Von Flue Art

Artist, educator, writer. Hanging out on the corner of technology and tradition.

03/15/2026

“Clearing Skies, El Segundo Boulevard”
Oil and Pencil on Clayboard. 2026

02/16/2026

Pencil study for “Alan Watts at IBM in 1969” triptych, with the Goo to Prickles timeline.

12/13/2025

Two paintings from Thanksgiving week, along with a stick artist in residence.

08/21/2025

Vacation Slides No.3, Oil on Panel.

This Saturday is the We hope to see you at The Universal ( #33 on the map, which is out now)
Displays by and , music by and family as well as the Main St. Band. Cars, bikes and weird sights included for free.

07/22/2025

“The Plunge”
Mixed Media on Panel, 2025.

01/26/2025

"The Second Angriest Dog in the World" details
Oil on Panel, 2025

08/16/2024

Here are some detail shots from a new series I made this summer, which will debut at next week's .
My shop/studio will be a participating venue this year, and we're hosting works by also. There will be music by Michele Ryan, Music her daughter Lucy, the Main St. Band (and maybe Sanguine and Shiny) not to mention a unique space and lots of vintage bikes and cars.
you can find us listed as "The Universal" on artwalk maps which will be out soon, or reach out for the location.

Address

El Segundo, CA

Website

http://www.nealvonflue.com/

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This spacesuit is sorry...

...He'd like to offer excuses.

He'd like to draw your attention to the fact that the spaceship is filled with mirrors.

The mirrors are so perfectly fitted that the interior presents a false sense of itself. It gleams and enamors and enlarges. That's why it happened.

And, when the spacesuit was so sick with the constant sight of itself that the vomit spread across the inside of its helmet

it closed its eyes and swayed to the stomach turning lurch of the mirror lined capsule

And groaned under the weight of the acceleration

And listened to the lies that all spaceships whisper.

This spacesuit is sorry.

It lost it's footing and tumbled, dust particles rising into thinning air that will never settle in the same place again.

And meanwhile (back at the ranch), that abscess, that black hole, that devourer of space and folder of time

along with the devoured itself

all ran together like wet paint in the embryonically soft interior of the spacesuit.

It grew in the wet dark like mushrooms and began working holes the way soft brown moths work on closet coats.

Either way, sorry is not enough. Not as far as spacesuits go.

So it's begun cataloging the impossibly complex wiring under the consoles in the mirror-lined capsule and working a pocket knife into the locks on the briefcase that is chained to its wrist and is marked "heirlooms".