July 4,2014I

I took another look at the drawing I called "Clown Down,"a title of one of Suzie's dances when she was teaching at the university, and it stuck me what a knowing look into myself is  on display in the image. It is almost as if the C. diff I am suffering from this week has altered my perception, as I have been hallucinating all day today. The clown is a pompous performer hiding behind his mask and costume. But the more private and pathological me is the guy peeking out from shoe in the saguaro. He sees the woman in the water, desires her, but he's trapped with the cactus, even though his phallic prison is on fire. Another of broken off spook ID is in the fellow in the water to the clowns left who has his eye (his voyeur mode) on the 'Dark Madonna'  at the bottom right of the picture. The women in the water seems to yearn for the clown, almost pleading with him for erotic attention. But he is too busy posing. His Ego is still his master, his shell like the tall cactus is his prison. Towering over events below is a masked female face beyond the threshold of ordinary consciousness, like the image of the dark Anima, as it were, the unconscious prototype of the female that has disturbed my life for a very long time. I also looked at the ladder in the scene in a new light. Instead of a vehicle to reach the moon or some other height of achievement, I saw it as more a sign for help. like something to help get out of this hole I am in. It's a mode of rescue not a stairway to heaven.