My own ego

Making Marks opens tomorrow, and I hope that people get a chance to go see it; and not just because I was involved.

And though there were some people left out that probably should've been included, the process was imperfect and a little rushed as we took it over from George Kinghorn as he departed for colder climes, I think overall, the show is multifaceted and interesting. It is also the first, the museum plans to mount local show on (perhaps) a semi-annual basis.

Here's a little about how we thought about the show, and approaching it:

Making Marks: Jacksonville Creates is an invitational survey that takes a closer look at the ways in which art is being made locally, and how these creative individuals are making their mark in the art scene today.

Many of the artists featured in Making Marks are nationally recognized and are exhibiting on a national level, yet remain relatively unknown in their own city. Displaying their work in a survey allows their creative efforts to be seen side-by-side, invites comparison with their contemporaries, and presents motives and methods that are open for question. This survey also allows the viewer to trace the evolution of the local scene, from more figurative and painterly approaches to more conceptual and atypical works.

So, whether you think we did a great job, or bungled the entire thing, hopefully it (the show) will provoke conversation and reflection...maybe.

*pictured: two of Dustin Harewood's fat belly paintings.

ideas beget ideas, work begets work

Sometimes, when I talk to people about art, about what I like, as well as what I find valid, I bump into (and I am pretty sure every artist has run up against a version of what I am talking about) that person who can’t see past technique to understand why abstract/modern/conceptual/performance art is valid. To which I usually explain that for anyone immersed in a field, the foundations of that field, while important, often cease to be of interest after a certain amount of time; Einstein didn’t stop at the Pythagorean Theorem.

As a nascent art historian, I respect Ad Reinhardt not just for his strict adherence to a rigid set of his own rules, but for the absurdity he acknowledged (in his writings) therein.

So when this list made by Sol Lewitt in 1969 floated my way—two years after Reinhardt died--I thought it’d make a fun, (and funny) post:

Sentences on Conceptual Art

by Sol Lewitt

Conceptual artists are mystics rather than rationalists. They leap to conclusions that logic cannot reach.

Rational judgements repeat rational judgements.

Irrational judgements lead to new experience.

Formal art is essentially rational.

Irrational thoughts should be followed absolutely and logically.

If the artist changes his mind midway through the execution of the piece he compromises the result and repeats past results.

The artist's will is secondary to the process he initiates from idea to completion. His wilfulness may only be ego.

When words such as painting and sculpture are used, they connote a whole tradition and imply a consequent acceptance of this tradition, thus placing limitations on the artist who would be reluctant to make art that goes beyond the limitations.

The concept and idea are different. The former implies a general direction while the latter is the component. Ideas implement the concept.

Ideas can be works of art; they are in a chain of development that may eventually find some form. All ideas need not be made physical.

Ideas do not necessarily proceed in logical order. They may set one off in unexpected directions, but an idea must necessarily be completed in the mind before the next one is formed.

For each work of art that becomes physical there are many variations that do not.

A work of art may be understood as a conductor from the artist's mind to the viewer's. But it may never reach the viewer, or it may never leave the artist's mind.

The words of one artist to another may induce an idea chain, if they share the same concept.

Since no form is intrinsically superior to another, the artist may use any form, from an expression of words (written or spoken) to physical reality, equally.

If words are used, and they proceed from ideas about art, then they are art and not literature; numbers are not mathematics.

All ideas are art if they are concerned with art and fall within the conventions of art.

One usually understands the art of the past by applying the convention of the present, thus misunderstanding the art of the past.

The conventions of art are altered by works of art.

Successful art changes our understanding of the conventions by altering our perceptions.

Perception of ideas leads to new ideas.

The artist cannot imagine his art, and cannot perceive it until it is complete.

The artist may misperceive (understand it differently from the artist) a work of art but still be set off in his own chain of thought by that misconstrual.

Perception is subjective.

The artist may not necessarily understand his own art. His perception is neither better nor worse than that of others.

An artist may perceive the art of others better than his own.

The concept of a work of art may involve the matter of the piece or the process in which it is made.

Once the idea of the piece is established in the artist's mind and the final form is decided, the process is carried out blindly.

There are many side effects that the artist cannot imagine. These may be used as ideas for new works.

The process is mechanical and should not be tampered with. It should run its course.

There are many elements involved in a work of art. The most important are the most obvious.

If an artist uses the same form in a group of works, and changes the material, one would assume the artist's concept involved the material.

Banal ideas cannot be rescued by beautiful execution.

It is difficult to bungle a good idea.

When an artist learns his craft too well he makes slick art.

These sentences comment on art, but are not art

*pictured: Reinhardt’s rules for a new academy and Lewitt’s Sploch #15, 2000

Your brain on Republicans...

I stumbled across this article while I was supposed to be doing other things. I thought it was fascinating (if a bit long):

WHAT MAKES PEOPLE VOTE REPUBLICAN? [9.9.08]
By Jonathan Haidt

What makes people vote Republican? Why in particular do working class and rural Americans usually vote for pro-business Republicans when their economic interests would seem better served by Democratic policies? We psychologists have been examining the origins of ideology ever since Hitler sent us Germany's best psychologists, and we long ago reported that strict parenting and a variety of personal insecurities work together to turn people against liberalism, diversity, and progress. But now that we can map the brains, genes, and unconscious attitudes of conservatives, we have refined our diagnosis: conservatism is a partially heritable personality trait that predisposes some people to be cognitively inflexible, fond of hierarchy, and inordinately afraid of uncertainty, change, and death. People vote Republican because Republicans offer "moral clarity"—a simple vision of good and evil that activates deep seated fears in much of the electorate. Democrats, in contrast, appeal to reason with their long-winded explorations of policy options for a complex world.

When Republicans say that Democrats "just don't get it," this is the "it" to which they refer. Conservative positions on gays, guns, god, and immigration must be understood as means to achieve one kind of morally ordered society. When Democrats try to explain away these positions using pop psychology they err, they alienate, and they earn the label "elitist." But how can Democrats learn to see—let alone respect—a moral order they regard as narrow-minded, racist, and dumb?

Nathanial Hörnblowér and Oscilloscope Pictures

“What I really liked about indie record labels — the indie record labels that I liked, anyway — is that things were done in-house,” said Adam Yauch. Unlike most independent film distributors, which outsource nonglamorous aspects of moviemaking like poster design, marketing and DVD production, Oscilloscope’s employees — a tour revealed 10 young guys in skate shoes and headphones bent over laptops — will handle everything themselves, including handpicking which theaters their films will end up at.

His newest movie, Flow, which examines the looming global water shortage, calls out Nestlé's commodification of water.

Back to School

When I was growing up, I remember dreading back-to-school. It wasn’t just a return to stuffy classes with kids that scared me. It meant that the summer was over...the next thing worth looking forward to: Christmas...and that was over four months away.

In my family, my brother and I got a few back-to-school clothes, a new bookback, and some fresh notebooks. That was about it. Of course, this was when kids still spent exhaustive amounts of time outside, down the street, or just playing in the street.

So when I saw this faux registration form, it made me laugh, and think about how ridiculously seriously childhood is taken now.

Green, Greener, Greenest

In this climate of ever-increasing gas, food, and energy prices, more and more people are looking to “go green.” Two Aprils ago, speaker Charles Landry espoused a ton of ideas that could be used to turn Jacksonville into a really thriving, vibrant city. One of his ideas counseled that artists are a completely underutilized resource; that artists, by virtue of their/our problem-solving abilities, are used to finding unexpected applicable and somewhat practical solutions to problems.

So today, when this notice from the Tampa Museum of Art rolled across my desk, I thought, especially in the context of quite a bit of the work being made in Jacksonville, that it was/is an appropriate suggestion:

It’s Not Easy being Green, thru September 23

In late March of this year, artists, designers, architects, and developers interested in making a positive difference in both their lives and their communities were invited to submit design schemes, art works, or commercial products that provided real solutions for people to live better, healthier lives with less impact on the environment for display in It’s Not Easy Being Green. The resulting exhibition showcases not only conceptual drawings and sketches, but actual artwork and design products that offer community members information, ideas, solutions, and motivation to live sustainably.

The exhibition is divided into three subdivisions. The first portion explores urban design issues such as housing, energy, transportation, and land use, while the second section exhibits environmentally friendly products ranging from custom eco furniture to commercial objects made from recycled/salvaged materials. The final section features fine art created by artists who address issues of sustainability, activism and/or environmental concerns in their work. 

Other works in It’s Not Easy Being Green include models and conceptual drawings that explore modern prefabrication techniques for multi-family housing in Tampa, landscape designs for a proposed museum of contemporary art linked to the historic water pump building in Tampa, and a planned mixed-use community that ties sustainable design with mass transit.

As a side note, Amtrak journeys from Jax to Tampa for about $40.00. Of course, that still leaves the challenge of getting all the way out to the MLK to the station…

Tampa Museum of Art
2306 N. Howard Avenue
Tampa, FL 33607
(813) 274-8130

globobusted?

Jerstin Crosby/Team Lump (2007)


Byron King/Jaxcal (2008)

"I think we all should define what we believe in yearly or quarterly. Especially artists. If you aren’t then it’s really hard for some folks to take your art seriously."
--Globotron, 4 June 2008 at 1:14 p

Water babies? Swamp Monsters? Puddle Love?

