New York in Black and White
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| Midtown |
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| Traffic Light in Central Park |
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| Empire State Building |
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| Inside the Metropolitan |
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| Door Handles |
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| Chrysler Building |
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| Grillework |
2021-04-21
images in black and white - New York City
Illuminated text: History Lesson
Cities and towns where white violence resulted in massacres of black people
2021-04-20
Combine: Interdit!
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| "Interdit!" A piece composed of objects found during a weekend in Montreal, PQ Canada. Friends walking with me hastened away when I cut an end off a police crime site tape; afraid they'd get arrested if I did. |
East Haddam Connecticut Scenes - part of an ongoing series
Four Images - All acrylic on wood panel; all 8" x 16" / 20 x 40 cm
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| Entering East Haddam Village, Norwich Road / Route 82 |
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| First Church Congregational from the gravestones of Venture and Meg Smith |
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| The fields at Cone Farm, Moodus |
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| Gelston House and a peek at the Goodspeed Opera House |
2021-04-03
Drew John Ladd's "Wolfsong Beloved" is now in print
Wolfsong Beloved by Drew John Ladd
Mystery surrounds the protagonists full bore . . . but we don’t meet them right away, and we happen upon them all of a sudden.
There is no comforting presence of an invisible narrator here – providing descriptors, pointing to signposts about that which we see. Here - we are in a story that calls for us to do the sleuthing ourselves. I like that.
How we process our exposure to beings and witness to situations that come before meeting the three who take us through the rest of this tale – shall help or hinder our ability to understand that to which we have been exposed and to whatever else may follow.
We happen upon this trio - an ancient fighter on a dangerous mission, a powerful caged child whose life memories eludes him, and a forthright talking sentinel wolf – and see they are enmeshed in pursuit of answers - names - and some great resolution. And we, are so enjoined to learn the answers with them.
My first reads of this tale were online. I’ve been following the paths taken in Drew John Ladd’s Wolfsong Beloved via Facebook and Patreon posts [patreon.com/drewwritesstuff ] as well as in podcasts and interviews in which he spoke about this saga.
As with many mysteries – returning to the clues can be useful . . . and most everything has clues within what we’ve observed. We find magic, grim parables, creatures and beings not generally known to us, and circumstances that trouble or astound on the path these three travel – and which we watch.
And much was found, and learnt; so much so that I hope this calls for more to come in the future . . . be they prequel, sequel, concurrent narrative, or some new form of chapter timelines . . . that I’m already looking forward to reading for I still remain wrapt and intrigued.
But back to reading . . . while reading online, or hearing excerpts kept me returning for more, that I might pore over and peruse jumping about the tale with abandon . . . something that can be vital when trying to make sense of the world put forth to learn about.
. . something that can be returned back to as often as needed to render the parable(s) segments to be in some tangible form, something that can be only really be done with an actual book.
The book is exists here now. I’ve already put in orders for several copies to share.
Here's a link to the lulu.com sales page: https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/drew-ladd/wolfsong-beloved/paperback/product-4dqyy5.html?
Collage: Waiting for Godot
Yes, Nathan Lane and John Goodman are part of this collage
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| Waiting for Godot collage - 6" x 6" / 15 x 15 cm in private collection (c) 2021 Will Brady |
2021-03-22
entries into an annual Peace Calendar competition conducted by Syracuse Cultural Workers for 2022
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| Sense of Dignity - watercolor 11x14 in / 27x35 cm |
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| Stop Coercive Treatments - watercolor and ink - 11x14 in / 27x35 cm |
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| Credo - watercolor and ink - 11x14 in / 27x35 cm |
2021-02-22
Original Photo Art - Various images - for sale
Bring Beauty into your home - inexpensively
Original Photo art for sale - $35 - per picture - OTHER IMAGES AVAILABLE
dry mount on archival mat board (11"x14" / 28 x 35 cm).
$40 if shipped to you within USA
Message me first - Can take VENMO @Will-Brady-5
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| Lighting Showroom Display |
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| Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris |
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Don Gummer's "Primary Separation" sculpture in North Adams, Mass. |
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| Solitary Chair: Musée des Beaux Arts, Montréal |
2021-02-03
Other Voices: Drew John Ladd - diarist, passionate voice against Racism, and spinner of sci-fi, horror and fantasy tales
There are times when one is mocked - and mistreated - for being different; often cruelly. But sometimes, there comes vindication, in manners that can be overwhelming to comprehend, yet which can be described.
