Compare and Contrast 101 with Dmitri Cavander and J.S. Clark

I was glancing through Flickr today and found some nice images of the open road.

This work is by J.S. Clark.

Taken from inside his car more than likely on I-75 on the Hillsborough County/Pasco County Line in Florida.

The second image was taken in Palm Beach County.

I really like how his images include the dashboard-- it really brings with it a sense of being there with him in the driver's seat.

I'd almost bet he has a leather wheel cover to grasp as he's clicking away.

There's something truly cold about these works that brings a harsh reality to the ever-warm Sunshine State.

Very post-apocalyptic, if you ask me; especially with the large Cumulus Clouds in the sky-- a true year-round Florida phenomenon.

Such miles and miles of sheer nothingness; Not really farmland, not really "natural"; a developer's dream, except for the lack of any true thing TO develop into in these locals-- just a truly forgotten land.

One of the best things about not owning a car is that when you do find yourself in one, you develop a true appreciation of the sights, the movement, the moments all along the way.

I crane my neck in anticipation for each and every horizon.

I'm going to compare this work to one of my favorite artists from Boston, Dmitri Cavender.

Although of two vastly different geographic regions, both examples of work have an ability to suspend time of day as well as season.

For instance-- is it dusk, or dawn?

Represented by MPG Gallery, I first was struck by Cavander's work around 2001 when I found his work next to mine at our common slide photographer.

Dmitri has had some shows in the NY area-- including DFN Gallery (my old stomping ground)-- for which I contacted him give us a piece for one of the many group shows.

Cavander also has a great ability to make the driver's perspective your own.

Enjoy.

www.dcavander.com
http://www.supernet.net/~jclark/

Trinkets

Sometimes I have to say I find the most strange objects to be completely fascinating.
Take my little bulls and reindeer office collection.

Some may find it similar to the Beanie Baby phenomenon of the '90s, or the Trolls before that, but alas, I think some of the best art is done with scanners.

We're bullish on the 2000s.

Spotlight on Dan Giese

Okay, okay... you might be able to say a few things about my blog so far... (cough, I'm biased in my opinions a good portion of the time based on personal experience and knowledge.)

In this case, I'm biased because... well, this is my roommate and also he just happens to be probably one of the most talented painters I've ever known.

I mentioned to him the other night how much I loved this work "Phallus Along the Interstate."

It brings to my mind a sort of combination of Hopper coldness mixed with sharp angles, but I think what it really brings to my mind is a deep awareness of my own family's roots in the heartland of Illinois-- Galesburg area to be precise. This is based on a location not too far from there.

Jutting out in the midst of it all, an obelisk of darkness appears in silhouette.

The farmland area that I grew up near on the outskirts of Dade City, Florida, is also quite similar-- endless ranches, strawberry fields, orange groves and soybeans... then a sudden silo appearing amongst the nothingness.

Or, in my fave moments, an old graveyard on a hill overlooking an orange grove with wild peacocks running about.

We'd always be speeding in our friends' pickup trucks along the backroads to Tampa-- the same roads where all the famed Florida serial killers dump the bodies.

This is "Semi Enlightened", my personal fave.

You always have to watch out for the semis all along I-75-- which I have to do at 4:00 AM each time I take the rental car back to T.I.A. with each visit; definitely brings this to mind.

They just can suck your vehicle under with the backdraft if you follow too closely.

Overall I think this work reflects a sort of melancholy of the natural world set against a post-industrial wasteland-- a rural Americana, if you will, that is lost... each time highlighting a lone object set against a solemn background.

Perhaps it represents more than just nature vs. industry or technology vs. spirituality, but more of a statement of being solitary amongst an indefinable many.

Ponders.

A few other of Dan's works also remind me of a mix of Miro with Hopper, if you will... with a bit of Max Ernst thrown in.

Hungry for pomegranates and figs, or is it just that "time of the month"?

(The delicious and devious "Pucker" below at right)

Enjoy.

www.dangiese.com

Spotlight on Kezam

Perhaps it's not every day one of your friends walks you over the Manhattan Bridge and suggests something of the utmost illegality that even in your wildest dreams of abandon you wouldn't consider.

Ahem... insert hand suddenly grasping subway emergency escape exit hatch, lifting the gate to a hidden staircase, and the "Come on! Let's go down there!"

That tunnel system is just one of many that the depths of NYC keeps hidden to the untrained eye.

I might have said "No" to the spelunking opportunity, but at least I've seen pics of the works.

Somehow I picture the hairy catman hybrid from the tv series of "Beauty and the Beast" and the CHUM, etc., and whole webbing infrastructures of subterranian NYMHs greeting me upon my descent.

