December 2009, COAGULA ART JOURNAL, Issue 99



The mouse is prostrate and breathing heavily. It is lying on the kitchen floor in the middle of a Tom Cat Glue Trap. It must have been there for several hard hours. The beef jerky and peanut butter are gone. Escape is futile. Every movement further imprisons. Each breath is deep and exhaustive.

It’s a brave mouse. Just outside is hostile territory owned by a posse of seven feral cats, all cunning killers. Inside is a curious dog that doesn’t seem to mind sharing her food. The mouse has out foxed two humane traps and three snap traps. The glue had the black shroud.

It takes a long time to die. And we do everything we can to hang on to what little we got. Again I am reminded how strong the life force is. The little mouse would have died fighting, had I not placed his sticky coffin into a Ziploc bag with a pearl of airplane glue to hasten the journey.


All artist statements are lies, obscuring words crammed into a grad school boilerplate. I shall attempt an honest one.

My current body of work is significant to me because it has afforded a period of creative and emotional self-indulgence. It has allowed this one to escape your reality as thoroughly and completely as possible. The artwork is a creature comfort.

The artwork is in reaction to what I call the Hollow.
Sometimes, in some lives, there is a crisis of faith, a dark place of deep, deep void when one learns that nothing truly matters.
I fell, exhausted after the fight, at the doorstep of The Hollow. And I was consumed.

I am a believer. I want to believe. I want to believe in people, family and things. Institutions. Churches. Governments. Ideas. Ideals. I want to believe and trust. It’s in my nature.
But I am a reasonable man, a man of reason. I can think. I can see. Cause has an effect. Actions. Promises. Your words have no meaning. Hypocrisy bleeds green. Hearts
I fought hard but slowly, after time, the golden institutions began to tarnish and fail and I was a weary soldier in this life. Marching forward with an eye on the beacon of the next gleaming tower.

And over time, the torch lights, starved for oxygen, began to flicker and fade.
Events in Life, large, small, slow or sudden, are thrown at us. And it threw them at me.
And I was living in The Hollow.
In the void. In the netherworld of black mirror. Flotsam adrift on a sea of nothingness. Bobbing in the consistency of tar. The silence of screaming winds. Death languishes and promises nothing.

Under this soulless sky, faced with absence, a grey green spark begins to flicker. Maybe a boredom. Or an amusement. Maybe a Jabberwocky. Fight or flight. Snicker-snack! It’s an inkling.
If all is nothing, if everything is meaningless, if the gloves are off, then any action supports only two inevitabilities. Life or death. I chose to make something.
I need to believe in something.
I journeyed. I found nothing.
I chose this work.
Making art is beautifully self-indulgent. The rhythm of the process and the explorations of wonder become a quiet chant, a siren’s song, a prayer.
It’s an enlightened state.
More is available. You see things. And all is right in this world.

The work was welcome, in a backbreaking kind of happy Tom Joad Siberian winter chain-gang way…
It was my work. Mine. And I indulged.
I have been living without interference or influence, without prejudice, without competition. A world without judgment, a world with less worry. I didn’t have to glad-hand or dine with schnooks. No grovel. My time was my own. It was my ditch to dig.

A blithe escape. A safe harbor from the constant barrage of insecurities. Better worlds where glories flow like milk and honey and skies have no limit.
Sheer indulgence.
As every artist knows, this is heroin. You never want to run out.

As of this time and date, this is my honest statement.

GORDY GRUNDY is an LA based artist. ‘Fetish Fortuna’ the fourth show in his series the Fellowship Of Fortuna can be found at: