2008
Uba Tuba
Uba Tuba
2008
shoosty
The original is a 14 x 19 inch water color pencil and ink
Highlighting the deep sound of a Bass Brass instrument, the Tuba, makes a distinctive sound.
Uba Tuba represents the Co-Evolution of Music and Art Theory. You can see the sound. Van Gogh’s ear becomes an easily recognizable symbol that begins the journey. It is both an ear capturing music and a visual element related to modern art. The ear that listens, the ear of passion of the famous artist. The lines connecting the two main tuba shape represent the fret of an up right string Bass. The broken shape obviously cant hold any strings but no matter it is he echo of the instrument altered through the art concept of cubism that matters here. And these frets have multiple meanings as the lines to hold notes on a page as well and music wave coming out of the tubas.
The flower buttons we introduced in Jam Band, 2008. The buttons represent the tuners on the instrument but the have been released allowing for flight. The buttons harken back to the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour.
This image ekes with sound waves everywhere. Deep Sound is obviously in the Bass range.
The name Uba Tuba comes from the sound a tuba makes.... UBAHHH...
Jam Band
08/09/08 15:29 Filed in: The Intersection of Music and Visual Art | Watercolor and Ink | Music | Highlights
Jam Band
Giclee
Shoosty 2008
Here is a wild organ with feet gas pedals and gauges to show the power. This is combined with trumpet and french horn with a small guitar or violin in the center.
The tuners are flower buttons and the neck of the string instruments is curved in a cubist way. You may not be able to play music but it sure sounds like your having fun.
This is an ode to Jam Bands. Bands that using improv as the central method of creating music. Unplanned, playful, the music creates shapes of sound that are then crafted by the players.
Upside down head notes and strings the double as music sheet, an animal clawed foot and a crazy clock with chinese numbers.
Jason and Jaime Shooster are the artists kids. they are great improv artists. Carly’s eyes become the keeper of the prize.
Van Gogh’s ear is nearby to act as art element evoking impressionism and as the symbol of hearing or sound.
Music Theory and Art Theory converge
screaming confusion
07/09/08 21:21 Filed in: Poems
Screaming Confusion
By Shoosty 11/19/2001 In memory of Bertha Alter 1908-2001 The winds of time churn up the dust that we came from The dust is thick and I cannot see My sight is muddled with tears An angel has touched me for 10 years and I did not know it I have been in the presence of genius, pure mind power That walked slowly I am hurt I want to scream, to shout about the loss I want to reaffirm my life. Make new commitments and keep them To protect, to shield It is better to know less then to touch the shell of an angel Escape, Transcendence, Freedom It is a common disease. We all have it Mortality Give pause; reflect on the person at the store whom you don’t know They are buying groceries to feed other angels Pain, Anguish… uncomfortable trappings of the flawed science of medicine There is always hope Yet, it is inevitable The peace we seek is not peace it stirs up the rest of the angels They are not angels when they are together They are too baseless… to unfeeling An angel is always considered “one” When you speak of angels you speak of many “ones”, The reason is they don’t interact, just reflect love and kindness The reason does not matter The act of kindness they project is there glowing silence and flight It is an inspiration I am lost, confused, reawakened I love my family and friends. Work offers no challenge that cannot be overcome. Nothing compares to my grief Even miracles are mire shadows in the awe of the giver and taker Even miracles are speechless We seek harmony; it is strange that to seek harmony we preach vigilance and train for fighting Isometrics
Go and See - Tsenerene
07/09/08 21:19 Filed in: Poems
Go and See
Tsenerene
shoosty 2007
dedicated to Leon Schagrin,
survivor of Auschswitz
I saw soldiers march into my town and want to be one.
Go out and see for yourself.
I have new roommates, guests thrust upon my home, I like them.
Go out and see.
They have rifles and let me play with them.
Come out and see they are well made not like farm tools.
Soon they leave. I will miss them. We became friends.
If you hurry you can see them leaving toward the Russian “front”.
I saw new soldiers come and visit with shiny boots and medals.
They look smart as fresh paint
Come out and see.
These soldiers are like werewolves, they change from human to animals whipped by Cerberus a dog with many heads.
