Moral Profits and Death Art Brief

"Fantasy love is much better than reality love." -Andy Warhol

That's me in the corner. That's me in the Montgomery Gentry spot light... Loosing my religion? Using my religion? I can never remember the words...

Really, it's not up to me why this photo reminds me of yesterday's musing on Jeff Koons's quote concerning the "morality theatre."

I doubt that I would have the skill or even guts to hunt a bear if it were chasing me.

Fact: Both Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Gentry have only been exceptionally kind, polite, and gracious to me each time that we have met. It's more than I can say for some lesser and better known strangers.

Probable Fact: Contemporary artist,Damien Hirst hired the death of a shark, among other creatures. Who knows what the going rate for a shark killing is, but at some point, he came out ahead.

With "morality theatre" stuck in my head: I like art, music and meat. I feel like, "flip-flop, flip-flop, flip."

A. I don't like the Hirst's stuffed shark work of art.

B. I do like the title of it, " The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living."

A. That's why I don't like Mr. Gentry's "bear in a cage."

C. Certainly that means I am a Hirst fan.

But. And. What I really don't like is thinking about all the animals in cages that have been killed that I have eaten. Blewh. Yuck.

But. And. I'll do it again.

And so will many of us.

I'm just guessing, but I seriously doubt that we'll buy up and eat all the meat in Kroger before it expires. Mr. Gentry's probation and $15,000.00 fine was a drop in the hat compared to the dollars that are already regularly spent and wasted on killing animals in cages.

And. The good journalists mentioned Mr. Gentry's more popular songs.

We must be fortunate that going to the grocery store is not a matter of survival. How convenient. We have time to do so many other things.

Example of Things to Do That Exclude Many Options: Lie. Cheat. Steal. Manipulate. Strive. Second guess. Hurt. Cry. Love. Pretend. Pretend to love. Guess again. Feel. Feel certain. Feel uncertain. Diminish our feelings. Diminish others. Diminish the feelings of others. Get a little sleep. Help. Get help. Encourage. Talk. Hike. Run. Play. Drink. Eat. Shower. Watch movies. Think. Have sex. Think more. Love more. Make jokes. Laugh. Judge. Assign meaning to meaning to the moral theatre.

The best show wins. Correct me if I'm wrong.

"Fantasy is much better loved than reality, unless it is called art." -Rachel Kice

photo: that is me in the left corner creating art in performance with Montgomery Gentry

Places and People Preparing to Paint

"I believe that my art gets across the point that I'm in this morality theater trying to help the underdog, and I'm speaking socially here, showing concern and making psychological and philosophical statements for the underdog." -Jeff Koons

The Sound Kitchen in Nashville. What a wonderful place and it is where you go to work with my (brag brag brag) friend, Mike P, who, speaking as a creative force who recently worked with him, is really really great- even though he won't tell you he's great. He is more the type to show you. Another reason why I brag.

Another place: Simon Ripley's music (info in sidebar) is now where you can go in Nashville to see and purchase my music theme paintings. Interestingly enough this is also the only place within Music City limits that you can purchase reeds for your horns or piano books for your lessons.

There is also a great $2.00 hot dog stand Mon-Fri in Edgehill Village.

In no-category announcement, my daughter slept through her first deer hunt, "asleep" being the main reason why I'm glad she didn't shoot anything. The last time my daughter walked in her sleep, she trotted circles around me and then "neighed" in my face. Who knows what would have happened had she been packing a rifle.

This is what it's like when I'm painting without painting:

A great conversation with Annie this morning. Thunderclaps and warm rain of appreciation of she and her lifelong friendship. We discussed everything from our own vomit to that of our children to what was what in high school to breaking up with friends to diaper rash to accidentally writing books with lovers.

Of course, the conversation with Annie totally tied into an idea on which I've been musing for months- an idea was again provoked and inspired by a joke that a friend made (yesterday) about his nice new dog- coupled with an observation that was nearly profound yet unbloggable that flew out of my mouth in the early morning.

INSERT: Acknowledgment that I am not sharing the details of my new work series in the previous or following words. I just have an idea that has been burning for a while. Also burning is the feeling that I need for this idea to make sense to me outside the context of myself.

ENTER: Today's quote. This also makes me think.

