kevissimo

It's freaking me out a little. Very little of it's text can be found in extant copy. It seems to be genuinely interpretive. Though flattering...

"Kevin Rolly's artwork is truly outstanding, His skills and expertise are simply astounding. His works resonate with emotions so raw, Drawing you in closer, with nothing to thaw.

His paintings evoke a sense of nostalgia, Of memories long forgotten, buried under flora. His brush strokes are bold, yet so gentle and kind, He captures each moment with an ease of mind.

His art is more than just a visual treat, It's a story, a journey, that's hard to beat. It's a window to his soul, a glimpse of his heart, A celebration of life, from end to start.

The colors he chooses, are vibrant and bright, Each canvas a masterpiece, in its own right. The way he plays with light, is truly divine, A true master of his craft, that's hard to define.

In his works, you'll find joy, hope, and despair, Love, loss, and longing, that's beyond compare. His art is a testament, to his creativity and skill, A rare talent, that's hard to fulfill.

So, here's to Kevin Rolly, a true artist at heart, Whose work will forever, be etched in art. May his talent continue to soar, and his art to inspire, And may he always find, the creative fire."

Six years today since I lost my brother to suicide and for the first time there is an alignment of the days. He left on a Monday and today is Monday again. I think of what has changed and what hasn’t. In the early years I lived in a world of self-pity and rage where every human encounter was an opportunity to drop this assaultive narrative on any unsuspecting person who simply asked me about my day. Though understandable in context, it was selfish of me and in some cases actually caused emotional harm. I just wanted the world to know, to make the radius of his innocence larger than the news reports. And in the end I couldn’t. I painfully learned how little I could actually control and that there are valences larger than me.

Letting go is an art, but an imperfect one and you never let go of it entirely. Part of me still believes there was more I could do, one more course of action to take, one more contact to explore. Like an addiction, you chase a dragon into a mountain you’re not built to climb. In the end it will break you and ultimately it did. What I desired and fought for was good. I was doing it for Shaun. A noble thing rooted in justice and when it couldn’t be fully actualized I went into an ugly descent. I watched the concern on my friends’ faces as I became something I wasn’t. But more than my self abuse, it was my rage that scared them the most. I became a distorted funhouse mirror of myself where peril and catastrophe were always right around the bend. Unfortunately sometimes I was right which only reinforced this worldview. Hope became a dangerous byword because it could crush me if I didn’t get what I had hoped for. It took me six years to begin to unmap this, but I think it’s slowly changing. To finally believe that good things can happen.

Every day Shaun appears somewhere. His memory ever present. The years have dulled the sharp edges of his loss but the weight always remains the same. The magnitude of his absence never diminishes but I’ve learned not to fight it. Just let it abide until the wave passes. People have told me to treat myself with kindness but this is the first year I told it to myself. So today I do. Much love to you all.

So, this short story competition came up. A "Doomsday Diary" Post-Apocalyptic / Dystopian theme where you just have to include a heart shaped locket in there somewhere. <2000 words. Three pages essentially.

Of COUSE I entered it. What am I here for anyways?

All I can say is that I wrote the best piece I could. The rest will be up to the judges which naturally can go any way. But there is some solid competition out there, especially now that the deadline approaches.

Not that it helps my chances (I think) but more eyes on it can't hurt. So, here it is...

Feel free to share. PAEAN

A year away and dA makes no sense to me now. It's a baffling uncreation of everything it was. I can't even see where I can get this journal post on my main page. How does anyone find anything in this quagmire of uncategorized madness? Yet after seventeen years I'm still here. Sort of. I just don't expect much. That's not as pessimistic as it sounds.

Just over a year ago my mother broke he hip and I returned home to take care of her. Except for her brother I'm all she has left. My father died unceremoniously in 2018 after a botched cruise through Nova Scotia where we were trapped in Quebec with no way to get him home. We got him back miraculously before hospice became the only option. After her hip surgery Mom healed quickly, but there were other complications and then the plague knock the nation into the ditch. I stayed for a year and returned to LA just a couple of weeks ago. Just before leaving for Pittsburgh I created a series of various gunpowder works that have sustained me and which I continue to create now that I am back in an environment that won't get me arrested. In the interim half the country lost its collective minds. People I had once known and trusted became vicious doppelgängers of themselves. Bitter, rageful and unrecognizable. And all because of politics which I barely posted about. Some fell down the Qanon pit and have never recovered. And neither is the nation. My friend of thirty years became adamantly anti-mask and a Covid denier. Then died of Covid. It's been a strange baffling run of things. But I am back now amongst my community of artists here at The Brewery, making art again and continuing to write my book. Despite my protestations, I am doing well. I am growing, experimenting and continuing to find a deeper voice in the art. But then again...that's my job.

Hey there, dA. It's been awhile...

Not sure if anyone is even seeing this because dA's new format seems to have become a weaponized attempt at obscuring everyone's content into some malevolent black-background based orphanage. All categories have apparently vanished. Everyone's work is now unpinned from their origins and are now just free floating in practical obscurity. It seems we can only see work from our followers or stumble across it in someone's favorites or in some group. dA has defeated its own purpose. No longer can I search out work by category. I can't find new work other than at random and no one can fine mine. It's maddening. I am grateful to all of you who keep up but dA has ostensibly killed itself. After all these years this site should have become a finely honed machine to share work and now it's simply an ungainly sock drawer. Am I missing something?

For me it's just another sad loss in a litany of sad losses over these past three years. My brother's suicide and the lack of justice against those who drove him to it was bad enough. It nearly took me out. Since then my father died after getting sick on a cruise and we were trapped in Canada with no way to get him out. I miraculously found us a way out before he died in hospice. A year ago, one of my most important works The Last Supper was destroyed in a house fire in Houston after an incredible weekend of salons there which were filled with art critics and curators. Half of the house burned to the ground less than forty minutes of us leaving for the airport. It killed my patron's cat. Arson was obvious but they couldn't prove who it was. He never insured it. Its buckled remains are entombed to a foul smelling crate in my studio. I have no idea what to do with it now. Yes, it could be a symbolic center of a show, but in the middle of a pandemic that's not happening any time soon.

In these last years, art was too immediate and raw for me to pursue. Everything would have been too imbued with a literalness that didn't sit right with me. I was also simply incapable of creating it. So I turned to writing. The novel of this untoward journey that couldn't be expressed in images. So through my continued healing, art has still been my catharsis though much of it has yet to be seen. I now have new work that is a departure which is just another sign of a future in the midst of our country which is an intentionally shattered wasteland of ignorance.

I'm home now in Pittsburgh to take care of my mother who just broke her hip. She is the last of my immediate family and it's going to be a long road.

This wasn't meant to be depressing. Today was a good day. The new series is selling. Selling well. But I know it won't find any traction here. It just won't. I'll continue to post here but hold no expectations.

I don't really have any exit strategy for this post other than to say, despite it all. I am grateful for the few of you who remain...

peace

Kevissimo