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.

Times Square is to New York as the Grand Canyon is to Arizona. The Great Wall is to China, Eiffel Tower to Paris. The storied epicenter of a great city where peep shows once reigned, rampant wildings, mob shoot outs, the go big or go home place for plays and musicals, The Great White Way, the ball dropping on New Years, Symphony Sid introducing the Miles Davis Organization for the first time, virginal women smootching with their servicemen after peace is declared and where else would you go, the mall ?

Anticipation now lies squashed like a stink bug on the driveway by the horror of seeing the great river of bustling people, screeching cabbies, monstrous, belching trash carting trucks, terror struck pedestrians hustling to dodge Kamakazi bike messengers all dammed up. Stopped. Replaced by what looks like the second tier economy deck of a Norwegian Dawn Cruise Ship.

Great block long swaths of the street are closed to cars. People sit in the street. Not protesting even, but everyone slouched over eating and smoking. Remember Ratso Rizzo who banged on a Cabbies hood shouting “Hey, I’m Walking here!”? Now it would be; “Pardon me, I am sitting here, that is, if you don’t mind.”

What it is that makes Times Square the second biggest tourist attraction in the world ( yep, Disney is #1) it’s a wonderfully evolving piece of art in itself. Curated by the pagen gods of commerce and capitalism, new LED signs go up, mandated by the city planning commission to be as gaudy as possible, others, like Lehman Bros, follow Joe Camel and the giant Cup of Noodles and drop down to the pavement and crawl with shame into the 30 yard dumpster of economic misfortune.

But as this is an art column, here we go. There is a presumably innocent artist, gameface on, paint roller in hand, decorating the Holy and True Road baby blue and dark blue and light blue. A water pattern it seems. But honestly it looks like just flat tired old paint not even a clever water pattern as if seen on a stifling hot day with a fire hydrant leaking or something that would tip a hat to the old New York. I think it’s supposed to represent heat, so visually it doesn’t work. Sounds like it will be covered by a seating area anyway, so the concept is? Sitting in a fake puddle below some buildings?

What they have done is like damming up the Colorado River, letting a misguided artist decorate boulders and then setting out chairs for tourists to watch the sad trickling stream.

We were just fine standing en masse on the sidewalk, eyes wide open in slack-jawed bliss, watching the pedestrians dodge the seamless race of double decker busses, bike messengers and pimped out lime-green, rice-burners roaring down the broad avenue. The pedal to the metal, hot rod race right down the middle of New York, our great American City.

Attention Mayor Mike: Nobody travels across the world to see people in metal folding chairs eating sandwiches in the middle of the street. Take off the brakes, let the traffic flow.

Herewith the official jargon.

NYC DOT Announces Winning Design For Temporary Plazas In Times Square
Molly Dilworth’s “Cool Water, Hot Island”

New York City Department of Transportation Commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan announced the winning design for the temporary treatments that will refresh and revive the streetscape design currently in place at the Times Square pedestrian plazas while the agency moves forward with the separate design process for the area’s permanent capital reconstruction project. Submitted by Brooklyn-based artist Molly Dilworth, the selected design is composed of a graphical representation of NASA’s infrared satellite data of Manhattan. Titled “Cool Water, Hot Island,” the artist’s concept focuses on the urban heat-island effect, where cities tend to experience warmer temperatures than rural settings. The proposed design’s color palette of striking blues and light hues reflects more sunlight and absorbs less heat—improving the look of these popular pedestrian plazas while making them more comfortable places to sit. The colors and patterns evoke water, suggesting a river flowing through the center of Times Square, and they also provide a compelling visual counterpoint to the reds, oranges and yellows of the area’s signature marquees and billboards.

