Tim Lane's Blog, page 8
November 5, 2023
The Eternal: from the Lamb Series
Travis was helping out with Jim Ferguson’s estate. Jim was a local master painter and instructor who specialized in watercolor and passed his knowledge of this medium to many students around here.
Trav stopped by with two paintings. One was a painting from Travis’ past that Jim had bought which featured an image of me with my back to the viewer. The other was a painting from my lamb series that Jim had bought. I had no recollection of either painting.
I would like to pass the lamb painting on to someone who would like to have it. I like the idea of the painting going from Jim’s collection to another’s. I never had a class with Jim, but we had many chats. I was as fond of him as all of his students. I worked as a personal assistant for his partner from 2004-2008.
The blue piece below is acrylic on Yupo paper, 6”x6”, 12”x12” matted and framed and ready to hang. It is a gift. Free shipping, too. I can’t keep it.
Jim Ferguson
The Eternal, 6”x6”
Matted and framed, 12”x12”, image 6”x6”
October 23, 2023
Ancient Civilization, 2023: a New Painting
Felt good to get back to a watercolor painting, which turned into a mixed media piece. I really like the pastel pencils. I also used colored pencil. Thanks for stopping by yoursilentface.com.
Ancient Civilization, 2023, 8"x8" $55.00
October 14, 2023
No Stand/No Idle: 1985 & 2023
Some things never change. Enjoyed exploring the Eastern Market area in Detroit with the poet, Cat Batsios.
My new novel Phil’s Siren Song is coming along. I hope to have it available in February. If you haven’t read Your Silent Face, check it out here or on Amazon.
#art #writing #photography #playlist #artistsoninstagram #contemporaryart #genx #newwave #saturdayvibes #lovelansing #yoursilentfacethenovel #joydivision #neworderofficial #thesmiths
Flint, 1985
Detroit, 2023
Your Silent Face By Lane, Tim Buy on Amazon
September 30, 2023
Black Hole Keep on Spinning: a New Painting
I really am in love with this piece. I don’t know what else to say. It happened fast, and one of its biggest problems was solved in a dream. This has maybe happened once or twice in the past. I have been making these space paintings for some time now. Look inward, look outward. Look home, look abroad.
Black Hole Keep on Spinning, 2023
Black Hole Keep on Spinning, 2023, 18"x24" $245.00
September 27, 2023
Astronauts, Roses, Black Holes, Space Objects
September 19, 2023
From Whence It Came: a New Painting
I've had a lot of ideas lately, but I’ve been painting what I want to see. Taking risks. And really enjoying all of my oil-based materials.
From Whence It Came, 2023, 22”x30” $115.00
September 18, 2023
Pink Pink Pink Pink Pink Pink Pink
A new painting. Available in the shop. Thanks for visiting. Lots to see here.
The Lane-Nash Fam Reunited in Heaven, 2023, 18"x24" $85.00
September 11, 2023
In Which the Writer Shares an Excerpt from Phil's Siren Song
Here’s a short excerpt from Phil's Siren Song, a sequel to Your Silent Face which I hope to release this winter. If you aren’t familiar with my first novel, you can check it out here.
Nickel’s Arcade is an enclosed alley in downtown Ann Arbor. The red-bricked walk through is lined with shops that sell expensive items. The elongated glass roof lets in the pale sunlight. We linger here for a moment to gaze upon expensive men’s accoutrements before emerging onto State Street at the Diag. But my thoughts are stuck in the arcade. No matter how many times I have passed through, it requires an adjustment when I exit at the other end. There is something elegiac about the echoing scrape of leather-soled shoes, and the subdued, dislocated voices. It is like entering a church in the middle of the afternoon while a humble group of plainly dressed lay women are cleaning the sacristy. The soft, reverent murmurs; the silent eyes: the hush. However, something is off. I have never seen anybody making a purchase. Quite often a number of the shops are closed. I have never entered a single one of them. I pass through like a wand of light every time I return to Ann Arbor to score more candy. The enclosure is like a snow globe or an aquarium. The sensations are trapped. There are no enclosed alleys in Flint. The expensive clothing, the art prints, the gold-plated watches and tie clips, the vintage antiques possibly contain a message: You do not belong here, buddy. I stubbornly refuse to feel anything, but I can’t help the sensation. Stuart senses something too: “Do you ever feel like suddenly ripping off your shirt and sprinting into the street and just running balls out for several blocks?” he asks.
“You mean like right now, this very minute? No. But I think about running—”
“You’re going to leave Flint, just like Nigel did, ain’t cha?”