Social norms. I pretty much know how to adhere to social norms and not that I want to give other people's husbands lap dances at holiday parties or go to the grocery store naked, on a more personal life level, my preference of the rules of rules construction would be found in various versions of maintaining agreements that nurture the desires of myself and whomever else is taking part or affected. Ok. That sentence felt a little cold to write. But ask anyone who was raised by me, it means "loveislove" and generosity is a huge part of it. And still, it's not utopia. Because does anyone know how difficult it is to convice a three year old that she wants to go to bed at night and have a clean room?

I figure, since this where I'm coming from as a person, then it must also be where I'm coming from as an artist. Like the "May I Paint Your Pants," project. It's not that I think you want to have messy pants. I just think, let's double check. Are scurrying through your life and limiting yourself? Maybe yes. Maybe no. Because if you are limiting yourself, then how will you ever not be the underdog?

Just thinking.

Lucky for artists, there aren't too many rules. When it comes to social norms, it is the norm that artists get away with all kinds of things. "Oh, she's an artist!" Ha ha ha. Fun. I throw paint on you and now you get away with something too! Double fun!

Still thinking. Should I paint more pants now that I understand why I would do that? Maybe. Maybe not.

AGAIN ENTER: Today's quote. What is a morality theatre?

"I think maybe that my art is pointing at this morality theater and trying to understanding itself." -Rachel Kice

Photo: My art and I in progress, paint for the American Freedom Foundation at the Patriot Center- Fairfax, Va.

Not About Bacon and Beans

"A painter paints the appearance of things, not their objective correctness, in fact he creates new appearances of things." -Ernst Ludwig Kirchner

This blog has lost the interest of one Church Owl. Her reason, it just doesn't make sense anymore. Too many long nicknames and really, the months of excessive flirt-texting reports all started to sound the same no matter how creative or smart. Lack of depth. Trite focus. Confusion. Ok ok ok. Admitting it. I blog-weakened.

TOP REASONS WHY I MIGHT HAVE BLOG-WEAKENED:

4. The art-identity protection program inspired by blog-star, Midnight Bird of Prey. What began as a simple measure of safety and respect turned into a big needle stabbed carelessly into an arm in search of a vein. What might I write today to draw a memo out he who I know will say something that would otherwise never cross my mind? For all practical and inspirational purposes, sticking the needle in the vein matters.

3. Efficiency and the "Clean it Up Later" philosophy. Turns out that I love writing. This blog is a convenient place to store ideas other than my brain which, when tasks pile up, are easier to complete when I am not also trying to memorize a possible idea- to write later. On one hand, it is like saying "Marry me and then I'll change," but on the other hand, it is like saying, "Bear with me and I'll bear with you." Only shit. I write. You read. I don't have to bear with you. How selfish. Revision: Enjoy the mess, I'll clean it up later.

2. Recovery from Empty Nest Disease and associated dramas. There is very little actual conflict in my life, though when I review this blog, I see that I have done my damn best to hold on. If I weren't suddenly obsessed by Jeff Koons work, I might not be ok with it.

1. Oysters, movies, death, the day my daughter wore two bras, bacteria, experimental cooking, laughing, shrugging, accidental overdose of Bourbon, drilling into concrete, playing with babies, throwing paint and other measures of awareness that makes me feel and then think that the dismissal of objective correctness is all that can truly be perfected.

"Objectively, correctness, in fact is a painter who appears to be painting new things." -Rachel Kice

Photo: "Bacon and Beans" Inspiring. But since when is that ok?

My Dear Hunting

"I think about my work every minute of the day." -Jeff Koons

In today's reflective cracked egg in my brain is Song Bird the Deer Huntress. Yes. My Song Bird is now a licensed hunter, determined to bring home the antlers.

Adventurous people run in the family, but I did not see this one coming, "Oh, Momma," young Song Bird used whisper as I cuddled her to sleep each night, "I feel like a baby deer when you hold me."

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Maybe it will be inspiring. Some kind of new found respect for life and death.

Maybe it will be impressive. My kill is bigger than yours. I'm the only girl at my school who killed a deer.

Maybe it will be rebellious. Mom would you calm down? I passed the test. I am a safe. I have standards.


NEW FAMILY RULE: No text-messaging while holding a gun.


Whatever.


WHAT TO WEAR DEER HUNTING WHEN YOU'RE A FASHION FOWARD SONG BIRD:

1. F-word orange. The red Badgers stocking hat that Mike gave you for your 7th B-day Party will do. Yeah. The one from the B-day Party where the girls got in a fight and your Bompa spun round and round beneath the disco ball in an office chair. Your Mom hired a Jazz DJ and she danced. It was a fright. No wonder you want to shoot something.

