Heroes: Volume 1
Friday, December 30, 2005...10:50 PM....1100 block of Maple Street...Evanston Illinois
SHARKFORUM: OPINION WITH TEETH
art, music, politics, humor, lit, opinion, David Amram, Andrea Bauer, James Beckman, Mark Staff Brandl, Kim Christoff, Marilyn Cvitanic, Richard Dobson, Joel Dorn, John Haber, Paul K, Wesley Kimler, John Kruth, Jim Lasko, Norbert Marszalek, Simone Muench, Ray Pride, Rick Rizzo, David Roth, The Shark, Ursula Sokolowska, Nicholas Tremulis, Lynne Warren, Todd V. Wolfson
December 31, 2005
Brandl and Bullock in Europe
Brandl and Leonard Bullock argue about contemporary painting, as seen in a brace of shows in Basel, Switzerland and nearby locales in Europe.
Leonard Bullock is a wonderful, "painterly" painter --- even a painters' painter, if I dare say so. He is originally from the southern US, lived for a long time in New York City and for the last 10 years in Europe --- primarily Germany and Switzerland. Leonard has a complex background and is highly erudite. He and I frequently have discussions about art, contemporary and historical, most frequently painting. In addition to my "own" running blog column here, I intend to sporadically enter bits of discussions he and are having. And I'm going to do it in dialogue form, since that is how they occur. The posted form reflects the verbal form reflects our conjectural form.
This time we are discussing a whole series of exhibitions which occurred in the recent past in Basel, Switzerland, ones which purported to be about Painting Today.
MARK STAFF BRANDL: At the moment in central Europe, much to our pleasure, painting seems to be making strides back to the center of the “discourse,” to borrow a favored metaphor from the neo-Conceptualists. This is not without rather serious resistance by the reigning aficionados of spectacle art, painting’s major competitor. However the signs are on the wall literally and figuratively, and we both applaud.
Basel was a focus of this activity not long ago. This city in a top west corner of Switzerland is within spitting distance of both France and Germany. This makes it rather international, along with such things as the Basel Art Fair, titled fatuously in German “Art,” arguably the world’s most important such convergence. A couple of years ago, while that venerable fair took place, the city was excited as well by being turned completely over to a vast panorama of shows entitled en bloc Painting on the Move. It even had its own web site, unfortunately allowed to lapse into nonexistence as is the fate of many such sites, and a massive tome of a catalogue for the three museum shows bearing the collective title. This 264 page book consists mostly of color photos of work and includes fine catalogue essays and transcribed conversations by many fine authors, including Bernard Mendes Bürgi, Thierrs de Duve, Douglas Crimp, Peter Pakesch, in English and German.
The venues involved included the Kunstmuseum (Art Museum), the Museum für Gegenwartskunst (Museum of Contemporary Art) and the Kunsthalle. Additionally, moreover, all major commercial galleries also mounted shows concerning aspects of painting as related to their programs. These included such highlights as “AbstracT” (correct title – not a typo) at Evelyne Canus which included Bernard Frieze and David Reed, Mathis Vass at Fabian and Claude Walter Gallery, Herbert Brandl (no relation) at Tony Wuethrich, and many others. This all was further highlighted by a collection of the best of painters living in Basel at a group show in Kulturhaus Markgräflerhof. Each venue supported the main title Painting on the Move, but also had its own subtitle. Leonard and I --- and other painters and painting-haters ("pintophobes" in Brandl's terminology) --- are still talking about it.
LEONARD BULLOCK: The most fully coherent show of this group was the exhibition at the Kunstmuseum — except for its hopeless final room, containing a nepotistic hodge-podge of work. Let’s call it the pay off room.
MSB: As would be expected from it’s subtitle, A Century of Contemporary Painting (1900-2000), the Kunstmuseum displayed a marvelous collection of Greatest Hits of the 20th Century. While it was difficult to ascertain the whys and wherefores of the placement, the shear quality and fame of most works held all together beautifully. The age when painting was king, and certainly acted too exclusive, built the fear that so many Europeans have had of it until recently in Postmodern times, resulting in the now exaggerated backlash of painting hatred. My favorites in this show included Francis Picabia’s Le Baiser of 1924-1927, Brice Marden’s Untitled No. 1 of 1986 and such surprises as Alexander Rodchenko’s stark, textured, black and white Line of 1920/21. It also included a handful of disappointments such as a tepid, even if highly hyped, polka-dot work by Damien Hirst, Plutonium of 1997.
To Be Continued .............
Best in the New Year
I wanted to say, in this last day of the old year, welcome and thank you to all who have explored Sharkforum. I also wanted to acknowledge the many comments I have received, in person, from various friends and acquaintances, and through the blog, Many have raised interesting issues in response to my words; many have chosen to express their own experiences that struck them as similar to what I observed and reported on.
In regards to many of the comments, I must say in my opening post, I am simply making a plea for openmindedness. Let’s be careful of turning language crafted with some thoughtfulness into buzz phrases. I am not mindlessly promoting Rush Limbaugh,; the careful reader will note (as many did!) I went through a long evolution in my listening experience as regards this particular talk show host (who, by the way, does not perform the same function as a journalist and has absolutely no need to be “fair” and show “both sides”) and that I ended up feeling it was important to me to hear the voices of his listeners in order that I stay more in touch with a wider reality here in America. I have and will continue to listen to and access a wide variety of resources.
To the person who asked if I ever listened to Air America. Yes I did, when it was first on the air in Chicago. Then it was booted off whatever station it was on and that made me lose interest. (What I do listen to sports talk; all-news stations, other AM talk radio besides WLS (WGN and so on), NPR, WXRT, and WFMT (the classical station), and as I mentioned in my article, Catholic Radio. I even listen from time to time to the Polish language stations at the top of the dial in Chicago.) It was that in my own life, I need to hear a wide variety of voices, viewpoints, types of information, and a range of music. I find it helps me be a better curator and hopefully a more involved citizen. I was suggesting that it might be helpful if others opened themselves to a wider range of information, especially if they are involved in cultural matters where their stock-in-trade is being aware of what’s going on in society. Simply put, if people have tuned into White Sox games and find they just cannot stand listening to the South Siders win the World Series, well, I respect that. And I have no problem with people who just aren’t interested in baseball. What I am impatient with is those who “refuse” to listen to baseball because football is obviously better, who think they know what is going down in the world of baseball when in fact they have no first-hand information or experience, or degrade others because they are, say, White Sox fans when somehow the “correct” thing to be is, say, a Cubs fan.
I also want to respond to those who have talked about art schooling. I have a degree from SAIC (BFA 1976), and have taught (although not as a faculty member) at several other area schools. I have long been interested in education issues and in “the art of art schools,” which incidentally was the subject of my very first exhibition that I organized at MCA. Yet I am not interested in merely pointing out deficiencies, as much as I might enjoy well-told anecdotes that encapsulate them. I would hope that various factors be weighed, and we collectively work to understand why it is things are the way they are and even more important, do we want to change these things, and if so, how might we collectively go about it rather than providing one another with laundry lists of our discontentments. And that we always politely agree to disagree if indeed we do after honestly and openly hearing out the ‘opposing view.’
Or, if you’re just not interested in any of this philosophizing (or if you prefer, pontificating), Ray Pride has posted some very beautiful pictures, and Simone Muench’s words-of-the-day are marvelous, and there are ruminations on movies, music, art exhibitions, and many, many other splendid things here at Sharkforum Happy New Year, More later, Lynne.
In regards to many of the comments, I must say in my opening post, I am simply making a plea for openmindedness. Let’s be careful of turning language crafted with some thoughtfulness into buzz phrases. I am not mindlessly promoting Rush Limbaugh,; the careful reader will note (as many did!) I went through a long evolution in my listening experience as regards this particular talk show host (who, by the way, does not perform the same function as a journalist and has absolutely no need to be “fair” and show “both sides”) and that I ended up feeling it was important to me to hear the voices of his listeners in order that I stay more in touch with a wider reality here in America. I have and will continue to listen to and access a wide variety of resources.
To the person who asked if I ever listened to Air America. Yes I did, when it was first on the air in Chicago. Then it was booted off whatever station it was on and that made me lose interest. (What I do listen to sports talk; all-news stations, other AM talk radio besides WLS (WGN and so on), NPR, WXRT, and WFMT (the classical station), and as I mentioned in my article, Catholic Radio. I even listen from time to time to the Polish language stations at the top of the dial in Chicago.) It was that in my own life, I need to hear a wide variety of voices, viewpoints, types of information, and a range of music. I find it helps me be a better curator and hopefully a more involved citizen. I was suggesting that it might be helpful if others opened themselves to a wider range of information, especially if they are involved in cultural matters where their stock-in-trade is being aware of what’s going on in society. Simply put, if people have tuned into White Sox games and find they just cannot stand listening to the South Siders win the World Series, well, I respect that. And I have no problem with people who just aren’t interested in baseball. What I am impatient with is those who “refuse” to listen to baseball because football is obviously better, who think they know what is going down in the world of baseball when in fact they have no first-hand information or experience, or degrade others because they are, say, White Sox fans when somehow the “correct” thing to be is, say, a Cubs fan.
I also want to respond to those who have talked about art schooling. I have a degree from SAIC (BFA 1976), and have taught (although not as a faculty member) at several other area schools. I have long been interested in education issues and in “the art of art schools,” which incidentally was the subject of my very first exhibition that I organized at MCA. Yet I am not interested in merely pointing out deficiencies, as much as I might enjoy well-told anecdotes that encapsulate them. I would hope that various factors be weighed, and we collectively work to understand why it is things are the way they are and even more important, do we want to change these things, and if so, how might we collectively go about it rather than providing one another with laundry lists of our discontentments. And that we always politely agree to disagree if indeed we do after honestly and openly hearing out the ‘opposing view.’
Or, if you’re just not interested in any of this philosophizing (or if you prefer, pontificating), Ray Pride has posted some very beautiful pictures, and Simone Muench’s words-of-the-day are marvelous, and there are ruminations on movies, music, art exhibitions, and many, many other splendid things here at Sharkforum Happy New Year, More later, Lynne.
December 30, 2005
Greensleeves and the Power of Song
Songs are powerful medicine. They can punch you square in the heart. Put a whole different spin on your day. Good songs have a way of sneaking up on you, whether through an infectious groove that makes you dance spontaneously, or they can ambush you with insidious introspective lyrics and haunting melodies. You could be out, doing a little shopping when you walk into a store and suddenly get an ear full of Billie Holiday singing “In My Solitude” and instantly find yourself transported to the dark end of “Downer Avenue.”
Watch Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca sometime as he belts back bourbon and tells Sam the piano man that if Ingrid Bergman can stand to hear their old song again then so can he. But after a couple bars of “As Time Goes By” you’ve got to wonder, as Bogie winces, if he’s really as tough as he seems. Or maybe it was just smoke getting in his eyes.
For some folks it’s “All of Me,” or “Bye Bye Blackbird,” or Judy Garland doing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” that kicks them, as Lord Buckley used to say, in their “most delicate gear.” When Little Jackie Paper “comes no more,” it bummed out a million Peter, Paul and Mary fans and put “Puff the Magic Dragon” six feet under. Bob Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue,” was enough to make broken-hearted lovers everywhere go reaching for the razorblades. Scoff if you like but James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” will forever keep alive memories of that old high school chum who, whether due to a fateful car accident or a careless handful of Quaaludes, never made it to graduation day.
Corny as it seems, “Greensleeves” is the number that always worked my heart over harder than a lead pipe. More than my eyes or stomach, or even my penis it seems that my ears have always been the express lane to my soul. Whenever I hear “Greensleeves” I immediately begin to drown in an abyss of sorrow. Images of the past begin to flicker on the inside of my eyelids as the home movie of my life suddenly comes into focus: I was ten years old when the coolest kid on the block was riding his bike after dark and killed by a drunk driver. Everybody was devastated. How could a boy of such promise be struck down before his fourteenth birthday? It was at that time that I concluded life made little or no sense at all. Alexander was clearly the kid who had it all - a great athlete with a charismatic smile and a lucky streak a mile long, that was, until fate cruelly cut his short life even shorter.
The next day our school held a special assembly in his honor. The boys of the Newark Academy Glee Club stood tall in their crested black blazers, tears welling up in their eyes, trying not to crumble while their hair, slick with Brylcreme, stood fast in the October wind. As they gently cooed “Greensleeves,” the custodian dug the hole and planted a young oak in honor of our fallen classmate.
Alexander’s death left a gaping hole in my soul about the size of an airplane hangar and just as cold and drafty. No matter when or where I hear “Greensleeves” again I will forever be that ten-year-old kid at prep school, singing with tears of grief running down my cheeks.
From that point on everything in my life changed, even my relationship with my mom. I’d always thought of my mother as a kind and loving human being incapable of hating anything. “Never say you hate anyone except Hitler,” she would scold. But even more than Der Fuhrer, my mom hated death. She found nothing poetic about the sweet perfume of rotting autumn leaves and every year on Halloween she’d lock herself inside the house with the lights low while angry trick or treaters pummeled her car with eggs and trimmed the trees with toilet paper.
