Reckless Drivel

Reckless Thoughts in Progress

2012-01-07T01:37:00.000-08:00

Nerdism

I am a nerd. Always have been, always will be. I knew this in high school and was continually reminded throughout my life in higher education and the work place.

I focus on details. Actually, I obsess over them. I live through my fantasies so often they have, quite literally, become an alternative reality.

It has become a place where I can hide and take comfort.

Try as I might, I am not a risk taker, a trend setter. I follow my own path, that is certain…but that is a solitary path with no interested followers.

I have been very fortunate to have been afforded a life of normalcy with episodes of incredible opportunity. I have accomplished a few things that will add my name to the margins of some obscure reports. I have rubbed elbows with notoriety.

But I have mostly toiled in obscurity, following an archaic path that reflects the unique qualities of an esoteric profession.

There was a girl who caught my eye at the university. I pursued, stalked is the term commonly used today. There was conquest, them a relationship, then a mutual history. But first impressions rarely hold true over the long run, conditions change according to events and experiences. What was once the ideal eventually becomes what must be endured.

This is generally acceptable. Unless fate steps in. Fate with its malicious intent. With a personality that rivals Loki, must throw his monkey wrench into the fray.

There is a woman.

Filled with creativity as well as anguish. A self torment aggravated by unfortunate events. Still, this soul presents so much hope, so much potential…

This person echoes the nerd in personal history and experience. There is an uncanny parallel in thought and consideration. An unspoken agreement of sentiment. So much commonality that it causes the psyche to overflow with emotion. The long separation marked by surreptitious peeking only heightens the pain. An unpleasant sensation only tempered by the memory of shared pleasures.

Unfortunately, the nerd in me cannot let go. The nerd cannot forget since that is a consistent failing….an obsessive mentality that will not subside. The nerd has experienced Beauty. A Beauty that is beyond physical measure. It is a comprehensive accumulation of appearance, acumen and ability.

The nerd has little alternative. It has tasted exquisite excellence with little chance of a repeat performance. This means the nerd will resort to the shallow actions that afford at least a little comfort. Small acts of kindness. Small gifts that represent more than the nerd can actually provide. Moments of nurture. All in the hopes of a glance or at best, a touch. A touch that will warm the soul of the nerd more than can be realistically understood.

The pain will remain. But pain is so common as to be no more than a trifle to the nerd. Disappointment, unrequited emotion…. all part of the make up of the nerd. Since junior high through adulthood the facts are inescapable. The nerd is nondeserving of the Hollywood ending. I only wish the object of desire is aware and a bit considerate. I only wish things could be different. I only wish I could be different.

Postwar Supermen and Cultural Kryptonite

2011-08-08T22:49:00.000-07:00

The people I grew up with are the last of the baby boomers. Most of my oldest friends are sons of immigrants. That makes us prime examples of the American Dream. The quest for freedom, economic and political, was our Pablum. Our object lessons consisted of the mythologies of the old countries. Our characters were forged through the intensity of the cold war while being nourished off the post war glut of commercial goods. Our childhood was good, our parents succeeded through us. We are invincible.

Half a century later, we still grasp those early ideals as a lifeline of reassurance. The difference is the change in today’s sociopolitical landscape. Our parents’ feared nationalistic golems are long dead, the soviet menace has been defanged and our economy is reeling like a punch drunk boxer facing Tyson. Still, as a generation, we cannot be dominated. We saw the end of polio, whooping cough and tuberculosis. Medicine fixed all ills, chemistry made us indifferent to the rest. We drove the best vehicles, travelled with impunity to the farthest reaches of our imaginations, saw new worlds and experienced the unknown.

Today begins the end of our era. Fatalistic as this may sound, we are a shrinking demographic. Our parents are setting before us beyond the horizon while friends are contracting illnesses that should not have the temerity to even come nearby. Our invincibility is starting to show fractures along the edges. Injuries linger and aches morph into symptoms as the heart looks for new avenues to explore. My friends are succumbing to outrageous slings and arrows on all sides impelling me to reassess my physicality in an effort to stave of the inevitable. Our band of immigrant sons (and daughters) is condensing into a refined essence. A purified idealism that we attempt to pass on to our progeny and this is an expression of our faith.

Our common religion is based on tenets arrived at through our family experiences. We hold to these beliefs as a security blanket that we in turn pass on to our next generation. The faith derived from our experiences give us hope. We may show our mortality now, but we do not acknowledge that part of our humanity. Our conviction in the science behind us helps us to face the unexpected. Our devotion to those who made the great leap to bring us here causes us to continue the immigratory process. We endure because know it is possible to do so. We also impart this to our children because we know commitment to our experiences provides an indomitable confidence that can protect all who believe in it. I am a believer. I drink this Kool Aid of 50’s propaganda because I have experienced its successes. I believe it enough to endeavor to bring up a second generation in the face of a diminished national luster. I do it because my parents did more than this long ago. I do it because my friends do the same. We have faith in ourselves.

2011-07-30T01:12:00.000-07:00

Losing a parent is a difficult event to accept. Losing a second family member adds insult to injury and adds more salt to the wound. My cousin was the only relative outside my parents to successfully immigrate here. He was an adult with one marriage and two children behind him when he arrived. After trying to gain an exit visa for over twenty years, he was able to escape the economic doldrums of his mother country. A new setting with unscripted possibilities faced my cousin. At the end, he found a new love, added to his family and created a bridge between different cultures for all his local relatives.

What does this mean for me? It comes down to trying to understand an emotionally draining malaise that sucks any will to create faster than a double black hole. A personal inertia has taken hold and there is no manual or textbook to help guide me. There is also a pain that can split me in half and continue down past my toes as it tries to reopen the San Andreas Fault Line. Every bad moment in my sad history file comes to the forefront in sharpest focus. What ifs and if onlys fill my trains of thought.

My cousin was only a concept when I was growing up. My parents, brother and I were the only family outside the home country. My cultural background did not match my friends and classmates as a child. An ethnic island misunderstood and ignored. Stories kept the image of my distant family alive in my mind. A trip to the old country when I was two was just another page in our family mythology. It was just us and then everybody else. After high school came the trip that set me on my self awareness phase of life. I met the family and they became real and visceral. They accepted and reassured me. I identified with them though I do not know the extent of their reciprocation. I met my cousin once more and grew to know him on that trip. I realized the depth and sophistication of my culture through him. I experienced the support that only an extended family can provide through him. He showed me a side of the home country not found in travel guides and expressed an impressively broad store of knowledge. I viewed him as an intellectual equal, one of the few I would admit since I was such a smug self satisfied smartass at that time. I learned so much in the three months I spent with him that I was challenged to add anything significant to his scholarly gems for years.

My cousin finally arrives here and begins to reinvent himself and accomplish new things. I spent much time with him at first, but my life quickly took precedence as I struggled with school and stumbled into a career. A family came next for me and now my concentration was even more narrowly focused. All this effort came at a cost to our relationship. The next thing I now, my cousin has a career, then a new wife and son bringing with it another cultural addition to our immigrant family. My cousin’s role had shifted from relative to friend and teacher, then to extended family member and cultural bridge. My personal career and family arcs took me out of the inner circle of our nuclear family and sadly removed me, all too often, with regular interaction with him.

Now he has passed and with him ends my mother’s direct lineage in North America. I am racked with remorse over my lack of familial interaction and obligations. Regret dominates my thoughts. This compounds the pangs caused by the loss of my mother. Idleness overwhelms any inclination to actually accomplish anything. My only answer to this feeling tonight was to drive. Ever my favorite means of avoiding responsibilities, I could drive for hours and days on end. Since learning to drive at the age of eleven, this has remained the one consistent thing I can do. I would drive in high school, leaving campus during the period before lunch and returning at the end of the school day. With classmates or alone, it did not matter. With gasoline at fifty cents a gallon and a never ending supply thanks to my father, I learned all the major roads in and out of Los Angeles County. So, tonight after the reception for my cousin’s memorial I drove. Without anyone to share this evening of mourning I took to the streets to try and remember past events and sites. My memory failed me in the most perfect manner. Houses no longer recognizable, streets long changed and a greater number of fellow drivers stymied any attempt to wax nostalgic. Still, I think best when driving alone. I came to realize the effects of many forces and stresses working upon my emotions. I realized my need for contact, an attraction to beauty and the need for mental stimulation that has occupied my attention for the last month. These interests echo the conversations with my cousin as he was also a cryptic soul. The similarities of natures are obvious, the success in our abilities to achieve personal satisfaction, not so much.

