Archive for the ‘Artist Rants’ Category
Times Square – Grand Canyon
“Suddenly I found myself on Times Square. I had traveled eight thousand miles around the American continent and I was back on Times Square and right in the middle of a rush hour too, seeing with my innocent road eyes the absolute madness and fantastic hoorair of New York” From “On the Road”, Jack Kerouac.
And what would he see now? Would he still be enthralled with it and soak in the romance and frenentic energy of …tourists in metal folding chairs smack dab in the middle of Broadway stuffing caesar wraps down their ‘ol pie holes?
Some famous wag once said that New York was not Detroit multiplied by 6 or Spokane by 20 and he was right, just ask the folks who retire out to beautiful Bumfuck nowhere or hot and humid Florida and slowly realize as they follow oldsters in Oldsmobiles with left turn signal lights permanently locked on, that after the third cup of coffee, or maybe after 5th re-checking of an empty e-mail account, that there is Nothing Happening and they must move immediately move to be within a 50 mile radius of the epicenter of the Universe, get into Times Square for a fix of the powerful nitro fueled dervish blast of human energy.
Letters from The Hawk,
These letters provide some idea of a part of Tattoo history. Here’s one letter from Lift Trucks Friend James Hawk with a little about Owen Jensen, a tattooist, with his wife Dainty Dotty, a 580 lb circus fat lady who was also a tattooist. They were originally circus folks who were nice people and lived great lives except for an untimely death for one, and another under poor, actually awful, circumstances.
Tom,
To start from the beginning of Owen Jensen, remember, Owen married Dainty Dotty when he was traveling tattooing the Circus circuit, Dottie, the circus fat lady at 600 lbs passed and left Owen with Butch before he was 4 years of age. When this happened Owens life kicked into a full gear, he’s around 60 years old and devotes everything to his Son, sending him to private schools, keeping a lovely clean and good home environment and never remarries and does it all with his tattooing and supplies and all alone . Tragedy strikes yet again after he does a fine job raising Butch when Butch is killed in a car accident at the age of 18 in 1967, Owen is then around 75 or 6 years old. Owen lets go of his home for an apartment and settles in to work tattooing on Chestnut in Long Beach until tragedy struck him again after working the late shift of 6pm-1am when he was mugged and stabbed for 30 bucks by three thugs on July 5th 1976 at the age of 85! Now that is a true tale in tattoo history. The man made his own way through so much tragedy and still would have kept pumping smoke to tattoo at the age of 85 if some thugs hadn’t done their deed. These photo’s are a wonderful piece of history that adds to the life and times of Owen Jensen, one hellova Man.
Warhol and Basquiat at the Brooklyn Museum
So maybe it’s not entirely true that a shallow thought rules but maybe immediacy and a good and true first impulse? The show at Brooklyn Museum of Warhol and Basquiat is a good example. We all rate Warhol now as the most influential artist of the 20th century. Even though he seemed to be a little out of ideas and digging through a 1960′s playbook for these late paintings from the 80′s. Basquiat was chock full of exploding themes involving black culture, hip hop and a rock out Jimi Hendrix like painting style. Andy who did so much for us in the 60′s: the invention of Pop, the Coke bottle silkscreens which just grow better and carry more import, producer of ultra superstars, and the Velvet Underground now seemed to be on cruise control tracing Yamaha motorcycles and steaks on canvas waiting for King James’ nitro energy blast.
In his last years we used to see Andy, scouring the Sixth Ave flea markets, a lime green jump-suited assistant in tow carrying multiple shopping bags filled with never to be looked at again collectibles. “Don’t care if it is Andy Warhill, he ain’t getting this for $50!’ swap venders would cry as he left their stalls on Sunday mornings in the underground garage. Read the rest of this entry »
Cause & Affection opens at Lift trucks Project on Saturday, June 12th, 4 to 8 PM
CROTON FALLS, NY — Up to 20 up-and-coming artists observed over a significant period by independent curator Kara Lenkeit will be exhibiting at Lift Trucks Project in the Northern Westchester town of Croton Falls beginning June 12th. See the slide show and video at www.ltproject.com/
Figurative and abstract works, wide-ranging and experimental in their approach to drawing and painting, installation and sculpture, will be on display. Watercolors, pencil line drawings, site-specific conceptual pieces, geometrics, and Neolithic nudes will be included.
Featured artists include Scott Daniel Ellison, Nick Greenwald, Scott Goodman, Daddy, Ellen Guhin, Christopher Manning, Mark Nilsson, Gil Riley, and Milton Stevenson, among others. Read the rest of this entry »
Riding out the Recession with Help From Some Scary Shields
Smoking a pre-Castro Cuban while vacationing in Castiglioncello on the Italian coast, our good friend Charles suggested that we all extend our relaxing vacation and remain here, comfortably ensconsed our haunted rented villa on the sunny Tuscany coast. Safely ride out the Great Recession currently ravaging the good old US of A. And what a great idea! Haunted house, perhaps being an overstatement as ghosts only appeared one night in a severe dry mistral wind with no one in the 38 room manse restfully sleeping, all of us wandering at various hours unbeknownst to the others, passing each other as if in a trance, up and down the hallways of the centuries old villa, big green shutters abanging and doors flying open, various musical instruments scattered about the villa being softly plucked and the woodwinds whistled, played by otherworldly spirits. The eyes in the old portraits followed us just like in old black and white horror movies. Ancient marble statues seemed to come to life as we floated down gravel paths through the overgrown gardens on this fully moonlit and owly night.
