Fucked Up Hurricane

Did you catch "Caribbean Pirates" by Paul and Damon McCarthy at the REDCAT a few weeks ago?  

To repeat what I said on Facebook -- CRAZYPANTSAPESHITBADASS

A while back when I saw some footage of his pirate madness, I wondered how the hell he was going to package it for presentation, as it seemed like a lot of activity, a lot of madness, a lot of mess.  But there was something grand there, something epic.  And our boy PM and son figured it out.  I have never seen a better presentation for so much rampant chaos then what was delivered that night.  Me and my friend sat surrounded by 11 different overhead screens projecting over 90 minutes of chocolate syrup, asses, condiments, groping, screaming, breasts, fake noses, power sawing, prosthetic limbs, fake blood, green screening, nudity, and more yelling.  We were in the eye of a fucked up hurricane, and then, one by one, the screens went blank and the lights went up, and those left (mostly everyone) sounded their whole hearted approval, myself included.

I managed to shake the proud poppa's hand on the way out.  He seemed happy.  Good times.

Aside from that, I now give you the Junior Eurovison 2008 winners, Bzzz Bzikebi, from the Republic of Georgia:

Glistening, Overwhelming Geographies

I don't know where to begin....first things first -- Enemy Elite Trooper 2008:


Cindy Wright at Mark Moore Gallery -- Her paintings do that thing, that sexy thing where the paint falls off the bone up close. Sumptuous, fitful strokes of dull pinks and grays coalesce to form subject matter that has been rendered into glistening, overwhelming geographies of beauty. And we all got to hang out later. She said nice things about my paintings.

Louise Bourgeoisie at MOCA -- A perfect complement to the Kippenberger show. Him- all over the place male painter that died young. Her - consistently interesting female sculptor that is still active, 97 years young. She presents the themes humanity has the most trouble ever coming to terms with -- love, intimacy, sex, relationships, family, gender -- in the most inviting and universal ways. Her methods are the same ways ancient peoples communicated these ideas; transmitted through the hands on the oldest materials with the simplest forms. Fantastic.

Oranges and Sardines at the Hammer -- Father-raping awesome. 6 abstract painters pick their favorites, and its named after a line from a Frank O'Hara poem. Go, go, go to this show. Take me with you again. Bacon. Guston. Mondrian. Still. Heilman. Amy Sillman. Dieter Roth. Malcolm Morley. Amy Sillman is my new favorite painter. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve, I'm afraid and cannot be properly critical. And the Hammer Cafe is open, and they make a nice tuna melt.

Didn't make it to any openings this Saturday because I went to see Marnie Stern at the El Rey. Dopeatronic. Her and her band are just a three piece and they make a hellacious racket. What is gained in her live show reminded me of live Hendrix footage; you see it happen all right there, it's for real. That's a human being making those cosmic sounds. And she brought her dog.

My old pal Mark Flood is in town from Houston. He has a show at Peres Projects in Culver City this weekend. He brings the piss and the vinegar with all he does, despite being a real sweetheart and buying me lunch at LACMA Saturday. Machine Projects had taken over the entire LACMA nation-state that day, and I am going to attempt to describe the interventions they staged as I remembered and encountered them:

-- A wonderful group of cult like musicians invaded the restaurant while we had lunch and played haunting, joyful melodies while we and the rest of the patrons ate.

-- A woman in the area between the BCAM and the Ahmanson building was doing some kind of vocal/noise/perfomance thing on the floor.

-- A screaming box in front a Kurt Schwitters piece.

-- A masked, singing couple in front of some paintings in the room before you get to the Picasso room.

-- A big yellow tarp on the floor where the medieval stuff was.

-- A fake breathing kitty in one the ancient Mesopotamian display cases.

-- A dude video-ing and altering images of....some great painting with a whole video computer setup.

-- Various group workshop things going on all over.

-- Blindfolded amateur art installing.

All in all, a wonderful afternoon.

Unconsidered, Dashed-off, and Weak

Hey kids.  So its been a little while.  The Brewery Art Walk is this weekend, and us here at Raid Projects will have our doors open from 11 – 6 both days.  The walls have been painted, and the art is hung.  It will be a little group showing of work from yours truly, and roommates Max Presneil and Terri Thomas.  Do come won’t you?  There’s a free beer with your name on it. 