Loss leads to reflection. This reflection can include different responses but these too, are dependent upon one’s emotional state. Work through it, I tell myself. But I am torn between seeking personal dreams or continuing on the path I have forged many years ago. I have not been able to resolve any of my dilemmas, neither does there appear to be any available resource that can lay out the best possible scenarios. I miss my mother. I miss my cousin. I have no answers for the empty set stuck within my parenthetical heart. All I can do is warm up my ice with another hit of Jack. Perhaps the new week will present options.

A Long Walk Overdue

2011-07-21T02:33:00.000-07:00

I finally hit the trail behind my house this afternoon. It’s something I should do regularly because it’s good exercise, convenient and relatively isolated. Life tends to crowd personal time into a corner. I’m guilty of allowing this to happen, subsequently there is a price to pay for this practiced inactivity. I started off during the last waves of the afternoon heat planning to climb up for an hour before turning back. I wore my woven slouch hat and brought the camera along knowing that would cause me to stop periodically and hopefully keep from overheating. I realized after fifteen minutes that I wasn’t gasping for breath, sucking in flies as my heart raced. I was actually feeling pretty good and averaged a fair pace. These realizations lead to another concerning my eating habits and physical activity over the last two weeks. This is where the trip shifted from an early evening health walk to a voyage of contemplation.

I was completely alone on the trail, probably because of the heat, giving me a perfect opportunity to think about my state of mind without interruption. The last two weeks were epiphanic with the assistance of a good friend helping me to shake out emotional cobwebs and rid myself of a pervasive lethargy. This period began with a cleansing that was both actual and mental. Clearing out the accumulation of the last nine months lifted an unimaginable burden and assisted me to transition emotional residue.

This realization then connected with the fact that I have, for some unknown reason, started to reread Lacan and his structuralist concepts. Piecemeal as my reading is, it struck a harmonious chord in how I experience a good artist friend’s work and the way the incomplete image carries just enough detail to suggest but not too much that it closes the experience in a finite sense. Lacan’s notions of “the lack” and its relation to desire pierced me, leaving a visceral pang sending me back to the books to look for more definition.

Hopes and wishes had occupied me for the last nine months, or so I believed. Reviewing my philosophy notes reminded me of the concept of desire. Desire explains the feeling that’s been filling me since May. A desire to accomplish and complete. To attempt and compete. This feeling comes from a lack. This is not an appetite for satisfaction but it does involve affections. I begin to wonder if these unspoken desires can become a driving force, pushing me to realization.

This trail of thought also referenced the “other” as a self-not self. Looking inward but not seeing myself. I’ve rarely been able to apply this type of thought to myself. With that thought I was hit by an understanding of the French philosophers idea of “self as other”. By not applying theory to any personal experiences I have been looking outside of my “self”. If only I could have pondered this way when I was in school…

The trip back down the mountain was all too quick. I was repeating the concepts I had thought of knowing I would forget most of them by the time I got home. I did forget most of it, but the germ of understanding was still there. The past two weeks have been an opportunity to see things new and reorganize. These provide comforts badly needed that mend the soul. It was an opportunity to recharge the batteries. Next week promises to bring the return of stability on a new footing.

2011-07-16T06:13:00.000-07:00

A trip to the California Plaza yielded a visceral explosion of the senses that I had not experienced for far too long. A dear friend’s suggestion prompted me to leave my studio cocoon and make the drive to the our city center. Seun Kuti (son of Fela Kuti) leading his father’s band, Egypt 80, courtesy of KCRW and a couple of other sponsors. I have been to performances at this venue before, but these were always staid presentations. The throng of fans raised a significant murmur as they awaited the performance. The music delivered on its promise and the audience responded exuberantly.

A concert can be fun on its own, but tonight’s event was made exquisitely perfect because of the friend who invited me and the others found at the venue. The night was filled with heady discussion of art, social behaviors, creativity, processes and aspirations. Personal accounts added poignancy and strengthened long held bonds. All this transpired with a feverish soundtrack backing the scene. Connections are reinforced by revealing desires and this helps to expunge negative or destructive motives. Creative batteries were charged in my case, especially with the one on one interface of talented artists. A personal need to constantly make new and challenging art is a desire to seek out a catharsis.

The evening continued after the concert at the posh loft of a past student of mine in an historic downtown building. This person received her degree from Occidental College with honors in art but did her printing at Pasadena City College. Her graduate portfolio was exquisitely done and truly gave me a boost. The evening ended with the closest of friends and intimate discussions of the essence of our existence and creative possibilities.

I sadly had to go home eventually, although without an ounce of sleep in me. Once home, it was straight to the darkened studio to shuffle papers and prepare materials. I am now sitting in a cloud of fixative trying to finish a poor write up of a uniquely memorable evening. The sun is barely up and I fear today will pale against last nights experiences.

Piruca en el Norte

2011-05-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

In 1958, Ignacia Mercedes Zarate flew from Buenos Aires to begin a new stage of her life. The trip took over one and a half days, hop scotching innumerable cities and towns northward to the United States. Arriving in New York, where many an American family can trace their roots, her new voyage would take her westward across a different continent.

Mercedes has been a wife, a mother, a homemaker, a wage earner, and a grandmother after thousands of miles and fifty three years had passed. Along the way there have been happy times and sad, friendships made and lost, but always every challenge was faced, every opportunity exploited. She was the matriarch of our family and even as she passes from our world, this is only another stage in her voyage. Through our sadness we feel gratitude to have shared our lives with her. The sadness will pass eventually, the love she inspired and that we continue to experience will endure. Her strength of character fills us, even now. We will love and keep her in our hearts forever.

Complete Criticallity

2010-03-10T02:30:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a heads up from an artist friend (JT), I just finished watching Robert Hughes’ 2009 documentary for the BBC, The Mona Lisa Curse. I enjoyed it on many levels, first of which was to find Mr. Hughes still in the land of the living and very much the sardonic curmudgeon. This extended video rant can be found on Youtube.com in twelve pieces, making it about an hour and a half long. The transplanted Australian critic displays his hot knife through butter dissections of contemporary art but in this work he turns it on the business of art, particularly in the way commodification has overtaken the main objective of fine art mirroring Wall Street’s carnivorous merger and acquisition mantra from the 80s up through today.

Hughes marks the Mona Lisa’s trip to the Metropolitan Museum in 1963 as the point when art shifted from a cathartic exchange of philosophy device to a mere commercial product with great investment potential. Leave it to crass post-colonialists to corrupt the purity of individual expression. The folk who stood in line to glimpse Leonardo’s spectacle did so on their own terms, most armed only with the knowledge that this was an important painting without any extra information. It was an experience similar to the nascent television offerings of the day. Americans are notorious for ignoring precedents as well as skipping historical lessons. What more was needed to be known considering Nat Cole sang about the painting ten years earlier. The U.S. in 1963 was still flexing its post war muscles while basking in the glow of a healthy atomic economy. Anything needed could be manufactured or simply purchased and shipped over. The mentality of the time allowed for quick fulfillments to any lack. At the time, the country was even producing its own modern art, eclipsing the need for old, musty European versions.

The Critic bemoans the rise of monetary value over emotional content in art and commiserates with the artist Jim Rosenquist over today’s sad state of affairs. The importance of Sotheby’s 1973 auction of the Scull collection is pointed out and images from a documentary of the event are screened which shows Robert Rauschenberg going up to Robert Scull after the event and administering a stern admonishment. Scull responds by stating that the fortuitous hammer prices will benefit the artists, as well. Warhol’s factory production and diminishing standards of quality are noted, as is the obsessive collecting of Andy by a Saudi mega-billionaire and his son. Damien Hirst is Hughes’ ultimate whipping boy for the exorbitant price tags and insipid lack of traditional artistry.

I found The Mona Lisa Curse to be entertaining for its quick and informative pacing but found that acid analysis on Hughes’ part to be most reassuring. At the close of the documentary, I was filled with the urge to tell Mr. Hughes, “Well, what did you expect?” The critic shares some of the blame for today’s speculation in the art market. His book and film, both with the same name, The Shock of the New (1981), displayed the progression of modern art from the mid-1800s through the 1980s. The film series based on the book is more telling as it begins at a pedestrian pace, gaining momentum as it covers all the ‘isms of modernism until it becomes a near stroboscopic blur of contemporaryness. The directorial structure of the documentary presages the shift in the control of cultural power from salons to artists to patrons to museums to collectors to multinational financial corporations.

