I got 3 dozen faces, and more coming to you soon. This one? Saint Hollywood Indian. c.2k5 T. Stanger It took 3 years to paint these eyes. 

007 Shapeshifter c 2k5 T. Stanger. These Mixed Emotions do co-incide. This ride will abide, These wars will subside, These with-holds will collide and then implode... meanwhile we'll live by the code, as we travel beyond the shadows we cast, on this road moving fast.  

"007 Shapeshifter" c. 2k2 T.Stanger We Belong to the ART, the ART does not BELONG TO US 

Been there.. done that. Austin 1992-3, weathering the storm. My Native American President art exhibit had moved from the Whole Foods restarurant (pre-corporate whole foods), to the "Top of the Mark" where the texas legislature lunched... W, Anne Richards, the whole she-bang saw the stuff. I'd rapped out my art statemnt to them one night, with the house blues band backing... leather jacket coutesy of Larry... a painting trade. So...weeks alter, I was house sitting for a friend of a friend. I felt so grateful to be indoors.. to be able to do my prayer - baths... so grateful to Diana, who I'd hardly known. and to her dog Mona... a healing dog. Everytime I looked out the window at the back yard, while she was gone, I saw the leaves... and those leaves kept urging me to rake... starting with the utility shed roof. So.. the day came when I got the rake out. With the first tug, I found syringes... used syringes from previous tenants of the house. I was so grateful that I'd felt the impulse to wear my heavy welders gloves... I was seeing dis-ease in those needles and I understood why the leaves had been calling. So, I called th enewspapaer and passed the warning to the people. I didn't want to publicity... but I knew the point had to be gotten to the folks all round there... wear gloves... dispose of used needles properly. It's all here.. read it. I'd already convinced the local Hispanic gang members that diana was not someone they needed to target. they wondered who she was... they thought she was there to get them. I filled them in, while she was gone, before discovering these needles. I told them Diana was (really was) working for the Criminal justice system trying to save folks on death row. Calling out ofr the forgotten. But she wasn't targetting the neighborhood gangs. You may wonder, as I do now, how I culd have told those folksthose things late one night with a 45 pointed at me. They also wondered about me... but soon understood that I saw no crimes.. and I had no grudges against mexicans.. but, yes, I was afraid in that neighborhood for awhile... until I realized my heart could see humans in a struggle similar to my own. When Diana came back, seeing this article in th epaper shifted her opinion of me a little, but we still couldn't talk heart to heart... I didn't expect anythign more than that.. she a beautiful young woman, owed me no friendship. I 'd cared for her dog. Her dog had cared for me. Equal exchange. I was ready fo go. So, I got in my car.. had said my good-byes and thank you's. The medicine of the Female Buffalo Skull in my back seat called out to stay there.. so I put the car back into park and shut it off and knocked on Diana's door again and handed her that gift. I said, "I think this is for you"... she said, "where did you get this?" and I told her... then she said, "come in.. we have to talk". then I heard the story of Diana, 4 years earlier, at the same reservation where one of my mentors lives... and how she had gathered 6 buffalo skulls for the Sun Dance... and had given the last one (hers) to a dancer... yeah. And I have the knowledge, after that conversation that I played a part in making sure the one meant for her showed up. No lie. All real all true just like me... just like you. 