In addition to being equal parts absurd and brave, the above image of Paul Ladnier and Jim Draper got me thinking about the public construct of the artist.

I touched on it lightly in the previous post about Andres Serrano, and I am certainly not the first person to ponder the presentation of the self, public face vs. private face, (Banksy has made an entire career out of being unidentifiable) but there is so much information to be gleaned from the way a person presents themselves, that I often find myself scouring artists’ interviews for an image, not just of the work but of the artist him or herself.

Of course, this practice isn’t limited to artists by any stretch of the imagination (drive by any high school, or TSI for that matter, and you’ll see a parade the highly costumed as indicators for beliefs/social status/class/etc...).

However, it is a curious phenomenon among artists, there are those who see fashion as a way to both further question the status quo, and a way to celebrate unexpected and unorthodox beauty. There are those who belong to a larger social group and dress accordingly--pegged jeans, vans, and sleeveless tight tees--though this is just one example of a subset of a subset.

And then there are those, who blast into a restaurant/party/gallery, hair wild, covered in paint, and so ‘swept away by their own creativity’ i.e. “So sorry I am late, I just got lost in my work,” that they make a production out of it. Though by and large, artists are not members of the status quo, (I think) that the artist’s image of him or herself, is best constructed within a framework of personal values and experiences. Not, with a showboating, green-paint covered face.

So, I am especially amused by the Ladnier/Draper flier, if for no other reason than it is vulnerable, funny, and references (obliquely) Ladnier’s misadventure with a canoe

*Swamped opens Thurs, Sept., 11, 5-8p.m., Gallery L in the Modis building.

Change 08

I ran across this picture over at Heart as Arena, and couldn't not steal it and post it here.

drinking and drawing

This crossed my desk this morning: it seems that Paul Kerrigan is starting up a Jacksonville chapter of Dr. Sketchy's, the burlesque-ish drawing club started by Molly Crabapple in 2005 in NYC. It was developed as an entertaining party that incorporates live models, drawing, and drinking; the first gathering will be held October 1st at Artwalk.

Interested? dr.sketchysjacksonville@yahoo.com.

I will be curious to see what comes out of the effort. Ms. Crabapple certainly has taken off...

the tipping point is when the cops show up

A while ago I read this NY Times review of the movie Beautiful Losers, in it, the Times completely pans-and-makes-fun-of the movie, the artists, and the director.

Normally (as readers of this blog certainly know), I take the Times as my Bible. But in this instance, (granted only after watching an 8 minute preview) I think the review is less about the movie and the art, and more a snarky comment on people who’ve been able to function outside of the NYC art machine.

That’s not to say it’s a conscious decision on the part of reviewer, Nathan Lee. But its easy to imagine that as a writer in the NYC milieu, Lee has struggled for years with deadlines, editors, and younger writers nipping at his heels in order to secure a contributing post over at the Times (though according to his bio, his work has also appeared in Esquire, Slate, Salon, Filmmaker, and Out among other publications), he might view with umbrage, exasperation, and a soupçon of jealousy, the achievements of skaters and graffiti writers--and the fun they seem to have while doing it.

Judging from the tone of the trailer, it seems that the movie, is less a diatribe or highly romanticized dreck (Modigliani, the movie leaps to mind), and more of an honest look into working artists’ lives. As a trope, honesty works...and if in the process, people are “super-nice,” that works too.

Here’s hoping the movie comes within driving distance of Jacksonville.

Take a cue

I decided to take a cue today, from my friend over at Atlantic Shark's Tooth Society, and just post some pictures of some beautiful work. But already, I have violated her gorgeous, minimal silence with my blathering.

Please enjoy Hisano Takei.

Everyone Poops

As a senior in high school, we were forced to write a research paper. The topic could be anything, but it was pretty strongly suggested that we write about something close to our major. I chose to write about artistic freedom as embodied by Andres Serrano's Piss Christ and Maplethorpe’s suite of S&M photos. I argued that not only did the First Amendment give the artists to make these works, but that the prevailing Judeo-Christian culture of America could do nothing but understand them as offensive.

Now, from the comfortable distance of a decade or so later, I look back on that effort and cringe, wishing I’d chosen something a little more (ahem) subtle. But, unlike one of my first forays into writing, Andres Serrano is back. This time around with a body of work based on shit (some of his interim works used corpses, others were art-school obvious images of priests and nude, strung up women). The images, shot like semi-abstract close-ups of food, with gorgeous backdrops, nuances of color and blown up to eight feet high aren’t so much offensive as they are evidence of thin thinking. In fact, the artist says that he came up with the idea for the suite while watching the nude wrestling scene in Borat.

