May 17
29 Notes

Studio Fridays: Mostly Silent Edition 

what else can I say that hasn’t already been sad (sic)

May 10
32 Notes
Studio Fridays: Like Wow (BARF and other things) o i don’t know, idk, i don’t know. Another art fair is happening in the city. Actually a lot of them are happening. Pulse and Cutlog and Collective Design Fair. Frieze is the big one and its on an island that no one usually thinks about or goes to for art because it normally doesn’t have any— at least I don’t think so, where would they put it? Frieze has brought a big tent.  A major thing people will talk about when heading to Randall’s Island to see Frieze is that you have to take a ferry to get there. Invariably someone will take a picture of themselves traveling to Frieze and upload it with the caption “I’m on a boat!” I don’t know.  Another ‘memorable’ thing is that the Artist Paul McCarthy made an 80 foot tall send up of ‘Balloon Dog’, which is sort of a ‘fuck you’ to Jeff Koons because idk, it’s bigger than a Jeff Koons ‘Balloon Dog’ which is actually made out of Stainless Steel. McCarthy’s Balloon Dog IS aCtUaLly maDE OUT OF (balloon)!!!!1 See how clever this is getting!? look out. idk. ——————————- Not all art forms lend well to ‘event’ and ‘spectacle.’ No art forms lend well to ‘trade show’ or retail presentations. ‘Painting’ for instance is more often contemplative and viseral and asks for ‘mental and aesthetic room to ruminate.’ A chance to think about the work you are standing in front of is generally important to most artists. Mega Art Fairs have made art viewing into a live sport / shopping spectacle. The obvious emphasis is on the ‘point of purchase’ and making the sale. Art fair veterans will compliment various art fairs for their strategic attempts to act self aware and show as much reverence for the creators as they do for the sale. It’s still experiential shopping.  But alas Big Art Retail Fatigue is a true luxury problem. I would like to never talk about another art fair- I think I will start by radically changing course a few paragraphs into this post. I think I will rearrange my life so that I glide over luxury problems with a goofy efficiency, like a man wearing rollerblades- WOW I am starting to feel better already.  ————— What do you call a casserole made from the left overs of other casseroles? Metasserole. ————- What do you call a Metasserole made from the left overs of other Metasseroles? Post Metasserole. ————- These two semi- contradictory statements feel equally true in my brain: Great Art is made from life— it is the lived human experience uniquely interpreted through the individual maker. Great Art is made from other Great Art— all of human experience is a continuous narrative stream to which each artist may attempt to contribute a verse (or status update, you choose).  —————— My friend Casey Kelbaugh is cool fella who made something called Slideluck - a non-profit which organizes potluck dinners all over the freakin’ place. Attendees share food and then watch a ‘slideshow’ presentation on Art. It’s a way to consume images and ideas in a longform conversation, over time, communally.  Last week I went to a talk about supper clubs hosted by Casey. There was a mix of fascinating dudes and one fascinating lady sharing their life’s work and generally rebellious dedication to food and feast as a living art form.  A supper club is an attempt to subvert the traditional restaurant dining experience where you bring a guest or a few friends and try to ignore the other patrons. Supper clubs bring disperate individuals together and involve them in the process of creating and serving a meal. I’m genuinely ‘stoked’ about the idea of hosting a supper club in some form or another. Re-evaluating consumption is always fruitful and worthy. Finding community outside of ‘cultural specialization’ also strikes me as an excellent goal. Here is a website called Underground Eats. It will help you find out more about supper clubs.  ————- When life gives you lemons, you should say, ‘thanks life! I didn’t expect lemons and I basically enjoy their flavor and can use them to garnish a variety of the other things that you have so graciously given me!’  We’re alive right now! We’re alive right now! Rise up you frickers!

Studio Fridays: Like Wow (BARF and other things)

o i don’t know, idk, i don’t know.

Another art fair is happening in the city.

Actually a lot of them are happening. Pulse and Cutlog and Collective Design Fair. Frieze is the big one and its on an island that no one usually thinks about or goes to for art because it normally doesn’t have any— at least I don’t think so, where would they put it? Frieze has brought a big tent. 

A major thing people will talk about when heading to Randall’s Island to see Frieze is that you have to take a ferry to get there. Invariably someone will take a picture of themselves traveling to Frieze and upload it with the caption “I’m on a boat!”

I don’t know. 