When it comes to fetching the drugs, I would totally be lying if I said that I did not experience a spasm in the bicep, a sudden flutter in the groin. I sometimes question all of this, but it’s simple: One can’t work their way through college slinging pizza. Especially someone who has been winging it on his own since the age of sixteen. One day I walked out of my mother’s apartment on an afternoon much like this afternoon. I had not decided in that precise moment that I would not return, but that is exactly what happened. I dropped out of school. I crashed with friends. I rode my skateboard. I couch surfed for a while. I went to shows. It became an implied emancipation, a de facto separation from my mother without any explicit agreements. I had had more than I could stand of her dumb ass boyfriends.
Everything converges at the Diag. The traffic stagnates. People lazily multiply and converse and smoke. Sidewalks intersect. The pool hustlers gather in the billiards hall on the first level of the Union. In the summer, the grass and trees and flower beds compete with the brick and pavement.
Eventually, a young kid wearing flowing cargo pants and worn out checkered Vans screeches to a halt beside me just as I am lighting a clove to try and blend in.
“So the guy yer meeting looks like Charles Manson before he went to prison,” he says, casually dismounting from the skateboard.
Ignoring sudden declarations, I take this opportunity to inquire about something that has been bothering me. “Come on, man, how did you know it was me? What do they tell you? I’ll give you five bucks.” There will come a time when I need to speak with somebody else.
“He’s wearing a Yankee’s hat.”
“Okay, ten bucks.”
The familiarity of the sound of the wheels of the retreating skateboard grinding on the sidewalk give me pause. I survey the scene. There is opportunity here. A wide range of customers. Basically, wealth up the ass. A punk rock couple walking by with spiked Mohawks plastered with shiny gel cannot fool me. I find a crazed guy wearing a Yankee’s baseball cap in the Union pool room, but his scraggily beard, gold Ray-Bans, hippie beads and army jacket remind me more of Dennis Hopper as the insane journalist in Apocalypse Now more than Charles Manson.
My Dennis Hopper is watching a guy named J Dog run the table. They are playing straight pool. The pool hall, itself, is like a scene in a film. J Dog and Stuart were tight in high school. While Stuart was wait-listed by the University of Michigan, J Dog was accepted. We have chatted about his college life down here. He has made it sound attractive. Great bands, like INXS and the Violent Femmes, have played at Hill Auditorium.
On nights back home, after my candy has run out, I have watched J Dog run many racks at El Oasis.
I sit beside Dennis Hopper. “He’s kicking your ass, isn’t he?”
“You know him?”
“He’s a homie.”
“He can play pool, that’s for damn sure.”
“I’m it. The guy from Flint.”
“Really? No, duh. I know who the fuck you are, man. Meet me in the men’s room in fifteen minutes.”
“Does it have to be so dramatic?” I wonder. Everything is going very well. It is nice to see J Dog.
Dennis Hopper gets up to take a shot.
“Phil,” J Dog says.
“J Dog.”
“What’s up, man?”
I shrug. “Oh, the usual. Are you taking this guy’s money? I guess we’re going to take our business to the men’s room.”
In the bathroom, I ask the guy if he’s seen the film, Apocalypse Now. We go into adjacent stalls. I pay for the drugs. In exchange for the wad of cash, he slips me a brown bag. “You like totally remind me of the Dennis Hopper character,” I am saying, coming out of the stall, having stuffed the candy deep inside my backpack, but the hippie guy has vanished. J Dog is packing up his cue in the pool room. “Hey, man, Stu’s wandering around here somewhere,” I say, but he isn’t too interested because he needs to get to an exam for a computer class. “Computers?” I say. “It’s probably going to become my major,” he says. “Who could have predicted Dennis Hopper?”
The thought makes me chuckle.
Your Silent Face By Lane, Tim Buy on Amazon
September 10, 2023
Spatio Domus, Works on Paper, Contemporary Art
I am still fascinated by the shape of this object I’ve created. Spatio domus loosely translates to space house or the space of the house. Either translations works for me. The future is here.
Spatio Domus, 2023, 18”x24”
2023: New Work A series of colorful, painterly, expressionistic paintings focused on images of space, astronauts, portals, roses, first contact and singularities.
Original Art for Sale
September 1, 2023
Black Hole, Miniatures, Space
Black holes exist in different sizes. So do paintings. Sometimes it is very fun and rewarding to knock out a miniature canvas. I’m talking a three-inch square. I enjoyed working this piece. I also enjoyed working with my new pastel pencils!
Black Hole, 2023, 3"x3" $22.00
