Clinton Neuhaus

if you want to see what I've been up to lately, check out www.cannibalflower.comYou can also check the Strychnin Gallery website if you'd like to view the results of the Mona Lisa show. I received a call yesterday from Kyle to inform me that Strychnin Berlin loved my work, and wanted to hold onto my painting for one of their permenant on-going shows. I'm stoked.A letter to Tina Imel-- one of my favorite paintersThanks Tina. Yes, I do know all of my models. This last work is a portrait of my ex-sister-in-law, Amber. I chose to paint Amber as my Colossus for a number of reasons. As a child, she seemed full of dark portent. She told many a macabre tale of a child named Sally who was slain in a corn field. You must understand, Amber was all of six years old at the time. We grew up in a small town in the San Juaquin Valley, and were surrounded by orchards and fields for as far as the eye could see. There is something innately forboding about these fields, so I always found Amber's stories fascinating. Even after my marriage went south, I kept my eye on her. She grew up to be a talented and soulful young lady. Beyond that, she blossomed into one of the most beautiful women I've ever had the privelage to paint. Knowing that she stands all of 4'11" inspired me to paint her larger than life. I thought she deserved to see herself that way, and I knew that I had always wanted to recreate my idea of that lost wonder of the ancient world, the Colossus. While working on this piece I found myself reading Plath's poem The Colossus again and again. It seemed appropriate in some way that as Sivvy struggled with her memories of her immense father figure, I would paint a girl who struggled with a fatherless life. What dark mysteries churn within Amber now are to remain in shadow, until she choses to disclose them. It is her questions in life, coupled with my own, that I focused on while constructing this monument.Before I even began painting, I prepared my canvas by glueing down a few documents I absconded from the Rancho Los Amigos hospital. The file in questioned belonged to one Frank Cramer, who died there as a recovering alcoholic. Frank was a plasterer by trade. Somewhere along the way he aquired a thirst for the hard stuff, and one day before Christmas Eve of 1958, his liver went into what they call a hepatic coma. Now, I'm just a layman who reads hospital records, my interpretation could be a bit askew. However, I believe Frank had suffered all manner of horrors at the hands of surgeons. His records are extensive. When he passed, his possessions were few-- a pair of wingtips, a belt, trousers, shirt, tie, and a five dollar check. Frank left his flesh during the wee hours, consequently his body was not pronounced dead until the day of Christmas Eve. Much of this documentation has now suffered the final blow, as I have painted over it. It takes a certain kind of bastard to do this, Tina. I'd like to take a sec to explain. My original thought was to ressurect this name, Frank Cramer from what Cormac McCarthy refers to as the third history, or what Milan Kundera calls the well of the past. What is lost in this well is the majority of our history as a people, a history which I suspect is far truer and more important than that which we are taught in school. I identify with the common man who works and dies for love of vice. This man makes sense to me. I know I blotted out some of the details of his last days, but I considered it an even trade. Now Frank's story is alive again. That's the magic we hold in our hands, Tina. It's a kind of spell we weave, and I intend to make use of all the elements at hand. Plus, it just gives me a little thrill to introduce Frank to Amber, and to you, and everyone else for that matter.I see my loved ones as though they are houses, peopled with influencial voices that may as well be miniature likenesses of the real person. I am this way, so I see the world this way.The Burgundy Box, is the last girl I dared to love. Her name is Merel, she's a German import. She served as bar tender at one of our company parties, and we fell into a deep conversation about art. Believe me, it was unexpected. She turned out to be a briliant predator, and oh how I love that in a person. Many a time I saw her take the money from drunken poker players, assembled in the solarium of my apartment building. Texas Hold'em was her game. Merel and I were betrothed for a second or two, hence the title. She was both soft as the underbelly of an olive leaf, and sharp as the tooth of a shark. I will never regret that fascinating tryst.Wishbone Way is a painting of a friend I've often wrote of. Her name is Jenniffer Lesh. She's a brilliant writer, and we sort of grew up together. I'll say little here conserning Jenn, seeing as how I've already written volumes in her honor. I think some of that is represented in my blogs.Victor Fasce is a man I robbed when I was a kid. It was foolish and erant, but my wife had just left me with the sole responcibility of raising our daughter, I was jobless and penniless and on the verge of suicide. When I siezed the oportunity to loot his abandonments, I wasn't in a clear state of mind. At that point I would have done anything to feel alive. Anything. When I stole away with his life's ephemera, it left a lasting stain on my heart. However, I'm aware of my voice, and the oportunity finally became too overwhelming. I had to paint my confession, and my apology. I also had to paint that man's amazing world. If you'd like to read more about him, again... check out the blogs.In short, all of my work represents what I've been through or what I'm going through, placed into this world I'm trying to construct.I don't know if I'd expressed this to you, but I've been working on The Colossus now for six months. I really wanted to win the Art Attack contest with Strychnin Gallery. Unfortunately I did not succeed. Even so, I didn't let that sting too much, because the final contestants are fabulous painters. They deserved to rank. In any event, that night of the 21st I went home and picked up my brushes again. I'm happy to say that Picasso is always right in having said a painting is never truly finished, it's simply abandoned. Yes, I signed The Colossus, but that was an act of abandonment. In the spirit of an urban explorer I went back and touched this beauty. Soon I'll publish the pictures of the true, final touches.What I said to myself in that quiet and lonely hour is this...I am this painter. Like a scorpion that cannot help but sting, I cannot refuse the call of the brush. No matter how raw my talent may be, it is this man who lives behind the paint that I must face again and again. Like most folks, I have two sides at war-- I want to sit on my ass and watch a movie, or get outside and hike the beach. I'm proud to say that I nearly always kick that urge right in the ass, and hit my canvas instead. I face myself. Even after a full day's work at either of my two nine to five jobs; even after coming home and cooking dinner at midnight; there is always time to paint.Even in this contest against however many artists who submitted work, I faced only myself. That is always the end, beginning, and middle of my tale.Thanks for giving me a word of confidence Tina. It is much appreciated. This reply is so lengthy, I'm thinking it may also serve another use. Perhaps I'll tag it onto this story of Amber and her painting.In any case, I tip my hat to you. Your work is persistently personal and laden with confession, a brilliant patina over the story of your life.Sincerely, Clinton