You weren’t even allowed to cheer when a bad guy, who deserved to die, was brutally killed on TV. She’d shoot you down with a stern glare before a resounding “Cool!” could even pass your lips. To mom there was nothing cool about death. She simply wouldn’t allow the subject mentioned in her house.
A few years ago when her only sister Hortense lay on her deathbed, dying of brain cancer, zonked out on morphine, hiding her chemo-bald head under a sparkly bright blue turban, she wouldn’t set foot in her house. From that point on, mom figured Hortense was on her own.
Two weeks later when I stopped by to escort my mother to the funeral, I found the front door locked. I stood outside of the house like an out of season Halloween spook pleading with her to let me in.
“Mom, don’t be ridiculous,” I shouted up to her. “You’ve got to go to Aunt Hortie’s funeral for God’s sake! She was your only sister!”
A minute later her silhouette appeared in the window. “I’m not going to any goddamn cemetery. I’ll be there soon enough!” she grumbled. (And of course she was right…)
As everyone gathered round the gravestones, I offered my mother’s condolences, and tried to explain her conspicuous absence as well as her personal vendetta against death. A long line of relatives stepped up to the open grave to shovel dirt on Aunt Hortie’s coffin, as my cousin Ellen opened her flute case, assembled the instrument and began to play “Greensleeves,” of course, at Aunt Hortense’s request.
For a brighter Chicago in 2006
The Plot Thinnens
Junebug
Directed by Phil Morrison
Sony Pictures Classics
A sensitive tale of family and art fails to live up to it's promise.
Sony Pictures released this on their "Classics" label and I can't tell if that is a high accolade or just a way of consigning to the graveyard this film which has its merits but very little commercial potential. The damned thing is so earnest one is surprised not to find Aidan Quinn's name somewhere in the credits. The promo material refers to "Junebug" as a "serious comedy" but the comedy part of that description is nowhere to be found in the film itself. Critics have given this film a raving reception that I cannot quite understand. It is heartfelt, with regular flashes of acting brilliance. The direction (by Phil Morrison) is subdued, if far more self-confident than one would expect from a first time director. The tension that builds throughout the story is palpable, but the final payoff (which most viewers will see coming from afar) is more than a little disappointing. The ending lacks impact.
Nominally, this is the story of country boy George Johnston (Alessandro Nivola), who has become citified (in the first two minutes of the film) both by his current residence of Chicago and also his cosmopolitan wife, Madeleine (a luminous Embeth Davidtz). She is an agent for "outsider artists" and so she and her husband head down to North Carolina to attempt contact with a famously reclusive painter clearly modeled on the late Reverend Howard Finster (the guy who painted a few of those early REM album covers). "Junebug" is thus your basic clash-of-culture story, but, to be fair, it is a good deal more sensitive and observant than most. The characters are well drawn and the writing has a good amount of subtlety, but the viewer just keeps waiting for something (besides character-detail sketching) to happen. And then waiting some more. Plot conflict arrives in the form of George's family, whom he has seemingly left behind back down
south. That family features a resigned, somewhat depressed father (a brilliant Scott Wilson, who should take more films, more often), a contrarian mother (Celia Weston), and, most importantly, George's brother Johnny and Johnny's pregnant wife, brilliantly rendered by Amy Adams. Johnny is something of a neer-do-well and the brooding and bubbling menace projected by Ben MacKenzie adds significant suspense to the overall story. All of these characters live under one roof for the duration of the film and a building tension seems to be the main motif.Blood eventually proves to be thicker than water, though, and the result is not hard to predict. Unfortunately, when the denoument comes, it is neither unexpected nor terribly shocking.
This piece was first printed in the Louisville Eccentric Observer.
Platform 1
redivivus, adj.
redivivus, adj.
Living again; brought back to life; revived; restored.
Usage note: Redivivus is used postpositively--that is, after the noun it modifies.
"Panama Red, red letter, red meat or stumble upon
Redivivus
Redivivus come back
Come back to life"
From Kristy Odelius, Cardio/sky
December 29, 2005
What's Stranger Than Bill Shatner Singing "Mr. Tambourine Man?"
Here's yet more from Paul Belker's amazing collection, this time it's
Auf wienersehen to Berghoff's
After 107 years, get yer schnitzel somewhere else, the 17 West Adams Berghoff is closing February 28, AP reports. What's next, Marshall Field's? Oh... right.
"The restaurant's history is intermingled with Chicago's," writes Mike Colias for Associated Press. "It was such a downtown staple that after Prohibition ended in December 1933, the city issued The Berghoff Liquor License No. 1. Herman Joseph Berghoff, a German immigrant, and his three brothers began brewing Berghoff Beer in Fort Wayne, Ind., in 1887.... Six years later, he sold it to fairgoers at The Chicago World's Fair, and in 1898 he opened a cafe to showcase the beer, which sold for a nickel. During Prohibition, the business served near beer and soda and expanded into a full-service restaurant."
From Berghoff's website: "Herman Berghoff, 70, and his wife Jan Berghoff, 68 are the third generation of Berghoffs to run the restaurant. Herman began working for his grandfather's restaurant in 1952. In 1986, he and Jan purchased the restaurant outright. "We share the sadness that many feel about the closing of the restaurant... It's been an honor to be part of the fabric of Chicago." ... The Berghoff Restaurant, Berghoff Cafe, and Berghoff Bar, located at 17 West Adams Street in Chicago, will close February 28, 2006. Until then, the three facilities will continue their normal operations. Herman Joseph Berghoff opened the Berghoff Cafe in 1898 to showcase his celebrated Dortmunder-style beer. Originally located at the corner of State and Adams streets, one door down from its present location, the bar sold beer for a nickel and offered sandwiches for free." The yeesh part of the handout: The Berghoff Cafe at O'Hare stays open: "Travelers will still be able to enjoy hand-carved sandwiches, salads and other Berghoff traditions at the O'Hare location," said Herman. The 17 West Adams building will be leased to Artistic Events by Carlyn Berghoff Catering, a 20-year old catering company run by the daughter of Herman and Jan. Artistic Events also has purchased the assets of the restaurant. Artistic Events... provides special events planning and catering services throughout the Chicago area."
Simone Muench's Word of the Day
apiary, n.
A place where bees and beehives are kept, especially a place where bees are raised for their honey.
"The bee-boy, merops apiater, on sultry thundery days filled his bosom between his coarse shirt and his skin with bees--his every meal wild honey."
From The Part of the Bee's Body Embedded in the Flesh by Carol Frost
The Walrus isn't Paul
Make A Rising: Semolina Pilchard's climbing up the Eiffel Tower once again, but this time the Walrus isn't Paul...
Okay, when was the last time you heard an album that combined elements and influences by the following: The Incredible String Band' Hangman's Beautiful Daughter, The Mothers of Invention's Burnt Weeny Sandwich, Beach Boys' Smiley Smile, Love's Forever Changes with sonic shards of Robert Wyatt, Eric Satie riding a bicycle with a flat tire and something that sounds like Harry Partch shaking up a can of spray paint then suddenly smashing Mr. Satie's bike to bits with a shovel which kinda creates music to a French movie I've never seen before.
Then there's some other harder aggressive shit that sounds like King Crimson after a double espresso peyote cocktail. Now you might think I'm kinda gettin' carried away with the metaphors here but I guarantee you if you listen to Make A Rising's first disc Rip Through The Hawk Black Night all of this will be perfectly clear. And I'm sure you're bound to find plenty of your own analogies for this incredibly eclectic stew of a debut.
Now I'm just as jaded as the next guy. As I get older I find I keep going further and further back to check up on what I might've missed. It's pretty hard for me to give five minutes to music that's not made by a dead guy lately. I'm talkin' about before the war - and I don't mean Vietnam! I'm talkin' 'bout the Big One buddy, the one my dad fought so we could be free. But let's just say it goes without saying that Make A Rising kaleidoscopic sonic slop wasn't what he had in mind when he painted my mother's name on the barrel of his rifle to kill Krauts.
Which brings us to that old sport of tension and release, which these guys manage like a tightrope walker trying to keep his footing with a head full of absinthe. This album keeps you on edge. You feel like you're part of a crowd waiting for an accident to happen. At any given moment you expect the whole swirling auditory hallucination to tank. But it never does - it just keeps flippin' the channel on you. Its like that rare occasion New Years Day, when there are five shows on that you wanna watch and they're all on at the same time, so you just keep bouncing back and forth from loopy psychedelic pop songs to rattling avant-garde percussion to kick ass prog-rock licks in some weird timing. Whether through some odd miracle or extra-terrestrial editing skills the album all holds together and bares repeated listening.
Now we've gotten this far and I don't even know any of their names (they don't list the band members anywhere on the disc although guest musicians and engineers get their due). And so far I've got no clue what the songs are about, although there are a few evocative titles listed in goofy lettering on the back. Hell, I don't even know what these guys look like! When you open the disc there's a photo of five humans, presumably male, I'm guessing, dressed in costumes, that resemble something from the wardrobe of both the Residents and the Mummers - which makes perfect sense as these guys are residents of Philadelphia.
Okay - They've got me. I actually give a shit. My heart, brain and ears are not hard-boiled after all, though I must admit I can barely hear the egg timer these days. I'm gonna track these guys down and find out what they're all about. Maybe they'll even send me a lyric sheet. And I'm hoping it's something of the likes that Lewis Carroll was scribbling on his book cover, lost in a daydream during earth science class.
With all of these comparisons to heroes of yore I must clarify something - these guys don't sound forced. They don't sound like they're "trying."
Comprised of Jesse Moynihan on violin, guitar, and voice, his brother Justin Moynihan on piano, uke, voice, percussionist John Heron, bassist John Pettit who doubles on trumpet and Brandon Beaver - guitar, voice, their music is simply just the way they play it with plenty of imagination, a side of discipline and a dollop of "I don't give a fuck."
"The band formed in the summer of 2002," Jesse said in a brief phone interview. "A lot of inspiration comes from a love of marginalized and misunderstood pop music. I think a foundation or catalyst for the band was when we got into 10CC about three years ago."
You can find Make A Rising and their music HERE.
Le déjeuner Chez Pauls mon cher?
Last week it was Newcity.........
and now this week, its SHARKFORUM being discussed in The Chicago Reader - in an article by art business writer Deanna Isaacs....after starring in worldwide cinematic classics such as Blue Water White Death.......the Jaws series (I'm partial to Jaws three-) - and others too numerous to mention, - you might think that The Shark would be indifferent to local coverage- NOT SO! especially when the story is so near and dear to The Sharks heart..............
Joel Dorn's NYC: Volume 1
December 28, 2005
Dope, sex, violence, money, porn -- OK!
Fur by John Rocco
(Published in Heaven Books 180 pp $25.00)
The debut novel by New Yorker John Rocco on Louisville's Published in Heaven imprint is a shocking, brash magical realist fable about addiction.
Addictions to dope, sex, violence, money, porn -- it makes no difference to Rocco, a man who seems to have never met a vice he didn't enjoy.
Rocco's book is about addiction and the harshness of modern capitalist society and the inherent shortcomings of sex and the brilliant, unfulfilled promise of American literature. It's also about porn and vampires and zombies and laziness and dissolution. Well, nobody's perfect. Readers are advised that much of this is pornographic in the way that "Naked Lunch" and "Tropic of Cancer" were said to be pornographic. Nowadays that just means "graphic"; realistic to the point of squirm-induction, queasiness, embarrassment.
And his take on the bleeding sore called Manhattan is both funny and accurate: "They tell you that 'Manhattan' means 'Island of the Hills.' All propaganda to sell, sell, sell. The word 'Manhattan' was a corruption of ... the Delaware (Indians') 'Manahachtanienk,' or, 'the place where we all got drunk.' They were talking about their first meetings with the white man and the fire water they drank for the first time. It helped with the negotiations."
John "Johnny Guitar" Foucault is a son of a long line of French trappers and fur traders and thieves and pornographers. He is a gypsy protagonist with the author's own encyclopedic literary knowledge. He steals furs, beds whores, helps with porn productions, sells various drugs and philosophizes about why New York is so screwed up and why, not even the sleaziest women can satisfy him sand why he can't quit drinking and drugging. His attempts to find answers inevitably make things worse until the linear narrative of the book spins off into a sort of magical realism featuring vampires and zombies and cut-up texts stolen 
straight from the William S. Burroughs playbook. Rocco "references" or "rips off" more great writers during the course of this novel than anyone else in any other recent book I can recall. A partial list includes: Poe, Kerouac, Zola, Burroughs, Bukowski, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Philip K. Dick, Dylan, Lou Reed, Shakespeare, Rimbaud, Allen Ginsberg and Jim Morrison. The references veer from homage to allusion to parody to out and out theft. 
