Tory Van Wey


Lucky!/Chilling

Lucky!/Chilling

I was driving home from my weekly printing press meeting tonight and having one of those great conversations with myself. You know, one of those convos where you call yourself out on your own absurdity. It went a little something like this:

Voice in head: Okay so then when I get home I am gonna go into the studio and work on some papercuts for the show in March, it will be great.
Other voice in head: No but first you want one of those World Market winter brew beers your relatives brought over.
VIH: Okay, yeah, I do want one of those. So first grab a World Market winter brew, then studio. But should I be drinking beer by myself? Isn’t that kinda like I’m a….you know?
OVIH: Let’s not worry about that. What music do I want to listen to? Music…oh shit! The calluses on my fingers are almost gone. I should practice the three chords I know until I have those awesome lines in my fingertips. Thats rad.
VIH: What a poser.

And what did I learn from this? Apart from questioning the ethics of drinking alone (I’m an artist man, semi-incoherent late night emails are a valid form of expression!), I came to the conclusion that I have artistic ADD.

I have very recently decided that it is my mission in life to play at least ONE musical instrument well enough to entertain friends with my delusional sense of rhythm. I find myself in possession of castoff/used/spur-of-the-moment-purchased instruments often, and the fact I haven’t learned to play one by sheer osmosis still baffles me.

Unfortunately my {inner-rock-star-awesomeness: natural-talent} ratio is WAY off. The only thing to do is to actually try to learn…by practicing, and practicing. Now I find myself with string calluses on my left hand, pen aches in my right hand, and nothing much to show for what both hands endure on behalf of my half-baked artistry. Hey I just said the word show…SHOW! I’m on a horse.

So speaking of shows (see how I bring it back full circle like that?), I just got some prints back from a show back in December and one of them sort of captures my split artistic attention span at the moment. Just be happy I don’t subject you to the other half just yet.

Cheers.



See Mule Swim.
February 15, 2010, 7:02 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,
Wise Sea Mule

A walk page for you. A Seamule is an amphibious creature who has attained supreme enlightenment. Often seen staring into the distance and ignoring little girls in purple cloaks.



Eden
February 3, 2010, 4:09 pm
Filed under: illustration | Tags: , , , ,
Eden
20″x28″ Acrylic and Ink on Birch Panel $500

I have sat on this piece for a while, waiting for what I felt was the right time to post it to the blog. Then I remembered, there is never a “right time” and I could well be sitting on it for a century before I got it out the door.

My friend and fellow artist Miss Ashley Will posted a quote on her bloggedy-blog by author Chuck Palahniuk that reads:

“When they were in school, Peter used to say that everything you do is a self-portrait. It might look like Saint George and the Dragon or The Rape of the Sabine Women, but the angle you use, the lighting, the composition, the technique, they’re all you. Even the reason why you chose this scene, it’s you. You are every color and brushstroke.

Peter used to say, “The only thing an artist can do is describe his own face.”
You’re doomed to being you.
This, he says, leaves us free to draw anything, since we’re only drawing ourselves.
Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand.
Everything is a self-portrait. Everything is a diary.”
Chuck Palahniuk is like %72 badass and %14 bonkers (which makes him %86 worth paying attention to), and he occasionally throws some serious pearls into his otherwise satirical narratives. I suppose this is why I haven’t posted this piece. It feels feels like one of those diary entries you read a year later and chuckle over with a mixture of nostalgia and exasperation. %20 sap, %10 serious, %50 daydream, %80 Tory.



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