Boston ReBuilt

So much stuff to talk about. I’ve been so damned busy lately, what with my show and traveling and getting my head straight, I haven’t had a chance to update this blog as much as I’d like to (my apologies to Dane).  I’ll try and keep this short, but given my state of exhaustion, I may ramble on on some inconsequential tangent.  Keep reading though, I’ll do my best to come back around again and tie it all together as some thinly-veiled, bullshit metaphor.

So a bit back I went on a trip to Boston with Dave to see my good friend Aaron.  He lives in a seemingly small neighborhood just outside of Harvard, not too far from the Charles river. Sadly, I can’t remember too much from the trip at this point, which I partly blame on alcohol, but also because it was four or so weeks ago and my brain as of late has been a bit fuzzy with the particulars.

We took the Bolt Bus in, which was great cos it was cheap and had free wifi. Once in Boston, Dave and I took the green line (b line?) subway out to Aaron’s neighborhood and had a couple beers while waiting for yinzers Kira and Thom to join up with us. I think after that point, after those initial beers at the onset, it’s fair to say that the majority of the trip tumbled into a blur of inane actions and inebriated ramblings, only to be lightly peppered by a few lucky, intermittent memories that break through the mental fog and into clarity. Here are some highlights:

1. Crustacean clad penis armor – In some states, it would be considered rude and uncouth to attach the remains of nature’s hapless creatures to your protruding, sea-weathered member. Thankfully, Massachusetts is not one of them. And even if it were, I doubt Thom would have cared.

2. Mad Dog 40/40 trips to the beach – Some how, it makes playing whiffle ball on the outer brink of an oncoming hurricane seem ok.

3. Chelsea beats Fulham – 3-0 to be exact. Here’s to everyone at the Irish pub who was nice enough to enjoy their Irish rugby match on the other side of the Irish bar so that I could watch my Protestant-country team beat it’s neighboring Protestant-country rivals in peace.

4. Public belt whippings – The movie Deer Hunter came up during our city outing. Some bag lady overheard our rambling and presented Thom with his very own Deer Hunter leather engraved belt, which she happily procured from her shopping cart full of shitty wonders. We beat each other till our arms hurt. That’s the last time I drop my pants in public for a belt lashing, especially if it’s going to wrap around and hit me in the front.

5. Creamy Italian sounding – I will not explain this.

6. Porn store dumpster diving and the discovery of Uncut Club 4 -  It seemed like a really novel find at the time, but we were wrong. And I quote: “I just had the opposite of an orgasm.” However, they do fit nicely in a gift basket (no homo).

7. Porn of the Dead – I was really hoping the make-up and effects would be much much better. I’m disappointed. However, there are two good scenes, none of which I will describe here (Mom, if you’re reading this, this is a prime example of why we cannot be Facebook friends).

8. Friendship and beer at the oldest bar in America – the Bell In Hand Tavern is the perfect place in terms of bar room interior. Sure, maybe the crowd is a little douchy and touristy, but I’ll be damned if I don’t like drinking in some small, brick-walled, wooden-floorboard nook.

9. Historical Boston walking trips – I love walking, and I love exploring new places, and because of such, I love this word: peripatetic.

Here’s some pictures:

So that was fun.  I like Boston, quite a bit actually. It was my first trip, but it gave the impression of a nice mix of middle American vibe and eastern city feel, with a large historical bolstering to make it an interesting place. And it’s near the ocean, and with good access to the rest of the eastern seaboard. And my parents got engaged there. And I’m rambling.

So then I got back to New York City and some good stuff happened, but then some bad stuff happened. And this is not a diary, so you’ll have to buy me drinks if you want the whole story. But what I will tell you about is my show at the Texas Firehouse, which I thought was an absolutely brilliant experience.

