Susan's "subject matter, context and medium...present a coherent artistic vision"
John Torreano, Clinical Professor of Studio Art, NYU

"Great stuff. Love your work."
Seymour Chwast

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Monday, August 30, 2010

Postcard from the Sea of Life -Las Vegas


Miss you all, but having a perfectly decadent time on my own. I am the Queen of Hearts in Vegas. I even drink beer here, I fear. We are staying at the Hotel California, which I highly recommend because there are

Mirrors on the ceiling and pink champagne on ice.
We are all just prisoners here, of our own device
And in the master's chambers,
We gathered for the feast
We stabbed it with our steely knives,
But could not kill the beast. *

LV is the most salacious place in the Sea of Life that I've ever visited and I just love its gross indecency. You might as well throw away your watch. Eternity is the same as a moment here. There is no night or day, or even any timekeeping whatsoever–unless you think of the neon and fluorescent lights as the sun and the twinkling of the slot machines and the darkness when you pass out as night. Time both stands still and flies. You can be as self- indulgent and morally reprehensible as you want to be around the clock because there is no clock and nobody can watch you. Remember, you threw away your watch!

I know how Las Vegas came to be. It is not the way you think and probably saw in the movies, with some lame gangsters like Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lansky developing it. That's strictly Hollywood. It was the Boss! No, not Bruce Springstein, but the Fallen Angel himself–Beelzebub!

Yes, the Prince of Darkness broke out of Hell and designed Las Vegas in his own image. It is his own little piece of real estate hell; he named it Las Vegas. After all, he couldn't very well call it Hell or mini-Hell or something like that, could he? No one would want to visit if he did. Besides, you are not tortured here as you would be in the original Hell. Rather, it serves as a training ground for all of us who are good candidates for Hell. The Great Tempter was thoughtful enough to provide every activity which appeals to our basest instincts, including drinking, gambling, lust, gluttony and avarice. The Devil wants you to enjoy your stay.

Oh hell, it's not that bad.

Paint on,

*Credit: Thanks to The Eagles for the lyrics.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Postcard from the Sea of Life - France

in a trance.

Now don't look askance
but I lost my underpants.
. . . Yeah, at a dance.

Still . . .

there's nothing I could do to enhance
my trip to France.

Avec toute mon affection,

P.S. Touched an escargot–
it was not that bad!

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Sky

HAVING A GREAT TIME! Wish you were here. I'm high in the sky today. It's 25 per cent cobalt/ 25 per cent manganese/ and 50 per cent white.

I tasted a cloud and it was delicious. It started out on the palate with a bouquet of marshmallow fluff, evidenced subtle undertones of cotton candy and had a very light finish.

It holds together well enough, though, so I made a soft sculpture from some unformed cloud that floated by.

I'm astonished looking around because there are so many sculptures up here.

God, I wonder who made them all!

Paint on,

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Postcard from the Sea of Life -Butterflies


WOKE UP WITH BUTTERFLIES in my stomach this morning. Must have fallen in love with life. Always get butterflies when I fall in love. Does that ever happen to you? I didn't want them to stay in there–they were too fluttery and I wanted to see them, so I spread my bellybutton open and let them out.

They were so beautiful, I decided to wear them instead of my usual attire–jeans and t-shirt. I thought I looked very colorful.

When I went out, a couple of lepidopterists tried to catch them in their nets. This made me a little uneasy because the butterflies were my clothes. Then I got really nervous about it and got more butterflies in my stomach. I let them out and was once again well dressed.

Always get butterflies when I'm nervous. You?

Paint on,

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Gone Fishing

Dear Readers,

I HATE TO LEAVE YOU all just when we've become such good blogmates discussing art and life. I've had a wonderful time chatting with you these past months. Has anyone decided which we like better, art or life? Not very likely. That would be tantamount to deciding which we like better, blood or oxygen. Art and life are too interconnected–one cannot choose between them. We have to embrace both wholeheartedly.