Another ‘memorable’ thing is that the Artist Paul McCarthy made an 80 foot tall send up of ‘Balloon Dog’, which is sort of a ‘fuck you’ to Jeff Koons because idk, it’s bigger than a Jeff Koons ‘Balloon Dog’ which is actually made out of Stainless Steel. McCarthy’s Balloon Dog IS aCtUaLly maDE OUT OF (balloon)!!!!1

See how clever this is getting!? look out. idk.

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May 3
31 Notes
Studio Fridays: Studio Dog I have a dog named Samo who often kicks it in the studio with me. She occasionally collaborates by chewing on the stretcher bars or clay sculptures that catch her eye. It’s made me extra conscientious about leaving any edible materials below waist level. As a puppy Samo was once particularly inspired by a tube of cobalt green. After a call with animal poison control we adjusted her diet and kept a close eye on her ‘street art’ for the next few hours. Interpreting the emotional range and communicative ability of any creature is surely a high art. But that night on the corner of South 1st and Kent, Samo took a bright green dump and was grinning to the moon. It was not quite the same ole shit.  —————- “You know Basquiat used to buy his heroin in this neighborhood,” says a cagey looking man who is petting my dog. I tell him that I didn’t know, which makes him both happy and annoyed. We are standing by the steel skeleton of the new Whole Foods. A backhoe is swinging its trow at some concrete piles. A nanny pushes a double pram while a toddler walks behind her swiping at an iPad mini. Somewhere I imagine David Hockney trying on a pair of Google Glasses.  —————— A—- ended up with David Byrne’s laptops, because Byrne was getting rid of them as he moved studios and didn’t care what happened to them. A—- cared a lot, and I would have also if I was there. Back at his place we tip toed around the idea of reading them. The temptation was eventually too strong. A ritual took place first. We flipped through hundreds of inherited LP’s and smoke clouds went up and then we shared a small spiral into the mind of an intergalactic journeyman. It was an exceptional day.  Later A—- showed me the designs for a brilliant project he’s working on. I left full of transcendent secrets from the past and future.  ——————- Michael was driving a van down Berry and leaned out and invited us to a party on Saturday night and kept driving. The Levee, a dive bar on the corner proudly displays its letter “C” in the window, the lowest possible grade that the new york health department can give. One block up a fake dive bar has been constructed and it’s decorated a bit like an Applebees. On the front door they slapped a bunch of stickers from various bands and random artifacts from the 90’s. These have been peeled and scuffed to appear worn in. These two places are equally crowded on a Wednesday night. Everything is beautiful and stupid.  ——————— Henry Alford wrote a tidy piece of Hipsterbating about this neighborhood. Here’s another article he wrote in 2011 about magic underpants. Keep the hits coming bro.  —————— I have been thinking a lot about Paul Demuro’s work. He really puts his guts into it. In my head I have been calling this kind of painting ‘sludge core cubicalism’ — which is to say that it’s mixing heavy impasto with an eye towards work-a-day tasks siting in front of a computer screen. My ‘cubical’ metaphor is obviously broken, but then again the workplace has been extended to all touchable rectangles. Russell Tyler and Trudy Benson come to mind also.  ——————- Samo is behind me now emitting these low adorable whines- willing me to turn around and take her for a walk. I have been able to endure three of them but as she works on the low murmur build up I am breaking into a kind of deep shame for pushing these buttons over walking this wolf child in the stereotypical streets of my wonderful cliche. Perhaps we’ll buy some locally sourced vegan raw hide and trade knowing glances at anyone with less authenticity. BOOST!

Studio Fridays: Studio Dog

I have a dog named Samo who often kicks it in the studio with me. She occasionally collaborates by chewing on the stretcher bars or clay sculptures that catch her eye. It’s made me extra conscientious about leaving any edible materials below waist level. As a puppy Samo was once particularly inspired by a tube of cobalt green.

After a call with animal poison control we adjusted her diet and kept a close eye on her ‘street art’ for the next few hours. Interpreting the emotional range and communicative ability of any creature is surely a high art. But that night on the corner of South 1st and Kent, Samo took a bright green dump and was grinning to the moon. It was not quite the same ole shit. 

