A Year of Mouth Taping and Arting Bureaucratic

A Husband Wanting to Get His Wife to Tape Her Mouth Shut 2023. Acrylic on canvas, 24 x 18"

Wait. Before you wind up your 21st century trope assessor® into an indict tizzy, please note that the title to the painting is literal—no double entendre here. I want to tape her mouth shut, in three places. A long horizontal strip across the lips, and two ends stuck vertically to hold the longer one in place all night long. It’s the only affordable way to insure a night of zero mouth-breathing. She won’t snore through her nose, and onset sleep apnea, along with most of its 6 billion dollar “treat the symptoms” industry, goes bye-bye like tooth decay from a daily flossing and brushing regimen.

Cures depression and low self-esteem too!

In 1875, Native American portrait painter George Catlin’s last written words were:

If I were to endeavor to bequeath to posterity the most important Motto which human language can convey, it should be in three words—Shut your mouth.

You can read it for free. No co-pay.

Good health is so sick of the profit motive.

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Off track.

October 6 is the last day of my year long volunteer artist/administrator residency. I am going to miss the time, the many hours of aloneness, the pretending of doing, of being recognized by society as an art worker for free.

A video of paintings made over the year (with a couple original songs to add sound color. More like a Payne’s gray recording):

I did other stuff too. Cleaned toilets and wrote grants. If you seek a competent administrator, then please look further. I cannot be tasked for money. It’s been artist-trained out of my scope. I’m a committed painter (double entendre), so I’ll stick to that like tape on a mouth until my nose stops breathing.

The last residency paintings up close, always personal:

New Faces and Old Crags of Ireland 2023. Acrylic on supermarket catering tray, 12 x 18"

These Paintings Have Chosen to Live Together Differently for 30 More Years 2023. Acrylic on paper, (2) 13 x 17"