Donor Cars

When restorers are looking for parts, donor cars are often cut up and harvested. This accounts for entire sections missing. The two Caddies in front are missing substantial sections after amputation. What I really enjoy doing is creating a clutter scene with intersections of shapes and colours that are unqiue to each car. Its fun to be the creator of a scene that doesn't exist until brush hits paper.

I bashed this thing off in a hurry to force me to "decide and do" rather than fiddle and consider. Its in an effort to just paint. Its on a full sheet of Arches 300 with W/N and DaVinci. There's things to fix and the paint wasn't completely dry leaving a couple of darker spots...but you get the idea. Bink to explore the molecular structure of my own little world....sort of.

Transportation - A Personal History

Down in the back forty, against the tree line, is a small pile, all thats left of a much bigger car hedge. The light dances on a bright hot day and the shapes and colours blend and contrast in expressions that are almost abstract. When the wrecker went through only a few hulks were left, the ones with a special significance to the man who farmed the land. Cars like the honeymoon express, the first born rocket to the hospital twenty miles away, the grad taxi, the grandchild's first Christmas ride, and the last trip to the "home". This fanciful depiction was done without reference or concern for accuracy as a tribute to the notion of a car monument, created randomly and inadvertently, as a byproduct of just living, by a person reluctant to let go of an essential part of his personal history.

There's a whole nother world to visit through the miracle of "binking".

The Home of the Surgeon

Trying to get a back to basics look here. Unembellished. I am going to add some silliness and cook up the story. Bink for a revelation.

My grandfather built this house, he was a surgeon in the first world war. He married my grandmother in 1916. While courting her he was married to another woman and engaged to a third. He sorted out his affairs (literally and figuratively) and legalized his preferred choice. My grandmother was the illegitimate daughter of a very famous English poet and claimed to have been born on Christmas day, 1900, which would have made her a child bride. When my mother found my grandmother's birth certificate after she died it showed her birth date as 1896, making her almost twenty when she was married. My grandfather the surgeon was twenty four years older, which might explain his large inventory of partners, present and past. He built this house in 1919, by which time they had three kids under four. When the flu swept through, they lost their precious three year old boy. My grandmother was so upset that she would no longer live in the house. She wanted to move to a more moderate climate with no mosquitoes and warmer winters. My grandfather who was shell shocked and partially deaf told her that if they moved he would never build her another house. They moved and rented for the rest of their long lives. He never practiced medicine again.

__________________
Ron Morrison

The Fishscale Chapel

Bink to blow...up!
A Norwegian fisherman was pitched out of his small fishboat while jigging for cod during a squall. Snagged by a log and deposited on the beach, he believed he was delivered there by God. Filled with "The Spirit", he read "The Book" and built his version of a church and delivered homespun sermons to the seagulls. The belfry contained a big brass bell which can still be heard when strong winds whistle through. The shingles are cut in the fishscale style.

Found Under the Bed

These have never seen the light of day, just organizing. Detonate for a larger picture.

More of the Same Only Different

I just put this up to change the scenery. Bink to Blow!

Gone With the Tide

The title of my new pulp fiction. Blast for seismic upgrade or enlargement.

On the Rustaway Plan

Sometimes things get filed or forgotten or lost and then there they are, again, and you realize that they were "pre-studies", idea paintings, or flawed versions of salvageable compos. Maybe they are okay, after not looking at them for awhile. You get the digital out and started shootin'. You get them in the compu-library and edit and you realize you got some tolerable stuff. Maybe not the ones you'd put in your self-directed bio epic, but some fun stuff nonetheless. They are your own personal art history. You can say,"This was the first version of a later painting that sold to a fancy private collection or I gave to my Grandma cuz she was the only one that liked it and she's only a little blind." And then you start thinkin', I am an artist, this will be in my autobiography, better organize them figure out the dates, gotta be accurate for the students when they are studyin' my life......Then you have some lunch, maybe a little nap and never think about it again, cept you got a whole bunch of new old pics to show the unwary visitors to your new post. Ha! Bink Me You Fool!_________________
Ron Morrison