As the plot careens off the rails, the references come flying by faster and thicker until the story becomes less about the fate of the protagonist and more about how many of the inside jokes the reader "gets." It is thus interesting and fun but somewhat reductive and self-satisfied.
Rocco's book is nevertheless a significant intellectual achievment and a powerhouse of wit, satire, imagination and momentum. Unfortunately, it veers off the track frequently, loses its moorings and ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.
This piece was first printed in the Louisville Eccentric Observer.
Simone Muench's Word of the Day
apotropaic, adj.
Intended to ward off evil.
Particular objects called apotropaic turn away demons and evil monsters, including vampires. They can be ranged into four general categories:
'Appeasing' apotropaics, which stop the vampire and remove its urge to kill and spread disease.
'Countering' apotropaics anhilate such harmful ability of the vampire by using a natural anti-substance with a more powerful counter-ability.
'Constricting' apotropaics paralyze the vampire making him therefore unable to leave his grave and spread death and destruction.
'Destructive' apotropaics keep vampires in chess by killing them.
From Monstrous.com
THINK TANK
Notes for a Ghost #2
Holiday edge
343am
Serial 02-009 1300
Serial 02-008 5781
Serial 02-008 8383
828
From flickr.com/photos/raypride/
December 27, 2005
Deadly to Pedestrian Thinkers
Ballin' the Jack: Friday, December, 23 2005
55 Bar on Christopher Street is one of my favorite joints in NYC. It's one of the only rooms left in the city with a genuine feel. The kind of you can't create. Its two nights before Christmas. Stockings and tinsel hang over the bar. Photos of jazz giants adorn the walls - Miles, Bird, Diz. Back tonight to hear Ballin' the Jack, Matt Darriau's balls to the wall early jazz septet featuring Frank London (his bandmate in the Klezmatics) and Anthony Coleman (one of the finest interpreters of Jelly Roll Morton's oeuvre) on the oldest Fender Rhodes I've ever seen.
Two clarinets courtesy of baritone saxophonist Andy Laster and Darriau lead a rubato, free introduction that breaks into Ellington's "Lime House Blues" with Frank and Matt finishing each other's phrases. Coleman jabs the keys, shaping, molding, and twisting the rhythm like clay. 4 horns across the front. Laster takes the hand off and muscles his way up field, strong-arming with a blast of gritty growling blues until the rest of the horns come blooming, blossoming, bursting into a free jazz "Jingle Bells" riding on a crescendo of cymbals and rim shots.
Hollers from the crowd and the band is off again into "Jubilee Stomp." London working that plunger. Coleman deconstructing the tune while drums rumble and roll into a jagged New Orleans march. Matt grabs his tenor and kills Leadbelly's "Dick's Holler" with that good nasty rasp. Blues, slow and deep. London's cheeks bulge. The horns fall in behind him. The blarg/gargle/ flark/burble and splort of Curtis Hasselbring's trombone. The slippery, flippery syrupy slurp of Laster"s black stick. The rhythm suddenly falls off a steep cliff as Coleman holds court with an introspective monologue, stepping out of the shadows like Rod Serling in the Twilight Zone until George Schuller's fat beat barges in, kicking like a Nola stripper's legs as the band, who'd been down on their knees, so the crowd could see Coleman, rise to their feet and the sound explodes from the trumpet, pointed at the ceiling, hitting the kid at the front table downing a Heineken, like a snowball upside his head. The notes run like cold water down the side of his face. That's it they can't take it no more. Out of their seats, they flee before the next number, "Red Man's Blues." London's trumpet talks, stutters.
Darriau's clarinet bends melodies like taffy, growls, smears, slides, cries as the band busts into irresistible swing, changing into a herky-jerky counterpoint that trips over its own feet. Andy Laster's "Smokefish" is built on angular riffs that traffic jams the song off from the road up onto the sidewalk. Deadly to pedestrian thinkers among the crowd. Hasselbring's tune, "Betaville," is full of rhythmic upheaval, the melody dances with one hand waving free, bursts of horns, drums propel a quirky breakdown of Laster's sax with piano and bass. A soundtrack for Eric Dolphy's ghost ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza with a long stripy scarf around his neck. Close your eyes, you'll see dogs chasing clowns, drunks dancing with mops until it all builds, rumbling like Sun Ra's rocket ship ready to blast off as Coleman climbs the sonic ladder, stomping on every rung of the scale. "Cause I'm Goin' Down," drums roll a syncopated funeral march as horns cry them black and crazy blues as Roland Kirk called 'em.
Band back down on their knees as Joe Fitzgerald's bass thinks, plunks and meditates on sorrows to big to imagine. London plays like his lips are burning. Like the mouthpiece of his horn is too hot. Spits, sputters, splatters choked notes that groan and growl as the band builds driven by hard fast slapping rim shots, rumbling, the rhythm back on track, like the C train after a three day strike. Another round of warm stout and warm applause. The last number, "New Orleans Stomp," (which along with "Goin' Down" comprises a new suite by Darriau) kicks off with light dancing cymbals, counterpoint horns, fractured by disjointed chords from Coleman.
The trombone grabs and jabs, jeers, bobs and weaves, cutting in and out of lanes like a gypsy cab looking for a bit of daylight when the alto jumps on it, hands it off to Andy on bari. Like the Marx Brothers with 4 down and 9 yards to go. A mad happy scramble. Like Buster Keaton running down Bourbon Street, while the next gang of college kids order another round of drinks. The spirit of Jelly Roll ja ja drivin' them through the tunnel and back to the Jersey burbs with visions of sugar plum fairies can-cannin' in their heads.
When I say High Art, I mean HIGH
My friend Paul Belker is a
When you look at these images you've just got to be impressed - not just with the scope of the collection, but with the obvious sense of muse loaded into each and every one of these canvases.
What's funny to me is that the technically "skillful" canvases seem the driest and least personal. The odd, crude, angular pieces seem to convey a real sense of "being in the moment."
It's downright inspiring to see these fruits of these Sunday painters. While it's always a thing of wonder to behold a really committed artist - someone who has given their life over to the investigation of the form and the pursuit of the muse (did someone say Kong?) - it's almost more impressive to see, say, and actuary, or a mortician, or a typist, or a CPA devote real care and passion to a painting. Of course some of these canvases are downright psychedelic, and you really have to assume that some chemistry was involved in the making. When I say High Art, I mean HIGH.
fuck v., n.
fuck v., n.
v. tr.
1. To have sexual intercourse with.
2. To take advantage of, betray, or cheat; victimize.
3. Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal.
v. intr.
1. To engage in sexual intercourse.
2. To act wastefully or foolishly.
3. To interfere; meddle. Often used with with.
n.
1. An act of sexual intercourse.
2. A partner in sexual intercourse.
3. A despised person.
4. Used as an intensive: What the fuck did you do that for?
interj.
Used to express extreme displeasure.
Fuck did not appear in any widely-consulted dictionary of the English language from 1795 to 1965. Its first appearance in the Oxford English Dictionary (along with the word cunt) was in 1972.
In 1971, the U.S. Supreme Court decided that the mere public display of fuck is protected under the First and Fourteenth Amendments and cannot be made a criminal offense.
The first short story to include fuck in its title was probably Kurt Vonnegut's "The Big Space Fuck", originally published in 1972.
After Norman Mailer's publishers convinced him to bowdlerize "fuck" as "fug" in his work The Naked and the Dead (1948), Tallulah Bankhead supposedly greeted him with the quip, "So you're the young man who can't spell fuck." The rock group The Fugs named themselves after the Mailer euphemism.
George Carlin once commented that the word fuck ought to be considered more appropriate, because of its implications of love and reproduction, than the violence exhibited in many movies. He humorously suggested replacing the word "kill" with the word "fuck" in his comedy routine, such as in an old movie western: "Okay, Sheriff, we're gonna fuck you, now. But we're gonna fuck you slow..." Or, perhaps at a baseball game: "Fuck the Ump, fuck the Ump, fuck the Ump!"
From Wikipedia.org and Dictionary.com
Getting Goat: a New Years' wake for City News Bureau
Bernie Judge, a longtime Sun-Times stalwart, now editor and publisher of the Chicago Daily Law Bulletin, has put out the word about a New Years' Eve wake for the 116-year-old City News Bureau, starting point for hundreds of American journalists, as it's shuttered by the Tribune on Sunday. Judge summarizes the hard-nosed lessons learned by a wealth of writers at City News in the words of an old editor when he began there: "If your mother says she loves you, check it out."
Judge's email reads, "Services for Chicago's City News Bureau, the 116 -year-old wire service... will be held New Year's Eve in the Billy Goat Tavern, lower Michigan Avenue and Hubbard Street. The wake begins at 8 p.m. Arrangements are being handled by Paul Zimbrakos, CNB editor, Sam Sianis, Billy Goat propietor, and Bernard Judge, former City News editor. All present and former CNB staffers are welcome, along with spouses and friends. First drink is on the house for those who can prove they were part of the finest journalistic training ground ever devised. CNB ceases operation at 12:01 a.m. January 1, 2006. Please help get the word out." There's a series of City News reminiscences posted by the next of kin, the Trib's website.
December 26, 2005
Christmas tidings: Don't WALK
Chicago & Damen, Sunday, 1:01am. .
Rick Geary's Artist Caricatures
Rick Geary is an illustrator living in San Diego. Something about his work makes me chuckle. I've been a fan of line art for a long time - adept practitioners demonstrate a nice sense of economy. And yet, for such a low noise-to-signal ratio, good caricature works very much like language.
For more of Rick's work, click HERE.
Fischl: Change in Gallery System
Here's an interesting quote from celebrated figurative painter Eric Fischl concerning the current gallery system (reprinted from "Hampton Jitney Magazine"): "What has changed over these last decades is the gallery system. Galleries are in transition now because of the art fairs, auction houses, and the internet. Primary dealers are becoming obsolete. Younger artists understand this implicitly and so don't tie themselves down to one dealer. They are generally more entrepreneurial than my generation was.
Also, collectors are driving the art world more now than in the past. They are able to find young artists before dealers and curators find them. In fact, dealers and curators look to collectors to see who they should be paying attention to. That has been a big change.
The downside is that the new collectors don't seem to know or care that much about the history of art and so approach art in much the same manner as they do their business. They look for trends. They try and corner markets. They buy low and sell high. They treat art as a commodity. It is what they know and what they do best. Good for business, bad for art."
sensorium, n.
sensorium, n.
1) The part of the brain that receives and coordinates all the stimuli conveyed to various sensory centers.
2) The sensory system of the body.
"Poke around. Poke around. Can't you see I'm depressed.
Welcome to my sensorium. You can touch, but you cannot lie."
-- C.D. Wright, Deepstep Come Shining
From Dictionary.com
We Are Not Here To Hurt You
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December 25, 2005
geophagy, n.
geophagy, n.
Geophagy is a practice of eating earthy substances such as clay, often to augment a mineral-deficient diet.
While most often seen in rural or preindustrial societies among pregnant women, it also occurs among children and as a psychological eating disorder. Geophagy is a type of disorder known as pica. In the southeastern United States especially tasty earth (usually a chalky earth with a certain flavor) is sold in local stores or sent to friends and family who are no longer living near the source of this earth. Geophagy was also practiced by Native Americans who would eat earth with acorns and potatoes to neutralize potentially harmful alkaloids. Clay was used in the production of acorn bread.
From Wikipedia.org
Simone Muench's Poem of the Week: "Here, Bullet" by Brian Turner
From Here, Bullet published by Alice James Books. Brian Turner earned an MFA from the University of Oregon and lived abroad in South Korea for a year before serving for seven years in the US Army. He was an infantry team leader for a year in Iraq beginning November 2003, with the 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division.
Here, Bullet
If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta's opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you've started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel's cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue's explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.
>>Purchase at Alice James Books
December 24, 2005
Horror Posters
If you're behind on your gift giving like I always am, here's a nifty little site called Fantamos38000 that sells a wide variety of posters, including a large selection of Italian and Spanish horror-sleaze posters, as well as Hammer studio posters. Find it HERE. .
Meeting The Press
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bruxism, n.
bruxism, n.
Bruxism is grinding of the teeth. The verb is "to brux". The cause, or causes, of bruxism remains unclear. Some dentists believe it is due to a lack of symmetry in the teeth; others, that it reflects anxiety, digestive problems or a disturbed sleep pattern.
Some drugs are known to cause bruxism as a side-effect, e.g. MDMA and others of the amphetamine-based family.
From Wikipedia.org .
December 23, 2005
Reduce, Reuse, Freecyle
"The Freecycle Network™ is made up of many individual groups across the globe. It's a grassroots movement of people who are giving (& getting) stuff for free in their own towns. Each local group is run by a local volunteer moderator (them's good people). Membership is free."
"The Freecycle Network was started in May 2003 to promote waste reduction in Tucson's downtown and help save desert landscape from being taken over by landfills. The Network provides individuals and non-profits an electronic forum to "recycle" unwanted items. One person's trash can truly be another's treasure!"
