I bled the wax from this painting (and one of it's siblings, too). I actually didn't totally know what I was up to at the beginning of summer. I set this painting and it's sister up on the slightest of slight inclines in that circle of the yard the gets spot-on hot sun from 2PM - 5PM. And I let them drip drip drip all summer long.
The first month or two the pigmented wax bled and bled. I figured it would all run and then be gone. And then the end of July arrived and it was like 107° for a straight week hard. The wax that bled turned transparent, leaving behind only pigments.
I'm not totally sure what is next for these works. The bleeding of the wax and the long time spent outside have faded the luster. Perhaps it's time to lay down a fresh skin of wax to bleed next summer.
I often struggle with defining my art for people. Defining abstract art is an arduous task in and of itself. My personal abstract art has it's origins in dada, punk, and existential philosophy, guided by a hard-fought life lived with force under the umbrella of a postmodern capitalist society. In a sense, my abstract art is my punk manner of expressing love for living in force while rejecting simple ideas, like commodity and definition.
Poets, Punks & Philosophers!
Send us your words.
We'll cut them up, regurgitate them & publish them. If the alleged words are adamantine we'll publish at face value & let them simmer.