Instead, I've checked out 5 Pointz in Long Island City, Queens, several times with great enjoyment.

There's something about the illegal nature of graffiti that appeals to me somewhat, but there's only so far I can take it.

BUT I will say visually it's truly one of my favorite artforms-- just for its sheer ability to uniformly transform a flat surface to three-dimensional.

Another thing I find interesting about graffiti subculture is its hierarchical structure-- almost like a Royal Family, if you will, of Kings, Queens, Dukes, Dutchesses, Lords, and even ladies in waiting (similar to the skater girls who not only take it upon themselves to BE one of the boys but also to impress upon the boys a kind of sexual dominance power play).

I've loved seeing how Kezam takes on his extremely impressionable prodigies and transforms them into masters of metal aerosol cans.

Enjoy some of the attached work.

It blows me away.

Cultural ennui

Long, long ago, back when I was a junior at Boston University, I had a professor, Joseph Boskin, who made me rethink pretty much everything around me.

(photo on left by Boston University)

"Let's talk about the gap between expectations and reality."

Doing a background search on Boskin today, I really had no idea whose class I was taking or getting into.

He touched on the sheer fact that from little on as Americans we're taught a John Wayne swagger-- that "anything is possible if you set your mind to it"; that "if you build it, they will come"; "go for your dreams, shoot for the stars," and you shall receive what you're "worth."

In fact, there's a lot behind that "worth"-- worth, meaning "self-worth," "self-esteem," "self-confidence," and "self-reliance" that are huge factors.

But cultural, economical and societal factors are huge obstacles to the above.

In fact, they're in continuous battle.

Who will win out in the end?

The scrappy, pull-yourself-out-of-poverty gladiator or the nepotismal beneficiary?

I wonder this each and every day.

More often than not we've all been sold in life the idealism of the Wayne philosophy.

Unfortunately, I'm not one easily won over.

He'd always say, "Do you honestly believe the kid in the projects will not be angry once he reaches 18 and finds out he's NOT going to be President of the United States like he's been told!?"

Of course Boskin himself subscribes to the "Mel Brooks" philosophy.

Meaning, a kind of cultural and societal lip biting, a wink-wink, a nod; a "hummina-hummina"; a supposed "cultural and societal bitterness" supplanted only by a sarcastic bent that's truly unattainable by most unless circumstances have warranted its creation in its owner.

Alas, perhaps I've been Boskinized.

Or Professor James Johnsonized. (lost my religion and much more with "19th Century Intellectual History")

Or Saul Bellowized... (love you, old guy)

Or Elie Wieselized.

Or 3-day Chabad House Jewish seminarized (Another way to lose one's religion and be angry at a new one-- "so you don't WANT me to convert even if I WANT TO?")

Maybe after seeing John Silber pounding a parking meter with his one good arm in 1993 made me rethink life.

Or maybe it was looking across Boskin's 12-student table to the Brazilian playboy who would talk proudly of how his friend's family had paid off the mother of an unplanned pregnancy and how he found Americans "trivial, uneducated, uncultured," and generally worthless.

Yes, or perhaps it was the $350 champagne bottles being sent to my 19-year-old 112 pound fashion show table-- and seeing the "oohs and aahs" from my cohorts, yet feeling so removed from it all.

Perhaps it was the rock star rolling over on the couch in front of me at age 19-- the poster on my wall come to life-- desperately petting a dog and speaking to someone who would listen-- anyone who would listen-- having everything, yet needing so much more.

In fact, the worst ennui for me has always been the gap between my own personal expectations and the eventual reality of situations-- The frailty of being; the lack of meaning behind words or even actions.

That when all is said and done, your last moment or breath is truly alone-- no matter how many things, people, places or experiences have accompanied you along the way.

Thought I'd get a bit philosophical today.

At this point in life I was supposed to have been by now...

1. An astronaut

2. A tennis pro

3. A tennis coach

4. A model

5. An investigative journalist

6. A screenwriter

7. A singer/rockstar

8. An artist

9. A writer

10. A partner with a fellow partner

11. A homeowner; a dogowner; a friend; a family member; a lover

But that's what happens when you've been Boskined.

In fact, Boskin's own account of how we lie to children continuously has made me rethink so many things.

You take into account the "Blazing Saddles"-ness of life; that things are ridiculous, for no reason; that life isn't what it's cracked up to be; that there's disappointment throughout-- and finding the humor in THAT is what makes you a true crackpot of the best degree.

So bring on Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Slim Pickens, Presidential Aspirations, wealth and prosperity, 1950s domestic perfection, Dr. Strangelove, Snow White, or Young Frankenstein; they're better than reality.

Left my favorite out of Laura Faye

I actually forgot to post this amongst all the other fantastic Laura Faye Martin photographs.