2. Ok. Wear a little orange. It's the law. This law offers the opportunity to get creative with your accessories. Take your time. Think it over again and again. Talk it over with seasoned hunters. Ignore your Mom's advice to wear all orange.

3. Eye Make-Up. Pile on as usual. Use waterproof products as much as possible. Your Mom won't let you take your make-up bag out hunting. She thinks it will distract you while you handle a gun.

4. Coveralls. Wear you Bompa's coveralls. They are warm and potentially hip with a low slung belt. Anyway, you're going to sit in a tree all day. Do it for your Mom so that she will shut up about hunter safety. You already passed the test.

5. Boots. A girl can never own too many pair of boots and since you are SO cute and about to do what most 13 year old girls who squeal out loud during the shirtless man scenes in "New Moon," do not, plenty of people will offer to buy you new boots. Hunt and gather.


WHAT TO GET YOUR MOM TO AGREE TO DO THE DAY BEFORE YOU GO DEER HUNTING:

Sad face. Sad voice. Bat eyelashes. "You mean you wouldn't eat red meat even if I killed it myself?"

"Of course I will eat the red meat that you kill." I agree.

"And you will mount the antlers on the wall?"

"Of course I will mount the antlers on the wall. I have always wanted a second pair of antlers." I must agree.


SOME OF WHAT YOU THINK WHEN YOU THINK- OMG MY DAUGHTER?

Should I have made her sleep with Buddhist literature under her pillow?

Does she really want to kill a deer? Will she? Will she cry? Will I?

She can build a shelter out of sticks and mud, too.

What an interesting person of a daughter. Wow.

Maybe we will mount the antlers on velvet to match the couch.

Please wear orange, please wear orange.

Maybe I'll start a new series of work while my daughter is out hunting.



"Today, I think about the work of Song Bird the Huntress more than anything." -Rachel Kice

Photo: graffiti on the Theorosa Bridge, Valley Center, KS

Meaning Cracked and Good

"When you’re a successful bidder it means you’re willing to spend more money than anyone else. I’m not sure if that’s congratulations or condolences." -Eli Broad, Art Collector

According to Wikipedia, artist Jeff Koons is known for "his giant reproductions of banal objects" and "at least one world record auction price for a work by a living artist."

Banal objects + world record= makes a lot of sense to me, because, since when wasn't it a huge deal to be a kid sitting in a crowd of kids at a birthday party, afraid of the clown and in love with the clown at the same time, secretly hoping that the clown would offer the balloon animal to me. It is STILL a big deal. The bolder kids would jump and shout, "Me, Clown, me!" But I was shy and perfectly comfortable, cuddled in the blankets of my imagination. I didn't even know that I was cute. All I knew to do was hope that the Clown would pity me- or love me enough to pity me with the great gift of the balloon animal. I got plenty of balloon animals, though I never screamed, "Pick me!" I still admire the kids who did scream. I think Jeff Koons made that blue balloon dog sculpture for all of us.

Banal. It was the first known complaint of Blog-Star, Midnight Bird of Prey. "You've done this and that," he noted, accurately, "I have done this."

This and that. Double banal.

This. Banal.

Equals: Triple banal.

"I just think the 'art art art' would eventually drive me crazy." Midnight Bird of Prey stabbed Hummingbird repeatedly.

"Oh, yes," Hummingbird agreed, like a good bleeding solider, "It's nuts to think that anyone anywhere would enjoy life more than once a month or so."

"Exactly," Midnight Bird of Prey confirmed, "Life is not an art."

And so Midnight Bird of Prey swooped off to the art auction with Lion. Hummingbird tagged along. If only it were the job of the artist to be persuasive, Hummingbird would have been kind or true. Instead, she was half. And half. She vomited. She nearly died. Hummingbird post-dated her sketch pad and sent it as a text-message to Midnight Bird of Prey. Instant delivery. Banalish.

"Ak," Midnight Bird of Prey exclaimed, "I'm at a hockey game."

"Hockey is banal!" exclaimed Hummingbird, from her death bed.

"I LOVE banal," Midnight Bird of Prey reminded her, via text message.

"Then I LOVE hockey," Hummingbird shot back, "And you would LOVE my death bed!"

"I'm the one who died, remember?" Midnight Bird of Prey threw his art into the mix.