And in other news:

-- Daybreak – 2250 AD by Andre Norton was kind of ‘ehn’.  Pretty typical sci-fi paperback fare.  Methinks there are better seminal post-apocalyptic tales out there, as this one sort of just bumbled along confusingly.  Still, it’s supposedly the first.  My favorite character was Lura, the slightly telepathic mountain lion.

-- BRD Trilogy by Fassbinder – Well we can’t all aspire to make 35 films before we die of coke and sleeping pills at 37, fuck everything that moves (male or female), and generally be a total badass, but we can watch the fantastic work of someone that did.  And that someone, of course, is another one of my dead heroes, Rainer Werner Fassbinder.  Near the end he made the BRD Trilogy – The Marriage of Maria Braun, Veronika Voss, and Lola.  Together they comprise everything one needs to know about cinematography and acting, separately they provide a compelling portrait of three women dealing with Fassbinder’s motherland of Germany, after WWII.  I confess to being more drawn to his earlier work (Fear of Fear, Chinese Roulette, Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant), but the BRD trilogy shows the final polish of an experienced filmmaker taking bold formal risks and ambitious structuring with the confidence that only being prolific allows. 

I am struck by a comparison between him and fellow German artist Martin Kippenberger, whose big show at MOCA left me a bit underwhelmed.  Both German, both monstrously prolific, both drunken badasses, both died prematurely.  Perhaps its because my exposure to painting is more involved than with film, but I am not completely bowled over my Kippenberger’s output.  Much of it seems unconsidered, dashed-off, and weak.  Much of it is truly inspired.  Upon first viewing the show, the sheer volume of work was amazing.  But after a second look, it seemed that he tried his hand at several different conceptual strategies that had already been established.  Furthermore, I found myself taking issue with the celebration of the Pollock-esque behavior he seemed to embody. Perhaps it is because I am painter myself looking down the barrel of some lifestyle clichés that I question the tired stereotype of the alcoholic asshole painter.  At least with Fassbinder there is the issue of his, shall we say, “advanced” sexuality that breaks him free of any real stereotypes. 

I see Kippenberger as a character foil to the other force of nature in modern German painting – Gerhard Richter (a non-dead hero).  It seems that, in a way Kipp (my little name for him) was trying to be in many ways the kind of artist Richter was not.  Unfortunately, one of the things Richter didn’t do was die young.

-- Louise Bourgeois at MOCA.  That's what I'm sayin'.  I'll hit that up next week, probably Friday.

Chili-cheeseburgers

So I heard that Paul McCarthy is writing a book about the history of chili-cheeseburgers.  Its what I heard.

So this Tuesday, the 14th of October, at 7:30 pm. me, along with Janne Larsen, Robert Arieas & Ryan Ross will be giving a little artist's talk about the show we just opened, "Neosapian".  Its at the Cal State LA Fine Art Gallery.  5151 State​ Unive​rsity​ Dr. Los Angel​es CA 90032​ (​323)​ 343-​3000

Cal State​ LA campu​s map: http:​/​/​www.​ calst​atela​.​ edu/​univ/​maps/​cslam​ap.​ php

Should be groovy.  And now for your viewing pleasure, here's some drawings that wern't in the installation for the afomentioned show because I forgot to bring them --

And for your amusement, new pics of Santa's Little Workshop™ -- 

A Strategy of Intimacy

So, Neosapian is on display at the Cal State LA Fine Art Gallery until October 18th, if you just can't live without seeing my drawings. Good turnout at the opening and all that, nice of everyone who dropped by to drop by. There's a little talk-slash-discussion-slash-q&a with me and some of the other artists planned for the 14th there at Cal State LA, I'll be more specific as the time draws nigh...

Other than that, I managed to witness one of my most favorite movies of all time, Night of the Living Dead, in glorious, grainy 35 mm on the big screen for the first time at the Cinefamily at the Silent Movie Theater on Fairfax last night. I walked in, handed them my ticket and was handed a Tecate in return. In between the double feature (Day of the Dead followed) there was free wine and hanging out, and the clink and clank of sneaked booze was heard throughout the house. When the lights went up, it looked like Animal House inside. It was beautiful. As many of you know, I have a particular obsession with NOTLD. Much of that is evidenced by my YouTube page, where my efforts at making video art invloving the appropriation of that public domain classic is there for all to see. As a child that movie seemed to slowly follow me around, and I gave in to it at the onset of grad school, and began to let it devour me. It began with paintings, and then a series of re-edits and re-mixes of the film (something which is being done all over the world since, I have found), in an effort to maximize the intimacy I desired with this amazing work.