The show was called ReBuilt, and it opened Saturday night, September 26th. I spent quite a bit of time getting artists together, studio visits, choosing works, coordinating everything, and working on a piece for the exhibition. And I’m so happy I didn’t procrastinate because it allowed everything to come together relatively stress free. The artists included Rory Baron, Sara Jones, Jo Nelson, Albert Shelton and myself. I’ll have pictures up later, but as of now I’m still waiting to borrow a nice friend’s nice camera. However, I do have a couple shots of my piece that I can put up now, temporarily:

This is my piece for the exhibition, entitled “Building Blocks“. It’s a wall collage of 15 individually drawn buildings and 7 individually drawn cranes. Each building is roughly 1′ tall and each crane is generally 9″ tall, while the entire collage is around 2.5′ at it’s longest point, radiating from the edge of a doorway in a somewhat semi-circular composition. This is the correct orientation for the buildings; they were placed on their side so that their growth was more conducive to the compositional flow from the edge of the doorway, as well as to emphasize certain conceptual concerns within the piece.

All the artwork in the show worked well with each other, as everything for the exhibition had a connection to architectural environments and their manipulation. And the conceptual theme was nicely supplemented by Aaron’s band Get Laid, who drove up from Boston to play and put on a damn good set, as did Jersey’s Mirrors and Wires. The exhibition as a whole was a lot of work, but I’m glad it came together as it did, cos it was an extremely pleasing experience. And I’m glad my parents came up to see it.

But the show is now down, and at this point all deadlines are met, all projects are finished and I have to get to work on something else. I feel like I’ve been so focused on a couple of things recently, things that have come to an end, that I’m not really sure where to go from here. I need something more than a distraction; I need another focal point. I have, however, decided on a couple of things that seem extremely necessary:

1. Finish reading my stack of books.

2. Go fishing.

3. Get out of the city for a long weekend.

4. Finish my screen prints.

5. Find a drink besides whiskey.

6. Grad school ambitions?

Oh, and Chelsea just beat Liverpool. 2-0. Anelka with an amazing finish, and I’m happier than a pig in ManUre.

My best,

-j

Finally here…

-j

From wanderlust to the end of the double clutch.

Well, well, well. So much stuff to catch up on really, but I’ll try and keep this one nice and pithy. Things have been crazy as shit up in NY recently, with the recession throwing the art market (and subsequently, me) for a loop. My job had to lay off a couple people, most notably my friend Will. He recently got bit by a tick in upstate NY and is now on medication for anti-Lyme disease. Those two incidents aren’t necessarily related, unless you consider the threat of a bug-induced neurological disease the poo icing on a jobless shit cake. As a side note, I’d like to mention that I didn’t plan on going scatological so quickly in the post, but I’m just gonna roll with it.  An image of a dung beetle just popped into my mind.

Moving on- My show for September 26th is coming together nicely. I don’t have a title for it yet, but thematically it’s centered around psychogeographical thought and our relationship to built environments. I have two confirmed artists, Jo Q. Nelson and Rory Baron, both friends of mine dealing in architectural and spacial-relationship art. Jo just confirmed that she’s going to be doing a site specific installation dealing with the interior of the Firehouse similar to her “Mid-Program Review Intervention” or “Crit Room Spoof”. This gives me hot cockles. Rory has just moved into a studio in Brooklyn and is underway on some new work. It will be good, I’m sure, and ripe with intellect and sarcasm. I’m also working on a piece for my show, a new collage with buildings in the same vein as my “Stop” series that was in the Shit Where You Eat show here at the Firehouse. Here’s an example of a few of the drawings for the in-progress collage:

There’s going to be about 20 buildings in total, with cranes radiating off of the architecture in some sort of organic form. I haven’t set a definitive composition yet, but I’m leaning towards a free floating circular pattern, with the buildings and cranes spiraling out from the center. And just like the “Stop” piece, the drawings will be mounted to the wall using Gudy-O, so you get this unframed, seamless wall drawing effect. But I’ll move on as the direction of this rant is getting somewhat intangible. I’ll have pictures of the finished work up after the show in September.

Oh, and Chelsea won the FA Cup over Everton. Lampard with an outstanding goal to win it. Guus Hiddink is amazing. FUCKING SILVERWARE!!!! loved it.