DOT launched the design competition in partnership with the Times Square Alliance in March 2010, the first stage in the City’s effort to remake Times Square following Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg’s decision to make the plazas permanent as part of the Green Light for Midtown project. The agency received 150 submissions for designs to replace the one currently installed at the five pedestrian plazas along Broadway from 47th to 42nd streets. The winning design was selected by a jury composed of representatives from the DOT, the Alliance, the Mayor’s Office and the Design Commission.
“This brings creativity and public art to the streets—literally,” said Tim Tompkins, President of the Times Square Alliance. “It signals that the theater district— already known for creative expression indoors—is now a place for creative expression outdoors, in the most urban public space in the world.”
The new design is scheduled to be installed by the end of July. The Alliance will monitor and maintain the temporary treatments for up to 18 months as the agency initiates plans for the design and construction of permanent plazas under the Department of Design and Construction’s Design and Construction Excellence program. As part of the longer-term project, DOT and DDC are working with a team of experts—from landscape professionals to architects to engineers—to design world-class plazas with ample seating, new paving and underground infrastructure able to accommodate and enhance the signature events that are staged at Times Square throughout the year. The project will also completely reconstruct the roadways in Times Square, which have not been structurally repaired in decades. An announcement is expected later this summer. Construction on the permanent plazas is expected in 2012.

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.

One letter I have is written in Owens hand just 53 years ago this month and establishes Dotties death at Dec. of ’52, Charlie Wagners death earlier that year (Jan. 1st ’53), Charley Barrs living in ’53 but not tattooing, Joe Liebers death, and Butches birth date of Aug. 12th 1949. This is not to add that Percy died in ’52. It also establishes Berts first move to San Diego in ’53 before his return to open the Nu-Pike shop after making up his mind to leave the shop in St Luis to Tattoo Faye and long before he was working for Bert much less Leroy Minough. Owen had a fantastic travel schedule working with so many others of the era that it’s hard to count them all, and after serving in WW-I . What a guy!

This trade of tattooing that I entered has it’s rewards, it just takes time to pass and the Gods shine on you if you do it well and treat people well. My whole business has relied upon the return and good customer treatment. I grew up in the “Service Station” business of my Fathers, Son of a “pump jockey”. It paid the bills and raised four kids. When my Parents gave me the opportunity and offered the Chicago Art Institute to me, I knew how heart felt they were to obligate to me to such a task and payment. But I’m getting off track, “the customer is always right” was always the motto and the way of the Gas Station business, one unsatisfied customer would create a chain reaction, like it takes a barber 100 haircuts to make up for the 1 bad haircut.

So now I have third generation of customers who “wouldn’t go anywhere else”, ha! My organic canvases have traversed all points of the globe. I got a call from Frank Fritz from the History channels program of “American Pickers”, I have tattooed him up one side and down the other and he still calls, but the point is that he said they have been filming in upstate NY for a few weeks and he was there complaining of how they had him up and filming every day and day after day and he was saying how he wanted to get back to relax, all I could think about is how much I wish I could get just a few days to come and visit people there! Hell, it was everything I could do to refrain from calling you up off the business card you sent! I figured that I best respect the e-mail aspect and not interrupt you through the day and how you probably prefer to use the mail vs the phone call. My calls generally come at the most inopportune time, like today, I dialed the Health Dept. to speak with the certain so and so as I had the receptionist pick up the phone and my cell started ringing, ahhhh! a restricted number, so I asked the Lady to hold for a moment and it turned out a friend of mine had dialed me by mistake! Just an irritation that cell phone. In fact the guy who has my number is one whom I swear is the reason we lost the Vietnam war, he went in on the last year as UDT Seal and that was the end after his tour, he made his number restricted and if ya call him, this cryptic message of “Blue is Blue” comes over the phone message recording, I figure it’s a Moody Blues thing but I’m never gonna ask him about it. I love the guy but it’s weird how bad things happen when your around him, one time I got a couple stitches in my head from it. I used to keep count but I gave up. But todays call was just another “ping”, not to mention that today was definitely a Monday, had a troup of Zanex Mommies roll in for a 30th Class Reunion, singing show tunes to each other, etc. etc., Ed Young had an emergency to go to in Bloomington Illinois and his appointment showed who didn’t get the message that Ed wasn’t making it, I heard Cat talking with him as to how he had to ship out Wednesday to Afghanistan and that he had only returned on an emergency trip home to bury his Mom after she lost the fight with cancer, I HAD to fit this kid in and I did him a good one, dude, his Mom tribute told the tale of her birth of 1966, Wow! That is hard luck and I felt all the better for sticking him in and getting him stuck, good kid.