Lynn Yeager’s Village Voice interview with the artist is kind of genius. Not just because she discusses the illegality of procuring caca from, say, the zoo. But also because, as the Voice’s fashion writer, she clocks the artist’s gear (a Blackpool Bombers T-shirt, a humongous rhinestone-studded belt, and a pair of artfully molting, pointy $1,000 Gianni Barbato boots) and his apartment (his East Village home, a once-normal-looking residence transformed by votive candles, chandeliers, ecclesiastical statuary, and the replacement of every inch of sheetrock with limestone into a sort of medieval crypt). These descriptions of the artist and his residence do more to undermine his aesthetic than a protracted dissertation on the validity, artistic precedents, and intelligence of Serrano and his work.

It’s not just the incredible arrogance of the artist that shocks (more than the work itself), it is the dull, boringness of premise (the byproducts of the body human/ body animal have already been explored more elegantly and intelligently). Clearly, this is an artist who, though he might acknowledge the stink of his shit, still thinks he can turn it into gold.

*of course, I’ve only seen the images online; in person, at 8ft tall, I might change my opinion. However, I tend to think that shit–-even served up on a golden platter-–is still shit.

Making Marks: Jacksonville Creates

Some of you may or may not know that I was asked to help curate the above show (with Ben Thompson, J. Marshall Adams, and Matthew Clay-Robison). So far, it has been an interesting, exciting, and frustratingly fascinating experience.

I hope you will come out and support the museum and the local scene. There will be many new, and never-before-seen, works on display from artists both familiar and less so.

This is the first in a series of shows (to be held on a semi-annual basis) that examine works being produced locally. I hope it proves to be a satisfying experience.
Sept 19-Jan 4.

made new again

I read today that art critic John Russell has died. In the NYTimes article that noted his career and his passing, they quoted several of his beliefs/approaches. Though I tend to agree a little more with Hickey in that I hope the art I hate simply disappears, never to be seen again, the three quotes that follow are really wonderful…especially the first and last, the second is just hella elegant.

“When I first began writing, my aims as a critic were simple,” he told The Art Newspaper in 1999. “I wanted to persuade people to go and see things that I myself liked.”

“I do not see my role as primarily punitive. There are artists whose work I dread to see yet again, dance-dramas that in my view have set back the American psyche several hundred years, composers whose names drive me from the concert hall, authors whose books I shall never willingly reopen. But it has never seemed to me much of an ambition to go though life snarling and spewing.”

“When art is made new, we are made new with it. We have a sense of solidarity with our own time, and of psychic energies shared and redoubled, which is just about the most satisfying thing that life has to offer.”

Fay and Sarah Kay

Typically I embrace storms as grand adventures. However, this time around, I was just ready for some sunshine. Which is why, on Saturday night, when artist Sarah Kay’s show opened at Three Layers in Springfield, I couldn’t drag my sorry carcass out.

The next day though, there was enough sunshine to connvince me to leave my nest. And when I did, I wished that I had been able to attend the opening. Sarah Kay isn’t just an artist, she’s possibly one of the nicest, most optimistic people I know, and this is reflected in her sunny-side-up kind of drawings.

Her work, highly graphic and comic-esque, is clearly the work of an artist at the begining of her career. However, unlike other fledgling artists, Kay has already made the distinct decision to work within a framework of style and theme. As her friend, I have pawed through her works with her, and offered totally unsolicited advice, but I think the most notable thing about her Three Layers show, is the editorial eye she brought to bear on her own work.

Unlike many artists (emerging and otherwise), she has been able to select works that not only hang together well, but that reflect her vision most accurately. Of special note, the piece Lily Houses (top); here she is beginning to use the entire page as a platform for pattern and repition. She takes the focus off of one simplified form, and arranges it in a manner that recalls Dow-esque rules of pattern. It is an aesthetically sastisfying solution that she can then apply to other drawings and ideas.

That being said, Kay still has alot of work to do (more texture and resolving her backgrounds are areas that need improvement), but I am confident that with time, she’ll do it.

*incidentally, Three Layers is a really wonderful addition to Springfield. Located at 6th and Pearl streets, the shop is warm, and welcoming, with really fantastic drinks and a staff that makes you feel right-at-home. On Sunday when I dropped by, Shrek was playing...

I miss everyone

I left work early yesterday and scooted out to the beach to watch the ocean, to watch the storm roll in. And as I watched the sky turn fantastic shades of grey, I was struck--not for the first time--with how it is the simple things that make us/me happiest.

Shortly thereafter, the wet sand soaked through my jeans and I took my soggy bottom home, but not before reflecting on the essential absurdity of my life and what I do: write as a means to understand the world.

Then, today, on American Craft Magazine's website, I stumbled across this mini-manifesto by Daniel Eatock...and it seemed to strike to the core of what I hope to be doing...it's kind of perfect because there is room for give, take, and even compromise...but not at a cost no-one really can afford to pay: personal integrity.