They don’t like me, or my family or my friends.
I never see them laugh ‘cept in a condescending way.
You should see, if you don’t you might not believe me.
I heard a shot and now when I wake up I don’t hear Old Blue, the rooster, anymore.
I wonder if the monster, Cerberus, gobbled him up feathers flying?
If I come and see it might be me next time.
The monster is frenzied,
I guess blood does that flowing from a harmless pet.
I heard shots like others hear a summer storm.
Repulsed they make me see. I have been chosen not for any other reason ‘cept I look more like them then my brothers and friends. I have been chosen because I am 13 and don’t know any better. It helps to have a horse and a wagon. I don’t complain ‘bout my back just my stomach.
I wish I was asking you to come and see a little paradise, my family eating and laughing.
Go and see
It’s cold and grey. The monster grunts and commands “Pick up the mess my rifle has left”. No thought that it is flesh and bones. “Pick up the mess now”
If you don’t know one will take their belt off. No one will ask you twice. You have been chosen to pick up the mess or become part of it. Your choice. Your free will to live or die. Empty shells that used to be my neighbors lay waiting.
Come and see
Insanity is the monster. It kills only to count. Just numbers. The war machine is run by accountants using deadly currency. Just Numbers.
It says schizophrenically “Tomorrow will be a great world, just today we need to clean up with our rifles.” The prayers of those people are like daggers that laugh at us like we are powerless. It hurts to be ridiculed. We must eradicate them they are not like us. “Tomorrow is what we live for, your children”. The monster commands “Kill thousands and have the little beggar boys clean up your mess”
He has a shiny red wagon. I mean wooden and sturdy with a good horse. One day all the children of the motherland with have red wagons not wooden sturdy ugly ones. “first you must do what I ask” the monster groans with efficiency. A machine gun laughs finally – finality – the final solution for your laughing at me. “Now clean it up!”
The monster speaks short sentences. I don’t even think it thinks. How could it? If it could if would turn its cleaning tools upon itself. Unthinkable what it is doing. Where is Cerberus? How can we stop him we are unarmed?
Who will kill him and release these painful souls contorted for all time by there actions? Then can never return to family and friends. There worst enemy a simple mirror. If they look in the mirror they will not see anything, monsters, ghosts. If they happen to catch a glimpse of themselves they will not believe what they have become. Kids themselves on a few years ago.
Go and see.
I was once told to go to the headquarters. The head of Cerberus in my small town. It was not a head at all just a pus filled sore far from the barking monster.
Keep your shiny boots on. Good homeland boots thank G-d I have these to keep me far from the vermin. He thinks to himself, smitten.
Lucky he has no mirror or he might not see a face. But his boots are shiny and he keeps them polished. Cerberus and his friends like polished boots better to command its headless hordes.
You can’t come and see. They have only beckoned me, a 13 year old driver with a strong back and a sturdy cart.
The night is cool, refreshing. Good to cure open sores.
The “pus”-with-boots barks at me. Its Cerberus speaking from 100’s of miles away. The “pus” is not human he can’t even look in the mirror.
We go for a ride. Clop, clop goes the horse. He is a good horse. The fresh air could heal a sore… but not this one. This one is infected far too deeply. It’s in the body and most of the mind. Not much left. We see my friends, no not friends just two teenage girls, walking. We give them a ride. Maybe they can help to heal the “pus.”
The “pus” hates itself. Cerberus says “find me 10,000 souls, I am hungry and only eat souls, they are not like us, they are not human” said the three headed dog. “I will reward you with a bone or you can join them, your choice, your free will. Just don’t look in the mirror (Because it will be empty)”
The girls laugh and smile, we give them a ride. Maybe the giggling will jiggle something human. Maybe there is hope. Two couples mismatched “Pus”-in-Boots and Fairy Goddesses giggling.
“Drive” barks the distant head Cerberus with shiny boots, “up that road”. I don’t like it.
Come and see … Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Neighbor, and Time Traveler – that’s you reading my story. Come and see for yourself.”
Laughter, the faceless monster has names I know them but I am just 13 a child, a driver, a strong back. I do know them and will never forget. I have to hide my knowing to survive.