I need to take some pic’s of my old mobile station from when I traveled, I was very surprised when I found the pic of Jack Redclouds and they were very similar, I have it upstairs over the shop in storage. Maybe I should have done more to preserve for others in the coming generations, but I feel selfish in saying that when my memory is gone, so goes what I can relate even to myself. I’m not writing any books, I don’t procrastinate anything, so people ask me nothing. I just love some of the stories in the backgrounds, stuff that would burn off both ears that I would have to relate only off line and not in print, Ha! It all comes with the history, like the difference of knowing birth dates and death dates vs what they were like, the untold obit,ha! Sure, Van Gogh cut his ear off, but what was Gauguin doing to the chamber maids at the hostel? Ha!
I have some pictures to burn onto a disc for you of Berts work. It’s crazy how much the real life examination vs a picture is though, the iron oxide, everything! I noticed on the early stuff before the Broadway and Market shop burnt down had allot of spit shading quill pen ink to it’s shading, some didn’t photograph well because of the lighting even after I got rid of the flash.
It probably is no secret as to the Bill Moore being the man who owns allot of the early art, he worked with Tattoo Faye when she was still alive and he is very much a character, loads of BS you have to sift through, but I wanna hug him for not being the a self promoter type, he’s just Bill or better known as Bondage Bill in the tattoo area. Just for laughs, I have to tell you one of his BS stories, he was in the Navy and claimed that he shared a room with Joey Ramone, I remained silent until I couldn’t take it anymore and asked him what his real name was(like I couldn’t remember), he said “Joseph”. Ha! I let it go, but DeeDee Ramone had done a short trip through the Marine recruiting office and a five mile run and was turned out or down or whatever really happened. But one could say that he really did share a room with a person named Joey Ramone…….just not the one people remember.
The guy stays up til 3am every night, and sometimes tattoos till 3am. He comes up and stays the night every now and then, it was once every month for awhile, just a real character. What worries me is how he will cart stuff back and forth and sometimes I’m the one covering the art from the rain. Some of the flash originals are watermarked from the fire but there doesn’t need to be more! The one “pork chop” page with Air Force 2 and 3 dollar tattoos just makes me wonder how many eyes combed that page in it’s existence, the photo faces of all who combed it would be like a collage of something Diane Arbus would do, all walks combing it knowing it couldn’t look back in judgment, “just a couple bucks and it’s mine” rolling behind those eyes. Like a cigar store indian of sorts.

Damn it will be good the day we can get together, I certainly appreciate our correspondence. So much more to talk about just let me know if you get tired of me rambling.
Have to go and get some sleep, cutting weeds out of the horse pasture tomorrow before work and it gets messy and I get hot, love my coffee in the morning, just hate sweating the stuff and a coffee/water number is still a watered down dehydration combination.
Sincerely,
-Hawk-

Thanks Hawk, Great letter more? Regards,TC

Tom,

I just had to get that off of my chest and send you the tid bits in hopes that it may add to your collection towards the understanding of life with the circus tattooers and the devotion that many through those years and changing era’s of popularity of tattooing endured for the sake of their trade and craft. Some very amazing people.
I took my guff when I first began in a not so popular era, but I never and can never put in what that man did unless I surpass his years of tour of duty.