Hughes truly shows his years when he dismisses Damien Hirst and his formaldehyde-swigging ilk based upon the lack of artisanal skill and inability to insert significant pedagogical content. Hirst, Koons, Prince and their brethren function in an ether created by a post-postmodern economy. An economy not simply based on production and consumption, or even supply and demand. Production of art is secondary to producing an aura around art. Reality TV is a phantasmal echo of the conniving and manipulation of Art. The art of this latest generation lies not within the brush, or even in the hand that wields it. It resides in the mindset that can create a commotion about an object, roil the waters of adorers and imbue it with a scent of theatrics. Oh, and within this cloud of popular lust there is a kernel of an object, complete with title and date, dripping in sarcasm, vacuum sealed within a prophylactic shield of systemic endorsement.

Today’s museums lament their current inability to compete with investment-minded collectors, but their historical existence is less than that of Modernism. The Patron has been the unseen hand that has guided, and continues to guide, the creation, collection and display of art. The Artist has been the indentured object maker far longer than the autonomous creative force of most of the 20^th century. The social services remain the same; it’s the pimp that changes over the ages. Rauschenberg, Rosenquist and Lichtenstein may have missed out on the money train in the beginning, but ultimately Robert Scull was right, crass as he may have been in saying so, the artists did benefit. The pop artists did it by controlling production. They limited their exposure through galleries and they began to keep part of their own art. This type of homemade retirement plan presented the following generations of artists a business plan on which to build. Self promotion as spectacle, popular culture reified as invested content combined with modern manufacturing created an opportunity for the modern day P.T. Barnum.

After all is aid and done, The Mona Lisa Curse lays out a depressing representation of art and the business of art in today’s landscape. But this inflated art bubble will burst and this economic event will occur for several congruent reasons. Art purchased for reasons devoid of aesthetics is indistinguishable from any other portfolio asset. The piece is tethered to the ebb and flow of monetary economies. Content is inconsequential. If the market that includes art investment fails, all the inclusory contents are absorbed by creditors. If the creditors end up with confiscated art, how will they be rated in order to classify them for liquidation? Judgments may have to be made on such crazy notions as quality of construction, artist skill or even socially significant content.

ELAPSED MEMORIES

2010-02-19T19:48:00.000-08:00

This week, I went back to the place that ultimately corrupted my career path, Cal State University of Long Beach. I went there intending to learn how to paint expressively, as that was the end-all of artistic endeavor at the time. As a new student, I could not get into the painting studio classes so, in light of having taken one intro printmaking class at community college, I planned to bide my time with a few more similar courses until I was eligible to unleash my sardonic brush onto the painting world.

The printmaking department proved to be more inspiring, while proving to be constantly challenging, than the painting faction. It certainly did have an us against them atmosphere with the painters in a desperate battle to keep the Neo-Abstract Expressionism flag from falling under the dust of the unseen upstart Post-Modernists looming just beyond the horizon. The printers suffered from no such conservative constraints, we had free reign to try new things as soon as the basic processes were mastered.

Dick Swift was the first instructor I had. He was a pioneer in contemporary printmaking, primarily etching, and he wasn't about to let you ignore that point. His continental methods contrasted greatly with Cynthia Osborne. She was the one that drove me to try new things, and I would often try something ridiculously stupid, if only to prove that it was possible although usually useless in the end.

These photos mark the first time I've been back in about ten years. Since then, the department moved to a building next to the old studio, taking up the entire bottom floor.

This is a long shot of the litho room, taken from the silkscreen end (silkscreen is nearly always shunted off to one side).

The screen table in the foreground arrived while I was there and I helped to assemble it, the one-arm assembly and counterweights are currently rusting outside in the courtyard.

These are the two large litho presses. The tympans hang on a neat system on the wall between them. I used the Griffin press mostly, the Takach (Garfield) arrived the last year I was there but I used it enough to learn to buy one of my own later on.

This is a one hundred year old Fuchs and Lang cast iron press. This baby had a notorious bed wobble as it traversed under pressure. It would get progressively bad as it neared the end of its travel. The shop was open 24 hours back then (it still is today) and one night, with a critique the next day, the studio was packed with students all through the night. One girl was using this press trying to squeeze out some images for the crit and was working as fast as she could in the wee hours. The longest vertical bar in the picture above is pulled down to set the pressure on the litho stone. Well, with all the rushing and considering the nasty wobble the press bed had, the pressure bar (also known as the Devil's Tail in olden print times) snapped up and cracked this girl on her temple. Never had a full studio been so quiet. I regret that I can't remember names, but the girl was laid out cold and we thought she bought the farm at first. After a trip to the hospital, she turned out to be OK, plus she got a pass on that crit.

The old graining sink made the transition but I don't recognize the solvent cabinet.

These are the same instructions for graining stones from 27 years ago!

These plates are from the second lesson in Dick Swift's etching class. Twenty four small zinc plates (2" x 3"), each with a different technique. Two, perfectly matched prints, pulled from each plate were turned in inside a little manila folder. Nearly half the class would drop the course when this assignment was presented.

He was very serious about etching.

This was the best etching press in the studio. We also had a Laguna and a Brand press, but this little English beauty was the best suited for the sizes we worked on. Once you got the big wheel going, the inertia would carry the bed through its length, as if it was motorized. A little contact on the outer edge of the wheel and it would slow it down pretty as you please. On night, Rock (that was his studio nickname, he was a merchant marine) bet us that he could stand inside the wheel and make a complete revolution. The group that was there urged him to not try it, but... He spun until his head was pointing down at 4:00 o'clock when he did a headfirst Superman dive onto the concrete. I have been very fortunate to never hear such a sickening thud ever again. Rock rose from the floor, grabbing his head, while we were about to try to find some help (no cellphones back then) he kept insisting that he was OK and damned if he wasn't. We never let him live that down and I don't believe anyone from the school ever suspected anything.

This is an old Leach press (made in LA) from the 50's. The roller assembly and furniture was gone when I was there. I used it only once and that was enough. The poor thing is little better than a boat anchor.

These rollers were there when I was. I sure hope they have some real ones stored somewhere.

This is the current etching hotplate. We had a huge restaurant hotplate that we would clean up and use to have potluck cookouts. these were done late at night or early for breakfast or we would have starving art students pouring in. I hear they still carry on the communal cookout tradition, but with barbecues in the courtyard.

Speaking of courtyard, this shot shows the entrance to the Litho/Silkscreen studio. But what could that be under the little table?

Why, it's me! They currently number the stones in the studio (how common!) but way back when, Cynthia would name them all. I was lucky enough to earn a stone because...

I grained and backed piles of them when I was there! The printmaking department received a couple gifts of stones, some from Gemini GEL. We hauled them to the school in a convoy. One grad student used his little Toyota Hilux truck and the weight of the stones forced a monkey grip plug (look it up!) to pop out of a tire. The truck was so heavy, we had to unload it on the highway so it could be jacked up to change it. There were stacks of stones piled in the old courtyard. After prepping some of them, it was possible for anyone taking litho at that time to have a stone large enough to print a full sheet (22 x 30 or 30 x 40) that semester.

I was happy to see the new facilities but I could not help but to seek out the old bits and pieces surviving from my days there. The few students that were there while I was poking around are as avid and dedicated as the bunch I remember. The community of printmaking trumps the lone gunslinger of painting, in my opinion. Discoveries are shared, events are group projects and tradition is wedded to innovation under printmaking.

The experience of learning how to make art through printmaking at Long Beach has set the tone for my career. The connections I made then have certainly helped and I can't imagine having to limit myself to a single medium as a form of expression.

Symbols of Commitment

2009-11-24T00:30:00.000-08:00

THE TRAIL OF DEATH FOR THOSE WEARING HIGH HEELS

It's been a month and a half since our good friend, Jane Hyun, took the matrimonial leap. The groom (Ethan Emmet Bodle) seemed to be one of sufficient faculties and his family was a reassuring mixture of characters, categoricals and the usual wedding suspects. The ceremony was short and sweet, complete with unexpected pauses and touching vows. The typical ceremonial protocols were followed with the requisite coterie of relatives and friends in attendance and the reception was wonderfully satisfying. Unfortunately, I could not gain audience with the feted couple so I was not able to suss out courtship details or gain enough information on the newly crowned husband to make any snap judgements. I did find the event significant in its organization and as to how it was orchestrated including the specific elements that were chosen to authenticate and give meaning to the ceremony.

A NICE TOUCH FOR A BEAUTIFUL BACKDROP

The wedding took place at the Malibu Nature Preserve, essentially a private campsite for spiritually inclined nature fiends. Choosing this location is a big break from the usual chapel or wedding hall. Weddings today range from humble, small gatherings to full blown extravaganzas that include every cliche and convention imaginable. The outdoor setting displays a commitment to create a truly memorable day and illustrates the lengths the couple are willing to go in order to cement their bond.