Glory Hunter- Warrior, Taos Pueblo Pow-wow circa 1990. July. I gave him some sage I collected from the battlegrounds at Washita... OK.... I waited until he could see me, first. He refused all weekend. I was camping gratis, after a request from the Pow wow committee. I was ready to leave. I had met this guy the early morning Sunday wake up services , before the tourists came. I stepped up and spoke on the community mike after him. What I said shook him... He'd never heard a white guy sound so much like an Indian... but I wasn't trying to impress him. I was seeing his power moves and heard his voice that backed up those deep grounded realities only he could live.... through Vietnam, on behalf of his people. My main statement was to let all the Elders know that I felt very, very sad for what the Europeans did to their culture before my family immigrated in 1900. But I sounded like an empty headed white guy with too much guilt. they weren't convinced, when I said that ll my relation, all my friends, everyone I bonded with in this life never believed the history books or the John Wayne movie versions of how the west was "won". So... I was ready to leave. I tried. I had packed up, mid-day... I was putting my boots on, taking off my sandals, when I heard the one last call from the Pow Wow moderator... after having endured all the derogatory white guy/pig jokes he had said over that mike... I expected I wouldn't hear such an invitation... "Come to the circle, dance your own dance, be one of the people".... So, I put the Mocs back on... and the power moved my feet direct through the vendors, through the other dancers, to that circle... there among the white people in permanent press and kaki I watched myself hesitate for too long, feeling compressed by the opinions of how none of us can dance, or know true power. Then I tapped in-internal, and I swung to the center and danced the big dance... all directions. Forget about the opinions... this is the dance that comes and I do it NOW. Suddenly new worlds oepened up... I was reaching th eleders.. .and plenty content to leave afterwords... good enough... except, for this; the Moderator called me to the center... stopped the show and interviewed me after all the rest of the white folks had left the arena..."where did you learn to dance like that?" .... "it comes from inside".... "Will you dance some more for us now?"..... "Yes".... "Oklahoma tribal drummers, start your song! competitive dancers sit down! Mr Stenger, Do your dance for us!"..... and so I did. this time, the whole circle witnessed it, as did I... everything was now in place... and the lights were on....It was a big dance.... and I could feel my family from inside me reaching out to be one of all of us, through my dance. the elders could see this... this Glory hunter could see this. He'd appeared inhis dances that day with the mask across his mouth, after talking on th emike earlier in that day and seeing inmy eyes these confusing things... Now, after my dance, his mask was off again. And when I brought the Washita sage to him then, he spoke and thanked me. He saw who I was through the dance I had done! We were eguals in the hunt for true glory... brothers in a similar challenge to bring change through peace....Let me tell you now about the "battle of Washita", where the blood of indians a hundred years ago feeds the sagfe I gathered. Custer mowed down Black Kettles village, a peaceful village , at 5 am. Custer had promised he'd never do that again. custer killed the innocent there that day, the women, the children. why would you (reader) or anyone read these words and not realize how sacred it is that we live true NOW. and this does not mean finding folks to cal lenemy to kill . It means life in harmony... right where your power resides... from inside out... and in every person/interaction you choose to rise to. Don't listen to me. I am still confused. Follow your HEART. It will filter to good from there... the elders came up to me later that day... the whole community thanked me for my dance, by treating me with respect unknown there till then. they learned that White guys can still care. And our local police and fireman/women doctors... etc. etc. Mechanics... etc. etc. Housewives...and so many prove it each and every day. But if yo do not join in with your beauty/art/offering... it will all be lost. we need the part YOU bring. yes we do. The indian elders told me to get a bunch of big eagle feathers and come back next year and dance with them... and so too can you. 

ART Truck from inside out... Berkeley 2003. Headed to find Joe Murphy, Peace chain guy. He's given away 300,000 peace chains, no charge... but never refuses a donation. find him on the web. search it.... Joe Peace- A Peace Chain... Tell him toe Knee sent you.... 

