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Tuttle, Rick


Rick Tuttle is a painter, writer, graphic designer, carpenter, and lover of literature. He combines his many interests in the creation of one-of-a-kind works that merge the written word with fine leather, paper, paint, wood and veneer. His works include paintings in oil, drawings, bookbindings, book boxes, book coffee tables and book sculptures. He merges influences as diverse as Duchamp, Pollock, Rembrandt and VanGogh. He has lived and worked in this neighborhood for the past nine years. He has exhibited all over the city and suburbs.

My wife said, You will never read all these books.. And I replied I will never know all there is to know about youu but I want to.. A library is a place in which to build a life. Not the life you consider to be your lot. Like Lotts wife we look back, awe lament what is lost, but a libraryy a library is what we look forward to. It is what we want our life to be. Borges imagined a world that is a library. I imagine a library that is a world. I do not paint unless I feel I am making. The Greek root word for poet means maker. We make language, and language makes us. And through language we make the world around us. Books are only receptacles for the means of making. I remember reading Tolstoy, one of his short stories, I donnt remember which, but I remember the goose bumps rising on my back and arms, and I remember thinking, Wait! Wait! Tolstoy is dead! Who is raising these goose bumps?? The means of making. Language is ubiquitous, but we forget. We forget that we are making. Constantly making, everything stemming from the language we reinventtrecognizeereveal. A glance can be language. Certainly a stare. A flourish of the hand. The path Jackson Pollockks hand chooses dripping. The tiny point of light in the eye in the portrait over the mantle in the library. In the library a word might, no, will redirect the way things are made. Will/might redefine everything. But will will will it into existence. Maker. We are all maker. Always maker. Even Lotts wife will someday fill a shaker. We cannt not make, or as my friend Garcia Lorca likes to say, raise upp the world around us. So often I have been directed by concerned friends to consider the sad biography of one of my favorite raisers of goose bumps. Look! Look! Look at how Tolstoy was mean and Pollock was a drunk and Borges was a snob and Kerouac was a mamaas boy. Be realistic! You cannt live in an inspired state, you need to be real.. And I holler about how I will never be able to understand why we have chosen to let politicians, lawyers, accountants and biographers tell us what is real and pets get to dermine what is poeticc. Poets have made the language that has made us. If we are going to make our world what we always thought it should be, we must choose reality, become poets and make it.
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