"You killed yourself!" argued Hummingbird.

"You DO NOT know how to argue," Midnight Bird of Prey was sincere.

"You DO NOT know how to die!" Hummingbird was lively.

"If you hadn't forgot your paddle, you would own a whole artist by now," Lion spoked softly, but meant everything he said to himself.

"Nature rules!" exclaimed Midnight Bird of Prey, "Paddles are banal!"

Jeff Koons said nothing. He said nothing to Midnight Bird of Prey and then he then turned toward Hummingbird and said the same. Mr. Broad purchased a Koons sculpture entitled, "Cracked Egg." He put it on display.

It was a good egg. Almost everyone agreed.

"See?" the cracked egg asked, reflective.


"When you’re a success it means you’re willing to break more eggs and blow more balloons than anyone else. Congratulations and condolences." -Rachel Kice, Artist

photo: banal words on road, Valley Center, KS.

The Theorosa Bridge, Baby

"If you can tell your daughter what to do or who to be, so can everyone else." -Chris Bergsnes, songwriter

According to this blog's statistics, about twenty four of us know exactly what I reference when I write, "Ahhh. Ah. Kansas! Kan-SAS!"

That's right. Twenty four people on earth can't shake the background music: synth strings and vocal. Wheat on a blue sky background waves in the swirling winds of our minds. We're all remembering a Kansas TV ad campaign that was aired (ten years ago?) to Kansas residents, and so we also know that the beyond the blue sky, is more sky. Maybe, there were sunflowers too.

"Ghosts like me too much to scare us," I told Song Bird, who stood in the middle of the Theorosa Bridge in Valley Center, KS on a sunny afternoon. She had a look on her face like an orphan who didn't get a present on Christmas- or a family.

"Maybe ghosts just don't like your jokes," Song Bird shot back, unafraid to stab her mom in the gut with the sharpness of her Ninja Throwing Star emotional state. I did make several "there are no ghosts on this haunted bridge" jokes. Song Bird was expecting to visit the Theorosa Bridge and take home the urban legend trophy story.

We stood at the edge of the bridge and screamed three times, "Theorosa, I have your baby!"

And nothing. The wind hardly picked up. The graffiti on the bridge stood still. Our cell phones worked. We had to hit the brake a bunch of times real fast to feel the car shake. We had to sneak up on each other to hear someone scream, "Boo!" Mostly, we laughed- and then quickly stopped ourselves to act depressed. We were the meek, the failed, the unhaunted.

Kansas Legend has it that Theorosa was a woman who threw her baby off the bridge- or she was attacked and dropped the baby- or the baby was illegitimate and someone made her watch as her baby was thrown. Never mind the details, Theorosa was so depressed about loosing her baby that she haunts the bridge.

"Would you feel better if I threw you off the bridge?" I asked Song Bird. It was not funny, "Or you can throw me off the bridge?" A little funny, "Or we could cage fight and see what happens." Funny.

"I would win," Song Bird reminded me.

"Yes, Song Bird, you are a better cage fighter than me." I relented, hoping that I were performing a version of today's quote equally as much as I hope to never cage fight against my rather tall, strong, and confident daughter.

"If you weren't afraid of a trolls and getting raped, we would be here at night and we would meet the ghost of Theorosa." Song Bird again concluded that it was all my fault.

**

"If you can tell your mother what to do or who to be, you might wind up dead on a bridge in the middle of the night." -Rachel Kice

Photo: graffiti on the Theorosa Bridge- with a KS background

Travel, Death and Perfection

"Grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives."- Jim Morrison

Travel day. SBTKB. That's SBTKB for, Straight Back to Kansas Bitch. Never been more certain that I don't want to die alone. Not alone means at a hug party. Something like that. Do not believe the rumors. They spread at will. White noise. White noise. On second thought, remove "kills at work" from your resume. When you break your cheap country corkscrew off in the cork, hold the bottle taut between your boots and use a screwdriver to press the cork into the bottle. If the bottle slips or the cork resists, make sure the screwdriver is stuck in the cork and hit it with a hammer. If your hammer isn't hard enough, repeat. Hit it again. Wipe your face. Take a little sip then pour. Skip the sip if you're already drinking Bourbon. White noise. White noise. Ask "why" before you say good morning. Don't believe the answer to "Who are you?"

"Grant me far more hours to perform this art. And what is perfect?"-Rachel Kice

Photo: Song Bird.