All At Once with Trap Doors

All At Once with Trap Doors, mixed media by Douglas Brent Smith

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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

Creating on Illusion

Creating on Illusion - collage by Douglas Brent Smith Where's the illusion? What sleight of hand do we focus on? I think that I made this collage in 1989. That was so long ago and yet, in terms of illusions, not long at all. What do you think?

Deep Thinker Thinking

Deep Thinker Thinking, drawing by douglas Brent smith, December 2001, from Journal #35, Mission Control, Volume Two, 2001 - 2002. Drawing helps me think. Thinking, sometimes, draws me to draw. It amazes me how few adults draw at all. Somewhere along the line in childhood they just stopped. We should all draw more and more often. Pencil, pen, crayon, whatever you've got. Instead of scrolling tonight, spend that time drawing a picture. Instead of wasting your time and feeling bad about it you've have a picture you can feel good about. It doesn't have to be great, it just has to be yours.

that childhood past

that childhood past doesn't end just because you get bigger you keep a little little version of yourself right there just under your skin (still so sensitive still so fragile) so that you either nurture your own little little. version of yourself or it smacks you when you least expect it. (over and over again) 14 November 1996

spoon stay

Everything we find or stumble on is a new experiment. Take notes. spoon stay - collage by Douglas Brent Smith - 1996

Say What You Feel

Say What You Feel -- mixed media by douglas brent smith

ocean walk

the cold wind blew uncut as ocean waves kicked stone gray jetties large gaping cracks between the rocks long suggestive pauses in our dialogue steps away a homasote haunted castle beyond a secret mist two blocks in the distance a single block between what we said and what pooled below the surface moist light beach sand crisp night air a buoy on the horizon this is your turf your haunting ground the smells salt sweet gulls and mussels and popcorn blended inseparable from that late summer visit our individual yet tethered travels returning each of us again to us in our own ocean so deep we may not swim beyond the mystery of the tingling unhinging phrases unstrung broken guitar strings a chipped boardwalk recollection stunning afternoon thru evening tones incidental sublimations consequential quirks of fate probing endless questions colored by scattered sighs barely audible experience unsaid unconsummated ties that clouds cover us and the moon that night one of our full moons stalking us ...

your island

there is an island for you more than any dream toes in the clean warm white sand turquoise water rushing in gently singing softly your name there is an island for you satisfying and free cabana boy bringing drinks olga massaging your neck whenever you call there is an island for you apart and above the fray of everyday laughter touching souls hearts sparking love with every moment accepting, friendly, relaxed let me be your island your terms your time your touch and i will hold your hand watch the waves, and smile right there beside you sharing our very best adventures ever. -- douglas brent smith

With Every Available Device

With Every Available Device -- painting by Douglas Brent Smith, December 1976. This is another of the series of acrylic paintings that I did in Oak Lawn, IL, living with Mom and Jack for a brief few months. My favorite art movement is surrealism, and this one clearly emulates the work of the surrealists, in particular Yves Tanguy . When I moved from Colorado to Newtown in 2016 I threw away a number of my paintings, many from this period of time. I did not like them enough to keep them, I guess although I feel some regret at heaving them, one can't save everything and I live in an apartment that's about 600 square feet. No real storage room. This one survived the cut.

my father's house

my father's house bears change these days the voices bouncing off the walls are not those of my family but of strangers taking the space i once knew so well they speak with West Virginia accents strangely and treat me as a stranger there are few things left in my father's house to remind me of familial love to comfort me in shared history something has been transplanted and another thing supplanted my father's house which once was also mine is no longer even my father's house. douglas brent smith

douglas brent smith

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