I've used this program here in the Chicago area, and it's really a wonderful program.
For more, and to find a Freecylce program in your area, click HERE.
Hey bikers! Quit being so environmentally friendly and passive!
Since the new era that dawned on September 11th, rights have been in constant jeopardy. By now, most people dont even think of this as newsworthy.
Its unfortunate that the American Apathy bit is so deeply engrained into the National conscience. A recent New York Times article tells a true tale of woe. Over the last 16 months, police have been surveying Iraqi protestors, Critical Mass bike riders, and even people holding a vigil for a slain cyclist.
this used to be a no no for the police, but now, its ok.
Twenty-One Pagan Street
Twenty One artists in one show makes for an overwhemlming experience. Wednesday, I visited the BSD gallery on lake street, for the group show titled “A Bloody Portent of Possible Erotic Chaos”.
I walked in to the gallery with the expectation of seeing a mess of erotically charged artworks. The title of the show, I came to find, was a little misleading. The artists were all working on the theme of “Pagan-inspired art from a variety of belief systems”, as the show card subtitle revealed.
If there was one thing I learned from working within the ‘group show’ nomenclature, its that there is definitely such a thing as too many artists. While I would put the ideal group show at about five artists, this show had four times as many. The result was a sort of watering down of the show concept – but the strength of a few artists stood out within the mildness of the rest.
Upon entering the space, I was treated with two small drawings by Chris Santiago. He had three other pieces further down the buffet, but these two were the strongest of the bunch. They were ink and colored pencil on paper, with reflections of the minimal drawings of Theodor Gostas (youll have to visit the NVVAM to see the drawings I speak of...) and sketches by Pablo Picasso.
Further on in the show there was a large photo composite by Josh Mannis titled “Never Blow Out the Eastern Candle”. Not only was it a very well done piece of work, but in my mind, it had the most immediate connections to the pagan-art theme.
Frank Pollard had five pencil drawings in the last room. Monkey-like creatures in contemporary, and awkward, situations were the subject. Although I would have liked to see the execution of the pieces done in a more professional manner, they most certainly made me laugh.
An entire wall was occupied by the drawings of Noah Berlatsky. The drawings were pen on computer paper, based on characters from the cult classic ‘dungeons and dragons’. The text on each page taken from things his son (nephew?) said during the day. They, too were quite minimal, and I liked the booklet format of the work much more than the wall display.
All and all, the show was worth the visit. And while the twenty one artists may have choked each other’s work, the stand-out pieces shined all the more because of this.
BSD (Butcher Shop / Dogmatic) is located at 1319 W Lake street, Chicago. The show runs through December 29th, with regular hours on Saturdays, 12-6pm
Time, gentlemen, please
Division west of Damen, Friday, 1:48am. .
Hiding In Plain Sight
If you're going to be accused of something, you may as well enjoy the benefits:
Putting Their Names All Over the NewsFor more of this disturbing story, click HERE.
Banks' Sponsorship of Radio Newsrooms Raises Questions About Journalism Ethics
By Steven Levingston
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, December 15, 2005; Page D05
"...Clear Channel Communications Inc. radio stations in Madison, Wis., and Milwaukee are turning back the clock.
Starting in January, the news on WIBA-AM in Madison will deliver its report from the Amcore Bank News Center. The station has sold naming rights to its newsroom to Amcore, a regional institution operating in southern Wisconsin, northern Illinois and Iowa. About two years ago, WISN-AM in Milwaukee introduced listeners to its newscast from the PyraMax Bank News Center.
Playing movie monopoly: Chicago and the Loews-AMC merger
Daily Variety reports that the merger of theater chains AMC and Loews will be approved by the Justice Department, with the condition that 6 theaters are sold, two each in San Francisco, DC and Chicago. Quotes Variety, "The divestures required by the department will ensure that competition at movie theaters in the affected parts of Chicago, New York, Boston, Seattle and Dallas is preserved," said Thomas Barnett, the acting assistant attorney general in the DOJ's antitrust division." The Feds also said "that without the divestitures, AMC and Loews would control 100% of the Chicago North, downtown Seattle and downtown Boston markets."
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iridectomy, n.
iridectomy, n.
Surgical removal of part of the iris of the eye.
In Halloween, Jamie Lee Curtis performs a make-shift iridectomy on Michael Myers with a coat-hanger.
From Dictionary.com .
December 22, 2005
Remembering Monday Night at the Rock ‘N Bowl on DVD
A snappy little snapshot of local history, Genevieve Coleman's charming first feature, Monday Night at the Rock 'N Bowl chronicles about the punk rock bowlathon-drinkathon at the Diversey River Bowl in Chicago. It's out on DVD now, and we check in with first-time feature filmmaker Genevieve Coleman about its process and progress of a story told over the course of several months of Mondays around the turn-of-the-century with borrowed video cameras.
Monday Night premiered at 2002's Chicago Underground Film Festival, then hit the rocky road of modern-day distribution. "In 2003 we played the Wisconsin Film Fest in Madison, which was really great, and then the San Francisco IndieFest, also very fun. The larger fests were not that interested," the 29-year-old director says.
PRIDE: Why do you think that was?
COLEMAN: We tried, but it is such random taste at festivals, I guess we just weren't what [some of these festivals] were looking for in a documentary. Still, we've sold out almost every screening we have had of the film, including a one-nighter in Los Angeles, and I've gotten emails from all over the country, from people who heard about the film from one of the fests, or friends or whatever, asking where they could buy it. We screened at Docs for Sale in Europe, and had some mild interest from distributors, but nothing panned out. This year I just decided, to hell with it, I would self-distribute. It's going pretty well, and we're talking to a few companies about doing a video release for rentals.PRIDE: When's the first time you heard of or went to the Rock 'N Bowl?
COLEMAN: The summer of 1999, and there were about twenty people there. I met a whole slew of people who are in the doc that very first night. They went on Monday because they all worked in the service industry and everyone had the night off. Oh, I met Julia that first night too, Julia Henner. Julia I would describe her as a tall blond beautiful brilliant goddess who has a knack for getting along with everyone, has been a good friend, knows how to make a killer drink, and is totally fun to hang out with. I don't think I had been bowling in ten years, maybe longer, but that first night pretty much got me hooked, since it was so much fun. I started going every Monday with that same group.PRIDE: When did you realize you should just start shooting?
COLEMAN: About two months later. I was there one night with Michael [Michael Palmerio, editor and co-producer of the film], and we just showed up assuming that the gang would all be there, but no one we knew came out that night, which was really rare. It had started to get a lot busier on Mondays by that point, and it as kind of surreal to look around at all these people with Mohawks and piercings with crazy punk music blaring. They are all like dancing around and singing and having so much fun, and we are in this bowling alley.PRIDE: Bowling wasn't popular then with a crowd like this.
COLEMAN: Yeah, it's funny, because bowling has gotten a lot more popular since then, but at the time, it was just starting to get popular with a younger crowd. There weren't a ton of hipster scenes in bowling alleys yet, so I just thought it was really cool that all these people found a place in common to hang and have a good time, and made it their own. It also reminded of this scene I had in high school, and made me start thinking about all the pictures I have from back then, and how cool it would have been to try and capture that on film.PRIDE: So was it more than home movies from the get-go?
COLEMAN: Well, at first I really wasn't sure what direction it was going to take. I mean, the footage does have a home movie element to it, especially since I was kind of part of the scene I was filming. But I realized after the first night of shooting that I could make something that was bigger than just a documentary of what was happening externally there, that somehow I had started something that would capture the scene from the inside out, from the heart in a way. Why it started in a bowling alley and how bowling had become for a lot of these people a connective thing in itself, along with the music, it seemed really different from most docs I had seen before.PRIDE: There are more docs like this now, but then...
COLEMAN: Yeah, I mean really, when I sat down and watched the first tape I ever shot, from that first Monday, it was amazing how it felt. Because it was capturing the scene as a whole, without trying to focus on one person or one storyline, by just running about with a camera, I was looking at everything at once, and that was pretty true to how the atmosphere was at that time. I think I felt the same way then as I do now about why it was important to capture this.PRIDE: Why?
COLEMAN: It's pretty simple, scenes like that don't last. People grow up, they change, they move, it never stays the same. Sometimes new people take over, but it still never feels the same. And I think most people have experienced that phenomenon at least once and can relate to the feeling of wanting something tangible to go back and look at later that reminds them of old times. I think I also wanted to take this scene and put it on display for the world a little bit, which I assume is often the impetus for documentaries, although I can't say for sure. To show everybody something that you find interesting, something you think it worthwhile for other people to know about because it might contribute to their own sense of things.PRIDE:: How did the fact of increasingly cheaper technology facilitate things?
COLEMAN: First off, we had no money to begin with, no money at all, I mean barely enough to buy a tape that costs ten bucks, so there is no way I could have started shooting if I had been rolling film. But more than that, it would have been really difficult, logistically, to shoot in a place with 36 lanes of bowling going on, loud music, running around non-stop, fluorescent lighting, with a film camera. So the smaller video cameras really made it possible to just roll tape, and don't stop until they lock the doors that night, in an affordable and easily obtainable way, you know, borrowing a camera from friends every Monday. But hey, it worked.
PRIDE: Was post-production difficult? A bowling alley is a loud place. And what about music rights when music's blaring at every moment?COLEMAN: Post was where the real life was brought into this movie. Michael and I worked very closely to shape the it, dividing it into sections to form a structure, and trying to decide what was important to include, and what we didn't think was useful. It was fun and exciting to see how the movie came together and changed as we went along. I mean, I think post is probably the most rewarding part of making a documentary. It has its difficulties too. I mean, we cut it a few years ago, and when we did the online [edit], we used an old version of Final Cut. There were so many more obstacles to what we were doing back then, the technology has come so far, so fast. When I think about how much better everything worked this year, editing and developing content for the DVD, compared to trying to make a movie with essentially the same software five years ago, it's really stunning. But I get a kick out of problem-solving, so I never felt negative about the limitations we had, just excited by the prospect of creating the best movie possible given those limitations.
PRIDE: And the final music?
COLEMAN: We have rights to all the music that we cut sequences to in the movie. In fact, we replaced the last song in the film with a new one for the DVD because the previous band decided they did not want to work with us on the DVD release. Fortunately, Screeching Weasel came through and gave us one of their songs that I love and I think it actually works better than what we had before, so it's all for the best.PRIDE: And now you're self-publishing the DVD.
COLEMAN: As far as getting the film onto DVD, when I first looked into it a couple years ago, the cost was about five times what it is now. Software is cheaper, replicating is cheaper, everything now is being offered at a prosumer level, it makes all of it possible for someone like me, who has not got a huge operating budget, but is now able to produce professional quality movies.
PRIDE: Almost no one's shooting docs on film.
COLEMAN: Don't get me wrong; I would have loved to shoot it with a huge budget, and a ton of cameras, and lots of film, etc. It just wasn't possible, because of money and where I was at the time. In the end I think it was better that we didn't have a lot to work with, it created the look and feel of the film, makes it a smaller and more intimate setting, and I think it has a little of that homegrown-DIY feel, which works for me.PRIDE: Why'd you leave Chicago?
COLEMAN: I left because I wasn't getting work there. I was tired and needed a change of pace. There's a lot more film work out here, and a lot more opportunity to meet people who can help you get films made. I think I considered going to New York, but it was right after 9/11, and a lot of my friends had just moved to the West coast. I think Los Angeles is a sort of natural progression for a lot of people, just because Hollywood is here. And I have to say, I have definitely learned a lot about filmmaking since I got here, and even more about the business of filmmaking, although that part is less fun.PRIDE: Are you eyeing anything like this in LA right now, any social setting that's as interesting to you?
COLEMAN: Huh. That's a tough one. LA has scenes, but they are not so concentrated, and the people are not so interconnected on levels that go beyond superficial schmoozing and general bar familiarity. People here seem to have a hard time finding things and then sticking to them. But certainly some of the music venues, and a couple bars have a vague sense of "scene" in the way it did at the Rock 'N Bowl. I would guess there are some that I haven't found yet. I hope there are!PRIDE: So Chicago is a more social city than Los Angeles?
COLEMAN: It depends on your definition of social. I would never say that people in Los Angeles are not social. I would say there is less of a sense of a community as a city. In Chicago, I always felt like no matter where I went, I was surrounded by this general feeling that Chicago has all to itself, as a city, as a whole. And in Los Angeles, I think you only get back the amount you are willing to put in, if that makes sense. There are some wonderful people here, and some really great places to go and see, but it doesn't have the same presence of mind as Chicago did, and I think the social scenes here feel less connected and somewhat flimsy in comparison. That being said though, there are some real gems here. It actually gets better the longer you live here, because you start to find where the secret places are to go, and avoid all the crap that feeds a relatively obnoxious and boring Hollywood nightlife.PRIDE: Do you know what the scene's like at Diversey River Bowl today?