Come and see. You must! You owe it for generations to come.
Everyone must learn the truth about this factory of killing.
The laughter stops abruptly, the monster starts cleaning. The girls become just bags of bones. The monster was out for a cool night stroll with my horse and me practicing de-humanizing. I am 13, a child. I have a strong back they bark to put it to use.
The road I don’t like leads to the Jewish Cemetery.
What a strange driver I am. Too many one way trips.
I visit here often. Being young I get stronger my emotions turn to leather.
Come and see
Tsenerene
shoosty 2007
dedicated to Leon Schagrin,
survivor of Auschswitz
I saw soldiers march into my town and want to be one.
Go out and see for yourself.
I have new roommates, guests thrust upon my home, I like them.
Go out and see.
They have rifles and let me play with them.
Come out and see they are well made not like farm tools.
Soon they leave. I will miss them. We became friends.
If you hurry you can see them leaving toward the Russian “front”.
I saw new soldiers come and visit with shiny boots and medals.
They look smart as fresh paint
Come out and see.
These soldiers are like werewolves, they change from human to animals whipped by Cerberus a dog with many heads.
They don’t like me, or my family or my friends.
I never see them laugh ‘cept in a condescending way.
You should see, if you don’t you might not believe me.
I heard a shot and now when I wake up I don’t hear Old Blue, the rooster, anymore.
I wonder if the monster, Cerberus, gobbled him up feathers flying?
If I come and see it might be me next time.
The monster is frenzied,
I guess blood does that flowing from a harmless pet.
I heard shots like others hear a summer storm.
Repulsed they make me see. I have been chosen not for any other reason ‘cept I look more like them then my brothers and friends. I have been chosen because I am 13 and don’t know any better. It helps to have a horse and a wagon. I don’t complain ‘bout my back just my stomach.
I wish I was asking you to come and see a little paradise, my family eating and laughing.
Go and see
It’s cold and grey. The monster grunts and commands “Pick up the mess my rifle has left”. No thought that it is flesh and bones. “Pick up the mess now”
If you don’t know one will take their belt off. No one will ask you twice. You have been chosen to pick up the mess or become part of it. Your choice. Your free will to live or die. Empty shells that used to be my neighbors lay waiting.
Come and see
Insanity is the monster. It kills only to count. Just numbers. The war machine is run by accountants using deadly currency. Just Numbers.
It says schizophrenically “Tomorrow will be a great world, just today we need to clean up with our rifles.” The prayers of those people are like daggers that laugh at us like we are powerless. It hurts to be ridiculed. We must eradicate them they are not like us. “Tomorrow is what we live for, your children”. The monster commands “Kill thousands and have the little beggar boys clean up your mess”
He has a shiny red wagon. I mean wooden and sturdy with a good horse. One day all the children of the motherland with have red wagons not wooden sturdy ugly ones. “first you must do what I ask” the monster groans with efficiency. A machine gun laughs finally – finality – the final solution for your laughing at me. “Now clean it up!”
The monster speaks short sentences. I don’t even think it thinks. How could it? If it could if would turn its cleaning tools upon itself. Unthinkable what it is doing. Where is Cerberus? How can we stop him we are unarmed?
Who will kill him and release these painful souls contorted for all time by there actions? Then can never return to family and friends. There worst enemy a simple mirror. If they look in the mirror they will not see anything, monsters, ghosts. If they happen to catch a glimpse of themselves they will not believe what they have become. Kids themselves on a few years ago.
Go and see.
I was once told to go to the headquarters. The head of Cerberus in my small town. It was not a head at all just a pus filled sore far from the barking monster.
Keep your shiny boots on. Good homeland boots thank G-d I have these to keep me far from the vermin. He thinks to himself, smitten.
Lucky he has no mirror or he might not see a face. But his boots are shiny and he keeps them polished. Cerberus and his friends like polished boots better to command its headless hordes.
You can’t come and see. They have only beckoned me, a 13 year old driver with a strong back and a sturdy cart.
The night is cool, refreshing. Good to cure open sores.
The “pus”-with-boots barks at me. Its Cerberus speaking from 100’s of miles away. The “pus” is not human he can’t even look in the mirror.