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April 28
23 Notes
shabbydollhouse: stickers and buttons by nic rad in issue three of shabby doll house

shabbydollhouse:

stickers and buttons by nic rad in issue three of shabby doll house

April 26
35 Notes
Studio Fridays: oof All day melting, grinding, waiting for something to break open. Felt the softness of my brain. Kept thinking it might just ooze out my nose. Soft brain has felled the best of em, I keep saying in my tiny head that today is running itself like a shitty record label.  Outside the sun was bright and the wind was crisp. 58 degrees is the perfect temperature said a man with white hair and big smile, ‘the air rests on your skin, and your skin won’t try to do anything about it.’  When the wind picked up my eyes started watering. Some imp in my head started yelling ‘I’m meeeeeelting’ then a bass line picked up, ‘Shut up dummy, shut up dummy’ and then I walked down the street listening to the inner producer mess with the track until it had some coherence. It wasn’t a good beat, but fuck it, throw it all up on a website and see if anything sticks.  ————————- Seinfeld called into NPR to talk about coffee. Come on Jerry. Too ‘on brand.’ ————————— Closed my eyes a lot remembered being a little kid thinking about the back of my eye lids. Spent a little time remembering that sensation, but not actively thinking about them now. Found different ways to dance away from shame and solitude.  —————————- Kept trying to pull a coup and take charge and right this ship. Instead of progress I found different metaphors for inertia. Today my mind worked like a pile of slugs. 

Studio Fridays: oof

All day melting, grinding, waiting for something to break open. Felt the softness of my brain. Kept thinking it might just ooze out my nose. Soft brain has felled the best of em, I keep saying in my tiny head that today is running itself like a shitty record label. 

Outside the sun was bright and the wind was crisp. 58 degrees is the perfect temperature said a man with white hair and big smile, ‘the air rests on your skin, and your skin won’t try to do anything about it.’ 

When the wind picked up my eyes started watering. Some imp in my head started yelling ‘I’m meeeeeelting’ then a bass line picked up, ‘Shut up dummy, shut up dummy’ and then I walked down the street listening to the inner producer mess with the track until it had some coherence. It wasn’t a good beat, but fuck it, throw it all up on a website and see if anything sticks. 

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April 19
50 Notes
Studio Fridays: Ugly Imagists  Boston is in a state of martial law. There’s a homicidal Chechen American teenager loose who is not afraid to die. The internet has also been seized. The habitual vanity of a constantly refreshing newsfeed has now been given a heavy plot.  I guess I’m getting in on this. I can’t seem to stop caring about it. The world is constantly happening in real time and it’s tragic.  ————————— Here is a long read in the Washington Post called “What are we losing in the Web’s images of suffering and schadenfreude?” by Philip Kennicott. It’s from December so it’s missing a few tragedies.   He shares this thought at the end: “The Ugly Image today is inexhaustible, fleeting and transient. It would be reckless to make claims about where this is all going, foolish to suggest that beauty is dead, or ugliness triumphant. But something is happening, some kind of cleft in the moral life that is being widened, channeled out by torrents of small images that invite us to enjoy suffering or think ill of others. ” ————— I’m not sure Kennicott’s proposal of the Ugly Image was drawn very cleanly- he makes a thin but entertaining comparision between 16th century flemish painter Quentin Metsys and peopleofwalmart.com Pictures of the grotesque are something of a specialty of mine. They are different in effect from horrific images- and this is something separate from narrative altogether. It’s true though that the psychological effect of these pictorial tactics are currently flooded into our minds at a tremendous and novel rate.  I want to put some real thinking into this. Note to myself: put some real thinking into this.  Ugly Imagists - a future essay I’m too agitated to write. Because who will hit the refresh button if I don’t?  ————— Terror is just a click away, I can almost touch it.  I am in a kind of shame cycle of feeling like I have a reasonable empathetic human interest in the psychological profile of an entire city, it’s individuals, this maniac, and the darker instinct that I just want to feed my news monkey. Guess I thought it would be cute to have a news monkey and now look at what this thing is doing to me.  —————- I have been reading Michael Lewis’ Boomerang - which follows the big swindle of banksters across a global landscape and considers national reactions by their distinct historic and cultural profiles.  Given the elegant tools of high finance and the opportunity for greed, Lewis’s profiles how Irish behave differently than the Icelandic who behave differently than the Greek. No one is quite as vindictive or successful at bilking others as the Americans. Teasing out this logic as the effacing journalist, Lewis does a thing that works well in story telling but is much harder to believe in life. He puts the national character to work inside the minds of individuals.   ————— Here are some art thoughts about making pictures, maybe they are just life thoughts, yuck they feel syrupy, yuck I want them outside of me: assemblage life two point oh sorry. Cubicalism. Things made from staring into the desktop, looking for a purpose  a feeling, soul. Tiny pieces of many things. I want half finished, unpolished, personalities smiling, painfully, through heavy applications of big dumb ideas. I am covering up pretty with full hearted slapdashery. I want to keep the transitions clunky. Ugly is better than slick. I want to paint like an oral browser history- a mania retold through spastic anecdotes of possible truthseeking, little flits that can’t remember what they were so excited about. Goopy Mane. sorry that I like you better than everything!!! right now there is an advertisement on my screen for ireland, it says, jump into Ireland and gives a website, ireland.com and that is half covered up by a picture of snipers looking badass and intimidating, fuck you bombkid, also there are so many reminders that facebook exists, PAUL KRUGMAN is pissed about some economists that didn’t use Excel right, Capital One bought a tiny little box next to my search bar so that in case I fuck up my click I might end up thinking about their bank for a minute, wow everything is a wreck- maybe I should restart, wow maybe I should let my eyes fall into the emptiness and wow maybe there is a good reason for the rigorous structure of language, but I keep finding my self circling the drain of my own  lousy metaphor maker… emergent thoughts bubbling up, decedent thoughts sucking down, WOW sometimes all i can think about is WOW.  —— what a mess I’ve made. wow