COLEMAN: I'm not sure what Mondays are like there now. I have heard that they still do it, but that it's changed. My guess is, it's still a lot of fun, but it'll never be what is was before, as is the way with most good things.The Monday Night at the the Rock 'N Bowl DVD is available at Coleman's website as well as at Diversey River Bowl, 2211 West Diversey, (773) 227-5800. More pictures and information are also at the Monday Night Rock "N Bowl MySpace profile.
Putting Red to bed: a g'bye letter
The Sun-Times' failed Red Streak tabloid, for young audiences that don't read newspapers, which folded after this AM's editions, offers a "personal note" about its "relationship" with its 36 or 37 readers:
"We need to talk. I don't know how to say this, except to just say it.... I know it's four days before Christmas and all, but there's no point in going through the motions anymore. This has been a long time coming, and we both know it. Don't worry. It's not you. It's me."
"Well, the truth is, there's somebody else, and they're forcing this decision upon us. We just can't be together anymore. We tried to make it work. You know we did. But this arrangement just isn't right for either one of us... Sometimes even relationships with such great promise don't work out. Now that I think about it, maybe there was no way to please you. And can you honestly say you wanted a newspaper in your life, even if it was designed just for you? ... Oh, please don't cry. I didn't mean that. I did want you, really I did... But we haven't had that kind of excitement in months. That's my fault, too, I guess... I know I'm leaving you, but it's not all my fault. You really didn't pay enough attention to me. I mean, I was there for you the best I could. Five days a week. And did you put in effort to spend time with me? Well, it wasn't enough... Maybe we'll meet again one day and things will be different. Maybe we'll be different... All I know for sure is you're not getting a Christmas present from me." [The channeling from beyond is by columnist Mark J. Konkol.]
SHARKsposure: Newcity
The hits keep coming.
..
Christmas Movie Recommendation: Wolf Creek
Opens December 25th.
"Swaggeringly nasty film which deserves an audience outside the horror fanbase."
Peter Bradshaw, The Guardian
SYNOPSIS
It was supposed to be the vacation of a lifetime in the Australian Outback – full of fun, sun and adventure. But what happened to a trio of twenty-something backpackers took a wrenching detour into the depths of unrelenting terror.
Based on true events, WOLF CREEK is the haunting story of their unthinkable ordeal – a mounting white-knuckle nightmare so real it was destined to become horror legend. WOLF CREEK is a startlingly intense motion picture experience of rapidly escalating dread and suspense. At the 2005 Sundance Film Festival, the film – written and directed by Melbourne's Greg McLean – was acclaimed as a daring, original blend of visually hypnotic thriller with unbearably scary movie.
Read more at HERE.
Oh The Humanity
Oh What a Slaughter by Larry McMurtry
(Simon and Schuster 179 pp. $25.00)
When Larry McMurtry turns to non-fiction he is as potentially great as any writer in America. When the topic is as near a dear to his heart as the history of How the West was Won, the results can be positively staggering. The author of "Lonesome Dove" and "Terms of Endearment" starts with an overly long introduction -- almost an apology, really, for the grimness of his approaching subject -- and then proceeds to painstakingly document and deconstruct each of the major Indian massacres of the late 1800's. The book refers to Custer's fall at Little Bighorn but has no chapter dedicated to it. It does deal in detail with massacres starting with the Sacramento River massacre and describes every mass killing leading up to and including Wounded Knee. The white man was overwhelmingly the aggressor and many of the body counts were low, but many settlers were indeed scalped and massacred barbarically themselves. McMurtry calls these incidents "perfect meatshops" quoting a long forgotten federal cavalryman; the metaphor of the butcher shop and the slaughterhous are omnipresent.
The cast of characters is impressive and the menu of unprintable attrocities is even more generous. Suffice it to say that every appendage was severed and stuffed into every orifice and every protusion was separated and taken as trophy. Victim's scalps and scrotums were made into tobacco pouches and displayed as staus symbols, OK? Women and children on each side were not spared. It was comparable to Rwanda or the Russian pogroms or the reign of Pol Pot (except for the numbers). It was a rough time.
What counterbalances the almost unrelenting horror of this series of tales is the history and the obvious love of detail McMurtry brings to it; and also the star-studded cast of characters. Here you will learn the actual, documentable history of such quasi-mythical figures as Sitting Bull, George Custer, Crazy Horse, Red Cloud, Kit Carson, Nelson Miles, Geronimo, Chief Joseph, Running Bear, Lewis and Clark Generals Grant and Sheridan, Buffalo Bill Cody and William Tecumseh Sherman (whose actual quote was "the only good Indian I've ever seen was a dead one").
In short, the action is non-stop and the history is well-researched and documented whilst slightly edging the boundary of excessively "academic" writing; it is history
as novel, and as many have done before. But it is vivid and concise and written with the joie de vive only available to a writer who truly loves his subject. No one gets a pass in this history, neither Indian nor European. By the end of the surprisingly thin book there is enough blood on the pages to merit the description "perfect meatshop."
Simone Muench's Word of the Day
selenography, n.
The study of the physical features of the moon.
The hand that explored my body cavities, hand of the selenographer, mapper of lost roads.
From C.D. Wright, Deepstep Come Shining
The study of the physical features of the moon.
The hand that explored my body cavities, hand of the selenographer, mapper of lost roads.
From C.D. Wright, Deepstep Come Shining
December 21, 2005
White Room Shark Attack
The killing took place at dawn and as usual it was a decapitation, accomplished by a single vicious swipe. Blood geysered into the air, creating a vivid slick that stood out on the water like the work of a violent abstract painter. Five hundred yards away, a man watched through a telescope. First he noticed the frenzy of gulls, bird gestalt that signaled trouble. And then he saw the blood. Grabbing his radio, he turned and began to run.........he started the engine and powered two hundred yards toward the birds, where the object of all the attention floated in a cloud of blood:............The odor was dense and oily, rancid Crisco mixed with seawater. "Oh yeah," Peter said. "That's the smell of a shark attack."
Susan Casey, from The Devil's Teeth
Art Opening Wednesday Evening
Paul Nudd is an artist whose pieces i have seen in person only a few times, yet his style and technique register so firmly in my mind that any time his work appears, I immediately know who it is.
His drawings might suggest Chicago Imagists like Jim Nutt, Suellen Rocca, or Karl Wirsum, with their omnipresent bulges, awkward twists, and amorphous appendages, but his videos take the unsettled stomach and disgusted mind that some imagist work produces to the next level.
tonight (wednesday), from 6-9 pm, BSD (i believe they used to go by the name of Butcher shop?) will open its show titled "A Bloody Portent of Possible Erotic Chaos". With work by Eric Lebofsky, Paul Nudd, Samantha Pierce, and 18 others. And while Paul Nudd may be the only one of these 21 that i automatically identify with a certain feel and look to the work, his inclusion in the show is more than enough of a reason for me to check it out.
BSD 1319 W. Lake, 3rd fl.
“A Bloody Portent of Possible Erotic Chaos,” work by Eric Lebofsky, Paul Nudd, Samantha Pierce, and 18 others, Wed 12/21-Thu 12/29.
Opens Wed 12/21, 6-9 PM.
regular hours Sat noon-6. 312-421-1917
Ray Pride's SHARKfolio: Notes for a Ghost #1
December 20, 2005
Paul K's Yearly Crime Novel Round-Up
Three new novels in my beloved crime fiction genre have appeared recently and are so good that ignoring them would seem itself to be a criminal offense for anyone interested in these sorts of books. The first (in order of recent publication) is the latest from the great, Emmy-nominated (for HBO's "The Wire") George Pelecanos, "Drama City."(295 pp. $24.95 Little Brown). Strictly speaking, it is not a crime novel but it is certainly hard-boiled.
The two main characters, one male, one female, are an ex-convict dog-catcher and a parole officer, respectively. Lorenzo Brown spends his days keeping cats and dogs from being abused and also trying to keep himself from being dragged back into the drug life he left behind not too long ago. Rachel Lopez, meanwhile, is a hard-working civil servant with a crippling sex addiction and a significant problem with the sauce (specifically bourbon).
As always, Pelecanos' turf remains the meaner-than-mean streets of Washington, DC. This is a city that makes Memphis and Detroit and St. Louis look like Gardens of Eden. There are few or no senators, congressmen, dignitaries or lawyers in Pelecanos' DC; mainly there are drug users, drug dealers, and gunshot victims. Then there are the honest, earnest folks like Alonzo and Rachel who provide Pelecanos' literary raison d'etre and allow him to wear his awesome compassion on his sleeve.
John Burdett is largely unknown in America but it is hard to see how that will remain the case for long. His latest novel -- his
fourth, I think -- is every bit as mind-bogglingly exotic as its predescessors. And, yes, it again takes place in Thailand. "Bangkok Tattoo" (305 pp., $24.00, Knopf) is a sequel to 2003's "Bangkok Eight," but is superior in every way. For those accustomed to the high energy, intellectually heady crime prose of James Ellroy, your newest savior has arrived. Burdett's detective, Sonchai, is a well-drawn, extremely complicated character, an half-Caucasian, half-Thai bastard son of a prostitute, a police detective of flexible reliability and a Buddhist unafraid of violence and deceit. Sonchai is also a man of somewhat indecisive sexuality and a son of unfathomable honor and loyalty. Burdett, for his part, is a confident plotter and an equally comfortable prose stylist. He lived in Hong Kong for a decade working as a lawyer and learned a good deal about Asian culture(s). This trip through the sex-and-dope-based economy of Bangkok (and environs) is at once more plausible and more fantastic than that undertaking in his earlier efforts.
By far the greatest recent find is a murder mystery (the twelfth) written originally in French by a writer named Fred Vargas and concerning a character named Jen Baptiste Adamsberg, a most unlikely protagonist in this genre. He is not macho, not very scientific and seems to rely almost entirely on hunches -- he is something like a French version of lieutenant Columbo with more sex appeal and more beligerence. More interesting is the fact that Fred Vargas is a woman. The book is called "Have Mercy On Us All" (Simon and Schuster, 353 pp. $14.00) and its author has a lot to teach the mystery-writer's/women's-club based here in Kentucky. Although it is a true whodunit, wherein the killer's identity is not revealed until near the end, Vargas' book relies on few gimmicks. And, though it is just as exotic as anything by Burdett, has a grounded feel that seems to steer the reader toward a more realist interpretation.
Maybe because it references the bubonic plague. Something weird is happening in Paris and the papers are all aflutter: People are being killed by plague and are hysterically painting medieval symbols (strange reversed numeral fours) on their doors in order to ward off the disease. Inspector Adamsberg is the John Lennon of detectives; cynical, laid back yet nuerotic, romantic yet callous, fiercely intelligent. The supporting cast is at once realistic and downright bizarre. There is a self-installed town crier, an angry Viking tavern owner, a passel of hurt and plotting would-be femmes fatale and a disgraced professor carrying on as a mental health counselor. Almost all of them are ex-convicts.
This is as good a crime read as anything to come along in some time, so good that evey American contemporary save Pelecanos and perhaps Ellroy should be feeling left in the dust about now. For the last few years Europeans seem to have taken over this genre, usurping a throne built by Poe and Hammet and Chandler. It's high some American crime writers redoubled their efforts.
The Shark Bites Back
Our foreign correspondent Mark Staff Brandl has made it known the waters are now sharky here in Chicago and, on artletter: I agree with Mark's comment that the sites are very different- but that is where our agreement ends.
I plan to write at some length here in the future about the origins of CAF (Chicago Art Foundation-) and, how the original concepts -many of which were mine, were dumbed down, corrupted, misinterpreted and or simply thrown away in the headlong rush towards the kind of mediocrity that Mr. Klein and company feel most comfortable with- yes, there is a heady mixture of scandal, skullduggery and egos and, ambition run- amuck - but for now, you will just have to keep sitting on the edge of your seats....shark attacks happen on the sharks dime-
All of our editors are carefully screened!
We here at SHARKFORUM are working continually in our efforts to bring you only the finest, most qualified reporting of our local (and national/international) culture coverage: all of our editors have been thoroughly screened, subjected to rigorous background checks, and submitted to a personal interview with one of the co-founders of SHARKFORUM - David Roth, or, The Shark himself.....here is a recent photograph of Le Grand Requin du' Blanc interviewing a prospective member: why the cage? Do I look THAT famished? .
"Researchers Find Barbie Is Often Mutilated"
A UK study shows Barbie's in for it: "The girls we spoke to see Barbie torture as a legitimate play activity, and see the torture as a 'cool' activity," said Agnes Nairn, one of the University of Bath researchers.
"The types of mutilation are varied and creative, and range from removing the hair to decapitation, burning, breaking and even microwaving." Further atrocity at the link. (The illustration comes from this Swiss art site, which offers more of the same.)
Fitzmas presents: Nat'l Law Journal breaks it out
Patrick Fitzgerald, U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois since 2001, gets the nod as The National Law Journal's 2005 Lawyer of the Year. Writes the mag's Leigh Jones, "No one else in 2005 roiled politics inside the Beltway and the media that feed on it like the prosecutor from Chicago, Patrick Fitzgerald."