GUESTS COMPLETING THE TEST TREK OF FRIENDSHIP

The ceremony was short and sweet with slight variations of traditional ceremonies. Since it was outdoors, the chamber trio had to compete with nature's ambient symphony of breezes rustling the leaves and birds chirping. The small clearing that was the setting was sort of a natural amphitheater with sycamores standing in for an altar. This setting gave the event an intimate feel, allowing the guests to become a party to the contract between the happy couple.

THE MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

I consider myself fortunate to be a friend of the bride's family. I hope that gives me license to reveal that the bride's parents are originally from Korea, from exceptional lineages that can be traced back countless generations. The mother and father have made a commitment of their own in creating a place for their family here in the U.S. They may seem to be conservative scholars, but they are in fact rebellious pioneers in the eyes of their ancestors. Jane reflects that manifest spirit in this wedding ceremony. This does little to mitigate her parent's desire for her to assume an image of domestic normalcy with familial intentions included.

ESCORTING THE BRIDE UP THE PATH

The reception after the ceremony followed the usual blueprint. Drinks with a light nosh before the musical chairs with name cards at round tables with many place settings and too few heating thingies to ward off the coastal temperature drop as the sun coolly set over the horizon (whew!). This apparent nod to tradition was tempered by the beautifully decorated patio... origami cranes by the oodles and home grown succulents acting as centerpieces. The wedding cake did not define the mores and standards of the newly married as their was no cake. An orgy of handcrafted cupcakes arranged in concentric tiers showed the creativity and free spirits of the planners. The ceremonial first slice became the ceremonial unwrapping without the gratuitous face smearing.

MEASURING THE DISTANCE TO THE EXIT?

The whole affair was sweet and romantic. I found the break from tradition a relief from the usual procession of rituals. Most notably, I remember large portions of the day. I usually forget details quickly and I am happy if I can at least remember having been somewhere at sometime. What made the event memorable for me was not the elemental requisite pieces but the details that filled those moments. The cast of characters (which included us, the audience) was a tapestry that filled the spaces in between and provided a stage for the whole procession. I was both inside and outside of the moments making up this day. Very few of these types of affairs affect me in any deep manner, but I found this day to be one of the nicest. It was entertaining and more importantly, personally reassuring. Not in the "its nice to see a young couple get hitched" or "they look so good together" kind of way. I found it reassuring in that it reaffirmed my own personal commitment those many years ago. It reinforced my belief that a personally crafted ceremony is vastly more significant than any cookie-cutter or insane super spectacular side show wedding. It also brings to mind that in creating a unique event involves its own level of commitment. Breaking with tradition while creating a personal expression played out in front of a crowd of a hundred guests is an acid test that will only be the first in a succession of similar trials as a dedicated couple. I wish Jane and Ethan all the best and I thank them for extending a personal invitation for my wife and I to share in their moment.

TWENTY THREE YEARS AND JUST GETTING STARTED

Perpetual Mootness

2009-03-24T00:37:00.000-07:00

In her article for Edutopia.org (http://www.edutopia.org/arts-music-curriculum-child-development), Fran Smith lays out familiar points in favor of arts education such as early exposure to the arts and governmental policies recognizing the value of arts. The decline of art programs as part of school curriculum is noted with the added caution of the difficulties encountered when these programs are reintroduced. Ann Hulbert points out that the arts do not offer quantifiable results in overall school performance in her article, Drawing Lessons (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/27/magazine/27wwln-lede-t.html). She cites statistics and studies to illustrate the fuzzy logic of art education supporters and their claims of success and the reality of clinical investigations that continually show little connection between art and testing success.

The Edutopia article by Fran Smith is an example of the confidence the pro-art education faction has in their beliefs. The Rand Corporation is cited as a supporting authority, as well as other other studies and evaluations. The difference between the two articles lies in the mechanics of the investigations and their results. Ms. Smith takes the academic approach in defining her case by presenting articles, quotes and positive results in classroom examples. The Hulbert article cites clinical examinations by professionals working within the scientific method. The facts and opinions in Drawing Lessons can hardly be disputed without resulting in fingers wagging and desperate appeals

The methodical, double blind placebo examinations cannot be easily disregarded. I must argue that the scientific process can only be superficially applied to art and art education. The success that comes from an early education enhanced by exposure to the arts does not neatly fit onto a Scantron sheet. Studies and opinions can be cultivated to support any side of an argument. This is learned early by any who want to add authority to their opinion. The discussion between the two articles will never find common ground since they are not two sides of the same coin. Since art education is, conceptually, a fluid condition in terms of knowledge acquisition, the level of integration and expression is as different as every pupil in a class is from each other. The Smith article reflects the opinions of many in the arts and simply reinforces popular beliefs. A serious obstacle to dissuading believers, and I am in this group, is the observational and experiential evidence we have witnessed. We know what we know because we have seen what we’ve seen. Not a very good argument in logical terms but strong enough to plant the feet of many art educators against naysayers and bean counters.

Laotian Design Studio Project

2009-03-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

The iconic image of a clown has much more meaning today than it did fifty years ago. The perpetual smile and entertaining antics of the old Barnum & Bailey Circus performer has been adopted by the counter culture and it has become the poster boy for latent maliciousness that runs deeper than basic childhood delinquency. The clown with a painted face can be traced to the masked tricksters from Greek tragedies. This mythic character is, at times, the outspoken voice of reason in the face of hubristic endeavors. This character has also come to be viewed, in the Western European tradition, as a representation of everyman as he puts on an outward appearance of happiness to hide the sorrow within his soul.

I chose this particular image of a maniacal clown from the characters created by my younger son. He is keenly interested in comics and all their manifestations from the Sunday Funny Pages to Miyazaki’s anime masterpieces. This version is a portly acrobatic performer seen at the moment of springing off a ball towards the viewer. The voluptuous contours are played against the ragged regularity of the decorative leaf pattern that demarks the margin. The contrast between the two major elements is also marked by their historical and cultural differences. The pattern is an interpretation of traditional vegetative and floral designs from Laos. These types of graphic representations have symbolic and historic connotations often used to decorate official buildings and temples. There is iconographical meanings attached to the patterns but these have been largely usurped in this image by the decorative alignment and intentional somber colors. The predominant culture exemplified in this splash page is the current comic style of appropriation and redirection.

The clown in graphic comic terms is often a malevolent misanthrope intent on inflicting some heinous scheme upon a particular victim. The perpetual smile is as much a mask as Batman’s cowl or Clark Kent’s glasses. The makeup provides anonymity and with it the luxury of implementing the necessary steps to carry out his intended crimes, but comics are morality plays and this means that this chubby jester will see some form of justice eventually- this is built into the Joey (comic)/Auguste culture. The duality of funny/evil is echoed by those of good guy/bad guy and crime/punishment.

The colors of the solitary figure are the most clean and bold of the illustration. Primary and secondary colors are traditionally associated with “happy” clowns in the west and in this case they add to the mask that this character hides behind. The background and pattern colors are muted complements following examples from 19^th century circus posters. These were printed before process colors or inks were developed and subsequently have a strong neutral cast to them. The integration of the Laotian design parallels the similar appropriation of traditional European patterns common in advertisings and posters in the early days of commercial printing. The variegated leaf pattern was altered and inserted behind the figure and the ball to add a threatening element as well as to add visual depth. The drawing and color application followed the old style of hand compositing used before computers made their generic impact on illustrating. This piece would have qualified as a color trial for a character study and would be refined by reworking the image with more appropriate techniques, specifically pen and ink to give it a smoother look that would afford greater visual impact.

The colors are meant to suggest an impending nightfall with glow of the afternoon reluctantly ebbing. Comic book evildoers often commit wicked deeds in the dark of night because just as it not only hides their actions it adds to the malevolent aura attached to their position. This clown is displayed with only allusions to evil. It is suggested through his expression, positioning and tools of the trade. It only hints at the badness that may come later and that badness may be very grave. Lon Chaney, familiar with the value of makeup and the advantages of playing the fool to achieve his goals, is credited with saying, “there is nothing funny about a clown in the moonlight.”

Yes, I Will Have Another Piece of Humble Pie Please

2009-03-03T02:35:00.000-08:00

My Studio Problems is presenting some frustrating problems and these are dredging up some horrific elementary school memories I hoped to have suppressed. One issue is the number of class exercises that I cannot organize and pick off with any success, but it seems as if many others in the class are in the same boat of confusion as myself.

"C" level work.
My hearts before I screw them up.