We go for a ride. Clop, clop goes the horse. He is a good horse. The fresh air could heal a sore… but not this one. This one is infected far too deeply. It’s in the body and most of the mind. Not much left. We see my friends, no not friends just two teenage girls, walking. We give them a ride. Maybe they can help to heal the “pus.”
The “pus” hates itself. Cerberus says “find me 10,000 souls, I am hungry and only eat souls, they are not like us, they are not human” said the three headed dog. “I will reward you with a bone or you can join them, your choice, your free will. Just don’t look in the mirror (Because it will be empty)”
The girls laugh and smile, we give them a ride. Maybe the giggling will jiggle something human. Maybe there is hope. Two couples mismatched “Pus”-in-Boots and Fairy Goddesses giggling.
“Drive” barks the distant head Cerberus with shiny boots, “up that road”. I don’t like it.
Come and see … Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Neighbor, and Time Traveler – that’s you reading my story. Come and see for yourself.”
Laughter, the faceless monster has names I know them but I am just 13 a child, a driver, a strong back. I do know them and will never forget. I have to hide my knowing to survive.
Come and see. You must! You owe it for generations to come.
Everyone must learn the truth about this factory of killing.
The laughter stops abruptly, the monster starts cleaning. The girls become just bags of bones. The monster was out for a cool night stroll with my horse and me practicing de-humanizing. I am 13, a child. I have a strong back they bark to put it to use.
The road I don’t like leads to the Jewish Cemetery.
What a strange driver I am. Too many one way trips.
I visit here often. Being young I get stronger my emotions turn to leather.
Come and see
Tribute to Miles Davis
Tribute to Miles Davis, 5' x 7' Giclee
Original watercolor and ink 19" x 14"
Shoosty 2008
The Birth of Cool - album
The Prince of Darkness - nickname
Key over key - one of his musical signatures was to play a melody over a melody. This is equivalent to Fine Art movements like cubism, and surrealism.
Signature Copy - notice the x. Is this an activist symbol?
Polished with art elements such as Van Gogh's ear, a cubistic couch, Chagal like flying objects, and a Glass Onion for good measure.
The Invention of Locks and Chains
05/09/08 02:18 Filed in: Museum | Watercolor and Ink
The Invention of Locks and Chains
Shoosty 2008
Originally drawing at the Oriental museum in Chicago the two central characters come from an ancient column and are reproduced with no intention of making changes except in the colors.
Later I went home and invented a story and embellished it with a bent guitar head and more.
the story goes like this...
the invention of locks and chains
To enslave and Emancipate
Great music comes from severe excruciating agony built on the backs of slaves.
it still goes on (today)
Singing the blues
Chrysomelidae
29/07/08 16:13 Filed in: Insects
Hymenoptera
29/07/08 16:09 Filed in: Insects
Self Portrait at Univeristy of Florida
15/07/08 23:38 Filed in: Photo
Self Portrait
15/07/08 23:26 Filed in: Oil
Self Portrait with Carly
I painted this while looking in the mirror. Later Carly did her own drawing t became part of the composition
Oil on masonite board and gesso. 12” x 12”
Painted with small squares as the impressionistic mechanism the work has a distinctly alaskan indian kind of way about it. Being that the surface is treated as a decorative panel like a totem pole. While working on this my baby Carly was intrigued and I ended up drawing her into the background. Later when not looking she added some elements of her imagination that I decided to keep.
Self Portrait 2000
Shoosty
Bull Headed
Bull Headed - Shoosty 2007
From the Oriental Museum in Chicago the giant bull sculpture that is over 20 feet tall and thousands of pounds is reduced to a painting.
Watercolor and Ink 14” x 19”
Bullheaded 2008
This was sketched at the Oriental Museum in Chicago. The original statue is huge. It must be 20-40 feet tall. and extremely heavy.
Once the image was drawing I invented a story and completed the painting.
Bullheaded
Love / Hate
Rage / Peace
All the kings men
mythical
style / power
yes / no
fearless
Jamming / Wamming
Assertive
Groovy
notice the flowers at the bottom. Later they become buttons in the paintings that follow.