I’ve studied the rhythms and trends to the point of understanding how when tattooing first started off with the upper class in private settings when it was popular among the elite, then it’s turn in popularity when it became common and at the circus level when everybody could have and would get one and the elite turned on tattooing and was quoted as saying that it was the most barbaric form of art that man could have dreamt up, Ha! “In Vogue” turns to “Trendy” and once it becomes a trend, trends get put back on the shelf until the next resurgence much like the hip huggers and bell bottom jeans, however tattooing has always carried a “rediscovery” theme. It has always repeated it’self with the line “It’s not just for Sailors anymore”. I denied interviews for ten years and had Ed Young do them because I became tired of the people wanting me to give them all the reason why it was “OK” to get tattooed “Now”. They never wanted the true history, just some short answer as to validate it being “OK” for “anyone”. It got to me to the point that I had to start having fun with it all and wrote down thirty valid points of psychology of motives for tattoos and to then ask the customer themselves why they were getting tattooed, it was the better to record than a write up in a newspaper as those men who came in wanting Bill Goldbergs tribal tattoo in the same place of the arm that Goldberg had his, whether left or right, it was interesting to get the explanations and reasons. On the average the answer would be that they were “body builders” or “big fans”, when actually the true average was Crypto Homosexuality and that admiration of another mans body. Now you can imagine how a muscle headed man would react if I were to have countered by telling them my observations, not to mention how my business would falter after they went about saying I was “callin’ ‘em some sort of queer”, Ha!
It really helped me to cope and the fact that no tattoo magazine or article has ever printed such truth that would somehow undermine profit is no real surprise to me. The reasons and actual counter of category was very interesting, those who claimed allegiance to a group were often afflicted by the peer pressure motivation, etc.
A well rounded tattooist should have understandings of Dermatology, Medical knowledge and it’s teachings/understandings, knowledge of electricity and current for power, mechanic’s of the machines, Chemistry of the pigments, all the understandings of art from breath to stroke, a jewelers eye for pins, etc., but Psychology and understanding is something that will come like it or not, ha! I once spotted the “regret” individual, someone who wanted to get full circle to “regret” in a tattoo asap. This is to say that the individual wanted to be the one who sits with the neighbor lady in a scenario of something like this;
Jill: “Barbara, I think I’m going to take the plunge and get me one of those tattoos, everybody is doing it”.
Barbara: “You don’t want to do that Jill…..”.
Jill: “Why not?”
Barbara: “Well, if you MUST know, I have one….”
Jill: “You do???”
Barbara: “Yes, only my husband knows about it and I regret that I ever done it, I had it placed in a spot where it could never be seen, and I wished to gawd I had never done it and I have regretted it ever since { emphasis on drama }.”
Wow! To think I have been at it long enough to spot that motive was clear to me that I am not without understanding of the human mind and not one who mindlessly would do anything on demand for money. This particular lady was turned away, I had called her right and she knew it. The full story is much better and with lots of insult to the tattooer who “had to be some kind of illiterate drop out” due to “such a trade”, which would have helped validate her future pain had I gone through with it. I turned her into my entertainment without insult to her and with decorum in turning her down as to not fuel a solitary thing to her favor. I love my job.

Marty Coressel, who is now retired from working with Sailor Bill Johnson, and I have had lots of correspondence that’s interesting reading and very trade related. Dale Kellett is a close friend and I found some serious discussion there too.
Reading some of what I had written and forgot about showed me how much of the tattoo community leans on the other for support in times of need. Economy and the 50 dollah tattoo kits play hell on those with families. Some get away from ya with what’s between their ears and loose it, the mortality rate of tattooers in the past is pretty heavy stuff. I went on in one conversation in an e-mail and named quite a few who took the E ticket out of life by their own hand, surprised myself as to how many I could name right off the top of my head when I typed it.
Some of the stuff is too personal and other stuff is to opinionated, but if you really want a look, you can see and read what I’ve said. The historical study stuff is good reading, like when I wrote about all the people who bragged that they “knew” Charlie Wagner were what had become his competition that set up shop all around him and referred people away from Charlie and degraded him as a wino. How the tattooers of today would have ran away screaming for their lives if they had tried to stay just one day in Bob Oslands shop in 1979 Chicago and never looked back at attempting to deal with such a trade that is so opposite of the boutique studios of today.

Lend me your thoughts Tom, it’s getting late and I did a bad thing today when I went and mixed the coffee with water when I went out to take down the weeds in the pasture, didn’t listen to my own advice, ha! Still went in and created feeling a quart shy and made people happy. This heat will bring in some strange people sometimes. Used to be that all I had to look for is fuzzy eyes that meant they were stoned, weaving back and forth meant they were drunk, but the Meth Heads are an unreadable sort, ha! Add dehydration to somebody who hasn’t eaten anything but poison for three days and you have something that is not of the gene pool anymore………..

Thanks for listening Tom,
-Hawk-

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.