There is a critical element that confounds and proves unavoidable, the crappy construction paper and awful art materials that have to be used to create these treasures. The concepts behind these lessons are vital to create effective and cohesive art lesson plans but using these materials and rediscovering their woeful inadequacies reminds me of my earliest school projects.

I remember hating art projects to the point where I would do them as quickly as possible, or find some alternate way to do the assignment. This would lead to praise from the teachers and getting my ass kicked at recess. I never took art after the sixth grade, drawing only for myself until I stumbled into an art class in college.

Intentions aside, there are alternatives to the materials presented in formative school years. My wife receives supplies from parent groups and uses a portion of her alotted budget for materials that can endure mistakes and efforts to correct them. It is necessary for the motivated instructor to reach out to groups, associations, the district office or whoever has the good stuff.

Meanwhile I return to my sad little efforts. Maybe I can iron them or lay some sizing on before using watercolor. Its more likely that I will use some substitution to regain some control.

Formal Jargon, Three Examples

2009-02-21T02:51:00.000-08:00

Empire of Light, oil on panel.

Frederic Stern Gallery has just received new paintings from local artist, James David Thomas. Mr. Thomas has crafted his views on the southland’s vistas for over two decades. He enjoys discussing modernism and its relevance and applications but the current paintings reveal a postmod approach to the familiar landscape.

Cinematic references are common although the phrases do not reflect their use so much as the effect. High Gain depicts the Hollywood sign in the hazy gloam of the coming Los Angeles evening. The title suggests a brilliant level of detail that simply cannot be found in this slice of LA. The accurate emotional quotient that fills the canvas is captured with intimate accuracy. This is the onset of night in Tinseltown through the eyes of a local. High Gain is not an exercise in visual fidelity, it is an experiential scene, organized by the layers of glazes that simultaneously define and obscure. It has more to do with Impressionism than true modernism if it weren’t for that skilled application of paint.

High Gain #10, oil and gold leaf on canvas.

Perimeter also misleads the viewer that attempts to see the details from the outside looking in. The title is not so much a literal descriptor as it is an emotional stance, a moment of reflection- as in belly button gazing, not an exercise in light and interplay. This painting is a Formalist’s gold mine. The buildup of layers, diffused spatter and subtle wood grain bleeding through can be used to perpetuate the artist as craftsman of physical theatricality as painting but this little jewel is a soulful search for identity. The viewer is placed on the outside and the act of looking puts him in the position of a nonparticipant. This manipulation is done with a wink and a reference to “I know you know that I know…” Self-referential through and through this one is youngling.

Perimeter, oil on panel.

Empire of Light is not an homage to Magritte as it is a celebration of Los Angeles’ built in theatricality. LA is the capital of artifice; surrealism is reality on our cultural island. Individuals reinvent themselves here, royalty has nothing to do with inherited titles, rather it’s the size of the contract or number of copies sold that bestows title. Appearance over substance rules the basin and the aura emanating from all that adoration is displayed on a panel wider than WideScreen. The image within the painting goes beyond naturalism in the way it skews at an angle like an opening shot to a movie. But it is LA just the same. Our LA with its stage-like arrangement complete with opening night kliegs.

There are other images by Thomas at the gallery but I always hone in on the nocturnes and night views as they speak about an alternate existence within our area. The business of entertainment through the production of theatrical myths is an economical reality but the concept of fame and familiarity, real and unreal, stunts or special effects also has a powerful presence here. This artist conveys these concepts in his compositions. Calling them naturalistic or romantic is too superficial; these pieces illustrate a multifaceted image of Los Angeles. They describe the multi-faceted town of make believe we inhabit.

Corita Kent for Class

2009-02-10T17:45:00.000-08:00

Our Studio Problems class was commandeered last night to create hanging banners to accompany the upcoming show at the CSUN gallery, Passion for the Possible: The Work of Sister Corita. Despite my most earnest intentions to be glum I had a good time struggling to realize an image that reflected the spirit and intent of the artist while trying to complete it in two hours. I was fortunate to be teamed with Jahaira Duarte and Ashley Barriga, both of them Graphic Design majors who worked out the type and the general composition.

I am so ever jaded to the experience of painting as an expressive medium for myself but it turned out to be revelatory and reassuring in the way the project illustrated the mechanical underpinnings of Corita Kent’s aphorisms as art imagery. That I was still able to lay paint following the sign painting experience from my early days of art ed provided some sense of comfort.

The banners will be installed on the exterior of the gallery wall in the next couple days. I have a printmaking class at HOLA (http://heartofla.org/ ) this Saturday (10:30 – 12:30), after that I’ll be dashing up to Northridge for the opening and screen printing session.

Youth and Enthusiasm

2009-01-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

One of the forces driving our local art scene today is the energy of the artist youth population. Previous generations in LA followed the way of the lone wolf. As soon as wisdom was gained, the intrepid artist would seek his own path, establish a lair and attempt to find the ultimate answer, or at least a steady paycheck, through artistic production. Sometimes the artist would create a personal ashram and impart his hard won wisdom to followers attempting to set themselves up to seek their own path in the future. This was the American Way of Art. Developed after the examples laid down by Pollock and Newman (among others) and reflecting our nationalistic obsession with individuality, this mindset has served us well although it has done more for inflating the heroic image of an artist than it has for the art market as a concerted business segment. The present brave new art world is a diverse mix of styles, gallerists and consumers. The old maxim of big LA collectors not buying at home has not been disproved so new art purveyors sought out new customers- actors, movie bigwigs, new media mavens and the like. More galleries showing more art in LA than at any other time has created a climate of can do for young artists. The proliferation of underground and guerilla art (graffiti, wheat paste posters, stencils and decals) adds to the cultural atmosphere. Couple all this with the Southland’s long acceptance of new technology and media (such as hotrods and television as real profession) and you end up with all sorts of aspiring dabblers.

A new twist on this new school is the broad-based camaraderie of these people. There is a level of communication among them that far outstrips the gaggle of elbow benders at the old Cedar Bar. MySpace, Facebook, YouTube and similar venues connects them. Images get passed around without a slide projector anywhere in sight. Techniques have slipped from the grasp of the old masters and now are subverted by this irreverent gang. Art has become a communal endeavor.

Handmade book workshop at CS Fine Art:

Andy Stickar instructing.

Sublime at Artcore

2009-01-12T00:50:00.000-08:00

Tae Ho Kang has a show at LA Artcore in Little Tokyo through the end of this month. All the works are paintings on canvas varying in size from small to wallpaper. The paint surface is the great attraction of these pieces and they are very different from Kang’s paintings from years ago. Colors and textures swirl on the surface in granular patterns, inviting close inspection. These are abstractions with occasional linear elements that hint at objects playing on the surface or trying to pass between the textural layers. A few paintings with horizon lines reference a landscape but the surface activity breaks any direct connection to nature other than on a microscopic level. The swirl of color and shapes viewed at a distance break down to ever intricate combinations that reveal themselves fractally as one moves nearer. The push and pull of the colors and their emulsified patterns drive the compositions.

These new paintings also differ from earlier efforts in their attention to non-objectivity. Eggs and orbs occupied previous paintings evoking connotations of mortality and human frailty. Those paintings, although heavily patterned, were very static in their compositions allowing the shapes and objects command the stage. The current paintings appear to be random wanderings through space and color but they actually allow for simultaneity of readings. The small paintings can be taken as a whole instantly but the use of a color serving as a border references a video screen and natural impulse cause the viewer to search the screen for extra movement and more detail. The largest paintings can be read as broadly patterned decorative wall coverings because any gestures are immediately subsumed by the overwhelming scale of the support in respect to the artist’s mark. The effect is similar to a tapestry or royal screen.

Mr. Kang’s paintings show an attention to detail while considering the overall picture as an interpretive statement. The vibrancy of the colors and the grainy structure of the patterns recall video images comprised of pixels. The difference is the viewer can access the magnification of detail within a physical experience. The structure of the pieces plays with issues of dualities. Objects and patterns or objects made of patterns are some of the readings. The occasional definite markings that appear in a few of the paintings bring up concerns of their relationship to the miasma they bisect or intrude upon. It always comes back to the structure of the materials laid on the canvas and this point is what separates Tae Ho Kang’s newest production from earlier studies. These paintings demonstrate more than a mastery of materials; the cohesive nature of the concepts contained within the compositions reveals a clinical inquiry into the ability to combine scaled narratives.