My intentions with all of the NOTLD based works I produce, as far as I can tell, is two-fold: One, I crave a closeness and intimacy with it that goes beyond conventional expression. The idea of intimacy is something that has helped me describe much of my work, in as much as provides me an excuse to become closer with the images and ideas I have an attraction to. I want my involvement with NOTLD to cause a confusion/blurring/disintegration of the boundries that define who I am and what that film is. The next project I have in mind for it I hope escalates this desire -- beyond conventional expression. Why I am attracted to this film so much has something to do with witnessing it as a child and being struck by its subversive and radical form and content, despite not having the ability to comprehend or articulate ideas of subversion or radicalism at that young age. I fancy trying to negotiate the positive trauma of that experience with this film for the rest of my life, ideally escalating the level of involement each time.

The second reason has to do with an ontological obsession with the film. At its core, what are the essential components to the meaning of NOTLD, and, if those components are taken out of context, changed, or removed what then becomes of it? This is ultimately a strategy of intimacy, but it is the results of this strategy that become the work. Basic conceptual moves are employed (subtraction, compression, isolation, repetition, visual abstraction) and the ideas that seem to be subsequently conveyed reveal further nuance and complexity to Romero's film.

So the next work involving 'Night' is going to be the most involved yet. I'm hoping to have it complete by this time next year. Without letting the cat out of the bag, let me just say I have quite a bit of rehearsing to do.

"Um...My Gallery"

Insect Politics

So in all my pissing and moaning about how no art blew me away last weekend, I was gently reminded of the one artful experience that was especially enlightening, that of witnessing the The Fly at the LA Opera.

I've always wanted to see opera. As I get older (and poorer) my tastes become more and more refined (read: bourgeois) and what challenges me intellectually becomes more and more esoteric and complex. It seems. The world of opera and its rich history was daunting, and I sought some entry way to its grand world. And so it was that on the back of a bus I was driving behind on my way to Secret Headquarters one Saturday did I see an ad for an operatic adaptation of David Cronenberg's The Fly.

After swiftly sharing this information with the only person I knew who had the requisite taste and panache to appreciate such a boldly ridiculous postmodern endeavor, I went broke for this month in the best way possible: I bought opera tickets.

Now, my admiration of Cronenberg and his various cinematic treatises on the betrayal of the flesh are well known (well, to people who, uh, know me). The Fly in particular, having its slick Hollywood finish and effects budget, remains a truly horrific but thoughtful speculation on how we are all, in the end, mere blobs of flesh, fluid, entrails, piss and shit, waiting to fall apart and be disposed of.

So me and my friend, plastic money in tow, sat down among the upper crust and took in this all-new, all-different Fly. Calmly ridiculous at first (no doubt partly due to the way opera sounds in English), it rolled along smoothly and dramatically, and everything had a vaguely anachronistic but considered aesthetic. Self conscious enough to laugh at itself at times (particularly when the acrobat stunt double fucked up his backflip), I found the whole thing a worthy and compelling spectacle. It was like a some kind of live-action European sci-fi cartoon. And at intermission I think I may have found a blended scotch I like. Maybe.

Anywho, it was fantastic time. And with fantastic company. But now I got a hankerin' for some real opera. Some Italian shit. I don't know what my tastes think I do for a living, but safe to say the LA Opera will be getting a chunk of one my part-time brain whore checks. I think my friend said they're doing Carmen soon (that's French, but close enough). Really. Opera.

800 Page Dick Joke

It' s been a little while. Art season started last weekend, saw some shows. Nothing blew me away....with the possible exception of...

Chinatown. It looked good. Sort of in general. Which makes me happy, because I live downtown. I want downtown to have art I like. Looking back on what everyone had, Michael Lazarus at Sister Gallery wasn't bad. I remember liking Eric Sall's paintings at Acuna-Hansen.

