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Work 00091 abstact line art, with variant 2 randomly colored

Work 00091 abstact line art, with variant 2 randomly colored published on No Comments on Work 00091 abstact line art, with variant 2 randomly colored
See for archive, print and use options. ~ Doodled, scanned, fixed up and vectorized by yours truly. A hoity-toity robot talks about this at
Work 00091 abstact line art black and white

See for archive, print and use options. Randomly colored via ~ Original black and white version doodled, scanned, fixed up and vectorized by yours truly. A hoity-toity robot talks about this at
Work 00091 abstact line art variant 2 random colors

Images link to 4200x px resolution images, free for personal use.

What does the colored version make you think of / feel / postmodern / angst / ruminate / ritualize? If you do not know, the COMPUTER-GENERATED POSTMODERN "ARTIST STATEMENT" DRAWING HAT can tell you what you should think of (and were an uninformed, unwashed fool for not thinking of). My thoughts hidden at the end of the post with a "show" link. The drawing hat just now produced:

During the days in the exhibition in which this work is featured, visitors walk over and occupy territory usually reserved for videos. The ambiguous signification of deep space is, upon close inspection, confounded by the next generation of Greek immigrant experience in various stages of the world of Frederic Kunath.

Whooooooa. That's totally deep.

Here also is the original vector art which may have unexpected fill patterns–I didn't check; I just ran my color fill randomization script against it. The vector source and these images are free for personal use. Click the below image to open the original .svg file.


And since you're indulging me, I googled Frederic Kunath (and got the corrected spelling), and found this tripe under his name; my responses are interspersed.

Inextricably entwining the experience of the ordinary with the sublime, Friedrich Kunath's work explores interior sensation, recontextualization and abstraction, and oppositional relationships that propel emotional experience.

First, please don't noun verbs gratuitously. You could have just written "opposed." Second, no, it doesn't. That sentence only makes sense in a way that cannot communicate anything of direct value. That statement is in outer space, or an inner space that no one can (or should) comprehend. In trying to restate it in clearer terms, this is what I got:

His artwork totally mixes ordinary with awesome, and makes us think of the thinky things inside us that change and oppose and are, like, abstract–and things that oppose each other that make us feel the things. The awesome things.

DUDE. USE THAT INSTEAD. So much better. So much more honest.

Within his painting, installation, and sculpture, images and objects build upon themselves in a layered stream of consciousness driven by the autobiographical, the conceptual, and the emotional.

No, they don't do that. I see some layered things in his art. But they don't make me think of his or mine or anyone's autobiography–much more strike me as some representation of consciousness. There is absolutely nothing here other than this dumb statement that would ever make me think of anything even remotely near that concept–and I'm not seeing or feeling anything specially conceptual or emotional. I am affected by the works. There's something cool and emotional about them, and I say that sincerely. But try for your statement instead:

He makes different kinds of art, and that's cool. If you could make your brain fart loudly enough to make you believe his art touches a totally deep, personal story, that would be awesome! Especially if it was like, conceptual, like, "high concept," you know?! Like an elevator pitch that made people cry! Booyeah!

The act is an embrace of existence –

What act? You refer to no action at all as if there was some act going on. Wow! Your inflated series of nouns–and an invented verby noun–! are so, like, actionous!

I'm not getting your vibe here. Actually, I am, and I hate it: self-important.

both vibrant and mundane – where irony and melancholy coalesce with his version of "sad optimism," and nostalgia wanders between past and future. Together, disparate yet individually familiar elements propose a kaleidoscopic view of somewhere between dreamscape and reality.

I can't. I just can't.

That! That is what my artist statement drawing hat mocks!

The last sentence is the only one I could maybe stretch my disbelief to see in the paintings, but I'm not into this poetic tone over art. I'd rather you just say . . . I don't know. Probably nothing. We don't have to write blasted thesis statements about art, and it's usually pointless to try. Leave the rest to professors who can make statements about art whose creators are dead, so they aren't around to say "What?!" Or about art whose creators are alive and wearing the Emperor's new clothes.

I make exceptions where there's actually substance or poetry to the statements. I don't see enough of that to generally recommend that any artist or curator so write. Not that I'm in a place to recommend. This is my blog. I'm ranting.


I release the following script into the Public Domain. I'd be happy to see anyone produce it. Here it is in .pdf format.


This large, mostly silver and gray mission control center has brightly, multicolored cyberpunk flair on so many gee-wow panels, dials, touch-screen button grids, keyboards and various controls, and large TV displays. The TVs all display space tactical warfare, aerospace or space simulation video game sessions, etc. in progress. Large windows overlook beautiful, well-kept lawns and gardens.

On both sides of a long conference table are TWELVE OFFICIALS, all 45, all male and white, all of them blonde, tweedy and twitchy, all biologically identical. At the head of the table sits OARACK BOBAMA, 53, black, with a dignified if a bit ostentatious demeanor, HON JOLDREN, 71 yet rather youthful for his age, male, white, plucky, optimistic and fairly tweedy, and BARLES CHOLDEN, 68, black, male, bright-eyed and affable. He has a pen in hand and a notepad, which he hastily scribbles notes and doodles on, almost nonstop.

All of them are dressed in dark suits, dress shirts and ties.

BOBAMA is deeply immersed in a space combat simulation on an electronic tablet.

Officials one through twelve simultaneously and gently clear their throats, in a slow, perfectly synchronized rhythmic stutter. Cholden looks at them with unease.


What? Oh, my apologies gentleman. Ever played this?

The Officials all reply in exactly the same tone, in exactly the same way, with perfect synchronization.


We created it.

Cholden becomes a bit panicked, and breaths in sharp, shallow breaths.


