More monkey art now on Flickr

I've inflicted more of my mixed media art on you via my Flickr account. And for those of you who like the ones with boobies, I added one or two of them as well for you.

"It's What's Inside That Counts" 13" x 13" mixed media on plywood.

"The Sound of Human America" 13" x13" mixed media on plywood.

But just to let you know who the real artist was in my family, this a a painting my Dad did. It's a copy of a Van Gogh I think. He often did copies of Van Gogh's paintings, I vividly remember his interpretation's of Van Gogh's Sunflowers and Irises. He felt a kinship with Van Gogh because both of them had mental illnesses. This is the only painting my Dad did thatI know of that has survived, the rest have been tossed out or destroyed.

Dad had the real talent and artist's eye and I'm just a monkey who does cut and paste jobs on plywood. Although I do like to think that all those times he encouraged me to make some art has finally paid off.

Happy Father's Day, a tale of two fathers

This is a picture of my late father. He began hearing voices when he was in his late teens/early twenties and he was subsequently diagnosed with acute schizophrenia. Despite having been diagnosed with mental illness and being put on some of the heaviest psychotropic drugs known to man he still managed, when he was not in the hospital that is, to hold down a variety of jobs to help support my mother and us five kids. He worked at various times as a professional photographer, an artist, a butcher, an upholsterer, and he helped run a pony ride concession.

Despite his flaws my mother loved him and so did I, I can't speak for my siblings but I think most of them did as well. My maternal grandparents and some other member of my mothers family however did not like him at all and they made their views constantly known and heard. The way they talked about him you'd have thought that he was mass murderer who was not fit to be around civilized people.

He did the best he could with the problems he had in his head. And he knew when to listen to his doctors when they gave him advice and tried to make him better. He knew he was sick and he did his best with what he had and he tried and tried to get better. Unfortunately he was one of those people who get ground down by the shitty mental health system we have in this country and he died far too young, he was in his early 50's when he passed. I used to resent him for being gone so much when I was a kid and for being sick, but now I realize that it wasn't his fault, he just had faulty wiring in his brain and he was trying to get it fixed.

This bastard on the other hand is a mass murderer who is not fit to be around other people. He wraps himself in the flag and tells us that if we criticize him or his flawed way of conducting a war that we are damned terrorist lovers.

He hears voices, just like my father did, but unlike my father, this bastard doesn't get help for his mental illness. Instead he claims that the voice he hears is Jeebus's Daddy telling him that he should be President and that it's okay to kill hundreds of thousands of Muslims and a few thousand Americans as well.

This Bush bastard will not take any advice to help get us out of war. His stubborn stupid ass thinks he knows best about everything. For him it's his way or the highway, or if you're not careful, it's Gitmo for your ass if he disagrees with you. And when he's not getting more people killed because he is too fucking stupid to end his war of terror, then he's letting his buddies in the corporate world repeatedly rape us here at home.

Compared to him, my Dad is a fucking hero. At least my Dad knew he was sick and he tried to get help. The asshole in the White House thinks he's perfect and that you're crazy and treasonous if you disagree with him.

So happy Father's Day Dad, where ever you are.

And you Mr. President, how about you give us all a present this weekend and you resign your office before you get anyone else killed for no reason you prick.