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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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30 October 2014

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No. 839 (cartoon)

I’m worried.

You can trust me.

I’m very worried.

31 October 2014

Halloween Sans Poodle Leg

Today is Halloween, but now that the inexplicable open running sore on my left forearm has inexplicably healed, there’s nothing I fear. I grabbed my huge hunting knife and chased the child beggars looking for handouts, but they were as bored with the idea of scaring someone on Halloween as I was.

I blame myself for the tedium because I was too parsimonious to spend eighty dollars to rent a chainsaw. Silly me; all I had to do was sever the disfigured leg of a pitiful poodle and Sans Frisco would have been my bloody oyster.

Feh! Boo! Feh!

1 November 2014

The World Will End in Humidity

Sophia is working on some do-gooder project deep in a Cambodian jungle. She’s utterly miserable, which I suppose is one of the masochistic pleasures of her charitable work. She told me that her misery has given her a new insight into the conjecture in what is perhaps Robert Frost’s most famous poem:

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.

“Robert Frost didn’t have much of an imagination,” she wrote. “I know with certainty that the world will end in humidity, malaria, and starvation.”

I love Sophia; she’s always good for a laugh.

2 November 2014

Moonlight Savings Time!

I love my friends, even if a significant number of them are whiners. Amelie is grumbling about the end of daylight savings time. I can’t say this to a self-declared princess, but that’s incredibly simpleminded.

For starters, today is the only day of the year that’s twenty-five hours long. And then there’s the flip side of the celestial coin: more moonlight! (Of course, the amount of sunlight and moonlight remains a predictable constant, but my artistic license allows me to hallucinate at will.)

And with that, it’s time to take a break from penning drivel and go to cycle through the park and enjoy the lunar rapture.

3 November 2014

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Why Didn’t Anyone Tell Me About Nirvana?

Kurt Cobain died just over twenty years ago when he used his Remington Model 11 20-gauge shotgun to spraypaint his home with his brains. Or maybe he was murdered. Whatever.

I know from friends of friends who worked with him that he was a sadistic scoundrel and an uncaring, egotistical nogoodnik. That’s why I never listened to his musical recordings. Until today, that is.

For the nth time, I belatedly (re)learned that my prejudices don’t serve me well. Cobain made some really great music, as did James Brown. When the saints come marching in, Brown and Cobain will not be among them, but I shouldn’t care about that. My musical library would be miniscule if I only listened to recording made by irreproachable people.

Having admitted yet another embarrassing mistake, I’m not the least sorry about Cobain’s entry into Club Twenty-Seven. At least he died before he was old enough to make mediocre music.

4 November 2014

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Twelve Coupled Archival Chairs

Where do aesthetic ideas come from? If I knew the answer, I’d write a book about it and buy New Zealand with the royalties.

Earlier this week, my latest idea arrived in the form of a dozen old chairs someone deposited outside the door of my studio at the Internet Archive. They all looked the same even though many decades of use had given each seat a unique appearance. It was a wonderful opportunity to again explore Marcel Duchamp’s infrathin, so I did when I made Twelve Coupled Archival Chairs.


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©2014 David Glenn Rinehart

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