In "God Don't Need No Matches" Drew John Ladd lays out one such tale.
First published a few months ago on his Patreon pages, the tale is well worth renewed attention. - https://www.patreon.com/drewwritesstuff
Once on Patreon, much of his work is available for free (though by all means, subscribe because his writing is captivating and warrants the support; you can subscribe for as little as a dollar per month) but you can find more of his writing such as:
* excerpts from his upcoming Novel "Wolfsong Beloved",
* a new look at Peter Pan - as the predator in the tale
* plus insightful essays on race, racism and the complex and difficult social circumstances in which we currently find ourselves.
for now: here's a tale of how mistreatment and abuse of someone disarmingly unique can end up horribly awry.
I remember the first time that I felt the fire, this bright red glowing thing inside me. It burned the roof of my mouth, my eyes, my hands.
I scorched my wristwatch to my arm.
In the quiet aftermath of a meditative cold shower, I peeled the melted watch from my wrist. My wrist was unharmed. I remembered.
The next time was Mr. VanDuke’s history class. Something about burning witches. Darcy Kellerman laughed and said some joke about me being next before screaming, clawing at her own face as her eyes popped like fried eggs. Her entire desk, it seems, had combusted. They say it was a good thing she was wearing natural fibers. They say, it would have been a horror otherwise.
Otherwise.
The last time I was mocked in the hall, I felt it rise in me like a light, this time with focus. I contained it. It was a success. They strutted past me, guffawing like lost mules, while I quietly celebrated the victory.
Over the next few months, I became adept at starting fires. Months later, I was able to quench them at will. I learned, of course, to spell my name on things, but used a new name, a name capable of housing this new found fire:
Tituba.
They called it vandalism; at first, anyway. There were cash rewards and suspects aplenty but no one they could lay hands on seemed to have any knowledge of the source.
Yet, I knew, it was only a matter of time before they got to me.
Like always, I played the game, went by their name, went by their rules, went along with their inquisition. I feigned fear, resentment, and, most of all, powerlessness. I gave them “disaffected demoralized queer” and they ate it up lip-smackingly.
The vandalism escalated to more elaborate “terrorist” acts; the grocery story burned completely to the ground in less time than it took the local fire department to respond. There was no direct evidence of the use of accelerant, but, in the aftermath, investigators intimated strongly that the blaze was deliberate; they just could not “reasonably account for the apparently complete and extraordinarily rapid simultaneous incineration of the building and all that was housed therein”.
I liked that.
Prom came and went, and I did neither. I had promised my grandmother that I would graduate, and I intended to do just that, so I had no plans on sulking my way out of graduation. But, it seemed, a new graduation was taking place of its own accord and with my encouragement. I decided to speak with her about it.
“I don’t know anything about any of that you’re talking about. But I DO know that there are gifts; gifts that are given, gifts for which we are responsible for being good stewards, until it is time to return that gift.”
I thanked her, and she hugged me like usual, only I thought her hands felt… warmer than usual.
“You have many gifts,” she said, still holding me in her arms. “Go and be a good steward”.
I had been “churched” so hard as a child, I knew exactly what she meant by “good steward”. And, I had been “churched” hard enough to WANT to BE that good steward.
But I remembered another song. Something about “God don’t need no matches…”
I thought about saying it, about whispering it like a prophecy into her ear, a thing I knew she would feel just as I did. But, in her warmth, I withheld it from her. “She has carried more than her share,” I reasoned.
The last time was after graduation.
We had walked the stage earlier that afternoon, my family smiling, hollering, snapping photos with their phones. That night, I sat alone in my room and thought of what to wear.
In the woods, I could hear them far off, even with the twigs and branches snapping beneath my feet. I walked closer and heard them laughing, the crack of their fire, closer still and I could recognize voices.
I thought of the people connected to those voices, how they had shaped me, how they had “arranged” me, how they had dug into me against my will. I thought of the scars I carried and felt myself grow warmer.
Before any of them could see me, I had taken account of who they all were. It broke my heart that none of them were exempt. None of them (not here, anyway) had ever seen, much less respected people like me.
Tyler Jepsen, hand in my pants, freshman year - “horseplay”
Sendica Ire, “What ARE you?”, freshman year - “misunderstanding”
Tony Mendez, “Let us see ‘it’!”, junior year - “jokes”
Hannah Glass, “Its not fair to us who are just ‘like that’ naturally.”
