During a “slow” period in my creative endeavors a friend approached me.
“Ed, while your not doing anything,” she said, “why don’t you blog about stuff. You never know…you might get rich and famous.”
I hate the word “blog” so I promptly filed it under “unsolicited advice from well meaning friends.”
However as the “lull” persisted and my bank account continued to shrink, I thought, “What the hell ? I waste enough time anyway…. maybe I should give it a try. ”
Thus ED HADDAWAY REDUX was born.
Such is the desperation that drives artists to do what they do.
Building things that I see inside, so that I and others can see them outside, has indeed become the way I have chosen to maneuver through my life.
I now believe my dearly departed parents have gone to work for this company
Entering her massive cage for the first time Gertrude seemed right at home making a sweet guttural sound. We interpreted this to mean, “I am content with this massive cage”. And as in the early days of a marriage when all is right with the world…. all of us were content…. at least for a while.
I met Bill Lowe in the 1980s as he was about to open his gallery in Atlanta.
At that point in my life I had developed a business plan which was to say “yes” to anything and everything that came my way and try not to worry about the outcome.
While I do receive a number of rejection letters from time to time, they are all preceded by some effort on my part. Yours is the first unsolicited rejection I have received. And I am delighted that you have apparently decided to put me on your recurring rejection letter list. I feel quite fortunate to be included.
So as I was approaching the curb with the garbage I saw a young rabbit in his pajamas walking his dog
PUBLIC SELECTS: A CROWD SOURCED EXHIBITION
Saturday, June 27 2-5 p.m.
2000 Mountain Road, NW
What is the title of my project?
It is called “El Bosque de los Sueños” which, hopefully, is Spanish for:
“Forest Of Dreams”.
THE ALBUQUERQUE MUSEUM AND ED HADDAWAY INVITE YOU TO VISIT HIS STUDIO
(AND NEW ART GALLERY) ON SATURDAY MARCH 7, 2015 FROM 10 AM UNTIL 4PM
In 1992 I put together my first video dealing with my life in the arts: “The Creative Process: Inner Anguish”. It explored the brutal realities involved in the making of sculpture
I am excited because this week I am unveiling a brand new product from
HADDAWAY ENTERPRISES and FEEBLE MANUFACTURING
I had stopped by late in the day, having taken my wife’s advice that it was a cozy place to escape the early winter’s blast.
So there I was, in a small, art filled cafe in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, warming myself as best I could, and staring thoughtfully at a woman’s breasts as the afternoon light began to fade.
It’s strange. Not only was she the best, but also pretty much every dog (I have gotten to know many in a long lifetime of dogs) has been the best dog in the whole world.
At least for a short while
I thought the selection committee would definitely go for some form of historical cow art.
And I don’t know why but I have never really got the hang of sculpting cows.
I resigned myself to the possibility that this commission might never happen. I assumed however, that it would probably put some eminent cow artist on the cultural map.
“The Reinvention of Broken Dreams” holds within its heart the twin polarities of life and death.
For a time, it smells of age and dusty relics. Like forgotten elders it creaks, and crawls, and groans, crying out, beneath the weight of yesterdays. It contains within itself a vestige of all that went before and it yields neither hope nor faith in the future
I think I hear its death rattle coming, a final, ponderous shutter forever and not so far away.
But then the device slogs on and life surges forth, clanking noiselessly away. Even until it is beyond the night, it clanks and invents and reinvents its dreams. Pushing one and pulling another, till broken and not, they are all joined together, one to the other, all one and the same. Twisting them into a confection both bitter and sweet, night and day, awake and in sleep, the machine endures.
2013 painted steel 22′ x 5′ x 5′
Early on, I naturally assumed my own social problems lay directly within my character. I attributed my inability to function to some sort of inherited condition in the family ……a genetic abnormality or something.
Would that it were so simple.
While I do not want to negate my personal deficiencies, it is clear that my problems were greatly exacerbated as soon as I began to identify with artists.
And once I crossed the threshold and began calling myself an artist, the maladjustment noose began to tighten precipitously.
Maggie, the source of the slobber, ate the poison with such a purposeful abandon that it was frightening to behold.
She was either a very brave dog, or she had lost herself in a last gasp of unreasoning hunger.
In fact, Maggie seized upon one activity or another her whole life in an attempt to overcome her feelings of low self worth.
Nothing had really worked until finally she took up eating and sleeping.
“This is what I was meant to do” Maggie had announced to the world.
“I feel truly alive when I eat, then lay down for a nap.”
Perhaps it was a bit of all of these unpleasant traits, or it was something else…….something indefinable that caused him to break. But Dudley had had enough.
Though he tried hard not to show his true feelings, and continued to boyishly bite at her tail on their walks in the park, (a practice he had started when they first met), deep in the recesses of his soul, it was contempt that he felt, contempt as wide as the river he could see from the park.
This photo was shot at Eddie’s Parking Lot
I have what I consider a very strong intuitive sense about such things. And as quickly as the idea occurred to me I was convinced that it was true.
In fact, I had what can best be called a vision of poor Janet shackled to her bed in a dimly lit, damp, Akron Ohio basement, being fed old left- over BLT sandwiches from Denny’s.
This is a very hard thing for me to admit, but early in my art career I used performance enhancing drugs. It was not something I thought I would ever do, but the pressure in the art world was very intense, and the competition was overwhelming. Sadly, I eventually gave in and began to use […]
I hung around the hospital for a week and gradually warmed to having various tubes and wires connected to my body.
I then went home, ate pills, and sought the solace of blood thinner. In what seemed like mere days, I was blessed with a kidney stone, which sent me back to the hospital for another week. I once again became acquainted with the tubes and wires and discovered the unhappy truth of urologists.