Mark Moore Gallery's 3rd annual Ultrasonic International was up and running. Roberts and Tilton's new space in Culver City opened, but I guess I forgot to walk inside. I was in a mood.

The new show at the Geffen Center is good for some laughs. Good follow up to the Lawrence Weiner show.

If I seem a little bereft of opinions, its probably because I've started teaching again, specifically an Introduction to Art Concepts class (some schools call it 'Art Appreciation), and my mind has been occupied with explaining the basics of what art 'is' to people who have little or no experience with it. This is the kind of fine challenge I relish sinking my teeth into, and, like much of my teaching have taken on the seriousness of it to the point of emotional exhaustion. I love it.

The young people in my class seem to have an aversion to non-representational painting, which interests me deeply, being a painter who loves and appreciates painting of that 'genre'. When I taught 2D Design, by the end, I had most of the students making super-tight Ellsworth Kelley / Theo van Doesburg / Barnett Newman-esque mini-paintings, and they could talk about them. Hmm.....

Besides all that, I finished reading Gravity's Rainbow. I have been making dents in this sprawling tome since December, along with a readers guide that was indispensable. After all of it, I think I can say that I know exactly what Pynchon was doing with GR, and what it is, as whole, and it is this:

Its an 800-page dick joke.

I realized this about 30 pages from the end, and that explanation somehow satisfies a lot of my instincts about the novel, and its overall concerns. Layered, researched, and complicated, yet also juvenile, self-indulgent, and scatological. So I've pretty much committed to reading all of Pynchon's output now, but I must have some lighter reading for the immediate time-being. I began many flings and affairs with other books while I was with GR, and now they will get my full attention. And I've got Daybreak 2250 AD, apparently the first modern post-apocalyptic novel, penned by one Ms. Andre Norton.

Two shows of interest coming up -- Friday, Sept. 19th, my friend Amanda Browder is throwing a show entitled "Um...My Gallery", which I will be taking part in, right here at Raid Projects (602 Moulton Ave, LA 90031). I imagine things will start around 6-ish, hm? Do come.

And, on Saturday, Sept 27th, "Neosapian" at the Cal State LA Fine Art Gallery opens, curated by M-L Flemington. And you are required to attend that as well.

























ps
Be sure to check out Bad at Sports, a super art world podcasting destination, for your listening pleasure.

Donkeybutter

Hey kids. Well, Follow the Hawk is live. If you didn't get a copy at the EVER EXPANDING PIZZA BIG BANG, then shoot me a line and I'll give you one. The next one I make will cost you though. Behold the latest donkeybutter:

Here's a link to a dude hating on Gary Panter. COMEDY!!

So the video below was something I used to catch on public access in San Antonio, where I was raised and reared. It was one the first videos I ever downloaded over the internet. And its back. It was so funny that I would stay up late with my old friend Tina Bloom and watch genuine broadcasts of Robert Titlton preaching and just add our own fart noises at appropriate times. Good times.


Adbusters article about hipsters. Heh. So what's hipper than adbusters writing an article shitting on hipsters? Its like a snake eating its own tail, man.

PHILIP GUSTON IS GOD. No link, just, it's true.

So, Afterall magazine hosts free underground sci-fi movies on the roof of a hotel downtown? One flick is aparently directed by Joan Jonas? Who wants in on that?

Have you been reading Seki City LA?

And for you're amusement, some pics of Where The Magic Happens™:

Read my pals's blog

My misanthropic best friend, who shall remain anonymous, has started a new uplifting feel good kind of blog at http://www.sekicityla.blogspot.com/, ostensibly because he looks up to me as a role model and what not. Give it a read, and let him know.

The, uh, "Ever-Expanding Pizza Big Bang"

Had a little thing at my new home, Raid Projects, over there at the Brewery. There was beer, table tennis, drawings, free comics, and JJ. And of course, I took photos of people standing with my art, because I'm self-promoting jackass. Enjoy -- http://www.flickr.com/photos/26181240@N08/

Linguistic dilemmas of narrative

Latest artist's statement. For an upcoming group show in September:

The work begins as excuse to gain an intimacy with imagery I am attracted to – geared up, strapped on, hypersexualized, post-human, transitional bodies engaged in narratives of mythic conflict – and becomes a formal, conceptual, biographical, and linguistic psychoanalyzation of several issues:

The western conventions of representation, abstraction, figuration, masculinity, and mark-making.