There were so many others. Too many. Tears stung my eyes and burned away on my face, leaving salt stains and bloodied eyes.
By the time I was in view, my fire was brighter than theirs. I incinerated them all, one by one, savoring their cries for help. I learned after the first one that I had done it far too quickly. I practiced, though. And there were so many to practice on.
Hannah was last, fruitlessly trying to shove a car key into an ignition that I had melted shut. When she saw me, she stopped.
I waited.
She waited.
The woods around us burned, hot smoke rose, black and grey plumes, us in a hell of my making.
Our making.
She got out of the car and faced me. She looked ready.
“I know I don’t deserve your mercy. We put you through hell - there’s no forgiving that. There’s no apology for that. I know. I just wanted y-”
And that’s as far as she got. Sure, there was a scream as she clawed at her mouth, melted shut, her teeth, fused together. I turned her tongue to ash and watched her choke, black tendrils of ash and mucus hanging from her nose like idiot mascara.
Her hair went up instantly - she almost didn’t feel it. And when I took her eyes, I took my time. I wanted the last thing she saw and felt as her cataracts melted into nothing was the force of my fire.
Some of the others had worn their prom dresses as a sort of last chance to get to wear something opulent before being turned out like paupers to the college of their parents' choosing. No doubt, they also relished in the irony of wearing evening wear to the woods for a beer and pot party.
What they did not count on, was Tituba.
Very nearly to her credit, Hannah had worn all natural fibers - while the others smoldered, gurgling pleas for help from half-hardened plastic shells that once were jackets and skirts and showoff wear, Hannah stood alone. Tall. Bright.
Burning like a candle.
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D. John Ladd
2021-01-30
Logo Design: Moodus Sportsmen's Club Signage
Logo / Signage design for local hunting club.
Acrylic Latex paint on wood panel
(c) 2006, 2020 / Will Brady
2021-01-25
2021-01-23
Digital Collages: "Economic Justice" and "Wage Slavery"
We need to talk about economic injustice since the power it wrests upon society can rip it apart.
2021-01-19
Painting: Avian Magic
Avian Magic
8" x 24" / 20 x 60 cm
acrylic on canvas
will.brady @ gmail.com
P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423
2021-01-17
Collage / Combine: "Atonement"
"Atonement"
Objet Trouvé / Combine - 20" (w) x 54" (h) x 4" (d)
will.brady @ gmail.com / P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423
FOR SALE [+Shipping (US Canada only)] - SQUARE Card Processing card available
2021-01-10
Other Voices: Harmonia Rosales on "Why I paint what I paint"
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| The warrior God of metal work, Ogun, originates from the Yoruba religion in Africa. Ogun can build or destroy. A conundrum he often faces. With such raw energy behind a cause, both destruction and building go hand-in-hand to create a society/change we need and have a right to.____________________________________________________from 19 June 2020, on Ms. Rosales's blog : https://www.harmoniarosales.com/post/why-i-paint-what-i-paint . Illustration (c) 2020 by Ms. Rosales is shown here as permitted by "Fair Use" provisions of U S Copyright laws. |
QUOTE:
"I see life as a painting, rich and complex in its colorful layers. We are our own artists. However, the foundation for which we create our life is vastly flawed. If the paintings foundation is not properly sealed, the painting deteriorates, becomes weak, and will consistently have to be patch-worked. In this instance our foundation is America:
"The United States is a contradiction. Its founding principles embrace the ideals of freedom and equality, but it is a nation built on the systematic exclusion and suppression of communities of color. From the start, so many of this country’s laws and public policies, which should serve as the scaffolding that guides progress, were instead designed explicitly to prevent people of color from fully participating. Moreover, these legal constructs are not some relic of antebellum or Jim Crow past but rather remain part of the fabric of American policymaking."-Danyelle Solomon,Connor Maxwell, and Abril Castro
". . . We see that we are still not truly liberated. The anger we have expressed these past few weeks [June 2020] is completely justified. I am all for it because we have never been heard as much as we are currently. But what happens when the dust settles? Are we prepared to look in the mirror? To truly heal ourselves before we rebuild our future?
"When I committed my career to artivism, I vowed to always include my culture and identity in my work, specifically the part of me that is the least represented in society. I utilize social ecology to highlight uncomfortable questions we should all be asking ourselves in order to see the bigger picture." ________________________________________________________________
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