The Toe Knee Show, Grateful Dead Editing Suite, Palo Alto Access Cable circa 96. It was feeling difficult to gather the "troops", and build community TV... at least for me. Though I had "moral support" from Annie and others at the station, I was feeling hood-winked by the glass ceilings that go with power. Didn't matter to me... I went forward anyway. Still do. The Executive Director then was/is like any executive director I meet now... they soon understand that my drive, talent and passion far exceeds their own... you'd better believe the ALWAYS ruffles feathers of folks who do community service while drawing a paycheck. Sound like sour grapes? Nah. that guy is a friend of mine now. when he pulled his stunts on me, he was just envious of a life pursuit/dream he'd never fulfilled. He's the chief exec producer, with in house funding now. So he's happy. I noticed how he kept trying to convince me that nothing could be launched through cable access... yeah, right. Talent coming through my show is featured at Sundance this year, Folks I filmed and mentored ended up in Disney movies... signed to major record deals... Some had my permission to use my work as their demo tapes, others thought they had to steal and not ask. Nevermind. the work still got done, still does. I heard the local cable station lost a million dollars in the stock market. I never/still don't get a dime for what I produce... it's been out of pocket. 10 years, and even better now... far more heart. If you gain your styloe through the living of true life, be ready to see that some folks want to see it on paper first, and in dollar signs or they'd rather not let you in.... so it goes. So, I built my big launches through mentoring to others who took it across the finish line. the biggest one is as good/more than 20 of the top ten indy hits... and my name isn't to be found on it... but the ideas and intent and follow through are all my signiture and the ones who need to know, know.... these words here sound like bragging or pity parade to some. that's your reflector. If you want to find my barometer for how well this works, then see the local shoe repair guy singing opera mid-day (toe show 98), see the all girl band Pele Ju Ju bringing packed audiences to tears while pleaing with us all to honor mother earth (96-99 toe sho), or show up sometime and watch me walk through police in riot gear, to help them settle a crowd.... no protection, no vests.... or wait till you see the McBay evidence tape released soon.... or listen to the interviews compiled backstages all over this area of many, many bands that are still rising to the top. Here's what happens if you pitch in with cable access in your area; you get to develop your sixth sense about who wants to/means it when they are trying to shift us all in a better direction. I rarely agree with all the opinions I film. Nor do I always like the music. I love the passion of the people and th eway they put life energy/live their beliefs. So, I've gone to folks in ways/at times that puts me on the docket for survelliance. Yes I do. I love my private life, I have no axes to girnd... but long before the 9/11 thng happened, I had already walked into those realms by filming folks who stood along side of Cesar Chavez, and for Indian Rights. The reason? Well... get this; ART into LIFE. My parents had passed away in 94-95. I was in relative shock.... they went so fast. After a life of trying to measure up to their standars, I decided to dig in deeper and do real honor to their memory. I inherited a small amount of cash.... I threw it all into Cable Access TV show featuyring people who may never get known or seen otherwise. I got really good at picking the folks who really meant it, whatever their path was, the ones who measured up to the same sacrifices my parents made living on this planet. Whether anyone out there gets this or not, I still move forward with it. If you can help a person fulfill their potential in these ways, you can also move thme to their real audience/s. And once that occurs, the folks they affect hear to heart can change our future for the better. That activist guy I interviewed over and over, well he paid th eprice of losing his family to a hate-crime a fire bomb. when I looked him in the eyes in my first interview in 95, I was asking him about the stamina it took for him to drop all weapons and become a poet for peace. He never cried, he never begged for a voice. He spoke his truth then, the same way it appears in the new documentary. He's not chasing after an enemy... he's facing the enemy in his own heart... and he, like me, knows that this is a life long challenge. It's what you do with it that counts. Are you headed in the direction that brings your beauty for us all to see? One exceelent art work moves more mountains than a hundred thousand peace marchers. It's already been proven... long, long ago. Guernica. 

