Tag Archives: nakedness

Sculpture Anatomy

Here is a collage that represents one of my hoarding-disorder collecting diseases enabled by the internet.  The rules for this collection are basically;

  1. Only photographs.
  2. Only human bodies, or people parts.
  3. Only artistically created people parts made of non-people stuff.
  4. Naked is not only allowed, but preferred.539637_414849215220540_1199730384_n
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  6. 10501970_991148260898161_1611444846896190024_n
    1. This is a porcelain doll, not a real girl… just so you know I didn’t break any rules.
  7. david_1

    The point is, art is a depiction of us.  No matter how you create it, what it visually portrays is a reflection, like the one in the bathroom mirror every morning.  Beautiful, grotesque, sexy, repulsive, adorable, or disturbing… it is who we are.  The point is also, it allows me to point, click, and save and create a collection that I don’t have to hide from my wife.  Because, well, you know… it’s art.

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Filed under artists I admire, artwork, collage, humor, nudes, old art

Sculpture Anatomy

Here is a collage that represents one of my hoarding-disorder collecting diseases enabled by the internet.  The rules for this collection are basically;

  1. Only photographs.
  2. Only human bodies, or people parts.
  3. Only artistically created people parts made of non-people stuff.
  4. Naked is not only allowed, but preferred.

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  5. 988544_991166777562976_6597368353492715309_n

  6. 10501970_991148260898161_1611444846896190024_n

    1. This is a porcelain doll, not a real girl… just so you know I didn’t break any rules.
  7. david_1

    The point is, art is a depiction of us.  No matter how you create it, what it visually portrays is a reflection, like the one in the bathroom mirror every morning.  Beautiful, grotesque, sexy, repulsive, adorable, or disturbing… it is who we are.  The point is also, it allows me to point, click, and save and create a collection that I don’t have to hide from my wife.  Because, well, you know… it’s art.

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Filed under artists I admire, artwork, collage, humor, nudes, old art

Drawing Nude

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God didn’t really want me to write this post.  How do I know this?  Well, my computer is old and quirky (sorta like me) and it constantly spits up and farts when it is most inconvenient.  I had half of this post already written when it decided to release some toxic venom.  By its own volition it suddenly highlighted and erased the whole post except for the title and a random letter “r”.  And WordPress automatically and supposedly helpfully did its little “save the changes immediately” thing.  The whole post was gone in a flash.

Why did God do this?  Well, this isn’t really a “How to Draw Nude Figures” post as it may at first appear.  It is, in fact another in a series of “Why I Am An Artist And Not A Pervert” posts that attempt to justify why a potential “dirty old man” like me spends so much time drawing pictures of naked girls.

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My latest art project is a picture of Brekka, the Telleron tadpole, completely nude.

I am currently drawing the illustration above for my novel Stardusters and Space Lizards.  It shows the scene where Brekka, admittedly a female, although not a human female, has just been accidentally swallowed and then regurgitated by Lester, her friend who is a man-eating plant from an alien solar system.  So excuse number one would have to be, “She’s naked because it fits the story.”  I will stand by that one for matters of illustration.  And you will note, there isn’t anything even remotely sexual about the situation… er, I think I would rather not be subjected to Freudian analysis on that one.

Here are three previously posted nude drawings that I used for previous attempts to corrupt the minds of readers and viewers.  I got a lot of views for these posts, and may at least partially benefit from using the “naked” and “nude” tags on those posts.  Illegitimate excuse number two, then is, “drawing and posting nudes increases the number of people who pay attention to my work.”   My most popular blog post this year has been Be Naked More in which I rationalize my interest in naturism and walking around naked, even though I am certainly far from brave enough to do so in public.

Creativity

And I further claim that it is not a sexual thing to draw someone naked.  One of the fundamental truths about art is that every person I draw or paint or write about in a novel is really me.  The only person who stands revealed by the work of art is me, and it is a portrait of what is inside my head.  Of the five nudes in this post, only one of them was not drawn from a real life model.  (And no, I am not counting the butterfly, or the Gryphon, or Lester as nudes… so stop thinking I’m just playing word games.)  (Lester isn’t even a real thing… man-eating plants don’t exist… so stop it!)  But none of the subjects were ever uncomfortable about posing for me.  Of course now that I have suggested that lame excuse number three is, “All nudes are really me.”  I probably have you thinking about the real meaning of the title of this post.  I have psoriasis, I do tend to feel more comfortable with no clothes on, and do tend to write and draw when I am sitting on my sickbed naked.  But I am wearing clothes at the moment.  Considering the content of this post, anything else would just be creepy.  So, stop trying to picture me all hairy, fat, scabby and nude.  After all, you chose to look at and read this thing.  Maybe I’m not the one who needs to explain why I am an artist and not a pervert.

