August 2012

Part 2: The Independence Day Sermon of Jasper Theriot

Posted on August 24, 2012August 24, 2012 by Varg

They made it back to the square with a dozen barrels of sweet wine and corn whiskey. Some powerful fireworks. Some drugs and pharmacy items. The captain also donated some tools and textiles to the town, mostly linens and baskets, some mosquito repellent, freon, a few guns, motors, basic items they could keep or trade….

Continue reading

Part 1: The Independence Day Sermon of Jasper Theriot

Posted on August 14, 2012 by Varg

A serialized short story mostly written in 2007 / 2008 and finally serialized here after a few years have past… ————————- Andre stood atop the Poland levee, trying to find the barge. Mosquitos were eating him up and niether the torches nor Ms. Mary’s oils was keeping them off. “Goddamn skeeters!” Giles screamed, slapping himself…

Continue reading

Coming Soon: ‘The Independence Day Sermon of Jasper Theriot’

Posted on August 10, 2012August 10, 2012 by Varg

There seems to be a recent connection to dystopia in the South Louisiana aether. It makes its way through the collective consciousness of our region with artistic endeavors like Beasts of the Southern Wild and Moira Crone’s novel The Not Yet‘. Perhaps the humidity hastens the invisible conduits of thought from person to person? That…

Continue reading

A Sassy, Cool Soul

Posted on August 6, 2012August 6, 2012 by Varg

I was stopped in my tracks early Sunday morning on Jackson Square by this splendid painting by a fellow artist, Conroy. Perhaps the performance of Quvenzhané Wallis in Beasts of the Southern Wild was still fresh in my head but never the less, the imagery in the painting was quite moving for me. Painted from…

Continue reading

Rejoice!

I say that a lot. I sign many pieces with it. I do this because I believe our lives are a true happenstance. A brilliant occurence from nothingness. We are so rare. We are so unlikely. And simply being born isn’t enough. From there we must survive, endure. So each morning, after our Sun departs and is reborn again. Please, for the sake of your ancestors and the Universe in general, hoist that cup of joe up and say, “Rejoice.”

Ours is a soulful existence. No matter how many McMansions, polyester fabrics, auto-tunes, modified foods and social networks we surround ourselves with, we are all still native, passionate beings made of ancient matter. We are organic and we have soul.

Wood also has a warm, soulful quality. Wood has a memory. It retains smells, traumas, events. It even has a calendar. This is why I have chosen it as my medium, for its old soul. I like to think the wood in my work is in its third incarnation. First a tree, then a home and now art. If you have a room that needs a little soul, get a piece. A room can never have enough soul.

My inspiration and subject matter comes from many sources, among them: Humanism, old ballads, trickster tales, flora and fauna, science, myths and folklore, stringed instruments, brass bands, amber spirits, lady vocalists, general relativity and quantum mechanics. Some of my pieces are there just to make a short, simple statement about what’s important in life. Some are more diffuse and abstract in meaning. A personal drama, an enduring line from a poem or novel, a poignant song lyric, the legacy of an important person, a fleeting thought … these are the subjects of my art.

I use hearts often because they are a very abstract way of depicting the human soul without also employing the very subjective human form. The symbolic heart is an apt representation for a person’s experience and essence. A body can immediatly conjure happiness, sorrow, youth, age, anger, bliss. These emotions can get in the way. Sometimes it’s simply about the experience.

I am the son of a sailor and a social worker, the grandson of a gypsy, a dancer and a nurse. I spent my youth moving from port city to port city, watching a lot of road go by and reading World Book Encyclopedia. After my parents settled down on the Gulf Coast, I was a miscreant youth, destroying cars and taking the wrongs things too seriously and the right things not serious enough. Eventually I began replacing my imagination with experience.

I will use any salvaged wood but prefer swamp cypress and longleaf heartwood pine.

I despise waste. Particularly the waste of organic matter. Trees are magnificent. They were here before we arrived and they’ll be around after we are gone. I’m making an effort to save as much wood as possible. Creating art is fun too. But beyond communicating with folks, but beyond making money ad providing for myself, beyond rescuing flooded parts, beyond reveling in the ethereal aroma of heartpine that hasn’t seen the light of day in 400 years, beyond all that, I am trying to make a simple comment on waste.