And ManUre just sold Ronaldo to Real Madrid. I hate him, deeply, but I loved watching him cry after a defeat, so I’m kind of indifferent to the whole thing. I am however, gonna love hearing Man U fans bitch about this for the next season. There’s always a silver lining.

AND this woman is amazing:

This is Lauren (from the infamous cougar run-in at the Swingin’ Utters show) eating cheese fries at the Dirty O in Pittsburgh. She’s gorgeous. I’ve been to Pittsburgh twice recently to hang out with her and had a shit ton of fun. I don’t think I could ever fully describe in words the events that unfolded over those two trips, so I’ll just use a few descriptive, summarizing photographs:

Good stuff.

There are a few other specific pictures which I will not post here, first and foremost to protect Thom’s upstanding moral character, and secondly, because those specific images can easily be described in two simple words: cock dock. Oh, and the phrase “I’d fuck me.“

Moving on- Lauren has also made a few trips up to NYC to visit. She came up on the 5th for my punk rock dj affair at B-Sides in Manhattan. Always a great time; I love getting paid to drink for free and listen to my music with friends. If any of you readers happen to live in NYC, you should come check it out. The beer selection is average, though the beer-and-a-shot special is pretty good. I believe Lauren gives a big two thumbs up to the gin and tonics; she seemed to enjoy the 9th one just as much as her first. First Friday of every month, starts at 11pm and goes till 3(?). I’m usually there, with a couple other firehouse members.

Lauren and I ended up walking around the city a lot, checking out various buildings and art (Tara Donovan at the Lever House!), brown-bagging it on a walk over the 59th street bridge (r.i.p. Becks #2, you will be missed), and finding out that Lauren has a distaste for the lard/brain consistency of Thai rice noodles. We saw Hangover, which was hilarious. We yelled at St. Mark’s puking ramblers from a fire escape until the beer ran out. Sunday, Lauren, Todd, Dave and I went to the Jones Beach. Costs 8 bucks. Didn’t know that. That sucked, especially considering we were trying to drive to Far Rockaway.  But regardless of the unexpected toll, locale, and the water being too cold to swim (except for Todd “I lack foresight” Gilbert, who decided to take a dip (r.i.p. testicle #2, you will be missed)), we had a damned relaxing time. And as an added bonus to the trip, I couldn’t hear the Nine Inch Nails concert at Jones Beach Theater in the slightest.  We stayed out there for a couple hours until a cold front moved in, and then we headed back to Queens.

The Firehouse has also been pretty busy. We had our annual Iron Pour on the 30th of May, which was an awesome success. Again, in the interest of pith, I’ll utilize some descriptive, summarizing photographs:

This past Saturday, Jeff Thompson, my roommate and fellow Firehouse member, had his show entitled “Stored and Filtered: Technology, Time, and Landscape” which was an amazing show despite the lack in attendance. Betsey Biggs had an interesting sound piece which documented ambient noise whilst walking from the F-train stop to the Firehouse. Gallery viewers could download the piece at the show on their Ipods or Iphones and listen to it on the walk back from the Firehouse to the F-train. Ryan Watkins-Hughes exhibited a large digital print out, a singular image in a series of abstract color and geometric shapes which, through a computer program of his design, morphed from one piece to the next; a process inspired by the same development that cancer had on his cellular structure. It was a shame that few people saw the show, especially because this was Jeff’s last contribution to the Firehouse. He had a great time though. This July he moves to Lincoln, Nebraska to start his career as a tenured professor. He bought a car and rented a 3 bedroom house. He bequeathed me his “Dick and Fart Joke Compendium”, as he is now, fully, an adult.