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Filed under aliens, art criticism, artwork, autobiography, drawing, humor, nudes, Paffooney, psoriasis

Wisdom of the Mickey

 

 

MickeyOne must end the year on a note that is either upbeat or regretful.  A heartfelt, “Meh,” just won’t cut it.

So here are a few particles of wisdom from the dustbowl of Mickey’s imagination.

The world is getting brighter… also hotter.  If we continue to chill on the topic of global warming, soon we will be fricasseed.

Ima mickey

You should definitely pay attention to your teachers.  They are mostly old and cranky and undervalued, and it makes them sad when they realize that no one really listens to them.

I learned this from the poet Dylan Thomas, “Rage! Rage! Against the dying of the light!”  He cursed death, and then he promptly went out and drank so much liquor, he died at a very young age.  Thank God I have lived to be old.

You are also pretty much stuck with the face that you are born with, so you better get used to it, and it has many varied uses… especially in the comic sense.

And I would also like to re-iterate the wisdom of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery;

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It is a bit of a disappointment to an artist to realize that what is essential is actually invisible to the eye… but I know it is true.  Truth resides in words.

The only wisdom I truly possess is the knowledge that I am a fool.

Since I was a mere stupid boy, and before I grew up to be a mildly stupid man, I always yearned to have wisdom.  And wisdom comes through experience and pain.  Now, years later, I realize what true wisdom is… I’d have been better off without all that pain.

Millis

People are a lot like rabbits, except that they are not.

They can never eat too many carrots… unless they do.  And then their skin can turn orange.

There is no beast as noble as a rabbit… except for practically every other beast.

Turtles are not as noble as rabbits.  When you challenge them to a race, they cheat.

HK1

People really ought to be naked more.  It’s true.  If you can strip yourself down to only what is fundamentally nothing but you yourself… you begin to know who you really are.  And it is not shame to let other people see.  Oh, wait a minute!  You thought I was talking about being literally naked?  Oh, no!  Metaphorically naked only!

One should be so opaque and obtuse that other people can see acutely right through you.  It is the only thing that makes nonsense into sense.

And we need to sing and dance a little more than we do.  A good song is healthy for the soul, no matter how badly you sing it.  And even if you are old and arthritic like me, dancing a good jiggity-jig keeps the bones loose and the heart thumping.

Everyone needs to dance with their children.  And talk to them.  You can learn more from them than they can from you.  They have more recently come here from the hand of God.  And they know things that you have forgotten… and will need to remember before you return to Him.

 

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I hope my anti-wisdom has not seriously screwed everybody up.

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Filed under humor, Paffooney, wisdom, wizards

Double The Trouble (Juggling Girlfriends – Part Two)

Disclaimer;  Believe me, I know how dangerous telling a story like this is when the parties being talked about have the potential to turn into Glenn Close Fatal Attraction level stalkers, but the fact is, I have changed the names and fictionalized just enough that they might not even recognize themselves, and they never really liked me that much any way.  Thirty years later they will have forgotten all about me, and my paranoia about it is merely the symptom of old age and looming insanity.  (At least, I pray that it is so.)

Superchicken at the Beach xx

As I got to know Ysandra better, I learned that some women are particularly self-absorbed and even downright mean.  She was a pleasant enough person to talk to, and I had been attracted to her dedication to education as a no-nonsense sort of teacher’s aide.  But she had a dark side.  She believed that she was more or less the center of the known universe, and we, who had the privilege of orbiting about her, owed her what her little black heart desired.  She liked to go places and do things that cost plenty of money.  She liked me to pay for it.  And this I gladly did even though a teacher’s salary was not exactly lucrative in the 80’s.  We went to Austin together quite a bit.  My parents lived in a suburb of Austin at the time, and she had a sister in the city with whom she could stay.  We went and saw The Phantom of the Opera when it came to the Frank Erwin Center.   I don’t regret spending the time and money with her, broadening my social horizons and learning how to live larger than I ever did as a lowly country boy from an Iowa farm town.  But there were surprises too.

Ysandra’s sister and husband lived in a rather unique apartment complex.  It was a fortress-like five-story affair on Manor Road with a gate where you had to speak through a sliding panel and give the name of the resident who invited you to enter.  The reason it was so secure was because it was an entirely clothing optional establishment.  They were nudists!  And I was still a sexually repressed little prude dealing with my secret issues of shame.  Ysandra had all kinds of yucks and giggles at my expense whenever I had to drop her off or pick her up there.  She was not dealing with issues, and didn’t mind naked people… or even being naked in public herself.  I turned bright shades of red-violet in the presence of young women not wearing any pants.  Thank goodness my parents lived fairly close, and I didn’t have to stay there too.

After the first time we visited Austin like that I was forced to explain to her about my secret problem.  She was slightly sympathetic to my discomfort, but firmly believed that what was good for her was good for everybody, and insisted the way to overcome fear was to confront it.  She put me on a path of accepting the inevitability of becoming a nudist myself.  It was supposed to be the cure for me, and she intended to enforce it.

