Art therapy at the Wetzel

Moth In Glass Cont'd

Excuse my sideways, broken up, or teensy-weensy posts. I understand that display is just as important for broadcasting your art as the art itself, but I'm like a fucking 2 year old with the computer and my fingers slip and I'm too lazy to figure out formats and whatnot. 

But anyway, onwards and upwards. 

This was my first attempt at integrating my clocks with art, even though I think that the beauty of the movement is so magnificent that i need to produce something that does not hide it and does it justice by working with it and not over it. 

What you cannot see in the pictures is that the moth moves from side to side with the rapid ticking of the clock. The movement does not have a pendulum so the escapement is not as steady, regular or slow as it was intended to be. The ever moving moth is suspended in the air so that the entire piece seems weightless, yet its power is derived from a 3 lb weight hanging from its chain. It is covered in glass to exaggerate its immobility and accentuate its fragility. 

It is made from an old cuckoo clock movement from the Black Forest. It is wrapped in copper and fishing wire. The moth is made of feathers and copper wire. It is suspended by fishing wire. 

Moth In Glass

So obviously i am having problems with iphoto and its inability to conform to my demands but if you turn your head sideways you will see that i have begun a painting that will be called: Garlic Breeding Modern Man

Pablo Picasso says:

What one does is what counts and not what one had the intentions of doing.

On Creativity

Creativity is not as glamorous or pleasurable as all those masters make you believe. It is more like a scorpion in your bed. There it hides in the farthest, darkest, moistest cranny just waiting for its time, for it knows it will have a time. It attacks when you most need rest, when you most need clarity, when your day has turned to night and your brain is digesting the lo and beholds of the hours past. When it stings you your heart pumps your adrenaline curses and your mind reels. It makes you sick with hallucinations and restlessness. Such a sudden rush is welcome in your bored and lethargic body. But this venom passes time and distracts you better than any drug. If the sting is deep you will jump up with its stinger still dangling from your vein and tend to the madness. You will write and draw and drink and smoke and brood and read and isolate. If the sting is shallow you should feel pretty lucky this time, because the hangover is much less severe. 

You awake from your slumber tired, thirsty, and jumbled. For approximately two seconds you feel completely satisfied. Last night something happened that stirred your mundane schedule. You look beside your bed and on your bed and under your bed and on your hands and shirt and face- all the evidence of a fit of brilliance. You would invite all of the scorpions of the world to come and sleep with you because that is just how excited you are. But those are the last little drops of the stuff inside of you talking. Because, with this venom there is always a successful antidote --!because after all of that!-- you realize you've produced 

nothing but shit.