Walking by Blues on a brickwall

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A favorite picture of Cecelia [in Chicago, late 1970s]

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Jeff Hull came by recently to check Jake’s portfolio. And we kind of looked at some of Jeff's own more recent stuff together. Which is on the Web via some shows he’s had in recent years. Now I am stuck as anyone reading this will agree with words. Which provide a poor translation of what goes on in true visual art. Here goes. Jeff Hull’s paintings transcend a life time; they cut through blue paradises of art think and explode, exotic, rich and watery. The ordinary world is here, and is seen in a universe of visual indications. Cells of modern mind float on the canvas, and one painting enters another. Images flop along side stones emanating molecular progressions. Color is all over the place, and you are on a magical ride. This art is feedback music in the domain of the eyeball. The sky, the ferns the beat. I see stories. I apply cut-up technique. The stuff pops up at you in spectral neural displays. Jeff’s objects comet forth. You attach what you bring. Ferns, boobs, dripped...
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