Now, this is supposedly a story of two girlfriends at the same time, and Ysandra was fully aware of Abby, the Reading teacher.  She accepted that Abby lived next door and was a rookie teacher who needed guidance.  She felt about her about what you would expect an alley cat to feel about another alley cat that was eyeing the same canary in a cage.  Ysandra spread all kinds of nasty rumors about Abby in her Spanish-speaking gossip circles, and those came back to bite me a couple of times when I may have been the source of the vicious half-truth.  (In my defense, it didn’t seem like a vicious detail when I told Ysandra about it.  The devil was in the presentation.)  I had to learn to keep the relationships separate.

And keeping things separate was hard because Abby had very little in the way of self control.  I could not tell her about the secret that neutered me because it would almost instantly slip and become public knowledge.  She enjoyed life in a very sensual way.  She wore the shortest of shorts, the tightest of dresses (even in school), and she wore her considerable bosoms like a pair of headlights, lighting up everything male with testosterone in it ahead of her.  She was almost child-like in her feigned innocence.

I told her from the very beginning that Ysandra was my girlfriend to try to curb her enthusiasm a little.  It didn’t work.  She apparently respected Ysandra, and feared her slightly.  But that wasn’t enough to keep her from visiting me late at night, watching my TV and eating my food and making plan to go places with me without regard for how all these things might look to the First Baptist Church Ladies whose fundamentalist Christian values might get us both stoned to death. And I was too intimidated by my own reactions to her to tell her stop and leave me alone.

So, I will leave this perfidious narration here for the time being and save the story of the fatal strip poker game for the next post in the series.  And I must say, I did actually turn red with embarrassment writing this post, so that next one will probably make my head explode and be the end of me.

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Because Naked is Funny

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The nightmare is always about standing in front of class naked.  I had that nightmare as a kid.  I have it still as a teacher.  Why do I so fear having everyone see what I most don’t want them to see about me, and all of them really don’t want to see… especially if they have any ghost of an idea what that might actually look like in real life?  I would make an extremely poor nudist.  People would go blind.  Honestly.

And yet, I find myself writing about naked people far more often than is comfortable.  Why?  What’s the matter with me that the topic keeps coming up in my silly little fiction stories?  Why was it a part of my boyhood fixations that just won’t go away?  I am not a pornography writer, er, I mean erotic fiction writer, like some of the indie novelists I have met online.  I don’t actually even read that crap.  And yet, I seem to find the word “penis” used somewhere in every work of fiction that I have so far completed.  That doesn’t seem natural, does it?  Most of the instances in my fiction are not about adult people having sex.  They are instead about kid-people being caught au natural and deeply embarrassed.  They are about unwanted and unexpected revelations of what we most want to conceal about ourselves.  “No, Miss, I don’t have one of those.  And I never go to the bathroom, either.”

So why do I keep pulling the metaphorical privacy curtain away?  Because naked is funny.  Revealing the awkwardness and bare foolishness of our inner selves is what comedy is really all about.

Mark Twain once said, “Clothes make the man… naked people have little or no influence in society.”  This is a very wise saying that is probably entirely true, and is only mentioned here so that I can quote Mark Twain and pretend that, for a moment at least, I have grown suddenly and comically profound.  But I do think that clothes are the person we construct on the outside of ourselves to influence others and convince them of the lie that we are actually in control of anything at all in our goofy lives.  Under the clothes is more nearly the truth.  We do not choose what we look like.  Our birthday suit leaves no room to make any kind of impression other than, “what a silly-looking blob of naked pink fat that one is!”  And this is why I will at some point in a story strip my characters naked and reveal things about them that they would really rather hide.

Of course, you may have realized about the previous purple-faced paragraph that I am speaking at least partly metaphorically when I say I “strip my characters naked and reveal things about them that they would really rather hide.”   It is the person inside that you are trying to reveal, not necessarily the naked person.   It is probably inappropriate to dwell too much on nakedness when you write primarily for younger readers, even if you have pretensions of writing Mark-Twain-like literary quality kids’ lit the way I allegedly do.  Can you write a book like the Diaries of Adam and Eve in this day and age?  Probably not.  After all, it has naked people in it!

This topic comes up because of my first completed novel (not yet published) called Superchicken.  In that story, the main character, a seventh grader pictured in this week’s paffooney, is asked to be a guest on a camping trip by a pretty young girl who owes him a big favor.  But when she tells him it’s a naturist camp, he thinks that means they study nature and do back-to-nature stuff like making a fire with sticks.  Needless to say, he is surprised to learn that her very liberal parents are allowing her to invite him to a campground full of naked people.  Naked is funny.  But the book will invariably get me into trouble and called a pervert repeatedly.   But should I avoid trying to publish it because of that?  I think…  heck, I could make a lot of money with that kind of controversy.  

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