Beer Envy

2009-01-09T20:03:00.000-08:00

There is a billboard over the Brewery Art Colony belonging to a beer maker. It kind of looks like this:

Irony abounds when this topic comes up. Microbreweries are found everywhere these days and one lost opportunity is placing one within the colony and claiming its history as a selling point. The Brewery lacks a decent restaurant and one with homemade suds could be a upbeat compliment to the dour San Antonio cafeteria down the street that tries to pass itself off as a fine eatery. The advertised beer makes some decent styles but they follow the tradition of brew culture in naming their varieties. It would be fun, not to mention culinarily elitist to call their varieties reviews. that way a mild brew could be called a 'good review', a bitter style 'negative', and a specific experimental recipe- "scathing'. The cornball applications go on and on.

The point is, for a city based on plastic image and temporal culture it is exceedingly staid in its domestic offerings. Kitsch is kitsch and class is class with little allowable overlap. I wish LA's denizens could revel in the artificiality without the need to compartmentalize.

Walking for Art on Thursday

2009-01-09T01:13:00.000-08:00

The second Thursday of the month is the time when Angeleno art mavens venture forth in search of the elusive high art. I went to the Downtown Art Walk this evening, braving the huddled cheese mice seeking shelter from the frigid SoCal winter to join in on the search. My reason for art trekking in nearly 50 degree weather was to ease my guilt in not visiting any galleries in almost a month, make that several months for tonight's neighborhood. My plan was to hit every show space guerrilla style up one avenue and down the other. The crush of dawdlers and party people was too bothersome to deal with so after a quickie in Crewest (dull, as too many other shows were) I popped into the sadly entertaining community spaces on Main before trying to enter Pharmaka.

Pharmaka held the promise of a thoughtful installation based upon an interesting observation by the director of a new visual vocabulary that a current generation of artists share. Any hopes of weighing in on that thought were squashed in the throng of gray noggins rooted in the center of the gallery intent on relating the latest news on Lost and their pets. So on to next space...

Bert Green was also infested but fortunately the good artist of the three displaying work was installed toward the front of the space. Doug Cox- handles paint nicely, dense but not heavy, dark but the figures are still demarked with a soft edge. It would have been nice to spend more than a few moments on these pieces.

A couple of odd spaces later I climbed up the stairs to the Spring Arts Collective Gallery. This space usually has a mishmash of artists of varying abilities and tonight proved no different. But... the Daniel Mercadante video wing was nicely arranged and fit the odd shaped vault room well. I usually avoid darkened rooms with video installations like Watchtower peddlers but this time it didn't hurt to take a peek. So far tonight this was the most authentic proposition of the night- almost worth a second visit during daylight hours. The rest of the show was uneven and the computer squeezins' being pawned off as original print unfortunately kill the good feelings.

Morono Kiang Gallery was my cultural redemption of the evening. The ink paintings of Xie Xiaoze (no, I cannot pronounce that for you) were witty comments on historical and cultural memories. Craftsmanship- 3 stars, content- 3 stars, political commentary- 3 stars, need I go on? Plus, the animated dedication of Karon Morono satisfied the cultural craving that propelled me on this evening's sojourn.

No Image Nation in LA

2008-12-30T16:46:00.000-08:00

There is no art in our fair land of Los Angeles at the close of the year. Openings are neatly spaced around the holidays and the LA Times adds to our cultural desertion with hardly a line about visual arts. This is movie weather with the award season just around the corner so articles and features about movies and television offerings dominate.

But there is a resistance movement. The meetings take place in studios and homes in groups of two or three or four couples. Subversion abounds in activities, conversation and food. Gift giving takes a stab at convention with handmade items and even books (!). Food is irreverently prepared in respect to traditional holiday offerings. A turkey or ham just won't do for these malcontents.

Art is a lonely career. Remember the disappointment and confusion on your parent’s faces when you told them of your decision? Artists in need of companionship seek out other artists and the holidays are a bad time to be alone. I say fie to holiday mediocracies and mild expectations! Revel in your differentness with comrades-in-paintbrushes! What is needed in our media capitol of a city is our own public recognition and display!

Until then I hope all of us can enjoy our seasons meetings.

LA Dystopialand

2008-12-18T22:57:00.000-08:00

Food, shelter, transportation. Necessities for life in Los Angeles. The problem is Ralph's, Vons, Safeway, even Jons does their darndest to suck the life out of the shopping experience as they maximize profits. The search for good produce rivals an old time safari for thrills and danger. That may be extreme, but the search for good veggies at a good price has led me to explore some interesting places.

Tops on my list is the Korean supermarket. You can find them all over LA these days but I like making the trek to Koreatown to enjoy the whole out of LA experience. The immersion is total once you enter one of these emporiums. Built to provide an immigrant community products and services from home they also provide a glimpse into crucial wants of the customers. Most of the products sold are available here in one form or another. Even Kimchees and noodle products are made here. It's the reassurance of home that these stores provide that is more significant.

Maybe the collar butts in Korea are more shouldery than what can be found here. The type of cut and its preparation is the important point. Food prepared like mom's mom used to make. Qualities from the old country that are worth celebrating- a validation for people far from where they grew up.

The fact that cucumbers need to be pickled before wearing that name is of little concern in the face of simply having cukes from home. The food grown and processed here does not taste like home. It gets close, but not exact. I've been to Korea and tried the cuisine- excellent, I must say. I have Korean food here nearly every other day, not just my wife's (an excellent cook) but from all possible sources. Also good, but just not the same. I went to Argentina in July and the food there (again excellent) was not the same as the food I grew up with. The point is that these markets- every ethnic community has their own- provide a connection, a reassurance that what they experienced during their impressionable times is still somewhere they can access. For some, a memory is enough. For others, it itches at them until they feel they have to do something, either visit the homeland and embrace it or separate themselves and negate the experience.

Mini water melon is the literal translation for the Korean spelling. These are not miniature melons made of water, but the Japanese translation is correct. Culture determines not just what we consume, but how we consume it. The significance of one fruit over another has layered meanings for some, for others, its just something to eat.

Jumbled spellings aside, The exotic grocery shopping experience can enlighten or just as easily benumb the participant. The strange foods with equally strange packaging, the frustratingly small portions, odd terminology- they all reveal an inherent need for connections.

Pot Plethora

2008-12-06T00:34:00.000-08:00

This evening was the reception for Peter Shire's yearly holiday event at his studio. Good food, good company, and music in a space chock full of things, doodads and whatsits. Guests from all parts of the city joined local neighbors. Artists, art professionals and up and coming young artists mingled elbows and sampled Dutch vodka with the master of ceremonies in his crafty workshop.Peter presiding over his potpourri of portly petite pots:

I was happy to see Adam, Christina and Thu show up. A talented trio in their own right, I hope they comment on the experience.

This event continues tomorrow and Sunday. Their will be live music, a sober Santa and the opportunity to take holiday photos of your pet.

Clacton and Frinton are down from Santa Barbara with vintage fashions and retro Ts. Way chic.

And there's the ceramics to look over. These are Peter's EXP pieces (Echo Park Pottery), entertaining, unique, amusingly piquant with a refreshing aftertaste. These are incredible bargains for original work and they make (insert typical holiday sales quote) the the whole family will enjoy. Great gifts for art afficionados with developed taste.

I'll be there tomorrow, I'm not sure about Sunday.

Season's Meetings

2008-12-01T20:23:00.000-08:00

It's always a treat to visit the artist in his natural environs. The opportunity to observe the creative process unhindered, interacting with crude tools and raw materials... This weekend will be a perfect opportunity to view the the artist's reaction when the lair is unmercilessly overrun by marauding holiday revelers.

In this case, Frank Romero will open his studio to any and all interested in viewing art, purchasing art, eating art... Saturday (the 6th) will be from 7:00 - Midnight, Sunday (the 7th) from Noon til 6:00 p.m. Frank, his wife Sharon, daughter Sonia will show off their wares and those of friends and aquaintences will also be available. Paintings, drawings, prints, jewelry will be present- most priced to sell just in time for the holidays. The true treasure to be found at this event is the atmosphere. The artists are in attendance in a casual setting, there is no hard-sell, just fun stuff in a fun space with great food and even better conversation.

RR08-2008

2008-11-24T01:35:00.001-08:00

Tonight, a memorial was held in Little Tokyo for Robert Rauschenberg. Attendees ranged from curators, writers, fellow artists, collectors and a great many connected to Bob through Gemini GEL.
This picture is of a Robert Rauschenberg that I learned about in school. This is not the artist I knew.

The photo below is the Bob I knew working on a litho series where he painted diazo onto plates. I proofed and editioned some of the prints on this project. We (the printers in the shop) knew that Bob was coming by whenever the Jack Daniels and fresh ice showed up in the kitchen area. When a project was going to start, a TV set would be installed in the artist studio. One time, I was sent down to Sears to buy a ping-pong table for him to use. My friend Stan was later stuck with it in his part of the shop where he continually had to move it out of his way.