Show night for me, however, ended horribly. Not because of  the few people who showed up; that was all fine. I even spun jazz records which was a first for me and a real treat. What sucked, was after I kicked the last attendants out at 3:30 am, cleaned up the bar, took the signs down, locked up, and went to bed, I managed to break my fucking elbow. I wasn’t even schwasted. I  remember cleaning up and being responsible, going to bed, and then waking up with a broken elbow. I’ve been known to sleep walk from time to time, which coupled with loft living, is a down right stupid idea.  And breaking your elbow sucks, I wouldn’t recommend it. You can’t turn your hand over in either direction and you can’t move your elbow out of a 45 degree angle, unless, as is my experience, you are assisted by a bastard Nazi masochist bitch triage nurse at Mt. Sinai Emergency of Queens. Thank you, miss R.N. Himmler, for deciding to take my blood pressure after administering a deep tissue massage on my broken bones with those Lee Press On nails that Satan presented you for coming in first in the “Big Bad Bitch” competition at at last years annual Asshole Association’s Book Burning Bonanza. But I digress.

So that’s where I’m at. From Pittsburgh to a broken elbow. More to follow.

-j

From cougars to peacocks: a synopsis

Last Saturday I got to see the Swingin’ Utters in south Jersey after my tattoo appointment. The show was sold out but Dave’s Pittsburgh friends Tom, Kira and Lauren, who were following the band through Phili and Jersey, managed to set aside 2 tickets. Dave and I took Jersey Transit instead of driving, which turned out to be a great idea, as it saved us 450$ in new and improved bridge tolls (thank you Bloomberg).  In an hour we were in Asbury Park, one of those ubiquitous eastern towns which seems to offer nothing more than lackadaisical Chinese food and liquor stores, the perfect backdrop for Slackers or Linklater’s SubUrbia.  The streets leading down to the shore are skirted with quaint little post-war houses beset by a comforting stage of dilapidation, hinting at a once thriving family neighborhood now rendered redundant. For a moment I was reminded of my grandmother’s house in Ellet, Ohio, tucked neatly away on Triplett Boulevard beneath the shadow of the giant Goodyear blimp dock, the prop planes flying low over the standardized lots of Ranch houses and aluminum sided Cape Cods.  My reminiscence, however, was cut short by a skinhead with face tattoos gingerly walking a miniature Pomeranian through this mid 20th century utopia, the scene a perfect blend of childhood memories and present punk rock conquests. I snapped out of my dream state and jogged on.

The show was at Asbury Lanes, a punk run bowling establishment which hosts shows, serves up cheap Pabst, and looks like my grandfathers wood paneled den. We met Tom, Kira and Lauren inside, and waited at the bar for the Utters to come on. I can always tell when I’m talking to someone from the Rust Belt of America, and even if I hadn’t known prior that Dave’s friends were Yinzers, I would have quickly figured it out. Tom is an awesome, hilarious dude, a hockey playing Pennsylvanian who used to play in the now defunct Dreamcatchers with Dave and my childhood friend Aaron. He and his girlfriend Kira were a good time. Lauren is equally amazing, and being a recent graduate of Architectural History with an interest in Art History, we had a lot to talk about. And so there we were, the five of us getting to know each other, telling fart jokes and drinking Pabst, when Lauren makes a proposition :

“Dave, I’ll buy you a beer if you go flirt with those cougars.”

And then, without Dave’s provocation, as if encouraged by the verbalization of Lauren’s thought drifting in the ether, they pounced; like an episode of Nova in the Serengeti, Dave was nothing more than a hapless baby gazelle. Some where on Kira’s digital camera is a picture of Dave flanked by two mid 40’s, south Jersey plastic surgery disasters in tube tops and spandex, pawing at his chops and pompadour. The brunette was so burnt, her melanoma had a tan. The blond pushed her tits up into her nose, exerting so much pressure on her leathery chesticles as to procure a vein which can best be described as an erratic ekg readout after decades of abusing Capri cigarettes. And so Dave was lost to us for an hour or so, receiving rub downs from two dying succubi and looking at cell phone pictures (which I will happily describe later).

EDIT——> Dave with the Cougars!! Make note of the chesticles and infamous cell phone, mid slide show.