Studio Fridays: Ugly Imagists 

Boston is in a state of martial law. There’s a homicidal Chechen American teenager loose who is not afraid to die. The internet has also been seized. The habitual vanity of a constantly refreshing newsfeed has now been given a heavy plot. 

I guess I’m getting in on this. I can’t seem to stop caring about it. The world is constantly happening in real time and it’s tragic. 

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April 15
63 Notes
I have just found out about this new important industry, it’s so great, wow.

I have just found out about this new important industry, it’s so great, wow.

April 12
27 Notes
Studio Fridays: A New Life, Wow  Wow, I am having nostalgic spasms - little surges of hot memory blinking then slouching back into coiled shells and now I realize I am deep in unforgiving waters. Wow, I am remembering moving across decades, living whole lives in the small injuries of people I barely knew. Wow, I am in a spaceship now, visiting an alien land where everything is exactly the same, except now I know it. Wow- look at these fingerprints, my tiny personal waves.  ———————— “History is that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation” —Julian Barnes “The Sense of an Ending” —————————— Last night I was lying on the couch with Laura and our dog. The dog was exhausted from a day of playing- burying her head into the cushion and sighing. Laura said, “Everything is so perfect right now, we have everything we could ever want,” and then my arm was wet because she was crying.  She said it was because it couldn’t always be this way. True, I thought, but I didn’t say that or anything. Time is a relentless, brutal enemy. Better to whisper than curse at it.  —————————— We threw a Mad Men party the other night and good friends came and also new friends who were passing by. I met Jake which is thrilling to me because I feel like he’s achieved a classic straight man / crazy man comic rhythm built on the internet and still thriving after six years. That’s truly amazing. I was genuinely awestruck. What a cool fella.  Don Draper was back to his destructive joyless plummet into his handsome lonely soul.  Just before the episode started a friend texted to ask if it was alright to come on acid. I said probably not. I felt old and weirdly out of time. It was like getting a text from the 60’s.  I’ve been making art for a decade now, spending my time with people also trying to do that, and so I know a lot of folks grappling with the ends of themselves or the middle of some ugly knot. They are getting loose or they are trying to hang on to something or maybe they aren’t sure which.  I prefer to burn in the middle of myself. I don’t want an escape, or at least not the illicit kind. Something about living in the calibrations of your madness. Something about owning your angst and channeling it.  Listen to me coach, I’m a self helper! —————- Okay, well this has been a real jaunt into the IDK  —————— I keep laughing every time I think about Scott singing a cover of Ben Fold’s “Brick” in a Muppet voice.  ————— I keep laughing every time I think of Steve playing a male nurse and being harassed about it and saying ‘just you wait until I break through this glass floor’ —————- Hey check out this guy who built Bishop Castle with his bare hands and hates the government.  —————- Hey check out this video called illusions which is part good and part pretty and indulgent without much content, sort of like this post.  —————- Hey take care of yourselves Tumblrs, I mean it. You kids with your weird internet names who keep liking my posts are honestly a big part of my fragile ego, I really need to believe some of this non-sense matters sometimes, even if you are mostly bots.  —————- Bots Bots Bots Bots Bots Bots… (to the rhythm of LMFAO’s Shots ft. Lil Jon)

Studio Fridays: A New Life, Wow 

Wow, I am having nostalgic spasms - little surges of hot memory blinking then slouching back into coiled shells and now I realize I am deep in unforgiving waters.