At the risk of sounding too mundane-revealing too much-becoming redundant... I'm uploading this icon, banner. I first invented this company/studio name in '83. I built a few video projects back then, on the side, while filming and editing a batch of work in NY.... we'll leave the musical talent anonymous for now. Doesn't really matter. The stuff's dated, anyway... but, we went back and forth to toronto, filmed in ABC studios where Billy Holiday, Bing and others recorded famous songs.... the fast pace of NY was alluring, to say the least. Some part of me misses it, though it seems like another lifetime that connects whenever I am there. Anyway, I was becoming ART into LIFE, because it was ll distilling down to that. These days, 20 years later, a lot of folks have adopted this saying. But I am still the only ART into LIfe Studio... the cable access show has been released/launched from that standpoint for over 10 years... just in case, as public as you can get. Projects that have come through in the form of media have gone as far as media could ever hope to go... into the realm of blockbuster numbers... but my slice was not forthcoming and I'm probably not going to contest those items you can find airing somewhere in the world this eve. Doesn't matter, I was with the idea behind the idea of what became a seed that grew that big. Last word I heard about the folks who walked with my share is that they are raw, drained and burned out. Would I want to trade my clarity today, or my walk towards my clarity, for what they got to spend? How could I trade anything... in a sense, they helped me by showing me where I might be, if they had honored our terms. In the mean-time, my recent alignment with this local friend who faced the police brutality... well, that has made it so I have appeared on the radar. the state of California wonders where my millions are... and so do I. But do I owe them taxes really? I ain't running, I ain't hiding... I have no off-shore accounts. I really do live in my truck... I really do dream avbout being able to afford a hot meal, and a pretty waitress.... but folks who saw my former associates' declarations have a right to request where are mine... especially since I boldly label my local community service tv roductions/shows, "ART into LIFE studio productons". You see, there is always a mystery formed in the minds of the suspicious... they can't comprehend this yogic lifestyle. They don't believe in it... they aren't impressed. At the very least, they used to send the fire department to my place, my illegal studio-apartment zoned business where I slept secretly on the floor all those years, to try to figure out whre my "lab" was. They just had to believe I had a secret source of income... no way. I was hand to mouth, waiting for the ship to come back and rescue me. Yeah, I got my former biz partners declarations on tape, with his permission. All the cash he was gonna sink into my launch, as a gesture for the ideas/mentooriong I offered- the service I performed, to get the empowerment info-mercial where it is today. But he never returned... I road that horse until it dropped in it's tracks... And now folks think I owe this or that. I am just glad I can still walk and talk and think and paint. Now... here I am, rising up again and I feel the target range is where I surfaced. No sooner do I make public appearances to assure justice for a friend,and I am getting hounded. Just by survivng, I am expected to give over whatever it is they think I hid... who'd be this crazy , folks... who would live this raw to fool anyone. I dream of the day I can pay taxes. I dream of the day I can pay past due utilities... why , even if I got a place indoors out of this rain and cold, I'd not be able to turn on the heat. They'd be riffling me for past dues.... Kind of hilarious, if you ask me. You want to read tis and pity me? Go somewhere else, please. this is a proud warrior standing, and I got a message to all you citizens, it's about the foks who can't rise back up, for fear of being driven back into the pavement. I rode the train up to the city awhile back, get ready to hear this, and I'll tell you what... the place I was headed required me to ride my bike through hobo town. In the rain. I hear a voice, a compelling plea... the closer I got to it, the more heart rending it was. I followed it to an alley, a dark lonely place, where raw ***t lurks and chases you. I found the source of the voice... there were these feet, hanging out of a small little cheap pup tnet... only the upper torso of the guy was inside the dry. He was screaming these words "god d**n you!" in the most pitiful plainntive screaching yell of a voice... over, and over, and over again. I had nothing to offer that guy. No consolation, no money, no quick solution, no protection form the biting cold rain...we were both drenched... he, slightly less than me..... I had nothing, nothing but a silent prayer... He continued, screamed, and I slowly rode on... on my way back, after my visit with Fritz, the guy was still going at it. As far as I'm concerned, he was yelling at the whole world, God and everything. He had landed in that place where there was no where else to go. Can you believe I deeply understand that I could not have heard the meaning of that sound, had I not walked in his shoes? And this, believe it or not holds my blessings for all future time. I watch folks I help walk down theire roads, and they don't know , haven't a clue what I have seen from HIS position. there is a meaning, and a lreward waiting alongside of living close to this edge. When Charlie Rose asked Sophia Loren how it must feel for her, to have been nborn of the soil.. to have lived poor as poor can be, then to rise to the level where she has known, met, danced with kings, presidents, all the learned people... When he asked her how deeply that must be form her eyes and life expereince, that wonder of a presnece of a woman wept silent tears right then and there. though she has never shed the scars of her childhood, she would not change it for the world... her eyes see what few can understand. that is art into life. And that requires the ritual of reality we all face at one time or the other. I feel most blessed today, simply because the state of California thinks I am still worth their inquiry. I got conversations in me for the future friends I'll meet as I rise back again with this new vison enhanced. Similar to the ocnversations that worked with Johnny Cash... a guy who really did grow up picking cotton. Yeah. 

