Me: Scotch On The Rocks. You?

Thinking about Macbeth and Macbeth.

Macduck . . . On The Blasted Heath

The title makes no real sense, but I'm rereading my favorite of Shakespeare's tragedies, Macbeth, and so I'm indulging myself.

Self-portrait #51.

Banquo:  The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
          And these are of them.  Whither are they vanished?
Macbeth:  Into the air, and what seemed corporal melted
         As breath into the wind.  Would they have stayed.
                    (Act I, scene iii, 79-82)

Mateo: Three Faces (Naked, Hoplite, Diver)

Mateo in Morning Light.

As with living humans, that light can show nakedly the signs and emblems of age.

I think I did a fair job of capturing some of me at fifty, though in other ways this piece is a younger me and/or not me quite at all.  (If that's confusing, that's the Gemini coming through.)

Piece sculpted in a Self-Portrait Class: Summer 2011.

I've posted shots of this figure in the past on this blog.  

Hit the "Mateo" label-link below to see the other shots and commentary, if you'd like.

Mateo as Hoplite / Greek Warrior.

I use the helmet as a visual aid, seriously and/or humorously, when teaching Homer's epics or any of the Greek tragedies.

Mateo: Free Diver.

That's an old mask from the '80s.  Note the side ports for greater range of vision while diving.

This particular mask I picked up and gave to my father to encourage him to swim laps.  He didn't like the feel of standard swim goggles, so I suggested such a mask.  When he didn't pick one up for himself, I made a gift of this one.  I don't think he ever used it more than once or twice, at best.

Mateo: sculpture mix; denim glazing, poured over and mostly wiped off.

For the record, I'm not crazy about the end results here, but making this piece -- the largest single clay piece I've ever made -- has taught me much, not least about envisioning outcomes and artistic control.   The pallor is slightly disturbing, and the shininess of the blue seems just a bit too much.  I am not sure what I had expected or imagined when I glazed the piece.  And yet, Mateo strikes me as a very undersea  fellow, as a merfolk stand-in, which seems quite suitable too.

Montague's "Psychic Surgery"

PSYCHIC SURGERY

There are times when
one should be able
to pluck off one's head
like a dented or worn 
helmet, straight from
the nape and collarbone
and place it firmly down

in the bed of a flowing stream
of clear, clean, cold water
coursing and spuming through
the sour and stale compartments
of the brain, dulled eardrums,
bleared eyesockets, benumbed 
nostrils, barely open,

and then set it back again
on the base of the shoulders:
well tamped down, of course,
the laved skin and mouth,
the marble of the eyes
rinsed and ready 
for love, for prophecy.

--John Montague

(an Irish poet, another Irish poet, that I admire)

Pining For North, Calling For Kelp

Mendocino Coast: August 1, 2012.  I took this shot a little before taking the photos of the abalone divers, I think.  The fog thickened this next hour something fierce before pulling back again for the afternoon.

I like how this one scene tells all sorts of stories.  I like checking the churning out front while lurking in the calmer water among the kelp.

A Fine Finish, Indeed

And if that photograph lacks a perfectly even, perfectly angled horizon, the boat was rather tippy.  Kiltered, as I like to say, in the best of ways.

Slant-rhymed.

The last day of the year.

Wishful Thinking?

An odd emblem there for a very tippy craft.