Over time, fire was tamed, nails were driven, clubhouses and boats and God knows what all, were thrown together in that yard. And yes, my Art was built of the very same stuff.
Read MoreED HADDAWAY REDUX
Doing Something About It
I met Bill Lowe in the 1980s as he was about to open his gallery in Atlanta.
At that point in my life I had developed a business plan which was to say “yes” to anything and everything that came my way and try not to worry about the outcome.
Read MoreREJECTIONS DU JOUR
While I do receive a number of rejection letters from time to time, they are all preceded by some effort on my part. Yours is the first unsolicited rejection I have received. And I am delighted that you have apparently decided to put me on your recurring rejection letter list. I feel quite fortunate to be included.
Read MoreYOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO
PUBLIC SELECTS: A CROWD SOURCED EXHIBITION
Saturday, June 27 2-5 p.m.
Albuquerque Museum
2000 Mountain Road, NW
Read MoreESOTERIC IDEAS WITH LAWYERS
What is the title of my project?
It is called “El Bosque de los Sueños” which, hopefully, is Spanish for:
“Forest Of Dreams”.
Read MoreINVITATION TO VISIT MY STUDIO
THE ALBUQUERQUE MUSEUM AND ED HADDAWAY INVITE YOU TO VISIT HIS STUDIO
(AND NEW ART GALLERY) ON SATURDAY MARCH 7, 2015 FROM 10 AM UNTIL 4PM
Read MoreTHE BEST DOG IN THE WORLD
It’s strange. Not only was she the best, but also pretty much every dog (I have gotten to know many in a long lifetime of dogs) has been the best dog in the whole world.
At least for a short while
Read MoreTHE REINVENTION OF BROKEN DREAMS
“The Reinvention of Broken Dreams” holds within its heart the twin polarities of life and death.
For a time, it smells of age and dusty relics. Like forgotten elders it creaks, and crawls, and groans, crying out, beneath the weight of yesterdays. It contains within itself a vestige of all that went before and it yields neither hope nor faith in the future
I think I hear its death rattle coming, a final, ponderous shutter forever and not so far away.
But then the device slogs on and life surges forth, clanking noiselessly away. Even until it is beyond the night, it clanks and invents and reinvents its dreams. Pushing one and pulling another, till broken and not, they are all joined together, one to the other, all one and the same. Twisting them into a confection both bitter and sweet, night and day, awake and in sleep, the machine endures.
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