Displacement

As an artist, I am in the practice of displacing truths. Not hiding them. More like scattering them into loads of lies. Because truth, old capital t truer than true truths will ring true and shine bright in every amount of darkness.
It's when we become inundated with the truth that it loses its power. "I love you" loses its meaning from mother to son and lover to lover when it's said far too often.
And a truth is all the more refreshing after a dose of lies.
All great artist are great liars.

The Golden Cicada EP

Lady Gaga/Andy Warhol comparison

Dream Last Night

Last night I had a dream that I was the head photographer for a TV show about a family that traveled through the rain forest. They all slowly died, the mother holding a poisonous snake that bit her baby, her other son holding what he called a "double decker" spider, awful, swarthy monkey creatures bludgeoning her poor daughter, et cetera.

Mission Statement

The mission of Welcome to SamSamland: Don't Wear Black to My Funeral is  to provide an open, educational, reflective and freeing space for We the victims of life, evil and each other.

 It's about finding a balance between mourning and celebrating life's traumas and victories big and small; not being a people jaded by the future, but a people committed to the weight of what surrounds us. 

 

-Sam Perry, November 2o1o

Prodigal

 I left you there

Packed your words away

Delicately, like beautiful candies

Wrapped in shining cellophanes

I went to the party friends

Their words dripping,

Syrupy sweets

And I was empty.

And I was lost.
And I was still
And always
Yours.

Abraham

I’ve seen you in fresh cut grass

The smell of Good coffee

Summer nights

And neon, naked skin

In Ethan's voice,

Noah's dred locks,

Chelsea's laugh

Ross's teeth

And the rain.

In stained glass, Sesame Street, and the Bible

Stuart's strong arms and Peter's angry words

Torn photographs, grease

And the date:

August 17, 2005

I have seen you in all of these things

Your face, your laugh

Your olive tone

The way you hated me

And only me

The way you forced me

And tore into me,

Into my trust

My innocence

I have seen you in all of these things

And in my terrified reactions

Forgotten moments that have since crystallized in front of me:

Sweaty brow,

Inaudible speech,

Clammy,

 Empty skin

Blindness

Arching back

Circulation coming to my

Bones

So brittle like

A crushed can

Or a hollowed out loaf

Of bread as if scraped

From the inside

My chest

A tomb

A Dream. A Song.

Deep within the valley of that frozen frame

I was calling out to you, I didn't know your name

I don't know what to call you

But I know I'm not yours.

And down with a crack

On that old tombstone

Galloping o'er Death

And the Great Unknown

Saying, "I will never know

Of the sting of this fractured

World."

Bad Romance Cover

A tribute to Lady Gaga. I was recently at the Andy Warhol Museum for their celebration of Marilyn Monroe and had a great discussion with students of a conservative Christian college about the power of ambiguity in art, which I think Gaga and Warhol have perfected quite nicely.

FIRST SAMSAMLAND EVENT/FUNDRAISER

This is the first SamSamland fundraising event that I am doing alongside artist Ben Peoples. I could really use your support, there is a Chinese Auction, so why not try for some great prizes from local businesses and even some of Ben's prints (and maybe some of mine)?
The cost is $10, hope to see you there!
http://pittsburgh.benpeoples.com/doublewide/
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=155380164498018

Bicycle

I remember

First bicycle

Broken chain

Worthless in my eyes

Throwing it down 

Over the rocky hill

Until the wheel frames bent,

The handlebars sagged.

Crying that night with summer 

Sifting through the screen

For having broken something so innocent.

Haircut.

Kali

 काली

 काली

 काली



"Artsy" is probably the most offensive word to an artist.

I'll always have these memories.

But they'll never have me.

Are you O.K.?

If I told you

Would you believe me

Or would I just

Be providing more reason

For whisper,

For distance?

I tell you no more

You do not inquire.

& this is okay.

Friday. I am waiting.

People take Fashion too seriously.

Fashion takes People too seriously.

I love it. 

A Thing in and of Itself.

I'll post actual words here when I realize what's going on.

The Vision I Had

Floating to the house now and all is light
Such warm and guiding light.
The house of God—I’ve always known it—
Small and swelling
With quiet joy.
Entering the house now,
Dirty boots line the entranceway,
Coats on the rack.

And all is quiet.

There are no lights, no fixtures,
But the sun through the windows
Is warm and bright
And sustaining.
The kitchen smells of delight
The food makes itself.
Upstairs, the beds are all made
And the air is thin and breathable
As it floats through the windows,
Passing over the flower boxes at every sill.
Out back the great oak tree stretches
To the skies as the men and women of my life
Lay on its thick, strong branches reclining
And denying any sense of effort or fear.
They ask me to join them,
But I’m not ready. I’d rather chase
The monarch butterfly in the yard,
The dew of the grass on my bare feet
—sweet to taste and soft to touch—

Mere droplets of God’s love—
Which is in everything, always,
Waiting for us to come home.

Moving Out. To What In?

I would point you in the right direction, but I cut off my hands when I realized the wrong they were doing.

Carole King knows exactly what I'm going through.

 I want to go home. But there isn't one yet. I'm changing my number and throwing away my black book and living in some miserable high rise that is in fact some ranch style two bedroom in a small town and will reside a complete alien among what used to be my norm, my wrecking crew, my friends.

And it's totally fine.