“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

Robert F. Butts (1919 -): Jane Roberts. 1987. Oil on panel, 13 x 17 in.

Robert F. Butts (1919 -): Self-portrait. 1987. Oil on panel, 16 x 14 in.

Robert F. Butts (1919 -): Seth 1968. Oil on panel, 27 x 21 in.

Oil on panel, 24 x 30 in.

(To bolster the permanency of the panel I backed it with a wooden frame that I glued to the panel, to prevent warping, etc. [...] On Tuesday afternoon when I began the blowup of the drawing to transfer in turn to the panel for painting, the symptoms began—coughing, sneezing, etc., much like aggravated hay fever symptoms. [...]

[...] For a surface I chose a cardboard canvas-covered panel made by one of the well-known artist’s manufacturers. I don’t often use such panels, usually thinking them not permanent enough; I almost always prefer Masonite, etc.

(The pendulum told me that I was bothered by the idea of the possible lack of permanency of the panel I had chosen, and briefly that I was somewhat aware of the change in this picture, as far as handling of form would be concerned, from my usual style of working. [...]

(I glued a square of the burlap to a wood panel with a very white acrylic gesso that is used to prime artists’ canvas, then used a razor blade to trim off the excess around the edges after drying. [...] Also along the bottom edge of the object a coating of the white gesso was to be seen, residue from the panel itself. Jane had seen me experimenting with the panel also, of course.

[...] Jane saw me doing this, and knew I was experimenting gluing the burlap to panels to make painting surfaces. I made this particular panel from which the envelope object came on Saturday afternoon, June 18.

(As indicated on page 251, the object was cut off the edge of the wood panel with a razor blade; the blade had to be sharp to slice cleanly through cloth, and such cuts were made on two sides of the object.

[...] For some reason that day I’d forgotten to stopper the storm door, and the sudden blast of wind had slammed it shut with enough force to shatter the bottom of the two glass panels.

[...] And each time the balloons in the first of the page’s panels were unintelligible to me, for some reason. [...]

[...] I made no square panels for instance, not caring for this proportion.

[...] These are tack holes spaced rather close together around each piece of canvas, because the linen exerts a strong pull when wet; it had to be securely fastened to the Masonite panels, until dry.

[...] In the dream, I’d left certain areas blank in the panels making up the Sunday page, and my nameless assistant had done the art to fill in those places. My main character, a male who wore a tight-fitting Superman-type costume with a flowing cape, occupied a space several panels high right in the middle of the page — quite a daring concept for a comic layout. [...]

[...] Oil on panel, 10 x 9⅜ in.

[...] Gus was on the other side of the door, on the screened-in back porch, as he should be — only then I saw to my amazement that he was starting to walk through the glass panel in his eagerness to get to the food. [...]

[...] Oil on panel, 13 x 11 in.

If the universe were a painting, for example, the painter would not have first painted darkness, then an explosion, then a cell, then the joining together of groups of cells into a simple organism, then that organism’s multiplication into others like it, or traced a pattern from an amoeba or a paramecium on upward — but he or she would have instead begun with a panel of light, an underpainting, in which all of the world’s organisms were included, though not in detail. [...]

[...] This is a prominent part of the first two pages, not just a panel on each. [...]

[...] He is so shown on several panels on the first two pages.

[...] Oil on panel, 12½ x 10 in.

[...] Oil on panel, 13 × 10⅞ in.

The control panels of the nuclear plants, many of them, were designed as if consciousness did not enter into the picture at all, as if the plants were [to be] run by other machines, not men—with controls that are not handily within reach, or physically inaccessible, as if the men who drew up the plans had completely forgotten what the species [is] like mentally or physically.

[...] The walls were wood-paneled, in beautiful condition, and shelves were built along two sides. [...]

[...] Her eyes widened as she told me that I’d described an inner room in her new house perfectly, down to the bare bulb in the ceiling and the paneling. [...]

[...] Rob’s mind was on some innocuous chore, now forgotten; he may have been applying gesso ground to a series of panels to be used for paintings. [...]

A dark corner of a room, with wooden paneling. [...]

[...] I was in the living room of the apartment with Alice and Clark, looking back toward a kitchen finished in brown wood paneling. [...]

[...] Actually, I’d been cutting masonite and gluing canvas on panels all day. [...]

[...] But to discuss Seth and his ideas primarily from the true-or-false framework is the same thing as considering the Mona Lisa only from the validity of the physical properties of its paint and panel: very very limiting…. [...]