* I especially like the idea of honesty as a solution.

“Mini Manifesto
Begin with ideas
Embrace chance
Celebrate coincidence
Ad-lib and make things up
Eliminate superfluous elements
Subvert expectation
Make something difficult look easy
Be first or last
Believe complex ideas can produce simple things
Trust the process
Allow concepts to determine form
Reduce material and production to their essence
Sustain the integrity of an idea
Propose honesty as a solution”
—Daniel Eatock

a resolution of truth

Attempting to begin to synthesize one’s own experiences into a memoir; to try an organize the important from the unimportant, to scale down stories, and to view one’s own unvarnished reflection is terrifying.

Not only do you have the opportunity to completely expose yourself as an utterly mundane member of the human race, but to know, really know that nothing you are doing or experiencing is really that different from those who have come before you.

It is frightening and freeing at the same time.

I write this post to explain what some of you may have already discovered, that I have begun a new blog entitled the seduction of suicide. Right now, I am the only person who can read it. The reason for starting it was/is simple, I am attempting to force myself to write in a more autobiographical vein.

The results so far: incomprehensible gibberish that I can barely read back to myself without cringing. As it turns out, I am a petty, vainglorious, creature who delights in using words like quantify and qualify in an attempt to bury the details of my own emotional life.

Anyway, back to the blog. Why such a semi-public forum, why not a diary or just a Word document on my desktop? Simple: those things are too easy to hide. This way, everytime I log on to palaver about artisntrocketscience nonsense, I am reminded of the other task I set for myself.

So, wish me luck, and don’t forget to prepare for Fay...even if that just means a gallon of bourbon and a tub full of cleanish water...

...yes yes y'all

Summer in the city is always a weird time. The city (in this case Jacksonville) slows down to a snail's pace. Those who can, make a kind of mass exodus for cooler parts, or hotter beaches. Of course there are sidetrips and day trips taken by those of us not summering in Maine. The result is a scene with a kind of catch-me-if you-can fluidity, lubricated with beer and fish tacos.

Well, at least that has been my experience.

This year, 9th and Main played host to the annual Summertime in the City jam. An all-day event, there were b-boy battles, free hot dogs and soda the kids, and at some point a free keg (though I arrived long after it was gone).

I arrived at the venue at about 11:00 p.m., well into the show. As I slipped into the theatre, Peyton Locke, formerly Therapy (please call him Peyton from now on), of the AB's and Perceptionists, and currently of the Smile Rays, was doing his thing.

Locke is one of the most multi-talented individuals in Jacksonville's hip hop scene. I've interviewed him before, and then he told me one thing: "I dream of crates and crates of my own records."

These days though, he's got his own DJ. And although Locke brings the same passion and sense of fun to the stage, it seemed as if, as with his name change (back), he's trying to work things out, to figure out his next step.

In fact, several of Jacksonville's regulars seemed to be trying to do the same thing: trying to figure out how to interlace the capabilities of production that seem to be as close as the next Mac, with the balance of a well-crafted show.

Willie Evans Jr., who is another favorite put together a quick performance, "I want people to stay long enough to see me," he said of the notoriously behind-scheduleness of the scene, "before they look around and realize there are no girls here." But his performance too had a sort of thinking-out-loud quality to it.

Neither performer was a strong as I have seen them be, but I am pleased to say that neither of them sampled twice from the (correct me if I am wrong) same record as did Dillon from Atlanta. With many props thrown out to Isaac Hayes, Dillon, rapped quickly and funnily over Hayes samples that are so good as to almost insure the success of the performer working "with" Mr. Hayes.

As I left, Dope Sandwich had taken the stage, and if I'd had a little more stamina, I would've have stayed to see them perform. From the glance I got, their rhymes were tight, and their beats dope.

And really, one can't ask for anything more than that, to step out the door into sweltering humidity, with a neck-bobbin' beat for you to exit the scene on. Whether or not everyone brings an "A" game then becomes a moot point...it is the summertime after all.

Where the Wild Things Are

I should probably start this post by admitting that I had to shame myself into not titling it “Welcome to the Jungle,” “Jungle Fever,” or “Jungle Gym.” As it is, I obviously couldn’t ween myself off of the idea of wildness.

However, this post isn’t meant to highlight my lack of editorial imagination, but instead to say how excited I am to have stumbled across Shelton Hull’s blog: Money Jungle Safari.

Shelton is one of Jacksonville’s best, most faceted writers whose opinions I always read with real relish. He is smart, and sees connections where the rest of us just see coincidences. It has always been startling to me that the more mainstream publications have never picked him up. On second thought, it doesn’t.

