S.R. Wild: Artist and Graphic Designer

A Few Journal #6 Pages

I’ve been slacking on getting journal pages on here, so here are a few. More to come soon eventually.

An Unnecessary Machine

My contribution to the Australian Book Magazine Book.

Also, it’s been awhile since I posted pages from my current journal. I plan on scanning them soon.

Announcing the Vermont Journal

A few months ago, I was in a funk one night so I decided to clear my head by aimlessly wandering around the streets—my usual cure, which I’ll probably do tonight too. I was trying to think of some collaborative projects I could do to get me out of my funk. One idea was to start a collaborative journal that would travel around Burlington or all of Vermont, but I didn’t know how to do it (you may recall me briefly mentioning it). The Goddess of collaborative projects must have been looking down on me because a few days later I heard about 1001 Journals, a website that could manage such a project.

Today, I finally put the Vermont Journal into action: I bought a journal (the virgin Moleskin in the photo) and setup an account on 1001 Journals. You are all welcome to participate by contributing your writings, drawings, collages, photos, or whatever. The only rule is that is must stay in Vermont. Sign up now or just email me and I’ll send/hand it to you.

Like most things I do, I don’t know why I’m doing it. I’ll worry about that later. I might change things and it’ll just be something I give to my comrades. I suppose it’s an experiment—like the 1000 Journals Project stickers I have on everything I own say, “The is an experiment and you are part of it.”

Journal Pages for Cuatro de Mayo

I’d like to dedicate today’s journal pages to all the other socially retarded, borderline mute, lone wolves out there who are perfectly comfortable with not joining a pack tonight. These pages are sponsored by the gal at the tobacco shop who gifted me a fabulous wooden cigar box (with a little paint, paper, and glue it’ll make a handsome vessel to display the lil’ artworks I’m selling), my cute neighbor who said she liked my smorkin’ labit decal, and this evening’s sunset at the fishing pier.

Man, my journal is starting to bulge. No, it’s not excited. It’s from all the stuff I’ve been adding to it. I might have to put it on a diet (rip out some blank pages). If I don’t, the spine will explode. I really should do it before I start working on them, but I’m incapable of thinking more than five minutes ahead. This always happens when a journal is about half full… or half empty—since I’m filling it, half full makes more sense and the same applies to glasses.

You may have noticed that I’m on page 45 of this journal, yet I’ve only posted 26 pages. I don’t post all pages because some of them are crap, unfinished, or classified.

For the past three nights, I’ve been trying to watch Waiting for Godot. I keep falling asleep. It’s not that it’s boring. I really like it. I think it’s because it’s the only part of the day where I come close to not thinking (worrying, obsessing) and can relax.

Except for a few shows, like The Simpsons, and the occasional bout of insomnia induced channel surfing, I don’t watch TV. I found that I don’t remember my dreams if I watch a lot. I need to remember them because that’s where most of my ideas come from. (I once had a dream that my dream self sued my awake self for plagiarism.) I don’t watch many movies these days either because I’m trying to save money so I don’t rent them, I’ve watched the ones I own far too many times, and the pickings at the library are slim.

Tonight, my mission is to finish Waiting for Godot.

ESTRAGON: Wait! (He moves away from Vladimir.) I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off alone, each one for himself. (He crosses the stage and sits down on the mound.) We weren’t made for the same road.
VLADIMIR: (without anger). It’s not certain.
ESTRAGON: No, nothing is certain.
Vladimir slowly crosses the stage and sits down beside Estragon.
VLADIMIR: We can still part, if you think it would be better.
ESTRAGON: It’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.
VLADIMIR: No, it’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.
ESTRAGON: Well, shall we go?
VLADIMIR: Yes, let’s go.
They do not move.

Journal Pages for Prayer Day

Today’s journal pages are brought to you by a staple-coated telephone pole on Elmwood Ave. and the realization that some connections are gone—if they were ever there—and it’s time to give up.

Journal #6 pgs. 42-43

Today’s journal page is brought to you by my inability to throw anything away. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to watch Waiting for Godot and then look at works by Robert Rauschenberg while listening to Henryk Górecki’s Symphony No. 3 until I drift off to the land of nod. This how we do it in the O.N.E. OK, this is how I do it.

Journal #6 pgs. 40-41 and Other Stuff

Here’s today’s journal page. This page stinks (literally) because I used spray paint on it. I almost passed out from the fumes when I opened it up earlier. I don’t think the other people in the waiting room liked it either.

I realize I’m a bit behind in Operation Journal-a-Day. I have a good excuse. Really, I do. Please don’t hit me… maybe just a little. I’ve been busy cranking out pieces to sell nearby. I’ll reveal more when everything is ready—tomorrow if things go as planned… and they will, damn it.

Also, a few people have expressed interest in the postcards I posted the other day. I’d be tickled pink to send anyone a home brewed postcard, just send me your address and I’ll fire one off to you. All I ask is that you send me something—anything at all—in return. A few people have sent me stuff recently. I haven’t forgotten and I will send something in return soon.

One last thing, my collection of ephemera is starting to wane. I need more! Unfortunately, the streets are a little too clean these days and I’m not going to be in an urban area for at least another two weeks. If you have or know where to get any old books, magazines, or other bits of ephemera—the older, more stained, and freer the better—please contact me.

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