Andy’s idea of shallow, one famous quote proclaims “I am deeply shallow” on a pillow case for sale at the Brooklyn Museum store, is fine. But only goes so far. You have to be a naive or a naturally gifted genius to pull it off. Which he and Basquiat were. Today we like them but universally hate trendy poseurs like Richard Prince and Elizabeth Peyton. Ask any one from Sotheby’s auctioneers, gallery owners to art mover guys and street artists working in Central Park, they tell us Basquiat’s work just gets better and better while others from that 80′s era just look embarrassing. One huge and horrid example of this decade of excess, taking into account not even Schnabels’ drek, is the David Salle painting with the giant word King Kong lettered in, some figures stumping away and a 50′s chair glued on the canvass. Stays with you like a large, free cheese sample from the flea market.

We now think vapid/trendy is bad, but shallow can be very good. If done by a true talent. And only if the artist is just painting and not thinking about it too much.

Aren’t we all just a little sick of meaningful art and the headache inducing chore of trying to figure it out? Basquiat’s work can be just enjoyed, great colors, black and white rhythmic patterns, the cool words written all over. His paintings are fresh and look like he was having fun. Yet the art critics (actually in the Brooklyn Museum book, which in the end is redeemed by great art reproductions) insist on saying things like ” Close inspection reveals that this head, unlike a skull is alive and responsive to external stimuli; as such it seems alert to our world while simultaneously allowing us to penetrate it’s psycho-spiritual recesses.” Too much thinking, college boy!

A piece arrived at Lift Trucks Project of some oranges on a table. And how relaxing! No meaning at all. Not painted like Zubarin or some famous art dude but just competent. Like opening a window during a stuffy art history 202 lecture by an Art Forum imbibing boor. And maybe that’s why Warhol gets better and better. The Cambell’s cans at MoMA? Stunning. They get more groovy with every new visit. Shallow? Well, yes and no. When asked how he arrived at that particular subject, he answered something along the lines of “I like soup”. Basquiat liked music, boxers and skulls. So he painted them. ‘Nuff said, said SAMO.

There are some rewards for embracing shallow thinking. Much easier that way really. Don’t analyze it; just go. Like a bronc rider; just climb up on the dang bull, hang on for 8 secs. Although a more obtainable goal for us might be to watch an entire NASCAR event without fidgeting, texting or doing anything. Falling asleep during the broadcast would be ok as you wouldn’t really miss the crashes. Instant reply is bully.

Many of us are coming around to believe that the less one thinks about it, the better. Never miss an opportunity to do nothing, to miss the next book reading by some famous author or the next hot must see group show in Brooklyn. Skip the grand gesture, the unnecessary e-mail and why not,not send another twitter message? Just stop. No one really wants to know what you are up to. Although they do seem to want you to know what they are up to.

Carries over to the music world: why are songs by Cool and The Gang still great? Raise your hand if you like Catch the Wind by Donovan. We do. But all the deep and meaningful, the politically charged stuff by sincere folkies like Joan Baez are now entirely unbearable. Keep it shallow, shallow is good.

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.

Though visual art is just that- visual- the work in Cause and Affection delves deeper, and has conceptual-as well as-visual themes relating to ideas of anxiety (fear), approbativeness (an inordinate desire for applause and adulation), passion, love and cautiousness. “Passion and anxiety pretty much make the world go ’round, in my opinion” explains Lenkeit. “Visual art and art theory have been essential in my attempts to understand the world…it’s a gut reaction, I’ve just been looking at a ton of art lately and trying to show what I have “internal reactions” to, i.e. a “butterflies in the stomach” feeling. “What I personally feel is best” said curator Lenkeit.

“Some of the most eclectic young emerging artists are exhibiting together for this show, and a number of them are likely to create quite a stir on the New York gallery scene over the next decade,” said Danielle Arps of Lift Trucks. “Viewers can expect to get a ground-floor look at the shape of things to come; it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if one or more of these artists become renowned for some of their signature pieces”
The show will run through September 12th.

The Lift Trucks Project is housed in a former fork lift factory, now a project space, where contemporary artists can execute and exhibit ideas outside of the traditional gallery system. It is located in Croton Falls, NY, in northern Westchester County, 70 minutes from Grand Central on the Harlem Line, 100 feet from the station. It is accessible by car off Interstate 684, exit 8, by following Metro North signs to the Croton Falls station.

