My Son Cinderella

 

Twitter exchange with one of my favorite authors last week:

Me: Last Halloween my 3yo boy rocked Cinderella. This yr its Batman. I kinda miss the gown.
Peggy Orenstein: A cape is sort of gown-esque, no?
Me: Cinderella would be stunning in a cape. Dunno if I want Batman saving me in a gown.

Peggy Orenstein’s most recent NYT best-seller, Cinderella Ate My Daughter delves into the “princess-mania” that has overtaken a new generation of little girls. Her magnificent memoir, Waiting for Daisy, captures much of the same subject matter and spirit of my upcoming book. 

Happy to say my latest hanging sculptural installation got loads of love at Locust Projects in Miami this past week.

 

Tell a Lie Enough It Becomes the Truth

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.
                                                                                                                Mark Twain

 

Tell a Lie Enough It Becomes the Truth is the title of my newest hanging sculpture up now thru Oct 27th at Locust Projects in Miami. As the father of 2 young children, the notion of truth-telling is very relevant in my life. My kids do not yet lie, though my 4-yr old is beginning to play with facts. Sadly for him, his poker face sucks. He gets that from me. The idea of telling the truth at all times, some call it radical honesty, is fundamental to meaningful progress in a society, a household, a marriage. How does one make the hard choices without baseline facts? Yet, here we are swimming in a sewer of shameless falsehoods. Don’t get me started with the media. With my first book scheduled for release in 2013 (details in a later post), I should start referring to myself as New York Times bestselling author, Stuart Sheldon. The more I say it, the more you and the rest of the world will assume it to be true. It is, after all, who I intend to become. In fact, it is one of my greatest aspirations. Here’s the truth – You can help me achieve this.

The truth about publishing these days is size matters. Followers are currency and credibility. The larger my audience on day one, the more attention my book garners. So, right now, I need you to take 5-seconds and SUBSCRIBE in the top right corner of this page. Participate with me on the next phase of my journey as an artist. Indulge me. Please also follow me on Twitter. And share this and all my posts generously on FB and Twitter (see the buttons atop this post). Alright, enough shameless self promotion.

Here is what I look like when I am happy. Make me happy and subscribe right now!

Make art. Not war!
Stu

PS. Subscribe already!

 

The Wisdom of Walking Slowly

 

I have always loved elephants

The gentle soulfulness

Rough-hewn nobility

They cannot hide

Must be as they are in the world

Lumbering

Yet determined

Many consider them good luck

I see inspiration

For they love to play

Yet know sadness

And fight for what they cherish

Without hesitation

 

 

 

 

Angel Looking for a Place to Land

Excerpted from my upcoming book, A Lonely Fool’s Masterpiece:

Jodi admired the series of horizontal weathered lumber and driftwood pieces strung together vertically. This rudimentary torso hung freely and moved subtly in the breeze. The upper pieces were broader and stouter, and they tapered as they descended to create the rough form of a body. Baling wire connected the pieces, so that, instead of being perfectly vertical, these anthropomorphic figures had a bit of kinetic torque, as if they were lifting off or landing. I called them angels. But these angels had nothing to do with the syrupy biblical notion of winged cherubs. They were simply guiding forces.

I began to massage Jodi’s shoulders as she stood with me looking at the piece.

“I like the green,” she said, referring to the very top slat of 6”x20” wood.

“That’s the remnant of an old fence gate I found in Colorado ten years ago. The rest are pieces of wood I grabbed from beaches the past year surfing.”

“I like it.”

“It’s called Angel Looking for a Place to Land, and it’s going to guide our baby home, like his own personal GPS.” I kneaded more deeply into her tight shoulder muscles.

“Let’s hope it works… Ahhh, that feels so good,” she purred, dropping her head.

Quit F’ing Around and Give Us Our Son

Excerpted from my upcoming book, A Lonely Fools Masterpiece:

I’d painted my wife into my life. Time to paint us a child. We still had seven long months ahead of us. BRING US A HEALTHY BABY, AND BRING IT NOW was the message I sought to ring in the ears of the collective unconscious. This message was no longer a request. It was a demand. Time to storm into God’s office and tell him to quit fucking around and give us our child.

 

What If We Can’t Have Children?

Excerpted from my upcoming book, A Lonely Fool’s Masterpiece:

“So, I’m telling you, if it doesn’t happen next time, I don’t think I can do this anymore,” my wife said.

If it doesn’t happen next time… I had never allowed that notion to take hold in my mind, because I found it ridiculous. Of course we would have a child. But the idea that we might not succeed was beginning to register. All of a sudden, my wife was putting the barrel of a gun in my mouth and saying, if it doesn’t work this time, I’m going to pull the trigger and blow the brains out on your most fundamental aspiration. Were that to happen, I would have some hard choices to make, choices that I had never seriously studied. Merely pondering those choices made me uneasy, because it felt like a betrayal of Jodi. But what would I do if she categorically refused to try again? What if I just could not handle it? I did not want to consider any of this, but my subconscious had its insidious means.