The list is long on powerful politicians, lawyers and journalists that his continuing [Plamegate] investigation has touched so far. But the matter also encompasses the very reasons for the war in Iraq that has cost about 2,150 American lives, while at the same time striking at the heart of freedoms protected by the U.S. Constitution. For those reasons, Fitzgerald is The National Law Journal's 2005 Lawyer of the Year. At 44, Fitzgerald is, to some, exacting and thorough. To others, he is perhaps obsessive and relentless. But it is this attention to detail and his formidable memory that many observers say make him a tough and level-headed adversary."
"If I were someone who was a bad guy, I would not want him on my trail," Jones quotes criminal defense attorney Frederick Cohn, who once opposed him. "He doesn't take unfair advantage of the fact that he's smart." Fitzgerald's accomplishments are recounted along with notes that "The attorney for [Karl] Rove, Robert Luskin with Patton Boggs in Washington, declined to comment for this article. [Scooter] Libby's attorney, Theodore Wells of Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison in New York, did not return a phone call... Fitzgerald, famously press shy, is known to keep cool under pressure. Dean Polales, a former assistant U.S. attorney in Chicago who served as counsel to Fitzgerald until last February, said that his former boss is positively "mellow." ... Fitzgerald would not comment for this article."
The list is long on powerful politicians, lawyers and journalists that his continuing [Plamegate] investigation has touched so far. But the matter also encompasses the very reasons for the war in Iraq that has cost about 2,150 American lives, while at the same time striking at the heart of freedoms protected by the U.S. Constitution. For those reasons, Fitzgerald is The National Law Journal's 2005 Lawyer of the Year. At 44, Fitzgerald is, to some, exacting and thorough. To others, he is perhaps obsessive and relentless. But it is this attention to detail and his formidable memory that many observers say make him a tough and level-headed adversary."
"If I were someone who was a bad guy, I would not want him on my trail," Jones quotes criminal defense attorney Frederick Cohn, who once opposed him. "He doesn't take unfair advantage of the fact that he's smart." Fitzgerald's accomplishments are recounted along with notes that "The attorney for [Karl] Rove, Robert Luskin with Patton Boggs in Washington, declined to comment for this article. [Scooter] Libby's attorney, Theodore Wells of Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison in New York, did not return a phone call... Fitzgerald, famously press shy, is known to keep cool under pressure. Dean Polales, a former assistant U.S. attorney in Chicago who served as counsel to Fitzgerald until last February, said that his former boss is positively "mellow." ... Fitzgerald would not comment for this article."
SHARKsposure: GAPERS BLOCK
Barely a week old, and SHARKFORUM.org gets a plug on the venerable and always interesting GAPERS BLOCK.
We think they're swell - go check 'em out. .
We think they're swell - go check 'em out. .
Screaming Indictments
On August 22nd, 2004, Scream, and Madonna by Edvard Munch, were torn off the walls of Oslo's Munch Museum.
The paintings have not been recovered, but there may be justice yet.. Norway's Aftenposten has written that six are facing indictment, with the possibility of 17 years of prison time for attached charges relating to organized crime.
We would all like an oceanside condo
Mr Wong's website has come to be known as a one stop pixel superstore.
On the site, you can find downloads of neat icons and pictures, as well as the occasional housing project. A great project, and the one that lead me to mr wongs, is the worlds tallest virtual skyscraper
each of the 406 'residents' downloaded a template, and created their own floor for the building. the results are quite entertaining... I counted about half a dozen art galleries... watch out Mori art museum , theres some competition in the area of 'highest art gallery' for ya!...
Sharkblurbage: Anders Lindall on Jay Ryan
Not literally, of course. (And not that there's anything wrong with that.) In today's Sun-Times Anders Smith Lindall offers up a steaming platter of home-town goodness: Jay Ryan of The Bird Machine. Ryan's burgeoning cottage industry designs and prints brilliant original pieces for cd covers and concert posters.
The whimsical nature of those drawings -- they might depict an armadillo on a skateboard, or an astronaut playing baseball or a brawl in which a man's only weapon is a platypus -- have made Ryan's posters instantly recognizable, winning him a wide following among bands who commission his work and fans who collect it.
Read the story Illustrations put face on Chicago rock scene
The Concrete Club: Open Thread
Have at it:
sock it to me!
SHARKbytes: So, two fish swim in the sea
"Two tiny young fish are swimming in the sea. They come upon an older fish. He says to them, Hey, fellas, how's the water? The two young fish swim on past. They swim for many miles. Finally one fish says to the other, What the fuck is water?" (From Don DeLillo's forthcoming play, "Love-Lies-Bleeding," via John Leonard's review in January 2006 Harper's.)
.
Wicker Park part of the largest documentary on American culture ever?
Turnhere is a new website compiling short videos about neighborhoods around the world. From the company's PR: Turnhere is "seeking professional and independent filmmakers, [which] it pays for their work and creativity, to participate in an ambitious initiative which is chronicling life in American neighborhoods across the country through 2-5 minute short films made specifically for the Internet." Their bold claim? "TurnHere is essentially making the largest documentary on American culture ever made. Films should be artful and high-concept, focusing on the people, culture, history, local businesses and political landscapes across America... The site is highly viral, as each film has [its] own unique URL which can be forwarded via email." Austin, Texas is the setting of the sample they suggest; the short from still-gentrifying Wicker Park is emblematic to the point of parody, such as this shot of a young woman in an AC/DC t-shirt, wearing oversized sunglasses and dog-ears, striding in front of a U-Haul trailer on a leafy side street.
The site is highly viral, as each film has [its] own unique URL which can be forwarded via email." Austin, Texas is the setting of the sample they suggest; the short from still-gentrifying Wicker Park is emblematic to the point of parody, such as this shot of a young woman in an AC/DC t-shirt, wearing oversized sunglasses and dog-ears, striding in front of a U-Haul trailer on a leafy side street.
December 19, 2005
Level of comfort and/or discomfort
Until I get better footing with this whole blog thing I'd like to start things off with a passage from Max Beckmann's essay entitled "On My Painting" written in 1938. Beckmann's words have been influential in how I see and work with paint. Here you go:
"My way of expressing my Ego is by painting; there are, of course, other means to this end such as literature, philosophy or music; but as a painter, cursed or blessed with a terrible and vital sensuousness, I must look for wisdom with my eyes. I repeat, with my eyes, for nothing could be more ridiculous or irrelevant than a 'philosophical conception' painting purley intellectually without the terrible fury of the senses grasping each visible form of beauty and ugliness. If from those forms which I have found in the visible, literary subjects result - such as portraits, landscapes or recognizable compositions - they have all originated from the senses, in this case from the eyes, and each intellectual subject has been transformed again into form, color and space."
Max Beckmann, "On My Painting," 1938
Hearting the home team: STOP SMILING's Chicago issue
Local glossy STOP SMILING, "the magazine for high-minded lowlifes," pulls out the stops with an all-Chicago celebration (issue #24) on the stands soon: the cover models are Mayor Daley, Vince Vaughn and Hugh Hefner, collect one, collect them all. The good stuff inside starts with Q&As with local lumens like Lois Weisberg, Aleksandar Hemon, William Friedkin, Studs Terkel...
... and continues with a grab-bag of reminiscence from Michael Mann, Ira Glass, Roger Ebert, Dick Buckley, Paul Krassner, about Mike Royko and Shel Silverstein, and more. (A four page folio highlights Chicago mid-century painters like Miyoko Ito, Jerry Pinsler, Walter Sanford, Walter Hahan, Thomas Kapsalis, Macena Barton, and more.)
Morsels include the most specific reminiscences, such as Sarajevo expat Hemon on his first Chicago 'hood. "My first neighborhood in Chicago was Ukrainian Village—as it was before Starbucks, alternative boutiques and sushi bars. Since all of my friends were Ukrainian Americans native to the Village, I was soon privy to the stories and gossip... I was comfortable enough to listen in on the old men idling in the waiting area of the Self-Reliance Federal Credit Union on Chicago Avenue; I eavesdropped on the old Ukes at the Burger King across the street... as they passionately debated politics in Ukraine, which they had left 50 or so years before... I was told various Nelson Algren stories at the Rainbo Club, where he used to drink and court Simone de Beauvoir, who was still fondly remembered by the locals as Simon the Beaver. On Fridays, I bought pierogi at the Ukrainian school on Rice."
Ebert on his adopted hometown: "Over the years I have come to love this beautiful city, which I like to call the largest habitable city in America.
Friedkin: "Chicago is easily the greatest American city today, in all ways: culturally, architecturally, the nature of the people. There's a sophistication, but also a small-town mentality, and it's a working-class city. I grew up there and loved the city, I realize how much I love it, even now. When I go back, I see only improvements... [I like to] hit the Art Institute and Berghoff's for a corned beef sandwich and a draft beer, or a 14-year-old bourbon."
Simone Muench's Poem of the Week: "loose change" by William Allegrezza
From Ladders in July published by BlazeVOX [books]
loose change
by William Allegrezza
I was only shot six times before I changed
my name to Gara and moved to Florida.
try to follow the line
that expands throughpacked earth
and spreadsnot to eliminate erosion
but to complicate place
somewhere a pole is swinging
and birds cry about intolerance
children place paper games in the wind
I picked the town from an ad in my magazine stash.
I never expected it to be full.
the real shifts
and we hear only voices
through a silent chamber
talking about people
long dead
we cannot even trust stone to protect us
From Ladders in July published by BlazeVOX [books]
I'll take Henry Moore for 5.3 million please
Well, Who is Henry Moore? Only one of the most important contributors to the world of abstract sculpture, silly!
A Henry Moore sculpture, valued at 5.3 million, was carried off of his estate in Hertfordshire England this Past Thursday. The 11 foot long sculpture weighs more than 2,000 kg, and is not the first Moore Sculpture to be lifted.
Cultures collide: the Coctails at Rotofugi
Lounge Ax stalwarts The Coctails are playing their "lounge-garage" sound again; before a weekend show at Abbey Pub, the quartet did an in-store December 15 at Ukrainian Village collectibles compound Rotofugi to celebrate their... 12-inch "beatnik style" Coctails action figures?
The band's figures, seen below—John Upchurch, Barry Phipps, Mark Greenberg, Archer Prewitt—all have moveable neck, arms, hands, feet, knees, and yes, even hipster hips. Prewitt, whose pursuits include collectible design, is responsible for the packaging and design of the Japanese products, from Presspop Gallery. A variety of other stuff like tees and totes are available at Rotofugi at 1953 W. Chicago store; the set goes for a cool $320. Plus: The Rotofugi site will have video of the performance in the next week or so.
Pictured: Kirby Kerr, Rotofugi co-owner (with Whitney Kerr) manning the till. Photo: Ray Pride.
The band's figures, seen below—John Upchurch, Barry Phipps, Mark Greenberg, Archer Prewitt—all have moveable neck, arms, hands, feet, knees, and yes, even hipster hips. Prewitt, whose pursuits include collectible design, is responsible for the packaging and design of the Japanese products, from Presspop Gallery. A variety of other stuff like tees and totes are available at Rotofugi at 1953 W. Chicago store; the set goes for a cool $320. Plus: The Rotofugi site will have video of the performance in the next week or so.
December 18, 2005
The mania for insisting that all is well when all is by no means well: Chris Ware meets Voltaire
Chris Ware's Chicago-steeped comix serial in the New York Times Magazine, Building Stories marked its fourteenth installment Sunday (all of which are downloadable in PDF form), but the artwork that leapt off Quimby's new arrival table at me Saturday night was his cover for a new translation of Voltaire's "Candide, or Optimism," described by its publisher as "a Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition with French flaps and rough front!
" (Translation: Ware's usual expressive constructions have four surfaces upon which to sprawl.) The irreverence of what Penguin pimps as amazing cover art from one of the most beloved modern comic artists is sure to piss off humorless Classix Scholarz everywhere.
OH! So THIS is What The "War on Christmas" Is All About!
Drunken Santas Run Riot in Auckland
Saturday, December 17, 2005; Posted: 8:42 p.m. EST (01:42 GMT) New Zealand
WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A group of 40 people dressed in Santa Claus outfits, many of them drunk, went on a rampage through Auckland, New Zealand's largest city, robbing stores, assaulting security guards and urinating from highway overpasses, police said Sunday...
Saturday, December 17, 2005; Posted: 8:42 p.m. EST (01:42 GMT) New Zealand
WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A group of 40 people dressed in Santa Claus outfits, many of them drunk, went on a rampage through Auckland, New Zealand's largest city, robbing stores, assaulting security guards and urinating from highway overpasses, police said Sunday...
The Young and the Restless
The stigma of the young artist is overwhelming and complete. It has come to define reality to such a degree that even the daintiest step forward appears overtly smug and presumptuous. The result is the most talented are obligated to wade through the shallow infant pool until their number is called, and they can join the veterans on the big waterslides.
