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The Blue out of which ..

(in pagan female form here)

note: The Blue out of which like bright parrots appear ideas, sentences, niftinesses is always a pagan male pan-genius to me, but I wrote this for a man and realized that for him The Blue was likely to have this pagan female pan-genius feel. Change the pronouns to suit you.

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    The very <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />California painter of '67 Chryslers, Gran Torinos, and plastic-webbed deck chairs, Robert Bechtle became PhotoRealism, but that's way misleading. He (and Wayne Thiebaud of cakes & pinball machines & lollipops fame) wrestled with the angel of paint and light with devoted obsession. The holo-masterpiece in which we're immersed is so infuriatingly casual, abundant, — no, profligate with its seamless genius that a human artist is forced, like a lump of coal under diamond-making tons of not-ever relenting pressure, to hope for one homage at last, inevitably mere, that might merit a glance from the Queen of Creation as, with her dazzling entourage, she sweeps by.
      One may foul oneself as one will with post-pubescent-fuelled concupiscence, but Mama Earth is your mother and your lover and she is also the cackling crone whose pudgy thumb and forefinger snuff our candle. Art is incest in the most private seduction and rage. Devotion and hate so close they kiss.
      Using sharp focus at all depths of the image as our eyes do and a camera can't, Bechtle finally gets his homage, skin and auto-metal-skin reflections become eerily present; he handles the alchemic illusion with mastery, not overreaching, not distorting, — displaying like a slave who's seen glory – touched glory even – displaying the preferred façade (flesh, chintz, aluminum, stucco, garish cheap plastic back-yard chairs, asphalt) of the Goddess. “Yes, yes, Beloved who Breathes Us, whose luscious air dances in our baffled blood, I was your perfect servant

this afternoon. I wash my paintbrushes tenderly and will stretch a new canvas tomorrow. I noticed with astonishment. I noticed with devotion.”
     It is all you can say that ever gets heard. The rest is will-o-wisps and The Blue cannot hear it. She reads your heart like braille and knows if you are true or false.
 
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You see, to grok photonic physics, you cannot just use reason-sight. You have to train your art-sight too. 
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note: re seamless. In a biology lab class, I once drew a diagram of an amoeba I'd seen under a microscope, and I was marked down by the grad student who checked these lab papers because I had not carefully closed the amoebic oval. “Living things cannot have gaps in them,” she told me, “Nature cannot be so careless.”   Hmmm, I thought – seamless.
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Of course there’s no way to see the luminousness of these paintings unless you go to a museum, tho the 3 zoomable*  paintings give some notion.
  
Bechtle .. ’68 Oldsmobile*; Alameda Chrysler; Alameda Gran Torino; Sunset Intersection; 
Thiebaud .. California Cakes*; Big Suckers*;
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8 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 125  10.04.05 tues
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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