However, it does seem that Shelton, like so many of us, has grown weary of waiting for the imprimatur of establishment publications, and has gone out on his own.

In the coming months, I look forward to reading his thoughts on everything from national politics, to local art shows (and of course, pro wrestling).

Summer of Wonder

One whiskey-fueled evening earlier this summer, I declared that it was going to be the summer of Stevie Wonder. Though I had forgotten about that proclamation, I re-remembered it yesterday when I ran across this 45 second snippet of a 1974 Stevie Wonder throwaway.

Since I found it over on ?uestlove's blog, I'ma go ahead and finish this post with a excerpt from ?uest about these seconds, "...and prompted many of us to keep this shit on repeat for a good 7 hours…..it left me feeling elated and sad at the same time."

Summer of Stevie is back.

thrill of the new

One of my favorite things to do, is to stumble across an artist whose work is new-to-me and whom I fell an immediate affinity for. Today that happened with artist Pae White.

Her work is described as "amplifying the "artfulness" of everyday things, to use her term. Books, advertisements, barbeque grills, a shopping bag, even a theatre curtain become the objects of her witty elaborations and re-constructions. She looks far beyond the question posed by Charles Eames: 'Who ever said that pleasure wasn’t functional?'"

Currently, her work is on display at SMoCA, in a show entitled, Lisa, Bright and Dark.

Year of China

Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics with a friend of mine, we both had the same reactions:

1. It was an amazing visual spectacle.

2. China has thrown down the gauntlet: they are going to define the coming decade.

Later, talking to another friend, she mentioned that out of the past ten centuries, China has been one of the wealthiest nations in the world for nine. I do not necessarily think that China's rapidly ascending star bodes well or ill for the larger world, however, I do think that it will raise important questions about human ethics in the coming years.

By all accounts, China is a kind of totalitarian wild west. Our challenge will be to reconcile five-thousand years of tradition in a world that has--for the duration of the industrial revolution--been shaped by a Western worldview. How can our nation or any nation(s) convince the looming Chinese juggernaut to be more compassionate...in every sense of the word.

Interestingly enough, since China's booming economy has resulted in a culture of affluence informed by lux Western brands (Gucci, Dior, Chanel, BMW, Mercedes Benz, etc...) it might prove to be a fertile market for artists. Then again, one must reconcile with the idea of doing business not with Communists, but with a people as voracious, and (in many ways) amoral we are once were...and could possibly still be.

the thinking person's critic

“As you all know Globatron isn’t into art about Monsters...”

It would seem that the not-so-mysterious masked man has committed the cardinal sin of art-commentary: the visual equivalent of fingers-in-ears.

Well-done masked man: clearly thoughtful, eloquent, and elegant.

bump in the night

The Monster Show at the Haydon Burns Library was just about what I expected it to be…slightly homespun, ragged around the edges, packed, and overall fun. The unexpected factors included pre-recorded shrieks and music, and a few zombie girls to point the way downstairs…into the basement.

Placing the show in the basement was an aesthetically and functionally (lots of walls, no distractingly teetering easels) good move. Wandering through the interconnected rooms, with steam (?) pipes overhead, there was a certain Freddy-Kruger-goes-to-artschool vibe permeating the place. Or perhaps that is the impression that you take with you if, at the height of your impressionable years (4th grade), your best friend’s older brother lets the two of you enjoy the distinct pleasures of A Nightmare on Elm Street. It was decades before I could go to bed without the door cracked to let in a little light.

Interspersed throughout the place were, of course, the works. Ranging from sweet, slightly creepy drawings to Moby Dick/Cthulhu referenced installations the work was diverse, boasting a sense of humor, and a kind of recklessness (not to be confused with carelessness) that speaks to a feeling of joy in the act of creating. It also conjured images of your favorite art(geek) friend not exercising demons, so much as reveling in that 8th grade ambition to be a comic artist: fearless, foolish, brave.

Perhaps the most startlingly solid pieces were two “portraits,” by Clay Doran, a.k.a. Squidust. The portraits, which look like zombie clowns on the third day of a five day bender, evince a easy handling of paint, satisfying mark-making, and stand on their own outside the confines of the (so-called) monster art genre.

All in all, the only downside to show (the sense of fun pervading the space was enough to buoy even pieces I'd normally stop to question), was the meth-face with the quarter-sized-herpes-sore on his upper lip. I'm always down to talk about art--with just about anyone--but when you are so high, you can't read the artist's name in the corner of the piece, I'ma back away slowly. Incidentally, he was then ready to look for Brian Gray...who I described as a short, blond guy. Who's got your back?

*pictured: Squidust vs. Globotron, courtesy urbanjacksonville; the two portraits by Doran; an owl by Grant Thornton (I think…I left my pencil and pad in the car—my apologies to any misnamed persons).