Wow, I am remembering moving across decades, living whole lives in the small injuries of people I barely knew.

Wow, I am in a spaceship now, visiting an alien land where everything is exactly the same, except now I know it.

Wow- look at these fingerprints, my tiny personal waves. 

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April 11
82 Notes
irrational symbolism two point oh

irrational symbolism two point oh

April 10
36 Notes
April 9
44 Notes
bury me in marshmallows

bury me in marshmallows

April 8
25 Notes
no explaining

no explaining

April 5
87 Notes
Studio Fridays: “I’m Exhausted!” “I’m exhausted!” is a good way to start a conversation because everyone usually agrees and can empathize. It’s a way to get to the gut of it. The human condition, I mean.  The opposite approach would be a good sociological experiment. Smile big and lead in with a full chested, “I’m so well rested!” Be prepared for befuddled looks of amazement.  People brag about the wrong things. Taking naps is an extremely underrated luxury.  —————————- Right now I am so tired that my face feels like a heavy mask ready to slip off and expose my blobfish brain. The mucus in my eyeballs is made of slow drying Elmer’s glue. I was in Harlem last night rehearsing a sketch about landing on Mars with Jon. He is great. To get there I left dinner early from a place where the waiters all try to walk out with the food at the same time and put it on the table for everyone like it’s some kind of magic trick. I finished the night at a strange bar with velvet ropes that made it unclear who was being kept from whom. I found myself playing some unnamed game, trying to slide a metal disk across a sandy plank of wood for points. At some juncture we stopped keeping score. It was charming how difficult the game was to master- so delicate and so meaningless.  ——————————- Tilda Swinton sometimes sleeps in a big plastic box at art galleries and recently she did it at the MoMA. Good work Tilda - I am for this. I don’t want to hear an explanation of it. It makes sense.  —————————— Exhaustion distorts your perception of quality. It shouldn’t be trusted. Halfbaked, undercooked ideas feel qualified. They feel ‘good enough’… even better for their lack of completion. The willingness to leave before the job was finished- before the surface was even scratched. 

Studio Fridays: “I’m Exhausted!”

“I’m exhausted!” is a good way to start a conversation because everyone usually agrees and can empathize. It’s a way to get to the gut of it. The human condition, I mean. 

The opposite approach would be a good sociological experiment. Smile big and lead in with a full chested, “I’m so well rested!” Be prepared for befuddled looks of amazement. 

People brag about the wrong things. Taking naps is an extremely underrated luxury. 

—————————-

Right now I am so tired that my face feels like a heavy mask ready to slip off and expose my blobfish brain. The mucus in my eyeballs is made of slow drying Elmer’s glue.

I was in Harlem last night rehearsing a sketch about landing on Mars with Jon. He is great.

To get there I left dinner early from a place where the waiters all try to walk out with the food at the same time and put it on the table for everyone like it’s some kind of magic trick.

I finished the night at a strange bar with velvet ropes that made it unclear who was being kept from whom. I found myself playing some unnamed game, trying to slide a metal disk across a sandy plank of wood for points. At some juncture we stopped keeping score. It was charming how difficult the game was to master- so delicate and so meaningless. 

——————————-

Tilda Swinton sometimes sleeps in a big plastic box at art galleries and recently she did it at the MoMA. Good work Tilda - I am for this. I don’t want to hear an explanation of it. It makes sense. 

——————————

Exhaustion distorts your perception of quality. It shouldn’t be trusted. Halfbaked, undercooked ideas feel qualified. They feel ‘good enough’… even better for their lack of completion. The willingness to leave before the job was finished- before the surface was even scratched. 

April 1
257 Notes
Hey look, this goo eats magnets. Science: adorable, terrifying. 

Hey look, this goo eats magnets. Science: adorable, terrifying. 

March 31
85 Notes
True life

True life