The modern expressions of adolescence, puberty, adulthood, loss, paradox, contradiction, power, war, intimacy, and sexuality.

The linguistic dilemmas of narrative, archetypes, bodies, poetry, associations, and love.

The Sea of Poetry

So its been awhile. Working, packing, moving. To the Brewery Art Colony, actually. Raid Projects will be my home and studio starting next week. You must come by. I've been practicing my martini making skills and I need test subjects. Bring your own olives.

Saw some art. Here's the highlights.

Ali Smith -- "We Find Ways" at Mark Moore Gallery. Big. Sexy. Paintings. Super indulgent, celebratory fits of paint collide and sweat on these giant canvases. The marks and globs reach, stretch, and navigate the oceans of space and move in and out as much as they do up and across. The forms in her painting seem like blown up microscope slides of some kind of primordial, multi-celled, bubblegum colored organism, caught in a fit of furious, many hued rapid development. One feels that these paintings would reach out an assimilate the viewer if they stood in front for too long, and be broken down into the elemental lines, shapes, colors, and forms that these wonderful works heroically present.

Marlene Dumas -- "Measuring Your Own Grave" at MOCA Grand Avenue. Though not every one of these paintings grabbed me, there are moments in this show that are moving in the most eloquent and understated way. Simple formal moves by Dumas make it seem that all the typical conventions of painting are in fact metaphors for mortality. The double sided coin of sex and death finds such a haunting delivery system in the paint and in the presentation.

Lawrence Weiner -- "As Far As The Eye Can See" at MOCA Geffen Contemporary. Fantastic. I floated through this show, through the sea of poetry that Weiner presents on the walls (and floor) of the gallery. Typographically designed abstract instructions for possible artworks vinyled to the wall make it seem as if one's thoughts have been given life and hover about simultaneously. My favorite -- "Draw a line from the first evening star to the last morning star." Interspersed are blobs of paint, some interior structural damage, and a wall perforated by buckshot. These seemingly arbitrary records of action are in fact some of Weiner's instructions carried out. The videos and objects emblazoned with his words upstairs offer a nice complement, but to meander around this space and ponder the absurd poetry of Weiner's words is one of the most delightful museum experiences I've ever had.

Other than that, Antonio Ballester Moreno at Peres Projects got some talk from everyone I was running into. My jury's still out, but I think I might come around. My co-worker at the Hammer Museum Nathan Danilowicz had some fucked up results of his Fucked Up Drawing Parties at Bonelli Contemporary which was the best thing I saw in Chinatown last night.

" "

I can't seem to get any of my thoughts past the declarative quip stage.  Perhaps writing more like this will help.  Until then, this is a greatest hits collection of things I know I think I believe (that wasn't non-committal), all in the succinct, poetic style I have been getting drunk and saying too loudly to people over the years...

"Painting is the most legitimate form an image can take."

"Hanging anything on a wall is a painterly act."

"The two most frightening things in life are art and love."

"All art is political."

"All art is narrative."

"All artworks are documentations of a performative activity."

"Painting is undead.  And as we all know, the only way to kill the undead is to kill the brain.  So as long as there are brains in painting, it will never die."

"Video art is people exercising their ability to make their own TV to watch, which is exactly why its not on TV."

"The consequences of being seduced by practicality are just as painful as the consequences of being seduced by poetry."

"Poetry is the only thing that illuminates the night (Godard).  The moon illuminates the night.  Therefore, the moon is made of poetry.  That's why all the bitter hearts say its made of cheese."

"I'M A FORCE OF NATURE!!!" (I have never said this with my indoor voice)

"Its better to go too far, than it is to not go far enough." (I stole this from someone, I know.)

"There is no thinking in painting, because in painting, painting is thinking." (Not me, but Gerhard Richter.  But its the best.  And I swap out the word painting for whatever.)

"Commit to making a mas...." you know.

"You gotta get smart before you get art."

"I'm just trying to live poetry."

I know there's more.  The quotes around them somehow make them seem less serious...interesting. If anyone out there remembers any I've missed, don't hesitate to chime in.  Or if you have something else to add.  These things I say are supposed inspire debate, not end it.