Photo by Kira

The Utters went on and it was a damn good show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them live before, or if I had it was probably at some Warp Tour crap which doesn’t count. They played pretty much every song that I wanted to hear, my only complaint being that, since they were not headlining, they could have played a longer set. Tom stole their set list off a speaker. We drank with Darius afterwards. The cougars had sprung on two unsuspecting skinheads who I believe were conned into making out through some use of witchcraft. And then they struck at me. I’m not really sure of the details on how the interaction transpired, if they found me attractive or if I was next on their Tour of Youth 2009, but they came at me full force. And then the cell phone came out, and with it these pictures:

1. A topless shot entitled “Me on St. Patty’s Day!”

2. A harshly cropped shot of a vagina penetrated by a commemorative baseball bat.

3. Several harshly cropped shots of a vagina penetrated by various penises.

If I could describe this vagina in two words, those words would be Arby’s dumpster. I think I followed up the slideshow with “Just cos your husband is sitting at home pining over his long gone youthful erection doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck you.” To which she replied “Why don’t you bring your big fat lips over here.” I took that as my cue to exit. We drove home in Tom’s car back to Brooklyn, and spent the rest of the weekend hanging out. Here’s another list, in an attempt to shorten the post, of transpiring events over the weekend.

1. Make outs.

2. Late night White Castle runs.

3. Puking White Castle.

4. Museum attempts.

5. Rooftop drinking.

6. Brooklyn Bridge walks.

7. Crossing streams.

That was by far one of the most enjoyable weekends in a long while, and well deserved. It’s good to meet new people, and when I eventually take a tour of Pittsburgh with Dave, Todd and Alex, I’ll be happy to be in the good company of their friends.

Then I moved art for 5 days. Tuesday I showed my friend Franita around Brooklyn, and managed to avoid all the bush league drinkers for St. Patty’s day. And then came the weekend.

Friday I went and saw a band with Alex at the Delancey, and it sucked. Not a fan. But we went out afterwards and ended up at Welcome to the Johnson’s, where I unexpectedly ran into Barnsey, Carolyn, and Caitlin, which is the second time I’ve accidentally run into friends in the city whilst socializing (the first time being the prior Friday, when I ran into Brooke at the MoMa show Dreamland: Architectural Expirements Since 1970, which was absolutely amazing). Went home, woke up, watched Chelsea lose 1 nil to Tottenham (which I will not discuss here, though I am signifiantly angered), went to Dave’s, and then went to the Sanctuary of Hope with my friend Joseph. The Sanctuary of Hope is an art organization in Bushwick, Brooklyn similar to what we got going on here at the Firehouse, althought I believe their openings to be more seasonal than monthly.  And from what I can tell, they are more performance related.  Here’s another list:

1. Topless dancer girl comes out of a white casket, undresses a man, and forces him to drink a pitcher of milk.

Photo by Brooke

2. A couple in the rafters inaudibly beckoning everyone to join them on one side of the room, ensuing participants to beckon those who will not follow.

3. A theatrical performance with audience participation.

4. upside down furniture attached to the ceiling, acting as a perch for a male and female peacock.

I also ran into Seth, Brooke, and Gary (who I guess performs there all the time). Third random encounter. I’ve lived here 3 years and that’s never happened to me and now it’s happened thrice in two weekends.  Went back to Williamsburg to see some friends after their band Equestrian played Spike Hill, and then went home. And that’s it, I’m done rambling. Damn good times though.

xoxo

-j

A Social Suggestion:

I’ll keep this post short. I’m currently in the midst of a few interesting books, and was wondering if anyone who has/is/will read these books would care to start a somewhat structured book club. Discussion always helps me solidify theory, and so I’d like to get an email dialectic going on some of the ideas that I’ve been reading about. I’m also completely up for reading anyone’s suggestions, though I prefer to stay nonfiction. Anyone interested?