The show will run through September 12th.

Ok, so you’re wondering about the title right?  Well I had an intriguing opportunity to experience such a space, and it happened to be in the Studio of artist Hunt Slonem.  He has a huge space, just outside of Times Square with great views, northern light, a designer’s dream really.

Walking in, out of the elevator, my eyes are immediately assaulted with color and not jut any color, every color; on the walls, the floor, the hundreds of small scale Victorian frames, intricately yet sporadically mounted on almost every wall surface.  I’m shocked, firstly because I’m in witness of the undoing of every design theory I’ve ever learned, and secondly because I couldn’t be more inspired.

Designers, imagine your first studio course, you know the one where everything is ridiculously conceptual, imagine that space realized;  now you have beginning visuals of this artist’s studio.

I’m greeted by a lovely young lady, the artist’s assistant.  She instructs me to leave the painting that I’m returning next to the reception desk.  Almost like a kid in a candy store, or rather, a design student at ikea, I immediately ask to look around, and begin to asses all things in site.

Every inch of the floor is covered in antique and tibetan looking rugs that range in color, pattern and size.  In a way, they kind of guide you through each room, and each room has a color theme and is filled with interesting objects and furniture.

There is the blue room, filled with randomly placed painted portraits of former president Abraham Lincoln and creme upholstered, Victorian styled, love-seats.  Then the yellow room, more paintings, smaller scale, everything is framed, hardly any furniture, just an old looking wooden console, filled to capacity with framed pictures. The final room, in this giant space (the rest of the studio is open with walls and doorways dividing randomly) is the pink room, actually, more like the bunny room.  It follows a similar formula as the ones before; rugs, victorian furniture, paintings……but there is something so striking about seeing the same subject matter (and such an odd one) repeatedly painted over and over again; blue bunnies, black bunnies, pink bunnies, white bunnies, blanketing, every. single. inch. of wall space, it’s great, a little creepy, but great.

The back of the studio then opens up.  I suppose the floor plan would look like a warped circle, where you start at one end, go through a series of connected rooms and  eventually are led back to where you  began.  This space is what I would consider the actual art studio, with half finished canvases, paints, brushes, easels……. parrots.  Yes, parrots, oh and parakeets too.  As I walk in to the ‘studio’ I look around analyzing, assessing, admiring, when out of nowhere and from no-one “HELLO!”  I turn around, and am startled to see, at-least eleven tropical and colorful birds!  One of which, a particularly large one , is not in a cage, hopping from fake branch to fake branch, talking to me.  I return the greeting, slowly exit the area,  and back to the main foyer where I began.

I thank his assistant and as I head to the elevator, I think to myself, is this what design is all about?  New York City, art, pink walls and parrots?

Watch out though because this concept might take hold.  A lot of artists are now free to just sit and stare. What a nice change for them. No more of that time consuming learning how to draw stuff and trying to figure out all that color, shape and other difficult painting type stuff.  So last year.

Artists are the trendsetters of Popular culture so maybe others will follow. In fact, maybe this idea will carry over to all creatives such as dancers, playwrights, although I guess Beckett was already there and musicians (ok, John Cage kind of beat us all to this one with the 4’33″ minutes of silent sitting at a piano). But these two artists chickened out and employed prop stuff like a piano or a dead tree on stage. Actors, it’s maybe it’s time to relax now. Perhaps soon on TV a blank stare will greet our blank stares. Then we can all sit and stare at each other. It will quickly crossover to other professions; machinists, real estate agents, doctors, why even school bus drivers will all be practicing their respective professions by not doing them.

How liberating! Finally we can all just stop and go play golf as this culturally challenged group would probably be the very last to “get” it. Kids could still go to school, or would the “sit and do nothing” idea apply to students too?  But they already seem to be doing nothing. Maybe an age appropriate cut off date would have to be imposed, like “Stop that. You can’t do nothing, that’s only for adults”.

