Allright bitches. It’s been a week. Unless you are planning a coup (and if you are, I ask, please don’t) it’s time to move on. We’ve all been through the stages of grief now: anger, denial, bargaining. whatever the other one is, and now it’s time for acceptance.
Unless of course, you are Secret Agent Fred, in which case the stages are Valium, cheap beer, Vicodin, cheap beer, and cheap beer. Also, Fred has used his art as therapy to “work through his issues.” Personally, I don’t think Fred could get through all his issues with a GPS and a machete, but, you go, girl.
President Trump. Snap out of it. But also, here, just to make us all feel a little better on this cold gray day
A few years ago, Secret Agent Fred decided he didn’t want to paint anymore. The muse had deserted him. He continued with graphic design and working in sketchbooks (see below for one of his gold leaf smut pieces)
but he was through with his larger scale canvases. I was disappointed, I like his work very much. So I was delighted when he announced this evening that he had decided to take the brush back up. His inspiration? An airing last night on TCM of Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine, one of the worst movies ever to see the light of day, but also starring Susan Hart. It turns out he had started a painting featuring Miss Hart a while ago and had never finished it. Actually, I had seen the canvas and had always thought it was finished, but he’s the artist, he gets to say when something is complete and when it needs something. In this case, what it needed, according to Fred’s tiny little brain, was a raven spitting up blood. I think it best not to ask why.
I also always thought this was Diana Rigg, but I see now I was incorrect. Also, I’m not sure why Fred is working on this lying on the garage floor (the painting, not Fred, or at least, not Fred the last time I looked,) but again he’s the artist.
Go see more of Fred’s work at Its Fredtatstic