Fun though this has been, I must now take my leave. Every Summer I go fishing–not for fish, but for the many esoteric, enlightening, exhilarating adventures the Sea of Life has to offer. I especially like to experience things I've never done before. Actually, now that I think about it, fishing in the Sea of Life is better than blood or oxygen. Everything in the Sea of Life is grist for my painting/writing mill. Some of the things I wish to experience on my sabbatical , in addition to writing my book, Depingo Ergo Sum and preparing for my October 12th solo show are:

Riding a zebra. In my entire life, I have never ridden a zebra. It's got to be easier than riding my favorite horse, the willful Freckles. That supercilious stallion used to intimidate me whenever I mounted him by turning his head slowly and irreverently while looking down at me as if I were addled. I suppose he thought he was too high class for mere riding, because he was a jumper. I tried to curry favor with him by whispering sweetly "We're going to have a nice, polite ride, right Freckles? And you're going to be a gentlehorse, and not throw me, bite me or crush my legs against any stone fences by cantering too close to them, right Freckles?" The look on his horsey face clearly said, "Yeah, right!"

But I digress. I am going to make a point, or should I say a stripe, of riding a zebra this month. It's written in black and white. I must do it. I've heard they gallop at a very fast clip, so we both might work up a sweat during the ride. Perhaps then I can experience another thing I've always wanted to do...

Shower under an elephant. That should be energy efficient, refreshing, and I might even get clean. At least my skin will look better than the elephant's. Then I'll be prepared t0...

Dance a pas de deux with an ostrich. I look forward to pirouetting en pointe in a feathered tutu and being swept up in adagio by an ostrich who is supporting my fragile dancer's body above his head with his wings as he gracefully turns and balances me. I've dreamed about doing this my entire life, but my mother would never let me. Then again, maybe I'll...

Go really wild and dive even farther into Photoshop which is just as exotic as the above when you consider my technical acumen. But catch a fish? Never.

I have a few words on the subject of fishing. First of all, it is quite an unsportsmanlike enterprise to pluck a fish out of its environment with a barbed hook through its lip. When I point this out to my fisherman friends, their stereotypical response is that fish don't feel pain. They often add that they throw them back after they catch them.

Depingo is not one to spoil fishermen's fun. I just want them to be more empathetic with their prey.
Let them imagine that they are walking down the street, going to work or picking up their girlfriend for a dinner date (which dinner I hope is not going to include a fish course.) While sauntering along, my fisherman friend comes upon a fat, lit Montecristo cigar or a slice of chocolate devil's food cake floating right under his nose. The aroma is to die for–and the fisherman may do just that. He lunges forward to get it into his mouth as fast as possible. He's hooked!

To see what this is like, pretend you've been hooked. The next thing you know, you are out of this world, transported to a higher plane inhabited by a more complex form of life, surrounded by air you can't breathe, with a sharp hook through your lip. You are punctured and bleeding, choking and heaving, flipping around because you can't breathe and are terrified by the alien appearance of the creature who hooked you. Are you going to be OK with it if he decides not to eat you and throws you back suffering from hypoxia and a lip with a hole in it? No! You are going to be furious and your girlfriend is going to be even angrier because you are now really late for your date. I say to the fishermen of the world: did you ever even consider that fish might have dates?

To rectify the sporting inequity of fishing, I have devised a new methodology that will make fishing more of a real contest. All you have to do to fish Depingo-fashion is to throw away your rod. Keep the line with the hook on the end of it, though. Next, attach another hook to the other end of the line. You should now have a length of line with a hook on each end. Hook one of the hooks through your own lip, put something that fish find delicious on the other hook and throw that one into the water. Oh, and don't use your hands; clasp them behind your back. If you get a bite, you must bring the fish in using only your cheek muscles. Then you and the fish will be evenly matched. It will be a battle of equals and you will be a true sportsman.

Or, you can skip the hook through your lip and do as I will be doing for the next few weeks– fishing in the Sea of Life. My mind, senses, toothbrush and laptop are already packed in my suitcase, which I've bound up with a chain of nerve synapses. I'm looking forward to catching many new experiences. I'm going to miss you, but I'll be back after labor day. Until then, I'll be keeping in touch via postcard! So watch for them on this blog.

Paint on,