This exhibit titled “The artist is present” at MoMA and is far more cerebral and evolved than the conceptual artists we all studied in art school like Martin Kippenberger and Josef Bueys. Looking back now they made the big art mistake of injecting some humility and wit into their art performances. For example Bueys explained the history of art to a dead rabbit. For a few days. Or how about this one? Kippenberger bought a bar in a rough neighborhood, tripled the price of beer, got himself pounded in the parking lot by the local mates, had a photo taken of his bandaged up face and then did a nice painting from the photo.

Yoko Ono, had some wonderful pieces, if you can forgive her for breaking up the Beatles. But she didn’t evolve this far. Her most famous fluxus piece was a stunningly great work (really) where you had to climb a ladder to see a little a note on top of the ladder that said simply; Yes. You were rewarded just for your optimistic outlook by clmbing the ladder and hoping against all hope that the note didn’t say fuck you or something. Legend has it that right then and there, John Lennon fell head over heels for her.

Marina Abramovic does more than nothing as the exhibit continues upstairs. Maybe these were transitional pieces on the art highway to nowhere. There’s a black and white film of her combing her hair. Another of her yelling. Very loud. Then a famous early piece of her wearing nothing and kind of jumping around. Which reminds me of another profession; pole dancers. They would also finally be able to sit and stare and do absolutely nothing like the nude figures in this exhibit. Although these two figures were pretty bland and standoffish. They did not get many dollar tips.

There’s another famous piece showing a big artistic star she hand carved into her stomach with a razor blade. Ouch, Marina Abramovic! I think we can all be glad her art has evolved into just sitting if this is the kind of mischeif she was getting herself into.

So be sure to see the show. Or be truly sophisticated. Don’t go. Do nothing.

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.

Charles would often go on about the siren song that called out for him to explore the rabbit warren like tunnels under an old Greenwich Village music store and find the long lost Azmat shield collection rumored to be lying forgotten in low ceilinged, spiderwebby rooms. Heralding from Irian, Java, these huge painted shields served the purpose of striking paralysis and an irresistable urge to buy something when seen by enemy tribesmen. And they did. After this important economic stimulus function, they were laid down upon on the Banyon tree roots from whence they came and within weeks said shields rotted and disappeared back into the earth. Needless to say, there are not many around these days. It’s rumored that both Larry Gagosian and Mathew Marks each have a scary Azmat shield on hand for their difficult customers.

The intrigue of this adventure does kind of grab you. It echoes the exploits of Happy and Nelson Rockefeller’s son who travelled afar to gather the collection now ensconsed at the Met. Of course Charles would want to skip the inconvenient part that fell upon the Rockefeller lad, that is, actually traveling to a remote weird island, getting lost and croaking in the jungle. So he set out on his particular adventure to the depths of Perry Street, a remote section of the “Village”. After much negotiating and hard trading over short glasses of coffee grounds with the elders of the long defunct music store, the shields did indeed become his.

Elizabeth, his charming and beautiful wife was not entirely amused. For that reason and if it were not for an untimely wager on the Euro’s rise in value against the American greenback, this fine collection would be at a top quality museum. Not where it is now, up for your approval and ultimate purchase. So, scare your art collector clients into buying something. Threaten to lay a curse upon them like sending fire ants from below if they don’t buy immediately. He’s done all the work. And PayPal is somewhat easier to deal with than headhunters.

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 show to shame, like the entire room given over to a stupid painted white ambulance, a college art project really, at best an Edward Kienholtz ripoff with a movie playing inside. Another video piece is by a self indulgent woman artist telling us about, what else? Herself. Kicking her way out of a little sheetrock box. Hauntingly boring.

Rbt.’s opening a few years ago was really one of the scariest I’ve ever been to, Characters in plastic goth masks, women with yellow lipstick in togas, super long black fingernails, Halloween costumed, tattooed pierced-everywhere people. I think I saw a big lizard animal being walked in as a pet. And me in my nicest golf jacket. Teasing him at this show, ok, like pulling a tiger’s tail, it was, I asked for an autrograph, got it , then said something like ‘I’m going home to put this right up on my wall!’  Whereupon he leaned in way too close, hostile like actually, and said “You take that right to the grave with you son”. A scary surprise! As he looks a lot like Mr. Rogers.