Art is too serious to be taken seriously.

The other day, the magazine Humanities (the published arm of the NEH) ran an article that took a look at the ideas of Clement Greenberg (1909-1994) and Harold Rosenberg (1906-1978). Dubbing them the Ali and Frazier of the Abstract Expressionist era, the article cursorily sums up each man’s view. Though their arguments now have the dated tone of ideas whose time has come and gone, it is nonetheless instructive as we today still wrestle with the ideological leavings of the 40s-70s.

In fact, the author writes, “...American modern art reached its apex in the 1950s through the flowering of Abstract Expressionism, art criticism achieved a glittering purity of its own—a beautiful high criticism perfectly matched to the period of high art.” This discussion is timely: the Jewish Museum has mounted a show (underwritten by the NEH), Action/Abstraction, which mounts works by “rival godheads,” Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning, and fine works by (notably) Barnett Newman, Mark Rothko, and Clyfford Still, and later painters like Joan Mitchell, Helen Frankenthaler, and successors Jasper Johns, Frank Stella.

However, interspersed in the exhibit, writes Peter Schjeldahl, “abundant texts, photographs, and memorabilia. Film clips display the men’s differently impressive rhetorical panache: Greenberg is incisive and imperious, Rosenberg droll and oracular. (Parallel shots witness Pollock dripping and de Kooning stroking).”

In considering the show, one must cede the point that both Rosenberg and Greenberg were wonderfully logical writers, and highly influential thinkers. But now, we deal with their ideological detritus that asks writers to quantify, qualify and organize art...possibly/probably to our disadvantage.

As writers and essayists decry the obtuse and often seemingly nonsensical art writing of the present, we (as artists, writers, performers...) are left defending a position that though defensible, sometimes begs the question, why.

No, this is not a call for art and by extension art-writing to become incredibly accessible (art is elite, good art even more so), it is however, a call for truth in writing. Sometimes, a work is successful purely on its aesthetic merits...and that is enough. Placing artworks in a larger, social/political, cultural context is always instructive, but not always necessary.

That being said, it is worth noting that it took this writer 351 words to spit that idea out.

It is the ability to defend and explain that should be nurtured, not the need to endlessly do so. That way, when one is on a plane and forced into a conversation with a seatmate who argues the old trope "My kid could paint like Jackson Pollock," the line, "But little Sally didn't," can thrust home...leaving one in peace.



Pictured top: Greenberg, de Kooning, Rosenberg

Bottom: The Irascibles protest their exclusion from a New York exhibition in 1950. Back row: Willem de Kooning, Adolph Gottlieb, Ad Reinhardt, and Hedda Sterne; middle row: Richard Pousette-Dart, William Baziotes, Jackson Pollock, Clyfford Still, Robert Motherwell, and Bradley Walker Tomlin; front row: Theodoros Stamos, Jimmy Ernst, Barnett Newman, James Brooks, and Mark Rothko. —Photographed by Nina Leen, Getty Images

posters and culture

The other night I stopped by the Art Institute of Jacksonville’s show for Dog and Pony Showprints, Sight and Sound. Curated by the Institute’s gallery group (a student-run group), the show hung together with an effortless ease buoyed by humor and the, well, the niceness of everyone there.

Perhaps that intelligent-sans-competitive-edge vibe is a manifestation of the school, or perhaps it was the leakage from Sean Tucker and Tim McGugan. Founders of the studio, they are both really thoughtful and unpretentious. Their designs make intellectual, instinctual and visual sense...and a few are just really beautiful.

Of special note: The Helio Sequence (pictured) which was created with help from Karen Kurycki, and Handsome Furs (the shape of the snake’s head is fantastic) while the encapsulation of the text into a simple circle is just...smart. Also, their first effort, a white on white poster for the film Heima deserves a mention: the art-historical reference is witty, and the piece was lighted in such a way as to enhance the poster.

Nicely done gallery group, nicely done Dog and Pony.

*Perhaps as importantly, the show illustrates the increasingly convergent world we live in, where art influences actuality, which in turn presents real problems for creative-minded individuals to solve.

why America is graphically fucked

A friend of mine sent this to me. It features designer Aaron Draplin, the founder of Draplin Design. The video is salient for alot of reasons, but as I watched it, I felt like I was watching Levi Ratliff's spiritual older brother: a designer with a strong point-of-view and aesthetic, combined with a great storyteller who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

Plus, he's saying things that matter...or should.

string, kitten whiskers, raindrops

A couple of years ago, I wrote a small piece for the Times Union on hip hop in Jacksonville. In it, I covered three “acts,” the smallest and possibly the most atypical of the hip hop genre was Astronautalis, nee Andy Bothwell.

