, think how lonely Uni would be.

That said, back to the night in question when we all went to 223 ...

After admiring the way Uni ate, in a very Marie Antoinette-ish way, all the creamy part of the camembert, while the rest of us ate the rind, I am not ashamed that I acted as I did. (Uni-man eats only the creamy part. Well, why not? There is no one else on earth who he would rather have it.) Nor am I pleased with the outcome that night we all got together at 223.

This is how it happened. Flirting with me, Uni asked if I wanted to come up to his apartment to see his view. I jumped at the opportunity and most enthusiastically agreed. Now, readers, you might be saying to yourselves rather judgmentally, "But (that slut) Depingo is married, isn't she?" My reply is as follows. "Do you like living? Well, I do and I believe Mr. Depingo does too, so he didn't mind that I went home with Uni." He knew that I only had one thought on my mind: "I've... got...to...keep...this...guy...awake!" You should all be thanking me for trying to save your lives, not questioning my morals!

When we got to his apartment, I put on Stripes, full volume, because it was the loudest music I could find. Uni got comfortable on the sofa. Then I went into his kitchen to brew a quadruple-strength pot of espresso. That's when I noticed the lights started dimming and then flickering. I panicked and rushed back into the living room to see what was going on. It was even darker there and I could no longer see. I did hear the sound of perfect snoring, though. It was the last sound I ever heard. Uni-Man had gone to sle.......................

The end. Of everything.

Paint on anyway (after Uni-Man wakes up.)

Depingo

PS Uni-Man's picture and name have been changed to protect him from the millions of people, uh, that's figments, yet to be thought up by him when he awakens and who would ungratefully try to prevent him from falling asleep if they knew his name or what he looked like.

ALMOST SOFT SELL - $50 + shipping

DEPINGO IS NOW THE PUBLISHED AUTHOR

of a book.

Though my alter ego, Susan, is still hung up on a hook,
hiding in her paint brush-cluttered nook.
While she might ask you to have a look,
SUSAN WOULD NEVER ASK YOU TO BUY THE BOOK.

Nor would I, Depingo, sigh.
However, if you click on the button that says "Buy,"
My alter ego, Susan, will not have to cry
and I will refrain from punching you in the eye.

That's the big button on the top right.
So don't be uptight,
Click it with all your might!

108 pages of paintings, poetry, cartoons and drawing delight,
and bright literary comments let in the light!

BUY NOW. Read and view art all night.
Depingo Ergo Sum is full of fun and insight!

P.S. Did I mention that Depingo Ergo Sum is issued as a limited edition, signed and numbered by Susan? What did you think she was doing in her paint brush-cluttered nook? Signing and numbering the book!

I don't want to get you nervous, but when the edition sells out, the book will be gone forever. And it is a bargain at $50 plus $6 for shipping .

Paint on,

Depingo

Art and Life
make beautiful
music
together.

Witch Book?

Let's get to the point.
Buy my book, or ...
I'LL PUT A SPELL ON YOU!
It's only 50% of your soul
(err, that is 50 bucks plus shipping)
When you see it, you'll be flipping.
It is absolutely gripping.
To life and art it is true.
It's really for you!
As to how many I've got left ...
just a few.

Witch [sic] excerpt? Got a Bone in My Leg, page 51. "Those bones claimed me. The skull, clavicle, sternum and all 24 ribs, some sort of grim ersatz chorus sang to me, 'Yes, we are thee! This is what you'll be sooner than you think.' "

Paint on,

Depingo

Got a Bone in My Book, So Buy It...$50.00 + shipping

MAKE NO BONES ABOUT IT.
The book is great!
I didn't buy it; that's why I look like this.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
There are fewer books left than I have ribs.
I happen to be in it.
Look on page 48.

Master Ghosts

I RECEIVED THE FOLLOWING EMAIL AND PHOTO from John Beach, who is one of Depingo Ergo Sum's readers, and who also photographed my show:

"You know, Depingo, you said you were looking at all those photos from your opening and kept seeing new things in them the more you looked at them.

I too studied them because all did not seem quite right with the images. I thought I saw some faces in that long view in the gallery room that were not there when I took the shot. They were not very clear, but they were there. So I began to enhance the photo more and more. It was downright spooky. I felt like Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd using their ghostbusting machine. Then, I thought, "Why not?" So I called them and borrowed their ghostbusting gizmo and made it an add tool for my photo studio. I looked again ... and ... I could see them..the faces ... they were there!

At first they were only little faded spots floating around on the ceiling, but with the greater enhancement capabilities of the ghostbusting add on, I soon began to see their ghostly, though benevolent faces, clearly. Did you know, Depingo, that your favorite master painters and your mentor, JT, came to your gallery showing? It is true! Look up towards the ceiling of the attached image.

Paint on, Depingo, paint on..................JB"

Indeed.