The local barfly Desiree D’Arbanville, former model and 60 something flower child, recalls the haunted villa well from the summer the Rolling Stones rented it and recorded the now lost tracks from Goat’s Head Soup in the hot basement; alternate tracks numbers 13 and 48, the acoustic versions (Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards were not at those sessions).
Haunted or not, still a very good idea; hunker down overseas, kind of let the whole thing blow over. Very much an old school thing to do, like packing many large monogramed steamer trunks and embarking on a slow ocean voyage across the Atlantic in the days long gone. But as business and family matter are wont to do, our presence was indeed required back in the States. And return our friend did to his mission, his lifelong driving quest.
Hot Rod King Robert Williams at the Whitney
The Voice From The Wee Gee Board. Scholastic Designation: A Manufacturer Of Parlor Games Ignorantly Produces A Doorway Into The Spirt World Where Naivists Find Their Petty Requests Answered By Being Pulled Through A Ouija Dimension To Become Sexo-Psyche Possessions.
Everybody makes fun of the Whitney Bienial. But the big surprise this time is they got a couple of things right. Like the hauntingly sad photos of the returning Iraq War vet who, blown up by a crazy Jihadist’s bomb, is returning as a monster with an awful, huge reconstructed head to marry his waiting-for-him, high school sweetheart. She, dutifully committed, does indeed marry, then seperates right away. It’s too much. You can’t really blame her and seeing the photos of his return to her from the war will stay with you forever.
On a lighter note one of our favorite artists, Mr. Rbt. Williams got in. Good for you Rbt. Williams!
Even if they did choose to exhibit some limp watercolors (or maybe Prismacolors) it’s still great to see someone who actually deserves recognition get in the Whitney. His big paintings might have been a better choice but would have put all the rest of the junk in the Read the rest of this entry »
Getting into an Art Gallery.
As an artist you are also an art salesman. Especially if you are trying to get in a gallery by going to Thursday night openings. If an art opening starts at 7 get there at 7. The owner will be anxiously milling about wondering if anyone will show up and there you are. Dress noticeably well. Look like you walked out of the pages of Vanity Fair magazine. Do not dress in a painter’s uniform of Dr. Marten’s, tee shirt and paint splattered pants. That look is over. Get a nice suit from a thrift store and have it tailored for about $14. If you are female do not show up in clothes you have made yourself. Do not try to look “interesting”. Get a perfume spritz and buy something hot at Bloomingdale’s. Return it the next day.
Fuller Building Fallout
The Fulller Building
“It all started when somebody wrote the “F” word on a canvas” the famous gallery owner snarled cleaning out his fancy digs on 57th st. “Went straight downhill from there.” And that’s that. Game over. Head for the hills, the gigs up. No teeth gnashing and contemplation here. Just run for it. Said he has hundreds of paintings, can’t give them away. And his artists are Hopper, Nolde, Charles Burchfield and David Smith. Not exactly good news for the rest of us painters.
Just exactly when did the Fuller building begin to look so empty? Like something might have happened here once upon a time, it’s now dim elevator lights, tired hallways, space available! the sign sez, rug merchants sit next to dentists with shakey hands and the kind of lawyers that you hope the other guy has.
A simple flattering comment about a Lester Johnson oil brought the sales team to it’s feet. Running. “It’s listed at 28 thousand, you can have it for 18. That’s negotiable though. How about 12?” Sizing us up they were! And filter off as they apparantly were let down by all the usual tells: shoes, watch, fingernails, that transmit breeding, financial and social position. Somehow they mistook us for gallery visitors who might actually have some dough, might against all odds, be customers. “We can reframe it if you like”
Hair and a Teletubby
And while we are on the topic of careers in the artworld this question often appears about as welcome as a bounced check; What are the odds of having a long happy creative life?
As a young painter I once got a call from Aquarious Productions for an interview and found myself looking for said Company in a grim building squeezed in somewhere way down West 42. I climbed 4 flights of stairs bothering sweaty folks in dance studios and musicians along the way to see if anyone knew where Aquarious was. No one knew. I knocked upon an old scarred door with a wierd blue/gold triangle and a painted on eyeball, kind of a dollar bill type symbol. The peephole darkened from within, a police lock was wrenched away. An overweight guy greeted me, stringy blonde hair reaching the shoulders of a denim shirt embroidered with a butterfly or maybe a mushroom on the front, the whole look skillfully pulled together by a giant bronze marijuana leaf belt buckle. A skinny kid who seemed to be in some sort of a trance, whacked a snare drum roughly every 15 seconds, or so. With a beefy wave I was invited to sit on a caved in sofa next to a dead empty fishtank with a nine iron poking out of the top. I dutifully showed my art portfolio, which at this time consisted of photos of enormous paintings of industrial stuff like screwdrivers, channel locks and power drills. Read the rest of this entry »
