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"Losers Chorus Book"
Cover of book and introduction page

Cover: oil paint on canvas collage element and acrylic on black pebble-finished string portfolio trimmed to size, 21.5" X 17.25"

Intro page: ink on paper, 21" X 17"

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INTRODUCTION

The Losers Chorus stands on the corner singing in the heart of everyone. Though one may not know the other, they come together in us now. Their song is made from scraps of disjointed melodies, whispered, wailed, that arise then disappear on a cacophonous swell of loss and longing. Who hears them? Probably more people than I think. Sometimes I wonder if I hear them, even after trying to imagine them and feel their stories. And if I do hear them, read of them in newspapers (some of their names may be surprisingly familiar to us, others forever unknown) and think about what it is to be human and forgotten, see the bypassed infant joy in that cheek pillowed on the sidewalk, what do I do but veer through confusion and anger into art? I have accepted that course of action, nurtured it, though I know it won't change the world (didn't artists hope for that once, to some degree?), and acknowledge my limitations (or perhaps just make excuses for myself). But what if a painting or poem had such an effect on one person so as to make their eyes open inwardly, and regard the human gold so wasted and discarded, left and right? The artistic effort, however hidden or ignored, would be a success. Is such regarding enough?--it may shine in a person's eye even as they pull the lever in the voting booth, or as they gather mana from the bus floor on the way home from work.

These portraits are of members of the chorus. None of the answers about how to live that we believe at the center of society have worked for them. In the United States, September 1999, we don't think of them much: I don't know all of the ins and outs of the arguments about welfare reform, for example, but I recall that when that legislation was passed I felt our society was turning a little further away from the human gaze. To me this didn't bode well for anyone who was out of anything, luck, spirit, love, not only those slipping off the edge of poverty (although they'd certainly feel that specific reform more than anyone). The conservative Reformation. And when national political players begin to discuss notions like "compassionate conservatism" then even language itself has taken a hard blow.

Some of the characters here are from literature, some are from real life, some from I don't know where. The words that accompany them are little introductions, another way to meet them, to help the eyes adjust to a more inward vision. They were written after the pictures. I believe it is worthwhile for an artist to go a little further in helping a viewer understand what they are looking at. Art, by its beauty or quality of presence, will not satisfy the human desire for explanations and meanings. Some of us are inclined to roam among our own explanations, carry on our own dialogues with an image; others of us cannot or do not even know that this is possible. The stories are a way to suggest this possibility. In addition to all of these fine reasons, another is simply that I like to write as well as paint and this is another attempt to wed the two.

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