Currently reading:

On Deck:

Let me know.

xoxo

-j

Life is for the living

Well, this last desperate attempt by winter to fuck my life up has fruitfully succeeded. I’m so very, very cold. I don’t have heat in my studio and I’ve developed frost burn on my cheeks from sleeping in freezing temperatures. I really don’t feel like doing shit, and motivation is becoming a forced issue.  So in an attempt to jump start my optimism, I took a gander at all the stuff I have to look forward to/work on feverishly to meet a deadline. Getting down to brass tacks:

1. Tina, Sean and I think (hope) Devin are coming to town for a short four day visit in April, at which time we will destroy everything in a whirlwind of booze, music, and hilarity. We will attend a Red Bulls game against the Chicago Fire. We will go to damn good bars. I will call off of work and have a three day weekend with friends. Bryan will, undoubtedly, sally forth on his very unique quest, which shall remain nameless here to protect his reputation and his chances. But here’s a clue:

2. This Friday I get to spin records at B-Sides in Manhattan, which is a monthly tradition for us Firehouse kids.  The last couple of times have been great, and as I’ve only done this a couple of times, I feel like I’m batting 1000. Good friends usually make an appearance and throw out some requests. Jersey Doyle makes an appearance and throws out a lot of requests. Todd gets drunk enough that I have to protect him from packs of Puerto Ricans that he will inevitably start a fight with (“No, no, he just thinks you look like a bitch”). Or I have to keep him from mindlessly and unsuccessfully flirting with Lauren.  I think Todd’s choice between either of the two aforementioned scenarios really depends on what he drinks throughout the night. But I digress.

A couple of times I’ve gotten hugs and sing alongs for my musical selections; one guy was even floor punching to Minor Threat. It’s a good, jovial time. To top it off, we get paid at the end of the evening and we don’t pay for a single drop of alcohol.

3. Our tentative show at the Firehouse, which includes art from each TF inhabitant, has been moved back to the end of June instead of mid May.  This eases the tension just enough to stay focused and not panicky. I still have a lot of drawing to do for this exhibition, so much so that it feels like I am reliving my Senior BFA Project all over again. But this pushing back is good, it’s enough time now to allow some breathing room, but not so much time as to promote procrastination.

EDIT——-> Here’s a drawing that I’ve been working on, which is a part of a much, much larger collage. This drawing is approximately 12″ tall x 6″ wide. The dark areas are a little light and mottled by the photograph, but when the drawing gets installed in the gallery the tones will even out. The application is similar in effect to the Stop image from the past Shit Where You Eat show, where the drawings are adhered and collaged to the wall. Theoretically, it’s also in the same vein as the Stop piece, just on a much larger scale, and more fully encompassing architectural naratives.

The list now continues…

4. Concerts to attend: Swingin’ Utters, Fear, Circle Jerks, Defiance Ohio, and X (three days of shows!). Fear and X are playing back to back evenings. It’s one of those magical experiences that almost demands a full pack of Pampers.

5. I’ve heard rumors that some lovely Chicagoans might be visiting sometime before Summer. I refer you to the destruction outlined in point 1.

6. I have designated this March as “I’m not drinking alchohol this month” month. I’m not doing it because I feel like I have a problem with drinking, or that I need to “slow down a bit”, as my father would say. I’m doing it really because I’m most certainly convinced that there are more productive things that I can do with my money and time than battle hangovers. For example, this weekend, I plan on buying pants.  And perhaps a few records. It sounds mundane, almost comical, but the astronomical price of booze in this town has forced me to cut corners in other areas, such as new pants, new records, or eating 3 meals a day. This month, the tables have turned.

7. Over this past month, I’ve stolen copious amounts of punk rock music through bit torrents. And all five National Lampoon’s Griswald family adventures. And Gleaming the Cube.

8. A full beard has given way to sideburns.

La vita e bella.

xoxo

-j

Suckdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire sucks. I have no idea what the big deal is with this movie, but Barnes and I left the theater feeling like total assholes because we were never even close to tears. “Oh it’s magical! Get ready to cry your eyes out!” I don’t know, maybe I couldn’t get into the characters; I’m not even sure they were flushed out as well as they could have been. Come to think of it, I’m not sure how easy it is to fully develop a character with a bunch of strung together vignettes, but their formatting/story line error left me $6.00 poorer and no where near emotionally richer. I usually like Danny Boyle movies, and this one was still pretty good visually, but emotionally it just missed me completely.