Aaah, what a pleasant pool it is, too. The agonizingly politically correct state-of-the-union glorifies mediocrity and its entailing shortcomings in every field, in a show of solidarity towards all that falls under the guise of ‘Art’ (which, as defined by many of my peers, is ‘everything and anything’). The return of this is the most certain drowning of anything suggested by wisdom-beyond-years – in an effort to maintain the purity of the upper echelon.
These suppressed ideas and opinions are precisely what art needs now; not the mangled leftover hash that survives the dejection of kiddy world. I know, it would be quite a daunting task for an elder to dip in to the vat in search of the cream of the crop. And it can be said that while an artist might have one idea at the moment, they may never have another. But if just a few would brave the shark-infested waters, things could be pushed a tad quicker out of the post-modern trench art has dug itself. All too often the top of the pops engorges itself in its own success, and leaves behind its community and its history. Feeding off the young might not be such a bad idea – the current lack of sustenance (substance?) has made for an emaciated art scene.
Some might say that this would be ‘using’ artists. Well this wouldn’t be an especially new concept to creative fields. Many artists would give up their most valuable asset – their integrity – to be relevant just once during their lifetime. Aside from that, shouldn’t artists believe in their craft like the most devoted of religious patrons – willing to ‘die’ for the advancement of their religion? The true believers ought to be more than happy to give an idea, and to become a link in the chain – however small. Maybe this would also help boil out the impurities floating around in the kiddy pool.
While I do agree that the wisdom that comes with experience is valuable, what we have now is a system where age determines degree of importance, causing a weathering of the idealism that can bring forth a plethora of innovation. Yes, idealism might have no place in the art world, but waiting until an artist has developed a thick skin of apathy and general indifference to their surrounding community is no way to go about things either.
Aaah, what a pleasant pool it is, too. The agonizingly politically correct state-of-the-union glorifies mediocrity and its entailing shortcomings in every field, in a show of solidarity towards all that falls under the guise of ‘Art’ (which, as defined by many of my peers, is ‘everything and anything’). The return of this is the most certain drowning of anything suggested by wisdom-beyond-years – in an effort to maintain the purity of the upper echelon.
These suppressed ideas and opinions are precisely what art needs now; not the mangled leftover hash that survives the dejection of kiddy world. I know, it would be quite a daunting task for an elder to dip in to the vat in search of the cream of the crop. And it can be said that while an artist might have one idea at the moment, they may never have another. But if just a few would brave the shark-infested waters, things could be pushed a tad quicker out of the post-modern trench art has dug itself. All too often the top of the pops engorges itself in its own success, and leaves behind its community and its history. Feeding off the young might not be such a bad idea – the current lack of sustenance (substance?) has made for an emaciated art scene.
Some might say that this would be ‘using’ artists. Well this wouldn’t be an especially new concept to creative fields. Many artists would give up their most valuable asset – their integrity – to be relevant just once during their lifetime. Aside from that, shouldn’t artists believe in their craft like the most devoted of religious patrons – willing to ‘die’ for the advancement of their religion? The true believers ought to be more than happy to give an idea, and to become a link in the chain – however small. Maybe this would also help boil out the impurities floating around in the kiddy pool.
While I do agree that the wisdom that comes with experience is valuable, what we have now is a system where age determines degree of importance, causing a weathering of the idealism that can bring forth a plethora of innovation. Yes, idealism might have no place in the art world, but waiting until an artist has developed a thick skin of apathy and general indifference to their surrounding community is no way to go about things either.
Reality School by John Sparano
Word of the Day: Frottage/Frotteurism
Shark frotteurism is to be avoided as it can result in intractable pain to both genitalia and ego.
1)Psychologically, frotteurism or frottage (from French frotter "to rub") refers to a specific sexual disorder, a paraphilia involving "anonymous and discreet rubbing". . .
. . .to achieve sexual arousal or even orgasm in a public place, such as on a crowded train. A person who practices frotteurism is known as a frotteur.
2)In art, frottage is a surrealist and "automatic" method of creative production developed by Max Ernst.
"Frotteurism." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 16 Dec 2005, 06:48 UTC. 18 Dec 2005, 20:20 .
1)Psychologically, frotteurism or frottage (from French frotter "to rub") refers to a specific sexual disorder, a paraphilia involving "anonymous and discreet rubbing". . .
. . .to achieve sexual arousal or even orgasm in a public place, such as on a crowded train. A person who practices frotteurism is known as a frotteur.
2)In art, frottage is a surrealist and "automatic" method of creative production developed by Max Ernst.
"Frotteurism." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 16 Dec 2005, 06:48 UTC. 18 Dec 2005, 20:20 .
The Artworld Pyramid Shift
"There has been a shift in the functions of the various strata in the art work in recent decades. Something far stranger than a power realignment alone has been happening in the art world. Earlier, historical changes were relatively transparent transpositions of domination. Novel now is the seeming shift of interest, of focus --- almost of aesthetic object."
Way back in 1997 I wrote these words in an essay which was published in Switzerland in German and English as a part of a small book on contemporary art. The book was not that important, but I think some of my points are even more relevant to the art scene of today. I will excerpt and rewrite parts of it here for discussion.
In the history of art, the weight of influence and determining power has often shifted this way or that. Predominance has transferred from church to patron to galleries, sometimes to museums, in some places to collectors, every once in a while to artists themselves. There have been short-term moguls, such as John Ruskin in the late 1800s, or Clement Greenberg in the 40s, 50s and early 60s of this century. At times these people may be powerful enough, such as in the case of Greenberg, not only to draw attention to specific artists and away from others, but even to determine what is accepted as art at all.
If one envisions the art world as a layered pyramid, there is a slip of levels and their roles. Let us delineate a possible pyramidal illustration. The (1) artists make (2) aesthetic objects in their (3) manner (4) exhibition curators (institutional or not) put these in (5) exhibitions they organize. These artworks, and artists, may or may not -but usually at some point must be - taken on by (6) gallerists in their (7) galleries. where they are hopefully bought by (8) collectors and put in their (9) collections. Ultimately with enough acceptance the art works wind up being put by (10) museum directors in (11) museums. At least that is the diagram most of us have in our minds. Independent of the fact that this model is relatively new and rather specifically so-called late-capitalistic and predominantly American, that it now mutates is intriguing.
This change may have been happening slowly over quite a length of time. With Picasso, Duchamp, Warhol and later Beuys, however important their art, the focus tended to shift to the person, or rather to an image of each that had more to do with the drives of publicity and fashion than with humanism. Within our current pyramid or hierarchy of artworld functions. it seems that the true stars are the exhibition organizers. The Harald Szeemanns, Hans-Ulrich Obrists, Jean-Christophe Ammanns etc. I do not intend to plaintively deplore their success. I am in fact a fan of the work of several of the exhibition-maker superstars. Their influence has often been refreshing. and is certainly preferable to a narrow thralldom under someone like Greenberg. My design is to comment on our general cultural context. The point is not only that these exhibition curators have the spotlight, or even that they have become more original and creative than earlier organizers, but that all tiers of my hypothetical diagram sketched above have clearly slipped a notch or two.
The exhibition curators are in effect now the artists. Their exhibitions are the works of art, populated by artists who assume the position previously held by periods or styles or movements. The creator is the curator. the artist an aspect of the work. This continues across the board. Museums often act like galleries. Gallerists seem uncertain as to what it is they do --- having functions stolen from them on both sides. By the logic of this model they would become public service exhibitions privately funded by the gallerist. Most disconcerting is that although visitor numbers are increasing, the number of collectors is certainly not vastly growing. This makes one wonder what kind of effect the experience of blockbuster shows actually has on the viewers. In the 60s and 70s at the expanded exhibition's birth. It was thought such exposure to good art would be enough alone to enlarge the understanding public.
This exigency raises the question of what is to be done within it, through it. after it, or even against it. How can this situation be enlisted into the service of art? As in any situation. its
"cash value" is important, to use William James' term. That is, what good is it, what can be done with it? Let us consider our state pragmatically. In the real world, no situation has been ideal for art or the artist. Whether working for the king, church, state, merchants, whatever. How do art aficionados react, given the new hierarchy?
One choice has been to ignore the circumstances, practicing the old tried and true ostrich tact, denying history, saying it was ever thus so. Mapping culture as nature is a popular approach of atavistic style mimics. Or alternately one can cynically get on the bandwagon, a prevalent stance in much Neo-Conceptual art today. A careerist achievement of success as its own and only goal has even been promoted by some theorists. This amounts simply to sophistry, to train to win with no concern for why. True thinkers such as Socrates have criticized this know-nothing stance since 400 B.C. Wanting to convince people, without caring what you speak or paint about, or where you are going, seems to be an historically repeating infirmity of weak wills. A third reaction, and perhaps the most effective one, is to simply live in conditions as given, but to pry a little content in whenever possible. Not blatantly heroic perhaps, but nonetheless admirable. This has been a tenable option at many times and in many locations. Goya, for example can be seen in this light. The final and best reaction of all is to strive to make a very material itself of the situation, to incorporate it and force it to be creative by using art's ontological and metaphoric expansiveness. This should not, however; be the only material. Creative interpolation is called for, doorways of opportunity for new and necessary experiences of art. If we have no positive comprehension, then we will simply be the blind purposefully misleading the blind.
How does this concretely apply to us now? What shall be done? I have only a very few suggestions. For one, there is a collapse of roles? Well then, collapse your own roles, define yourself. In fact probably ones varied plural selves, "each of those creatures called one's self," in E. E. Cummings' words. Be "multiapplicable," depending on and following the nature of your thought. Be an artist, curator, writer, thinker, activator and more. When proper interpretation is valued, a more dialectical relationship with experience results. Mikhail Bakhtin has stressed the way that expressions not only reflect controlling interests but more importantly can be made disruptive. thereby unshackling alternative views. This comes about, he states, by developing a "polyphonic"' or "dialogic" form, utilizing varied and not subordinated points of view. A concern for context and meaning permits one as well to allow multiple approaches to retain their quirky individuality.
In addition, we need to reinstate a positive historical memory, yet one without a melodramatic "burden of the past." As Elaine A. King rightly points out, "an acute case of historical amnesia" is one of the factors killing art today." A historical consciousness operating against the amnesiac academy, rather than promoting it as history painting did. Plainly, the lack of any real acknowledgement of the past serves now chiefly to allow the continuous re-sale of the same few, stale notions as "cutting edge." If I go into a Kunsthalle one more time an see a bar stretched across the display space, on which "found" items of clothing are hung on hangers wall-to-wall I'll regurgitate. I've now seen that five times, each claimed to be shocking and new and cutting edge. Furthermore, stop yer whinin', but increase yer criticizin'. Yes, all artworld denizens have a tendency to whimper about their difficulties. It is hard, for almost all of us, not just artists. However, not all critique is bellyaching. In our Prozac-framed culture, very often even justified analysis and protest are immediately labeled as "whining." Have the gumption to speak openly and clearly about what you perceive of as objectionable. As my father said, if you have no enemies, then you have never spoken clearly enough. Not everyone needs to, or can, be fond of you and your ideas.
When I wrote these words, in their original form, I meant it as a call to artists to become curators themselves. Instead, the opposite has happened. The roles have shifted farther and solidified more densely. In German a new word has been forged to legitimize the situation. Historians, curators, organizers, critics, museum educators and so on call themselves as a group "Kunstvermittler." They even give themselves art awards for this "Vermittlung" activity. They frequently ask me to translate this into English. Fortunately, it cannot be done. And laudably, Raphael Rubinstein at Art in America assures me that such a term has been actively combated by better writers on art in the English-language world. For your information, that word could be framed as "art-intermediary" or "art broker" or "art middleman" or even "art procurer." Most of these, especially the last term, reveal more of the truth of the situation than the "Vermittler" would like, far more than the rather self-flattering connotations of the German neologism.
What do I do? Amongst other things, this: http://www.atelierernst.ch/PicsMSB/PTViewerPanoramas/Kiosk_PTV.htm
Now I am asking you: what more can we do now in this situation? To pragmatically exist in it, but also to criticize it, cure it or use it as material?
December 17, 2005
Small Consolation From The Big Fish
I was worried this would happen -where everyone would be overly self concious and sensitive about posting their photos, intimidated by me! - I know, and sympathize, sometimes I'm amazed myself!........just how good looking the GW shark actually is! Please! Try and keep in mind, this, is not a beauty contest!
......and, no, I haven't had any 'work' done, and yes, I have heard rumors and innuendo to the affect that I have had a nose lift ....rubbish! -though I do understand why someone might think so -with all the glitz and glamor that comes with being the big star in the fish world........ sometimes I do think maybe I should have something done about these scars and gouges on my wonderful aqualine, conical snout -er..I mean nose!
