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Not Much Room For Guests

 

Not Much Room For Guests

Not Much Room For Guests - collage by douglas brent smith, 29 May 1989

"Why don't you make bigger works of art?"

" Do mean, by size?"

"Yes. Yours all seem to fit in a notebook."

"That's the point. Large is hard to store, and I've moved around so much -- proof of the difficulty is that the larger works of art I did do have disappeared."

"Gone?"

"Yep. Some mysteriously, and some in a brutal purge after my last move."

"After your move? So you paid to have them move and then got rid of them?"

"Yes. I didn't even take pictures of them. They no longer pleased me. They no longer represented me. They were mostly paintings from my first stay in Chicago. They were fun to make. I remember episodes of The Match Game playing in the background and soap operas -- or listening to WXRT on my humble stereo. I really should have had a job, but instead, painted. I really should have made collages -- and sometimes did -- but mostly painted. Dreck."

"So no really big collages?"

"Unless you count some room-sized installation type movies that I made in the early 1970's. Recorded for posterity on 8mm movie reels -- also probably all gone."

"Like a legend."

"Or more like drafts not worth saving."

- dbS - 

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Check Your Pockets for the Key

  Check Your Pockets for the Key - collage by douglas brent smith, 21 November 1988, paper, magazine pictures, glue.

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 One of a series of mostly black and white mixed media/collage pieces with a photo-copy base.  Here's the poem that is on the facing page in the journal: we're not perfect but we are trying trying to get along to talk to touch to see each other's                           point of view we're not perfect but we have a history that is wrapped in strands of perfect moments                         perfect steps                                             perfect strings of perfect love. 23 April 1998 Platform Flyer - mixed media sketch by Douglas Brent Smith, 1998, from Journal #33, Life In Progress.

No Brain No Anxiety

  We didn't have a garage, our neighbors, the Amy's did. Reverend Amy and his family lived next door. That is me sitting on the Chevy, wearing a Davy Crocket hat. I was a big Davy Crocket fan and had the theme song on a yellow 45 rpm record, which of course I sang to vigorously. What's your earliest memory from childhood? No Brain No Anxiety -- collage by Douglas Brent Smith, 1998, from Journal #33, Life In Progress

Bad Presentation Habits

  People are distracted if you assemble an engine while you are making your presentation. Also, if you take photos of light posts and give them fancy names (like Howard Smith), or share tea with the ladies while the rest of the group stares in disbelief, feeling left out, feeling out of place. Is that the presentation that you intended? It wasn't easy to assemble a room filled with geniuses. Now what do you do? Bad Presentation Habits - collage by Douglas Brent Smith, 1998, from Journal #33, Life In Progress

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  "What kind of family is that?" "A family of crows perhaps. Or a family of artists in their own crow colony." "I do not think so." "Perhaps a family platform, off to a rocky start, dancing in the sun." "In the winter?" "And in the snow." "Oh." "How did family time go?" "Not so well." Family Time - sketch by Douglas Brent Smith, 1998, from Journal #33, Life In Progress

Terra Cotta

  Whatever floats your boat matters. Send yourself on a journey unique to your character, special for your strengths, resilient to your challenges.  My dad once made a canoe. He carved it out of a single piece of wood. He told me that it floated, the way a canoe should, but it leaned to one side. I never got in that canoe but I did see it. It's a gift to be able to make things out of wood, even if the first time you try it comes out a little wabi sabi. Terra Cotta - collage by Douglas Brent Smith, 1998, from Journal #33, Life In Progress

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Wrestle with this if you will. Honesty isn't always truthful, and truth isn't always honest -- combining the two is a delicate art seldom mastered. -- doug smith