The basic premise is this slum kid gets on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”, and coincidentally knows (mostly) all of the questions through various life experiences by growing up gangsta in the slums of India. The Indian version of Regis asks a question and then we get an anecdotal type flashback which eventually leads to the answer of the question. I’m even bored trying to explain this. I just don’t like the flashback approach to storytelling. A bunch of people on IMDB are talking about how this movie is going to be studied for it’s ground breaking approach in years to come.  This tells me that these people are also wankers.  It would have been better if the flashbacks were done Wayne’s World style, with the scene waving out and blending into the flashback, but that’s just my preference.

I would have also liked to see Freida Pinto’s bOObz, but again that’s just my preference, so i digress.

I think they were just hitting that “overcoming adversity” theme a bit hard. Yeah, his early life sucked, but he achieved anyway in life and love and came out the other end better for it. But so did Fievel Mousekewitz in An American Tail, and fuck that movie too. I think the problem here is that everyone’s hopped up on happy Obama juice, and therefore everything seems magical, like watching life through a Barbara Walters lens.

I realize that this post is getting a bit sardonic, so I’ll just let it go for now. But I should have seen The Wrestler instead.

P.S. Benjamin Button looks like a gimmicky, steaming pile of shit as well.

xoxo

-J

A Reminder That the Work is Worth Doing…

I’m not sure how I happened upon this dude J Smooth at Illdoctrine.com, but I couldn’t have said it any better.

Parading as a part time cynic, I tend to be skeptical about most things, but secretly and paradoxically I remain, in a general and hopeful sense, optimistic about the nature of humanity. I cried a bit during the build up to today’s inauguration. I’m not sure what struck such a chord within me, whether it was the emphasis on prior generation’s struggles, or the overwhelming sense of a unified nation under willful and needed change, but I couldn’t help but feel connected universally to the emphatic belief that we as a generation can and will make a difference;  That our positive actions matter more than we can know, that what we courageously and righteously strive for impacts more than we can comprehend, and that if we so choose to take a chance, we will achieve.

I know that what occurred today was predominantly a celebration of historic significance (and I’m not strictly speaking of race), but overall it left me with a humbled sense of ability and bettering conviction.  I know that such chords often sound strongly upon the first stroke, but I hope they continue to resonate as the years go by. I hope this truly is the turning point that we all believe it to be; for myself and for everyone. Good luck.

Love,

-j

For more J Smooth, please visit www.illdoctrine.com. He’s a light. House. He’s mighty mighty. Letting it all hang out.

P.S. Just cos I’m in the passionate throws of an early political romance doesn’t mean I’m delusional. He’s no messiah, but I think he’ll bring about some well needed change (his first day already looked promising with the rollback of government disclosure policies). I remain hopeful,  yet watchful.

A Brief Statement From the Firehouse…

Some interesting stuff is starting up at my place, so I thought I’d pass this along.  Whore it out to anyone you think might be interested.

Good luck,

-J

The Texas Firehouse is pleased to announce:

++ Call for artists, performers, and curators ++

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

The Texas Firehouse is seeking submissions for our 2009 season from artists, performers, and other creative people. Submissions will be considered by TF and outside curators for inclusion in shows. Work in all media will be accepted, from traditional to not-yet-named. The TF encourages artists to send digital portfolios via email that best document their work, though we appreciate the inclusion of a CV and artist statement. There is no submission fee!

