bee sides painting i am a bee keeper.  keeper of bees.  the synonyms for keep are: stay, remain, be, maintain, continue, store, hang on to, prevent, protect, honor, own.  this can lead us to an understanding of what we have to do as a "bee keeper".  it is a complicated business.  as a bee keeper you don't just go out and buy a bunch of supplies and chemicals and buy bees and follow the norm.  if you do you are a bee farmer of the lowest order.  but it can not stay that way for long.  the bees will get into you and either you will adapt to them and their needs or you will become a bee warden, a enslaver of bees, a person of dark ignorance who operates in the world with eyes wide shut.  my partner and i keep bees and are trying to learn the old way.  http://www.queenofthesun.com/ she is the one in the poster, dancing with the bees. 

these are photos of hives i have built.  they are top bar modified hives.  i am trying to combine elements of 3000 years of bee keeping and help with the re emergence of the art of bee.

the title for this painting is "swimming in the chaos for which there exists much testimony".  i feel as if this is a style of painting that i would like to explore more.  i was happy to sell this artwork to a local warrior artist friend of mine before the show was even hung. 

when i returned from burning mickey man mouse i had poison oak on my balls, my father was in the ICU with liver failure and I had to paint 500 2"x2" paintings and a few larger ones in one month.  it was like a vision quest for me.  i had to just focus on the art through the itch and the personal emotional work and the physical toil.  i had to take breaks from painting just to go and soak my junk in oatmeal baths and make frequent calls to the mayo clinic.

below is a detail of the painting.  i started this one with my first foray with an airbrush.  none of the airbrush work is visible.  i just used it to "draw" with.  i am going to explore this more.  the one thing that holds me back with visual art is how slow it is compared to my brain.  i would like to have a paintbrush on each finger that would automatically load itself with good quality oil paint.  i am a very fast painter.  i paint like i write.  i try not to edit too much.  i allow the paint and the surface and my intention to come together and dance in front of me.  i want to be surprised as much as i want you to be surprised. 

this is a painting from my most recent show.  it is called "child killing self help." 
wow, this is how i am feeling to day.  i was supposed to get a "packet" together to deliver to galleries and i hate it.  the people that surround me are just pushing the knife in, they do not want me to play.  fuck art.

someone asked me to tell them about this painting
i try and not clarify
i can talk about elements
i try and create a circular narritive

  

space to

story about
the back
door bot

first day at hole in the day.

I have a show at the Launch Pad gallery in Portland Oregon.  In the show I have hung over 1000 paintings. 


I plan on using this sight to talk about my work.  I have an on line gallery at wildskil.com.

THEODORE HOLDT 1000 + PAINTINGS
I AM HUNTING YOU ARE HUNTED
 
One thousand tiny worlds. In the beginning. Blocks of wood. Small illusions presented to be measured.
I am flying through star nebula looking for the center of my discomfort.
Playing with a live deck of cards. Keys to little worlds. Friends in my pockets. Ears and horns. Strange technology. Possible futures. Improbable picnics.
Combined genetics. Science fiction. Tarot. Sacred texts leading to undiscovered science. Inedible foods. Short arms. Shells and wings. We are insects\
Teeth need no sharpening. Wounds. Decapitation. Sweaters made from blood that are actually clean and cozy. My insides have become my outsides. Battles in the sky. Music made from live animals.
Photos from the future. Tube worm sonatas. A red squid you can dance with. Shadow people angels are for atheists. Funny ducks distracting horned schoolboys. Erections. Fire breathing pandas arguing semantics.
Softness. Serene heads of sexy things. Red dotted lands emptied of critters. Space ships. Vicious queens being presented with bloody bunnies. Normal animals.
Twins. Snail dancers. Creatures on a cliff. Sentient objects grouping. Owl leather. Robot factories. Heads. Lots of heads. Temples to heads. Floating heads. Bowling with bubblegum. Lone house under a hill peopled by conjoined twins.
Solitary fruit. Boats. Cyborg café. Buttons on long coats. Toothy small critters in the yellow grass.
Rats playing trumpets. A green haze with a lone wispy flower. Eskimo. Eskimo. Inuit. My cloak has teeth and I am being tickled by worms. Red windows.
The roots of the tree in my stomach hide little people who tell me useful information that I can not share with you verbally.
She has a metal helmet on her head that keeps out the voices .
Bring your space suit to space.
Your hands are attached to your shoulder blades and have been mistaken for wings.
I am hunting. You are hunted. Protect this. Guard this. Wait here. Sit down. Look at this. I invite you in to my tiny house on the sharpened edge.