I did a whole lot of the edition screen printing for the Samarkand Stitches set (below). Screen printing wasn't my specialty, so I sort of half-assed it in order to match all the crazy unique patterns within the photo images that we did during the proofing session. When I thought it was all done, I stripped the image and then came a decision to increase the edition when more of the silk fabric became available (it was hand woven in the communist Russian state of Samarkand). I had moved onto some litho project so Stan was given the chore of matching what I did in order to recreate the proofs. He didn't say much when I showed him the odd stencils and masks I had used, but I know he didn't have much fun finishing it.

The memorial had the familiar (to me) presenters, Darryl Pottorf, Sidney Felsen, Joni Weyl, Stan Grinstein and his daughters. There were others new to me-Bernice Rose, Paul Schimmel. I never interacted with them during my time at Gemini. Ed Ruscha imitated Bob's wheezing cackle of a laugh that we would hear cutting through the shop noise. Adele Lutz gave a stream of thought collection of words peppered with her personal musings. She defined the interpretations and uses of the word "cool" in a way I've never considered before. It was nice to hear Irving Blum, he is a cornerstone of the LA gallery scene and has the backroom stories to prove it. Kat Eppie participated in many of Bob's performance pieces as well as his events. She played a song dedicated to Bob on the flute that, while short, effectively illustrated the creative process according to Bob.Dickie Landry blew some free-association riffs on the sax as early (50s) performance pieces were projected.

It was good to see printers I worked with- Jim, Carmen Schilaci, Stan Baden, Tony Zepeda and some that preceded me that I've been fortunate to get to know- Dan Freeman, George Page, Tim Isham, Barbara Thomason.

Doug Chrismas, Peter Gould, Frank Gehry...I haven't seen them in too long. I felt bad to have to reunite with everyone for a memorial, but at the same time, it was comforting to be together with all of them. Everyone had a Bob story, few of them repeatable in public. I learned just how many people in our corner of the country were not only friends of Bob but felt a part of the Rauschenberg family. He treated everyone the same, made no distinctions for anything, whatsoever. He had a gravitational quality when it came to personalities he liked, was always open to new ideas and was never shy with an opinion. I feel privileged to have been able to work with Bob. He listened to my suggestions and even changed the name of a litho because of one. He was a regular guy, heart o' gold, raconteur, he even played the role of sage on occasion. When he saw us struggling to move the large brass sheets used for the Borealis Shares in an effort to avoid fingerprints, Bob told us to grip the material firmly- any prints, or markings were "free drawing"...sort of a bonus, the way he saw it. That pretty much exemplifies him as to the way we the printers knew him, a seasoned professional with the ability to see the utility of things we ignore and the willingness to accept things he could not completely control.

...Jake, it's Chinatown

2008-11-23T11:26:00.001-08:00

I received this invite last week:

It turned out to be a guerilla exhibit in the middle of the sidewalk. I couldn't take any pictures so imagine a structure made of cardboard such as these:

...only a bit taller, much neater, and filled with art!

The box was a portable gallery. I don't have any images so try to visualize one of these sample images surrounded by wine sipping, cracker nibbling viewers drawing participants from the torturous film features from nearby "official" galleries. The culprits were an Art Center trio- Connie Wong, Saejean Oh, and Wendy Cogan-Toyoda. This spectacle succeeded in several ways. The subversive action of squatting on some prime gallery real estate has a long history and this event is notable for its timing and use of materials. Evenings other than opening nights on this side of tourist Chinatown are bleak, providing an opportunity to set up camp without having to fight for space with noshing opening lemmings. The quality of the work rivalled any of the upcoming artist galleries offer- precisely crafted, loaded images, honest and personal content.

This was an experience and a good one at that.

This display works as a dark echo of our gloomy economic situation. The conversations at openings these days are often filled with negative views on the future of art as a viable economic element but this cardboard venue is a positive response in that it truly celebrates the art for the entertainment and diversion that it evokes. It portends a possible way of exhibiting in case the recession collapse into a depression. There are the echos of NY happenings, Fluxus street events and Soho performance in this modest production.

I normally avoid installations and outdoor events. I probably would have thought against going Saturday night if it were not that I am a sucker for the art. The entire experience was a pleasant surprise- very honest and refreshing without seeming cute or quaint. Another event is in the works for another artburb in LA. I'll be there...and armed with cameras this time.

Broad Gesture

2008-11-21T23:42:00.000-08:00

Eli the Broad has come forward and offered to put in 30 million in dollars to save MOCA (http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/editorials/la-oe-broad-2008nov22,0,2108831.story). The catch is that this is a matching fund offer, good only if some other philanthropic patron(s) steps up to the plate with the same amount. Fair enough, I feel, since the level of museumness that MOCA aspires to achieve requires deep pockets. Some feel that art museums should be above such tawdry affairs (http://coagula.livejournal.com/)- a noble dream but not realistic. The history of museums is filled with tales of donors and patrons contributing funds, objects or other means of support for certain compensations. Check the names on founders lists of the major players back east and you'll see industrialists, financial moguls, aging debutantes... Look into past shows from any major museum and there will be the odd clinker show or WTF exhibit.

Museums are not the altruistic institutions they play on TV. They have sordid pasts, filled with tawdry affairs, illicit dealings conducted in back rooms and dubious business associates.

Donors used to be able to write off significant funds with choice donations until tax reform put the pinch on that. Museums have been used to launder money and broker stolen goods. Counterfeits and questionable artworks have been legitimized through the these institutions. Art is a dirty word. Modern art is tainted with bravado and hubris. To think that our local example would be free from that is ludicrous. There is little difference between corporate sponsorship for an exhibition and privileged patrons pushing a show based on their collection or brother-in-law's sister's Sunday paintings.

Mr. Broad's offer is an unique opportunity for LA's part time players to move up into a position that would establish a stable and consistent art patronage. The money is here, even in this gloomy economic atmosphere. Many local collectors get their art in NYC. Its time to steer them homeward. Broad's editorial challenge brings up a critical point about the development of a central cultural nexus in downtown LA. The projects presently lined up will suffer setbacks that could mire the efforts to build a real city core.

MOCA Chokes in Lala

2008-11-19T23:12:00.000-08:00

The LA Times is baring some disappointing news for those of us hoping to see our fair metropolis become a serious player in the art world. It seems that MOCA has been lagging in their fundraising and as a consequence have had to dip into some accounts reserved for specific purposes other than rent and payroll (http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-et-moca19-2008nov19,0,2100731.story).

The museum that arrived in our city of dreams with such promise is now in the market for a sugar daddy just like so many other aging starlets. Too many sad stereotypes about our community that relate to art pop up in our rumouring- not enough collectors or patrons in our town that care to support local endeavors, insurmountable disconnects with cultural venues and minority populations, an inpenetrable atmosphere of apathy towards the fine arts, etc...

The Times article mentions that MOCA is looking for more funding but today's economy quickly rules out the government so until some patron alights from the smoggy firmament expect some pleas directed at the membership. Even though the big M is my favorite big art box in town, I know my measly membership level won't do more than buy them a few more plastic swizzle sticks for their next gala opening.

Maybe some corporate partnership might be in the works. How about MOCA/Disney or Disney's Artlandia?

Studio Time

2008-11-17T15:06:00.000-08:00

Last week I visited Dan McCleary at his studio in Macarthur Park.

This guy is on a roll. He's working on a new series of paintings so there was a lot of stuff thrown about his space. I actually dropped in on a day when he came in after working somewhere else for a couple weeks.

He spends a good part of the week at H.O.L.A. ( http://heartofla.org/) down the street. Dan runs art classes there and the results are quite amazing.

Cultural Leeches

2008-11-15T18:01:00.000-08:00

I received announcements for Machine Project's event at LACMA this week. I scanned the info and after much soul searching (about 2 minutes worth) I decided I didn't like the smell of this self-serving waste of time. Machine Project (http://machineproject.com/) has created an interactive field trip that will do little more than clog up the LA County Museum and waste perfectly good public funds.MP is a non-profit agency which means ,as a gallery, they couldn't make a go of it. Their popularity and categorical success is blunted by the dilapidation that serves as their physical headquarters. Located in a local art hotspot- Echo Park- they've forsaken the locals in their eagerness to branch out. The events are products of creative grant writing binges and the funded projects never really gel until the lights are turned off and the receipts added up, too late to benefit the art-hungry poor and carless critical masses.

The info for this creative roadbump is: http://machineproject.com/engine/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/machinefieldguidetolacma.pdf. Too much drivel, even for my taste- and they admit to not fully imagining the real application of this kindergarten fingerpainting on papier mache covered with glitter and macaroni fun-fest.