Yes

Darth Vader is Bob Dylan

So I saw the film La Dolce Vita by Fellini a little while ago, and it was good, and as my Netflix note indicated it featured an extended cameo by Nico of Velvet Underground fame.  Her voice always cracks me up. The next movie I had to watch was Factory Girl, by George Hickenlooper, which is about Warhol superstar Edie Sedgewick, and features someone portraying Nico.  Her imitation of Nico's voice cracked me up, too.  It also features Hayden Christinasen as who is ostensibly supposed to be Bob Dylan.  Yeah.  Darth Vader is Dylan.  Anywho, the next movie I have to watch is I'm Not There where several different people portray Dylan.  I've avoided watching it because I do not wish the hyperreality of this peculiar cinematic situation to end just yet.  Furthermore, I understand that someone in that film portrays a character that is supposed to be Edie Sedgewick, but, like Christiansen's Dylan, has a different name.  So I waited.

I sit down at my computer to read a scanned copy of one of the later issues of classic 80's out of print comic Miracleman.  I'm still reeling over Alan Moore's original issues (better than Watchmen) and sit down to read one of the Neil Gaiman-penned stories, and who is one of the main characters of this particular issue?  Andy-fucking-Warhol.  No shit.  It won't end.  I went from seeing Nico playing someone named Nico in a movie, to seeing someone play her in a movie with someone playing Warhol, and Dylan, and Sedgewick to holding off watching someone else playing Sedgewick and 7 other people playing Dylan, only to have Warhol show up in a comic book I'm reading instead.

What does it all mean?

A Haunting Wave of Slow Burning Love

So I paid my respects at MOCA and LACMA to Rauschenberg....we are fortunate that some fantastic pieces are here in the City of Angels at this very moment. So this post is about the music I seem to have been getting a lot of mileage out of lately.

Portishead -- 3rd -- So I managed to obtain this a couple months in advance and forced some of my friends to listen to its brilliance. Specifically the last 30 seconds of the 8th track ("Machine Gun"). The Blade Runner-esque Vangelis style synthesizers lay waste to my soul every time. A haunting wave of slow-burning love from beginning to end.

No Age -- Nouns -- I missed their free show at the library with Mika Miko....shameful, really, I walk to it every other day. An increase in accessibility from Weirdo Rippers, but their representin' LA and local music haunt The Smell while they're blowing up. Good shit, though it all kinds of blends together sometimes.

The Smell -- Sometimes its lame, sometimes its cool, sometimes it destroys the fucking universe (Monotonix, anyone?). Best locals I've seen so far was Her Girl Friday, and they already broke up. Its down the street, its arty, noisy rock, its five dollars every time. Word.

Monotonix -- Power trio from Israel. Showed up on a Tuesday night at the Smell and went super-fucking-nova. Last number had me and some of the other audience members holding the bass drum over our heads with the drummer IN IT continuing to pound the song out. Best. Live. Show. Ever. 5 bucks. CD's ok.

Magazine -- Late 70's British band. They are to the Buzzcocks what PiL is to the Sex Pistols. Sort of. First track on Real Life I cannot get sick of. Nor the last track of Second Hand Daylight. Who hasn't been looking for a song that has a chorus of "I will drug you and fuck you?"

Captain Beefheart -- Don't get into Beefheart unless you're prepared to realize that Tom Waits is overrated. Cuz this is who Waits' been doing a watered-down imitation of for the past 30 years. This dude was too weird for Zappa, apparently. I dig it. Trout Mask Replica. Lick My Decals Off, Baby. Bat Chain Puller. Yeah.

Crystal Castles -- Their full length is out, and its good. I play it during the Photoshop class I teach.

McAllistar's Hostile Makeover -- This is radio show on KXLU on Thursday mornings that I roll with during Photoshop class. Her play list is from some other amazing planet, and KXLU in general is a great LA station for discovering new music

Marnie Stern -- Imagine if Lighting Bolt and Sleater-Kinney somehow all had a baby together and it learned to finger-tap on guitar Eddie Van Halen style, but was all avant-garde and arty. Marnie Stern's full length, In Advance of the Broken Arm will show you what that sounds like. New album is on the way, apparently.

