i am going over to Brenham for a couple of days the rain is making me crazy, i am learning on how to shred the cable to put into the phone jack ,phil is helping me with it,
i guess Matt is really gone, it must have been tough for him, its like he is trapped in his own world of conspirsy and odd cultic coininsidences(sp) , There is a funny history about the "hovel" or this oil dirty garage at our house only three known men have called it home, really Jef tryed to make a home out of it at one time, now its just an open shell. Matt slept on an old matresse with his two dogs and the dogs stayed there the whole time. When jeff was there he converted the places tryed to make it liveable during the winter but it still had this deep darkness to it some how. Jeff's art work is sorta like that, the place had his humid smell of sckoll and stail beer to it,
When Matt did make art, it was some stupid shit like hippy kitch mushrooms and transendental universise he was real anal about drawing, At one point while he was here i tryed to convence him to be "chicken George" or at least make folk art, he is crazy and desperate enought to be believed, , make work about his conspirised as proff that they are real, i told him, "hell sit out here and sell chicken paintings on cardboard in my front yard i bet you will sell them," do anything but do something!.,. Matt wasn't motivated , it was a life of avoidances of something,.,.,.
so it goes