He’s an enigma who doesn’t own a personal computer and yet is the publisher of  the widely popular art magazine, Juxtapoz. Suzanne is his very sweet and likable wife, a good abstract painter on her own merit. They live in a modest house in the San Fernando Valley, some rooms are filled floor to ceiling with an oddball Kaiser helmet collection.

No one alive thinks of better titles for their paintings. No one combines fantasy with reality this well since Dali burned giraffes and dripped watches from trees. In “The Voice From the Wee Gee Board” a sweet young thing innocently ponders a move on a Ouija board, while above her, floating in another dimension, a leering, muscled sultan whispers and waits with shackles ready to whisk her off to a brand new life;  chained up as a white slave in a netherworld.

Usually lumped in with Zap comixs, Big Daddy Roth, and Von Dutch, the one glaring difference is that Mr. Williams is a really great conceptualist and a meticulous drawer. No one captures growing up in Southern California in the late 50′s/ 60′s better: Bored glue sniffing kids adrift on seas of fantasy, chicks purr with come-hither looks like cats, but not domestic cats, these are the kind of cats that would stalk villagers in the old jungle movies. Endless chopped and channeled flaming rat rods roar past abandoned taco stands down the two lane blacktops of early SoCal.

Why don’t we see more of this work? Maybe Rbt. Williams paintings only connect with middle aged guys who grew up in LA?  I think the real reason is it’s too specific for the generic mindnumbing sameness that’s so popular now. Maybe artists are too obsessed with seeking universality ’cause it sells all over town and doesn’t get slammed by critics. It’s either  inoffensive or predictable.  But according to the New York Time’s top art guy, Michael Kimmelman; this is why Hopper is so good. He’s specific and he chronicles a very specific time in a way that no one else came close to. “Art retains meanings specific to a certain time and place.” Says Kimmelman. ” Good art does, anyway ( which accounts for why too much not so good contemporary art, aimed at the global marketplace, looks generic and everywhere alike).”

So attention Whitney curators! His canvasses should be collected like all those Hopper’s you guys own, get as many as possible, at whatever price. Just get them. And like the Hopper’s, lend them to Rome for a fortune someday. But Rbt. Williams, please lose all the merchandizing website stuff , just a little too slick. All the Vans tennis shoes and giclee prints. We all hate giclee prints. They have no value and demean everything else you do. Just say no Rbt. Williams! You are too good for these phony French name Xerox copies.

This painting’s good also, the kid will soon be toast, bezapped by lightning. The details are cool like the Cub Scout shirt.  Look on his website for more. www.robtwilliamsstudio.com/

“Timmy’s Last Surprise”

Compliment the director/owner on their insight and fine choice of art. Even if, and it surely will be, a horrid a pile of dung. Laugh rotundly at any attempt at nervous wit he or she may proffer.

You are essentially a donut maker-guy going into a donut store. Like Yum Yum Donuts. They have plenty of donuts already. The donuts they have are not selling particularly well. They do not want more donuts. It does not matter if you think your donuts are better. They do not care. They want to sell their donuts. They do not want to see you.

Do not under any circumstances bring art cards from your latest group show in Bushwick. This is critical: Do not bring up that you are an artist unless directly asked “…and what do you do?” by the director. Write this on your hand if necessary. I know you have spent way too much time alone in your studio and have this pressing need to tell them about your work and how great it would look on their walls. They do not care. They are thinking about themselves and the art they have to sell. Just like you are thinking about yourself and the art you would like to sell.

At the gallery, stay away from the bottom shelf champagne and especially the cheese tray. This was not set out for you. The cheese is from Costco by way of China or somewhere and will immediately clog your carotid arteries.

Gradually, as the gallery fills up, make your way to the outside of the room and then to the door. As you go, take all the business cards you can. Accept each card with both hands and examine it as if you have been given a miraculous gift. Thank the person and keep moving to the door. As you exit the building throw all the material you have collected in the nearest dumpster. Remember, no good ever comes from a business card picked up at a cocktail party or a gallery opening.

Repeat as necessary, until you are in the gallery. It may take awhile. Pick up the book by our dear friend Molly Barnes, “How to Get Hung”. It is invaluable.

And don’t forget the donuts.