Pandora radio -- It works too well, sometimes. I can't get anything done when its on, because I keep hearing new stuff I want to know more about. I've started a list that will break my budget if I walk into Amobea records with it. "Excuse me, do you have any Melk the G6-49?"

The Dismemberment Plan -- Anther broke up band I've discovered. Emergency & I from '99 is one the closest things I've found that sounds like Karate, one of my all time other broke-up favorites.

Maybe I'll talk about movies next............

Rauschenberg

So.  Rauschenberg.  When I was in community college, say, '98 or '99, (where does the time go...?) this big Rauschenberg retrospective happened in Houston.  My mind was in the beginnings of the expansion of experiencing art, in the larger sense, and Rauschenberg was something that I had only experienced through textbooks.  A group of students from San Antonio College including me got a school van and a faculty member and made the trip to Houston to knock out this city-wide show.  The Houston Museum of Fine Arts, the Contemporary Art Museum, and the Menil Collection were all part of this massive show of the Texas native.  I stood in front of Bed, the Erased De Kooning drawing, the weird kinetic and theatre based stuff, the 1/4 Mile Furlough piece, and more recent print works.  I had never been to Houston, never been to a real big, modern art museum, never stood in front of a historical, important, key work of contemporary art by a living artist, much less one from my home state, a state whose borders pretty much defined my entire world at that point.  

Rauschenberg has never fallen out of favor with me; I have never been hesitant to admit him as an influence, as an inspiration, or as being a fan of him.  It is easy, when being involved with artists, and in the art world, to take stock of the accepted pantheon and then dismiss it for the new, for the momentous.  As it is with the mission of the avant-garde, that is a vital and important tactic in the dialogue.  Let us not forget, however, that the average person who participates in this culture, while assimilated perhaps to the trickled-down ideas and imagery that one such as Rauschenberg brought forth as art, they as a whole remained uninformed about the man, the life, and the work that is responsible for it.  Artists especially should remain cognizant of the grand narrative of art history they participate in, especially if who they deem to be the protagonists of it are still alive to contribute to it.  Even if it seems their story has been told, the cachet earned in their previous contributions are legitimate criteria for evaluation of their later work.

To understand any contemporary art today, fully, and with maximum cognizance, one must understand the context that a force of nature such as Robert Rauschenberg occupied.  Anyone claiming the title of artist in the 21st century are heirs of him and his ideas, whether they know it or not.  It is this unconscious derivation of ideas that, in my opinion, cement the brilliance of those ideas, and their originators.  

 

It Looked Like Art With a Goat

Robert Rauschenberg 1925-2008

Frustratingly Elliptical

SS Inspiration seems to have lost its course for now, so I thought I'd talk about the (growing) pile of books by my bed, among other things.

The Complete Ballad of Halo Jones by Alan Moore and Ian Gibson -- Early 2000 AD era Moore, my secret British comics desire is Grant Morrison's Zenith, but I've only ever found copies on eBay for insulting amounts.  So far Halo Jones is just a catchy, 80's style post-apocalyptic sci-fi ride-along, but already a single brilliant reference -- they watch a TV show called "John Cage, Atonal Avenger" -- has reminded me that where there is Moore, there is always more.  Hey, a pun!

Free Culture by Lawrence Lessig -- I can't get on the internet without running into the ongoing fight to redefine intellectual property laws, "piracy" and copyright.  This is all under the banner of the Free Culture movement, and this is the book that much of their argument is based on.  Being an artist who makes use of public domain material with the express purpose of highlighting the wonderful idea behind why public domain exists, it seemed I should do my homework on the current state of that issue.  Any fan of Negativland, Kieron Dwyer (and the reason I don't drink Starbucks), music downloads, or postmodernism in general may want to look into this.  It has a fundamental relationship, at least on a philosophic level, to.....

The Society of the Spectacle by Guy Debord -- Finally decided to get down to reading all of this, and its interesting to see how its all divided into a series of discreet chunks, or "theses".  Less a single structured book than it is a series of short, heady declarations.  His style of wording them (at least in translation) is at times frustratingly elliptical, and the lack of specific examples in an effort to universalize his theory makes for a suspicious vagueness.  I dig it.  Its no doubt those very qualities that have made it classic reading for us artsy-fartsy types.

Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon and A Gravity's Rainbow Companion by Steven Weisenburger -- So I've been hacking away at this one since December, and so far it has been worth the journey.  Weisenburger's book has been indispensable, as what seems like nonsense language in the novel is actually thoroughly researched technical jargon relating to military conventions, chemistry, WWII British pop culture, engineering, Pavlovian psychology, the German language, Herero tribal culture, and much, much more.  Weisenburger has found the books Pynchon used to grab all of this info, and sets you up before each episode in the book. The novel does have an overall structure, it does have an overall theme, it does have a central plot.  Its homework to start to assimilate the experience of this book, but man is it a satisfying mindfuck.  I can only deal with one episode a week or so -- I'm a bit more than halfway through it. I fancy I'll tackle Ulysses in the same manner....

Glomp 9 -- Finnish avant-garde comics extravaganza.  A big, sexy, colorful tome that silences the withdrawal from no Kramer's Ergot coming out the past two years.  There's a whole deep important sphere of influence regarding the Euro art comics scene, and the American contingent, and Fort Thunder, and I think it all starts with Gary Panter, somehow.  Someone has got to be writing a thesis on this.  My sister got me a book on Euro comics for my birthday that's on the way.  Perhaps that will fill in the missing part of the puzzle.....

3 books on Francis Bacon -- The painter, not the writer (though they were related).  My own work, at least in my head, seems to have arrived at a place reminiscent of the images that sprang from this drunken master.  Much of what he says about his paintings seem to coincide with my own thoughts about imagery relating to the body, and the Figure (capital f) in art.  Painters paint with their bodies (duh), our bodies are the medium of all our thoughts and actions, it follows that representations of figures would be a basic concern in art.  All of my dealings with the cyborg idea in the work of late has led me to Bacon, some of whose forms and masses resemble pink, fleshy counterparts to the plastic robo-figures that have been popping up in my drawings for an upcoming installation.  I wanted to immediately inundate myself with his work so I wouldn't fool myself into some myth of originality with what I plan to do; only now that I've seen what I thought I was seeing in my head can I have the confidence to create something that is now more consciously informed and challenged....does that make sense?

There's much more, or course.....books, music, movies....more blogging later.   

 

 

Dark Hand and Lamplight

So last night me and JJ had the delightful pleasure of witnessing a performance by the duo of Shary Boyle and Doug Paisley, AKA Dark Hand and Lamplight.  Our advocating of the work of Boyle began more than two years ago, when me and JJ attended one of the fabled Kramers Ergot nights at the Hammer Museum, on the occasion of the Masters of American Comics Show, back in the day.  A handful of people that night had their minds blown and their faces melted by the cosmic shenanigans of Shary's live overhead projector animations set to music, concluding with a dance performance incorporating a mirrored bodysuit turning her into a living disco ball.  Never have me and JJ looked at each other in stunned disbelief so many times at an art event.  Afterwards we approached the event organizer, Sammy Harkham, in speechless disbelief, as he simply replied to the looks on our faces with, "Her name is SHARY BOYLE...we got books on sale over there."

Courtesy of Harkham and his fantastic Family store across the street, he brought Boyle and her new partner in amazingness, Doug Paisley, to the Silent Movie Theatre on Fairfax last night.  She has traded in the psychedelic freakout vibe for a new folky, americana tip with the addition of Paisley, which has made for an interesting evolution.  Her live animations now accompany the Townes Van Zandt-esque crooning of Paisley's songs, who's haunting lyrics and delivery could have held the audience alone.  With Boyle the parts now add up to a whole that culminates in one of the more unique and memorable experiences this viewer has ever had in regards to performance, music, and art.  

Boyle's other art endeavors would put her into my A-list category even without the performances. Her drawings andsculpture are rife with bizarre sexual imagery that seems as if it was imagined by the shared dreams of pixies, nymphs, and fawns.  She is featured in the last Kramers Ergot book, and JJ is now the proud owner of two of her monographs, as she was more than happy to sell one to us last night.  The performance epilogue featured a reception out back with free beer (which officially made it an art opening) and we took the opportunity to chat up Shary and Doug, specifically about LA, and how much it offers for artists and art fans in terms of its variety and access.  

Dark Hand and Lamplight will be performing again this Wednesday at the Hammer Museum.  She said this performance will feature a more elaborate setup than last nights.  I'll be there.  You should be too.