Go. Have fun. We'll discuss this later, after you've thought about what you've done.

LA Old School

2008-11-14T00:27:00.000-08:00

My friend Peter said we should go see a friend who was having an opening at Lawrence Asher Gallery. Richard Amend is a Cal Arts alum from way back and although the school was already entrenched in its well known conceptual doctrines he turned to painting. And while I missed his early geometric abstractions way back when, I found a reassuring quality of form and paint pushing in his current set of canvases. This show features two themes as subject matter, objects and architectual elements. Chandeliers as heroic portraits layered with creamy glazes show a fascination with things that, quite literally, are over our heads in terms of physical positioning and conceptual imaging. We, the viewer, are placed at eye level with these glowing characters but fine detail is occluded by the strength of their personality- or maybe the dimmer didn't work. The fuzz that is created by the inherent function of providing light forces one to fill in the gaps as to the whys and what fors of these objects.

The movie marquees are not the usual homage to fading architectual treasures. These historic icons are used as signposts in a cinematic snippet suggesting some type of action or event just out of sight. I know it sounds treacly,but these images held my gaze loner than usual- I just knew inside there was something more. More story or image, something was beyond what Richard was showing us.

New Production

2008-11-12T15:45:00.000-08:00

Echo Park

2008-11-12T01:43:00.000-08:00

This is the studio of Peter Shire, ceramicist and sculptor. Born and bred in Echo Park, he established his studio in his neighborhood but he has worked in places as far as Japan and Italy.

Right now he is gearing up for the holiday sales at his studio featuring not only his work but that of other craftspeople.

Its an opportunity to see his pieces in their natural setting, untainted by the outside world. You can also poke around the studio, listen to music, hang out with Echo Park Santa or get an aromatherapy back rub.

Angels up high.

Oodles of objects.

An unabashed collector and unafraid to show it.

Sideways cycles.

Peter, holding court. He pulls a mean espresso and is ready to hash out arty opinions with any who drop by.

This studio represents a world class effort in terms of production and content. Peter has tackled public art, prints and even furniture. He is a card-carrying Memphis associate and the concepts and images worked out in that confluence of minds have and continue to inform the design and production of furniture. He is the unofficial senator of Echo Park, participating in fundraisers and has been known to drive his custom pickup in local parades.

A Parallel World

2008-11-10T16:47:00.000-08:00

There was supposed to be some clever content accompanying these images but as I sat in front of the keyboard, nothing.

The pictures show that I like to organize. Straighten up a few things in the studio...then a few things more...eventually the whole space is more or less in order- more or less. Lump similar objects according to style or function or shape or color-continue this exercise and everything is tidy. This is all just a lie, a desperate attempt to control the process of artistic entropy. A studio is a place of creation, origination, production. Messes are part of the deal. I hate mess. Printmaking compounds this dilemma. Ink is rolled on a slab, transferred to a plate, printed onto a sheet of paper. Its a lose lose lose situation.

I have to clean my rollers now.

SubMinimal Examination

2008-11-08T01:56:00.000-08:00

Way back when I first took Intaglio at CSULB, the old fart teaching the course explained his background and specifically his relationship to the methodology developed by Stanley William Hayter. As a beginner, I was suitably impressed. The instructor's work was interesting with a focus on deep-bite etching and several colors all printed one time through the press. I bought Hayter's book, New Ways of Gravure, a few years later and was disappointed to see that a good portion of the book was devoted to his philosophy on printmaking and its implementation. I quickly flipped the pages to the techniques and pictures. I did read the serious part of the book and Hayter's approach began to make sense the more printing I did for myself but more importantly, as I printed for other artists.

It is difficult to make an art career based only on prints, especially with the current national focus on craft-like techniques and an obsession with non-toxic materials rather than actually taking the time to learn how to skillfully employ the medium and perhaps respect its tradition. Learning Hayter's philosophy would be noble just as it would be enlightening to sample the opinions of the printmakers deemed to be prominent today, but the true path to graphic enlightenment would be for instructors and schools to impart a thorough and cohesive printmaking education. A few techniques learned well can serve as a stepping stone to effective artistic expression. Conversely, a program based on including as many techniques as possible results in too many students coming out of the academic institutions no better than "dabblers" or hobbyists.

Its late, I'm crabby and this causes me to lash out at artists that like to make flower prints and kitty etchings.

Oh, The Mortality.

2008-11-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like driving past a corpse on the freeway at rush hour to prime an appetite. Some poor soul got hit in the center divider on the 210 in Lakeview Terrace on the westbound side and ended up on the eastbound side. The Santa Anas were blowing so the white cloth wasn't staying on. I never expected to see the guy with such a serene expression and he wasn't as pale as I thought he would have been considering the back of his head was as flat as a raw egg cracked onto a counter. It was well past gloaming time so the stream of blood looked like oil trying to make its way into the fast lane. CSI is graphic and fairly realistic but its not the same.
I was about twelve when I last saw a traffic fatality and my reaction to both scenes was about the same- indifference. I grew up in SoCal and started driving motorized things at ten, cars at twelve. I've seen some incredibly stupid things happen on the road and faced my own mortality behind the wheel a handful of times. I'm so jaded when it comes to driving I feel like the Sam Spade of the highway. It's only when something like this occurs that I am reminded of smug driving habits.

bemusings

2008-11-05T12:48:00.000-08:00

The Brewery Art walk was this last weekend and I missed it. I go as often as I can in an effort to reinforce my snarkiness towards emerging artists. This event is the highest level of mediocrity in terms of contemporary art in Los Angeles. Making a living from selling your own art is one of the most difficult ways to earn a living. Coomodification of individual expression in the face of dwindling disposable income notwithstanding, how do you convince a significant portion of your art-viewing audience that your production is worthy of purchase and deserving of repeat business?

A menagerie des artistes is the Brewery's answer. Sign up a gaggle of wishful dabblers, add food and music to create a modern version the European tradition of Sunday family through the local bedlam. The inmates provide as much entertainment as the artwork on display. The open studios also offer a glimpse into the secretive studio universe. Storage solutions, small living quarters arranged to maximize work areas- these are looked at, vying for the attention of the artistic oevre that is intended to be the focus.

The event at the Brewery is a side show. The artists participating reveal their need for attention and exposure like beginning poker players. Established artists with real resumes are rare items- mostly due to the tendency of mid-carrer artists moving to more personal studios as soon as their paychecks start coming in more regularly. These artists are occasionally spied during exclusive studio tours such as the Venice Art Walk or museum patron events. It's not that the quality of the art at the Brewery is poor or unappetizing, the sheer desperation surrounding the event is so palpable it creates an aura of failure...or impotence. Yet I still go, looking for nuggets of creative brilliance and flashes of unconventional ingenuity. For me its a huge flea market without the dust where I can poke around, meet up with aquaintances I should see more often and then slip on down to Phillipe's for a lamb dip with blue cheese and a pickled egg.

NeoLuddites Unite!

2008-11-05T11:26:00.000-08:00

A rather inauspicious start for this blog. Just after setting up this project, my computer had a complete nervous breakdown. This was a sight to see, though. Screens popping up, continually crowding each other- it was like Wargames WOPR when it it ran through an infinite number of possible nuclear attacks.
This is the second time I fried my computer this quarter. As a result, my tech guy (Danny, my son) wiped everything and reloaded programs. My wife then unloaded some of the programs that were unfamiliar to her and replaced them with what she uses. Now my computer doesn't have PhotoShop and operates in Korean. My language skills are not that comprehensive so it costs me to find things in order to read messages and post blurbs.
Now, the real reason this occurs to me is because I have an embarassing condition. I must have over twenty wrist watches and not a one of them works. This is a result of an affliction that causes electronic and electrical devices to behave bizarrely. I have had to overcome this curse and it places me in a unique position today. As an art afficionado and partime practitioner, I have learned how to do almost everything by hand. I can't fix my cars today but I can start any Ford made before 1972 with a screwdriver and tune a smallblock V8 with the same screwdriver and a matchbook cover. In my profession I make prints off of rocks and plates of copper. Creating doesn't get any more elemental than that. I thrive on human interaction, not technological innovation. The senses are interconnected and interrelated. Typing with two fingers only stimulates my pre-arthritic joints.
There is no convenient solution for my condition so I will get back to the press and pull a few more proofs before returning to this blog with my scheduled rants on this blog

Ribbon Cutting Ceremony

2008-11-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

As William Mulholland said at the opening of the Los Angeles Aqueduct, "There it is, take it."