We are also seeking curatorial proposals for the upcoming season. Professional curators and well as artists are welcome to submit proposals detailing show name and curator’s statement, artists to be included, and requirements for installation. Specific curatorial guidelines can be downloaded from the Texas Firehouse website. Details for both calls can be found at www.texasfirehouse.org/ submissions.htm

STUDIO AVAILABLE

One of the TF’s original tenants is sadly leaving and her studio will become available for March 1. The details: – $375/mo includes all utilities and wireless internet – Work only, not a live/work space (sorry!) – Security deposit required at move-in – Garage door leading into the space – Approx. 12 x 12′ with 14 foot ceilings, 4′ wide sliding door into studio, 1 small storage loft (easily removable) and 1 long loft (approx 2 x 12′) – Skylight with lots of sun, perfect for a painter – Use of communal shop space with shared power tools – Part of a great community of seven artists (five studios) – Accessible by F, G, and E trains – Walking distance to Socrates Sculpture Park and Noguchi Museum, short bike ride to PS1 – Candidates interested in being part of Texas Firehouse events including curation, preparing the space, and organizing events are especially welcome If interested, please send an email to mail@texasfirehouse.org with your name, contact info, and link to online portfolio if available.

Heroes and fools, are the same thing…?

There are a few golden moments in which circumstances have put forth an opportunity to piece together all the disparate stages of life into a connective, seemingly linear surge.  Most recently, such circumstances have taken the form of a fur covered loin cloth swathed in blood and testosterone, otherwise known as my Barbarian Themed Movie Extravaganza. Nothing quite takes me back to a child-like state of  bliss like mediocre acting, severed heads, and weary comprehension of a thick-tongued Austrian fighting valiantly against an English script.  And I’ll tell you another thing, nothing hits home more than sitting down and watching my absolute favorite film: Deathstalker.

This movie is what all movies aspire to be, regardless of genre, nationality, or political/artistic/social aims.  It is Olivier’s Hamlet, Welles’ Rosebud, Truffaut’s Blows and Thelma’s Louise.  Beautifully directed by James Sbardellati, Deathstalker (Rick Hill; badass hair cut) is put to the task of destroying an evil son of a bitch wizard named Munkar (Bernard Erhard; sweet face tattoo), while in pursuit of at least three pieces of ass, let alone all the side ass that he gets from movie extras and/or groupies.  During his travels he meets various warriors who, like our mighty protagonist, have set out to fight at Munkar’s battle royal in order to become the next heir to the magical throne. It is during this tournament, however, that Deathstalker hopes to reunite the three powers of creation- a chalice, an amulet and a sword- in order to destroy the nefarious wizardry of Munkar and thereby preserve all things good and wonderful. It’s an epic saga of hero meets divine intervention, receives magical weaponry and amulets, yada yada Joseph Campbell yada, defeats evil for the benefit of humanity, and sees a ton of boobs.

I won’t ruin it for you with anecdotal details but I highly, highly recommend checking it out. Hell, while you’re at it get Deathstalker 1-4; It will change you forever. For god’s sakes he speaks in proverbs for the first 25 minutes of the movie! That, in itself, is a drinking game. Badass? A resounding “yes”.

I remember finding this movie for the first time with my friend Jaime at a Borders in Fairlawn, Ohio. It was six dollars.  The cover is what did it to me:

That goddamn monster isn’t even in this movie!!!  It’s that badass!

Jaime got to watch it first and then we traded off. Over the years it became our movie so to speak, the movie that we both went to. It was our oneiric playground; our escape from unworthy and overbearing girlfriends or shit jobs or school and drudgery. It acted as a reminder for the necessity of playfulness. It was, with each viewing, a reinstatement of a life long friendship. It still holds that magic for me. And I cannot emphasize this point enough: there are some really, really sweet topless scenes and beatings in this movie.

Best find, ever.

I eventually went on to see Deathstalker II which again was amazing, but not nearly as good as Deathstalker III. Deathstalker III was, no joke, 5 minutes of new footage, reedited with old, cut up footage of Deathstalker I and II.  Did it retain it’s linear narrative? Was the saga of the monomyth sacrificed for a low budget? Did they edit out any topless damsel scenes? Thankfully, no.

I have yet to see the fourth installment, but I can only imagine the titillation it will provide.  Deathstalker changed my life more than puberty. If you wanna check it out, good luck; it’s a bit hard to find now with it’s cult status.  However, if you happen to be in the tri-state area, get a hold of me. You provide the turkey legs, mead, and a battle axe, and I’ll bring a horrendous beard, bear pelt loin cloth, and Deathstalker.

-j