Oh yes, I forget. I didn't create it.


Welcome all to the twenty-eighth--




Forgive me, but it creeps me out a little bit when you all do that. Do you all really think exactly the same things at the same time?

Bobama resumes his immersion in the video game.


No. My apologies. Uh, our apologies.


Thank you for the correction, though. Welcome to the twenty-eighth assembly of the SCIENCE POWER POWERFUL SCIENTIFIC COUNCIL. I will take notes for the proceedings for all of us assembled--

He gestures to each person/group he mentions.


Mr. President--


His Guy--




He ignores Bobama's stare of scornful indignation. The Officials all smile the exact same pleased smile, and in perfect synchronization, they all lean back and fold their hands behind their heads. Joldren stifles a laugh. Cholden gestures to each attendee as he mentions them.


Hohn Joldren, Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy, myself, Barles Choldren, Administrator of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and our twelve, uh, trusted Officials. I turn the time over to Mr. President.

Bobama speaks with a slightly menacing tone, slow and insistent.


His Guy the Super Chief Science Guy.

Cholden rolls his eyes and sighs with weariness. Bobama levels him a mildly punishing stare. Cholden takes a deep breath, resigned.


I turn the time over to His Guy the Super Chief Science Guy.

Cholden shows indignant surprise to see that Bobama has apparently not heard him, as Bobama is again immersed in a video game on the tablet. After a long silence punctuated only by sounds from the video game he plays, Bobama is startled by the realization that everyone looks at him expectantly. Bobama assumes a light, chipper tone.


Right. Uh, sorry. Awesome game, that.

Official Two extends a hand toward the tablet, which zips through the air from Bobama's hands into the Official's hand and vanishes up the Official's sleeve.




Your game is saved. Please, Your Guy His Super Chief Science Guy, our business at hand.


Ah, yes.

There is a long silence.


And, uh, what was--

Joldren chuckles, while Cholden cuts off the President:


The uh, space thingie. Uh, sorry, the--


The New Horizons unmanned craft.




Our New Horizons space probe has reached Pluto, and we saw those awesome close-up images of Pluto which were beamed back to Earth.

Official Six flicks his hand, and an image of Pluto with the brighter "heart" feature appears on all the monitors.

There's a long pause as Bobama looks at the images. He looks to Cholden expectantly.


The most distant planet--


Dwarf Planet.


Uh, yes. Mr. President--




WHATEVER! Mr. President, that is the newest and highest resolution available image of Pluto, beamed back from--

Bobama is overcome with raptured awe, and speaks like a child.


Yes, the space thingie.

Bobama stares at the image for a long time, and puzzlement grows on his face.


But it doesn't even look anything like Mars. Well, sorta.

All the others glance at each other, bewildered.


Does this make America great?


Uh, yes, I suppose so, Mr. President.

Bobama is taken by a sudden teenage-like enthusiasm.



Everyone looks at each other through a long moment of awkward silence.


So how do we make sure that the whole world knows that this means we are awesome?


Well, Mr. President, we could, uh, write some stuff. And publish it somewhere.

Bobama stares at him with expectant enthusiasm.




Uh, maybe a newspaper.


A newspaper that's also a web site, so that it's interactively awesome?


Uh, yes, Mr. President.



Joldren hides his face and chuckles. Cholden and the Officals look at each other, bewildered.


Well, what will we say?


That we have now visited all of the planets and dwarf planets in our solar system, and--

The Officals all gently clear their throats, and Joldren breaks off.



They all break off as Cholden emits a terrified squeal.


Okay, so who is going to write it?


Certainly not--

Cholden emits another terrified squeal, covers his ears, stands up, and walks toward an exit.


Stop it, all of you! I think what they were going to say, Mr. President--

Bobama levels a stare of scorn at him--


Begging your pardon, Your Guy His Super Chief Science Guy--no please stay, Mr. Cholden--

Cholden walks through an exit and slams the door behind him.


What we all mean to say is that we are certainly not going to write this. We will leave that to Joldren and Cholden. And we were also going to correct you--we have not yet sent spacecraft to all dwarf planets in the solor system...

He trails off, as he notices that Bobama has another computer tablet in hand, and plays "Flappy Bird" on it. Moreover, Joldren plays a game on a tablet of his own. An explosion sound effect comes from both tablets, and Bobama and Joldren both exclaim "Ohh!" in disappointment.

The twelve officials look at each other in dismay.


Please, Your Guy His Super--


What? Oh.

He watches his tablet. He and Bobama both shout "Yes!"

The Officials wait.


Oh, uh...forget it. Meeting adjourned.




Why this? Because Prominent U.S. science leadership (here parodied mercilessly) breathlessly wrote, in a major newspaper, that we ". . . have visited every planet and dwarf planet in our solar system . . ." which statement is a serious blunder over the facts. At this writing, we have sent no spacecraft to Haumea, Makemake, and Eris (the latter of which is about twice as distant as Pluto), and there are at least several other Trans-Neptunian/Kuiper belt objects whose status as Dwarf Planets is proposed/debated.

Formatting courtesy this scrippets WordPress plugin (which supports fountain plain-text screenplay format).

Work 00006 Void Words 1

Work 00006 Void Words 1 published on No Comments on Work 00006 Void Words 1
Void words for your void wall. Examine it very closely. For the unobservant it doubles as a merely nice painting! See for archive, original, print and usage options. ~ A hoity-toity robot talks about this at
Work 00006 Void Words 1

[Formerly titled "Abstraction 00014." Post resurrected 11/26/2016]

Void words for your void wall. Examine it very closely. For the unobservant it doubles as a merely nice painting!

Thumbnail links to larger image, free for personal use. Print available here.