....as far as my disarmingly candid smile goes -sorry, don't even waste your time trying to compete with me..I mean, how many of those little herbivorous, chicklet shaped teeth do any of you have at any given time? 20, or 30? - whereas with my toothy grin, its 3000 lovely serrated edged daggers at any given moment! (- I know what you are thinking - 'how does the shark afford his dental bills?' the answer is, I don't! -when one tooth breaks off -another simply moves up to take its place! like a conveyor belt of extra sharp kitchen cutlery!
lets just skip past those deep, dark sensitive eyes of mine........I don't want to have you all leaving notes to your loved ones, jumping off of tall buildings........and as far as my beautiful two-toned skin goes.....now, I understand how weird you humans can be about skin coloration (something unfathomable to the Great Shark-)..I would just remind you, that beauty is only skin deep..... I know, what you are going to say: 'easy for him to say swimming around in that beautiful sharkskin suit he is wearing -but what about us? -doomed to walk this earth in skin that has us all looking like pink or at best, beige or black, plucked chickens?!'
I'm empathetic, and feel bad for you! Evertime you come to visit me, dressed in those silly black neoprene seal suits suits I think to myself, what do these human think, that everyday is Halloween here at the Farallons? (Though I do understand why you might get that idea- what with things on occaison getting slightly spooky here at Maintop Bay - the fog, the high, grey-green seas, dorsal fins, decapitated sea lions floating in pools of blood and everything....... ) -'why don't these humans get real and understand they don't have to get all gussied up on my account, I'LL eat VIRTUALLY anything!
SHARKfolio by Ray Pride: Cold, Cold Chicago
Damen & Division at Dawn
Frankie Machine's Corner
Morning Flag
Ukrainian Village Christmas
December Song
From flickr.com/photos/raypride/
THE EX-PAT-CHICAGOAN ARTIST
My sticker says: Hi, I'm Mark. I've been asked by Wesley to be the "foreign correspondent" for his Blog/Site SHARKFORUM: Opinion With Teeth. I'm going to be writing for the SHARK about art, the artworld and related entities from the perspective of an outsider, yet one acquainted with Chicago. Writing from that interesting position termed "ex-pat" by the UK citizens I have met around the world; citizens who never really emigrated, but just never seem to make it "back home."
I am an artist, art critic (Art in America, a.o.), theorist, historian and doctoral candidate with a serious predisposition for impertinence. I call it a "questioning" outlook. Others often say I simply have a bad attitude. And yet, I'm also frequently accused of possessing a persistently good mood. I think these go together well. You decide for yourself.
Wesley and I knew each other in passing when I lived in Chicago, but have become more "intellectually" acquainted by way of the often heated discussions over at Paul Klein's site, The Art Letter. As my blurb here states, I was born near Chicago; I lived in "our" city the longest I have ever lived in one spot. My career as an artist began there. I worked at the Field Museum building dioramas, had my ups and downs, had many shows, many reviews, sold well enough, won some awards, was listed as best installation of the year (or something like that) in The New Art Examiner once for a Raw Space piece. And so on.
I left in the 80s, when it appeared that there was nothing more for me in Chicago's visual artworld. In one of my recurring, sporadic changes, I had abandoned my earlier Late Conceptual Art and began pursuing the painting-installation-popular art mongrelization that I still engage in. (Although all my "directions" have dealt with the same core content and subject matter.) As I decided to abandon the Windy City, a brand of art was beginning to be enforced --- an exceedingly trendy, art magazine-derivative Neo-Conceptualism (then still linked to Neo-Geo). That, together with all the other aspects of Chicago's recurring provincialism, and a dreadful, dissolving love relationship, made me think, "Why the hell, then, don't you just go directly to that worshiped Mecca --- i.e. NYC?" I started on my way, however, then met my future wife (in the kitchen of my Chicago studio, strangely enough, due to a Maxtavern connection). She is Swiss, and after an unexpected further year in Chicago, and a later year in Tortola in the Caribbean, we headed off to Europe. I have now lived in one place or another in Europe for 17 years. Whenever I live for extended periods in the US, I never seem to make it out of NYC.
I found Chicago's music, literature and comic art world's wonderful. I believe Chicago is a wonderful place to live; my wife loved it too, and misses it still: those amazing neighborhoods, the food, the various ethnic groups. I think Chicag has great art too. But I don't miss it's artworld. Nonetheless, somehow or other, Chicago has never let me go. I still speak with a fairly Chicago accent in English, unfortunately very "cleaned up" due to conducting my life chiefly in the German language (and several dialects), thus seldom speaking English, or when I do, not to native speakers. Except with my Londoner Cockney pal Jonathan, whereupon we indulge our full "street" tendencies. I also had contact with Paul Klein. When he began his on-line discussions and his plan for a Chicago Art Museum I was intrigued. While participating in his list, my interest in Chicago's art travails returned, and fascinating discussions with Tony Fitzpatrick and Wesley Kimler and others began. And Wesley's were always THE most thought-provoking, even fierce. But never accommodating. Never ass-kissing. Tough but inspiring. So I wound up here. Check back. I hope I bring some pertinent observations to this round table.
The Maldive Shark by Herman Melville
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth,
From his charnel of maw,
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril's abroad,
And asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends;
and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat -
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat
December 15, 2005
The Shark Bites Back
well, well; here we finally are, ensconced in cool grey green salt water unfettered- now; is there anything to eat in this place? SHARKFORUM I see as an aristocracy, a place where unique, inimitable, individuals can gather to discuss ideas, argue, hold forth and so on. Chomping is not only allowed, but encouraged: are we not APEX PREDATORS?
Though I am confident that this idea will grow and permutate as we develop it, the basic idea to get things started, is an editors circle that will be known as, The Concrete Club- as in the inimitable thinglyness of how things are in terms of the concrete and universal. How subjective is all of this? Try jumping into the water with me (carcharodon carcharias,) and see for yourself just how subjective biological fear can actually be!
Anyway, I digress: what we are going to do is begin with this interdiciplinary discussion group- which will in time begin to focus on site specific events here in Chicago -and elsewhere- that we find interesting and of note - some of these things we hope to eventually have on our site in their cyber incarnation -ideally, functioning as a guide to actual events/ exhibitions. And in this way this site will be experimental -in seeing just what the symbiosis between virtual and actual can mean in the concreteness of the open sea. Rather than introducing the members of our group to you, I will simply let them announce their own presence, on their own terms - I mean this is sharky water after all-
Many are simply gummed by what researchers now believe to be packs of wild sharks and then let go...
Sharks and Media
Media sensationalism and widespread ignorance has given the white shark a bad rap. Although the species is responsible for an average of 2-3 non-fatal attacks on swimmers, surfers, specious venalities posing as curators, manipulative art educators hellbent on self-promotion/promotion of their specific agendas/departments- usually under the auspices of 'new institutional product' -commonly known as 'emerging artists'; mediocre, has been art dealers pretending to be art saviors/museum directors; failed artist with their prerequisite resentments, bolstered with muddled, poorly realized thought; artists whose positions in the artworld here, seems to have more to do with political appointment than any discernible aesthetic sensibility, and divers each year, its role as a menace is exaggerated; more people are killed in the U.S. each year by dogs than have been killed by white sharks in the last 100 years. Additionally, many are simply gummed by what researchers now believe to be packs of wild sharks and then let go........ scientific studies show that population of white sharks is low, with perhaps fewer than 100 adult animals in the state's waters. White sharks are important predators in the marine ecosystems of the California and Lake Michigan coasts, (and elsewhere-) and the people of California (and, Chicago,) recognize that. In 1992, the white shark was placed on the protected species list, and is legally protected from unlawful killing or exploitation. The original bill was supported by both scientists, artists and fishing and arts organizations, surfing clubs and diving groups, private citizens and an array of others. With your support and respect, we can continue to live with this complex and misunderstood animal.
December 14, 2005
Web Sites Worth Checking Out
We here at SHARKFORUM are always in search of great web sites. Here are a few faves.
Boing Boing
The Huffington Post
T Shirt Hell
Chickenhead
Show and Tell Music
Fact Check
ad busters
Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting
Ray Pride: Photographer
Nancy Bockoven's artandletter
David Roth's band the issues
Mr. Puryear Comes To Town
In a world loaded with snarky one-liners, perfunctory didacticisms and quixotic Post-Modernism, Martin Puryear is a breath of fresh air. Last Saturday the 64-year-old artist opened an exhibit of sculpture and drawings at Chicago's Donald Young Gallery, and this is a wonderful, if modest show.
Puryear's work is both sophisticated and playful, featuring organic forms which are oddly humanistic. As with all great sculptors he clearly devotes a great deal of attention to scale, incorporating the anticipated viewer into the design of his pieces.
Puryear's use of craft is authoritative, but this skill never overpowers the metaphorical quality of his work. In fact the beauty of this work is that the choice of materials, method of application and joinery all contribute to a greater gestalt. A knowledge of Scandinavian woodworking and furniture design is evident in the joinery of these pieces (the artist studied at the Swedish Royal Academy of Art, Stockholm, Sweden from 1964 - 68), but all of these pieces are invested with a playfulness which comes across to young audiences as well as old.
As my 6-year-old son moved around "Untitled" (picture above) he was enthralled by the organic qualities of the piece. "It looks a little like a giraffe mixed with a Rhino!" he informed us. And I can't help thinking that such associations are not entirely unintentional. This may be just one form of success, but it's very powerful - such connections, made in the mind of the viewer, creates a wonderful connection between artist, art and patron.
What strikes me as so masterful about this work is the way in which all the elements of form serve to support the final piece. It would be easy for an artist with this level of technical mastery to fall into the redundancy of mannerism, but each of these pieces is unique in it's own way. As an art student I struggled with style, and quickly adopted a rant against those who rely on stylist concerns above all else. In many ways I still feel as strongly about it, and a show such as this is a reminder why. Too often we see high-stylists with tremendous skills go to great lengths to cover for the fact that they are bereft of good ideas. In so many ways American contemporary culture celebrates style over substance, and the art world is not immune from such myopia.
But really great artists find ways to balance all of the formal concerns - content, meaning, style, material, scale, color, hue, value, contrast, and so on. And really great art demonstrates the inter-connection of all things. It is this sense of connection, along with the conflation of the literal and the abstract, which makes Puryear's work so very powerful. This work is strangely both global and American at the same time, as the technique references the woodworking traditions of both Scandinavia and the Orient. And yet the subject matter and boldness of presentation seem somehow uniquely American. The work is by turns pensive, boisterous, contemplative and robust. Both sophisticated and approachable, it's not quite populist and not quite aristocratic.
And I can't help wondering what he's working on now, as his next big show, at MoMA in NYC quickly approaches. I only wish this show had been larger.
December 13, 2005
Welcome to the machine
What's in a name? A lot, sez us here at SHARKFORUM, so we'd encourage you to avoid the temptation to read in too much specific meaning.
The broad brush strokes go like this: SHARKFORUM is a news and culture site. Our editorial group represents experience and deep interest in visual art, music, literature, film, and media for starters.
Our purpose is pretty straight-forward: esthetic opinon with well-defined edges. Feel free to disagree, but you're unlikely to suffer any confusion as to where we stand.
fuck v., n.
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Christmas tidings: Don't WALK
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Rick Geary's Artist Caricatures
by david roth
by david roth
Fischl: Change in Gallery System
by Norbert Marszalek
by Norbert Marszalek
sensorium, n.
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
We Are Not Here To Hurt You
by Wesley Kimler
by Wesley Kimler
geophagy, n.
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Simone Muench's Poem of the Week: "Here, Bullet" by Brian Turner
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Horror Posters
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Meeting The Press
by Wesley Kimler
by Wesley Kimler
bruxism, n.
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Reduce, Reuse, Freecyle
by david roth
by david roth
Hey bikers! Quit being so environmentally friendly and passive!
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
Twenty-One Pagan Street
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
Time, gentlemen, please
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Hiding In Plain Sight
by david roth
by david roth
iridectomy, n.
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Putting Red to bed: a g'bye letter
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Christmas Movie Recommendation: Wolf Creek
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
Oh The Humanity
by Paul K
by Paul K
Simone Muench's Word of the Day
by Simone Muench
by Simone Muench
White Room Shark Attack
by Wesley Kimler
by Wesley Kimler
Art Opening Wednesday Evening
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
Ray Pride's SHARKfolio: Notes for a Ghost #1
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Paul K's Yearly Crime Novel Round-Up
by Paul K
by Paul K
The Shark Bites Back
by Wesley Kimler
by Wesley Kimler
All of our editors are carefully screened!
by Wesley Kimler
by Wesley Kimler
"Researchers Find Barbie Is Often Mutilated"
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Screaming Indictments
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
We would all like an oceanside condo
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
SHARKbytes: So, two fish swim in the sea
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
Level of comfort and/or discomfort
by Norbert Marszalek
by Norbert Marszalek
I'll take Henry Moore for 5.3 million please
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
Cultures collide: the Coctails at Rotofugi
by Ray Pride
by Ray Pride
The Young and the Restless
by James Beckman
by James Beckman
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