He was a mentor long distance. 

Sitting bull stood on a hill overlooking the Little Big Horn. Deep in prayer, he held to his vision that was happening down below. Not wishing to harm, but only for warning. You get what you brought us, right back on your own table. This painting is in the safe keeping of my friend Heath, native american indian, brother. The day I met him, was the first day he walked from the train past my studio. He faced this painting. I saw him a block away. My first words to him, were these, "is this painting yours"? true story. And it's his. since then, he invited me into his circle. bu tthe medicine man heard about my native teacher, I got a heavy dose of what was upside down about my teacher.... these things are happening a lot these days. Indians fighting Indians... sometimes for no good reason. I never claimed I was a representative of any of my teachers. I am myself. I am not indian. My choice is to do the best with my german upbrining and the realization that I grew up with common people who cared for each other. closest thing to that reality I have ever experienced, outside my own family, was at Rosebud sioux tribe, where I was greeted, fed, housed, and nurtured through ceremony. I still learn from it. I love Heath. I am grateful for the welcome to his circle. But I don't use the sweats as places to fuel differences. So, I haven't gone back. I'm fixing my foot , so I can get heath to come with me to Stanford's circle. a new invitation, from another native. Someone who knows these paintings are good for the people, like Heath. I don't need to bring up the folks who invited me to live in their Tee Pee. I don't need to remind myself of how strong I became, in my own long stride, sleeping in that whirlwind. Sacred land smack dab in the middle of Palo Alto. I heard th espirits araound the house. I checked it later. Yes. Marc chagall lived there once. Gertrude Stein, also. Maybe Mark Twain came through, and even Picasso once or twice. Now, it's on the historic national record... in the backyard, a tee pee, a sweat lodge, and the big work these folks do for living is huge. Right now a book is being written inthe adjacent cottage. all the stuff yu would expect from a sacred circle place. So it must be good, even though that is not my circle for sweats. Heath safeguards this painting. His exchange with me paid for my u-haul post eviction. loellat  

Keeper of the pipe. Me. 2002. All I had was shifting away from me. The ship was sinking. I was riding the train to the bus to Los Gatos. Trying to keep my chin up. Hanging at the cigar store. Doing drawings for free marketing ideas.... hearing feedback about my reality from folks who were also on sinking ships. Knowing full well that I was learning, first hand, what it means to live in the land of greed unchecked. Hearing about all the old folks losing their nest eggs to Enron's devious few. Remebering that folks actually insisted that I meet with them for consultation towards my first video deal, while the planes were hitting the towers live on tv. wondering what kind of people insist that their world could be so important, whil eI told them my world includes praying for those folks in the burning buildings. thanking myself that I might lose my studio-office, under such circumstances... but proud that I hadn't saved myself by helping folks who cared solittle while our world changed forever. Noticing now, that I thought I was going to survive those times intact.... Realizing I lost a lot, but the part that remains is far deeper.... and far more true. Silly Kone Valley. Oh, you did a number on me! I was so at your mercy, I was left standing while the imposters ran free! And now, 3 years later... and I almsot stand once again... only to be sideswiped by another former friend. Yeah buddy!