I wanted to write the article not just because I love hip hop, but because at the time, I was regularly checking out Hip Hop Hell (thanks Ian) and I was blown away by a few of the local and national acts that got booked (Louis Logic). It was there, one tipsy summer night, that I saw this skinny white kid in a blazer and tight jeans get up on stage and craft a pretty flawless freestyle of topics suggested by the crowd.

It was then that I knew the kid--and hopefully by extension the scene--had something viable and unquantifable. Since then, I learned that Astronautalis’s feat is not without precedent, but still, his music, his ability to transform and transcend the specifics of his chosen genre, are dazzling slight-of-hand tricks.

So, it’s with all that gushy loviness that I am super-stoked to say that he’s about to drop another album, Pomegranate, and for those that are curious as to the new sound, here’s his myspace link.

“Then there was me,
I was born a charming man with silver tongue and pearl teeth, this was never how it was supposed to end, we were promised all we dreamed. The envy of the everyman our family seemed complete, our father was a charming man, our mother a Siren. But, now I'm on the run again, this hotel's home to me, after they found the eldest's skeleton floating face down in the stream. The youngest was still tucked away in bed, they thought he was a sleep, till they moved the mirror from his mouth, and the fog that should remain was not to be seen.”

His fate is ours, sped up.

I have not been able to stop thinking about Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pausch’s “Last Lecture.” So I have posted it here.

For those that don’t know, Pausch was a computer science proffessor, arguably one of the most popular on campus, and so, as a part of a larger academic tradition, he was asked to deliver what would be a hypothetical last lecture.

Then he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Though Pausch died on July 25, of this year, his legacy lives on in the form of the youtube video of his lecture.

I will warn you, it is long. I listened to it as I was working on some other material. And, it is not profound, it is practical.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Whats up nerdzzzzzzz?

To the Art Institute:
95 to Baymeadows.
West on Baymeadows.
Right at 2nd light (Baymeadows Way)
Right at 1st light (Baypine Road)
Follow that around to the parking garage, gallery is right there.

Expect a review to follow.

everyone has a "rep" worth protecting

the perilousness of beauty

Costa Rican artist Tatiana Echeverri Fernandez's work: Frauleins Christina, Panthea, Zenobia, Semiramis and Guinevere took an unfortunate hit as a visitor to London's Royal Academy bumped into one of the nine-foot high totems causing it to topple and smash.

The exhibit, curated by Tracey Emin (pictured with the pieces), is a annual summer show, which some have accused Emin of "sexing up."

In regards to the shattered work, conservators are trying to figure out a solution. Though similar accidents of historic works might lessen a piece's value, I'm guessing that this will only add to the work's cache.

Indeed

Sometimes on sunny days when I see the road peel away from me, it is everything I can do, not to keep driving. I don't suspect I'm alone.

*image courtesy Postsecret

Perspectives

Let me begin by saying that I will vote for Obama. It’s pretty simple really. But most of you probably knew that. However, as much as I support him for president, I think it’s important to keep in perspective that he is a politician, and therefore an open target.

The recent cover of Obama and Michele on the cover of The New Yorker doesn’t vilify their character or persons, as much as it pokes fun at those paranoid psychos that actually espouse views that Obama is “un-American,” –whatever that means, and that he’s a flag-burning extremist (Muslim or otherwise) with nefarious plans for office.

However, I find it equally galling that because so many people see in Obama a hope for a better tomorrow, that he is somehow exempt from political cartooning.

Was the picture offensive or in poor taste? Perhaps. But really isn’t that the role of the artist—to upend thoughts and challenge the statue quo—and in doing so, the cartoonist especially is participating in a time-honored, deeply American tradition, the lampooning of leaders lest these same leaders forget that they too (for all their power) are ultimately only citizens.

tryptophan junky

Those of you that know me might know that I was once a vegetarian. For ten years I ate a diet heavy in fruits, veggies, soy-product (in fact, I still like to eat marinated soy “steaks” raw out of the packaging...to the disgust of many friends), and candy.

Then, bacon returned to my life...and with it a slow at first, then exponential increase in carnivorous desire. Finally, late one night, I found myself standing in my parents’ kitchen--pulse racing, tangibly afraid of being discovered--digging leftover hunks of turkey out of the Thanksgiving carcass. A tryptophan junky.

It was then that I re-embraced the morally-dubious, yet inevitable deliciousness of flesh. Though I still eat it sparingly, and rarely (if ever) down a steak...given a chance and a slab of maple bacon, I’ll hork it down quite happily--especially if it is accompanied by bicuits cooked in that same bacon’s fat.

Enjoy the above diagram, thoughtfully provided to me by my friend Juniper...herself a world-class porkficionnado (not to mention fantastic actor and wonderful chef).