It's a montage of every single photo she took at the ICA in Boston, MA.



Immediately I was struck by the similarities between it and the famous Joseph Stella "Brooklyn Bridge" painting that hangs in Boston's Museum of Fine Arts.


(Laura Faye Martin, Photo Credit)


Alas, I'm always a bit concerned with the posting copywrighted work, so instead I'm taking an image from Flickr below.


This is Stella's "Factories at Night."


It's striking in its geometric patterns-- the same depth of perception that is brought out in the above work.

Also, I can't help but to also think of the recent Brice Marden retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan.

The way the colors line up in the triptych formation-- it's like a hyrid... a "Stellarden", shall we say-- ala Brangelina or Lamgelina?

Good stuff all.


Do I pass Art History Comparison 101?


(Photo credited to Wajiii on Flickr.com)

Spotlight on Laura Faye Martin

Recently I received some really nice images from my trip to Boston taken by my friend Laura.

She's currently enrolled at Boston University's new center for digital photography.

I have to say, they've just blown me away with their depth of color, unique angles and time elapse.

Of course, the ICA does a lot of work for you with its stunning architecture, but it takes a unique eye to be able to transfer all of this into an image.

Heck, I just got back my pics from Duane Reade of "fall," and let's just say they don't look like this.

The blue lights on the right remind me of little miniature blueberry pies at midnight in the north pole -- if the north pole was Studio 54 in 1979.

I love the photo of this totally random dude just hanging out by the window-- NOT that he's posing or anything after seeing a chick with a camera pointing directly at him. It's so Boston hipsterish, I can't even begin to tell you the memories this invokes.

Excuse the layout... we're still learning here on formatting, etc..

Ahh, a hair photo-- nothing captures Lamgelina's essence better.

Finally, let's go to the skyline.

Even the cold of night feels new here... especially the soft reflection on the harbor and Custom House Tower in the background.

Sure let's post some art why don't we

For some reason I was thinking of the Sony Phillip Johnson building and there must have been some subliminal "Wizard of Oz" thing going on in my brain. Either that, or "Shrek... no clue.

Office doodles.

Hope one day I can piece them all together in a scrapbook.

Creativity knows no bounds when one has a pad and pen.

Though I still can't tell if the person at bottom is a person going into a "Tunnel of Love" ride at a fair or a horse with a carriage behind it.

I should have a vote. Which do you think it is?

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I hardly believe that you're old, fat and well-adjusted

(photo courtesy of Ri(c)k on Flickr)

So today's "Metro" called for Fatty Bob Smith to release yet another Cure album in May. It's been a while since I actually saw the pudgster himself-- summer of '04's Curiosa tour (a self-admitted tribute to himself, booking such acts as Mogwai, Interpol and Muse). Roosevelt Island that night seemed to have taken upon itself the responsibility to usher in a NYC Gothic tribute-- wafting heavy clove aromatics dancing about; a dense fog enveloping the audience; cool mist and gentle clouds above highlighting the night's full moon. Truly magical. To this day nothing can prepare you for the finale of "A Forest" in this atmosphere-- those six perfectly played notes in succession coming out of the darkness.

But I have to say, besides a few songs, the Cure's 2004 "The Cure" album was a decidedly good effort, yet I didn't rush out for its purchase like the heavily hyped 2000's "Bloodflowers." There was trepidation on my part upon hearing the producer was working with Korn. (say what?)
With "Bloodflowers'" endless publicity I was worked into a panic:

"He's retiring! This is IT! What will I do without Robert Smith in my world? How shall I go on? Buy it now! See him now! You may never get the chance to ever again! He shall drink Guinness, sit in his chateau watching Manchester United on the telly, wearing long black shorts exposing his Crawley-white legs, with Mighty Ducks jerseys draping over his beer gut for the rest of his life!"

Over the years Smith has been rock's answer to Jay Z, Barbra Streisand or Cher's retirement ploys, each successive album stating, "Yes, this is the final act of my Shakespearian career." Whatever.
Something like 7 albums later (I believe the first announcement of his retirement came in 1989), here we now find ourselves in 2007.

The eyeliner, hair and clothing might scream "turbulent, emotionally wrecked master of eternal depressive cycles," but alas, truth be told, Robert Smith is hardly your average, everyday Goth. Just the sheer fact he's been married to Mary Smith (his girlfriend since the age of 13) since 1989, still enjoys a good beer at the local pub watching a game of kick in the grass...

(poignant pause...)

...he's also a hockey fan. A hockey fan! How emotionally tortured can a hockey fan be??

Alas, even so, this news gave me a bit of hope today.
Dreams of hollow-body Gretsches and MAC Russian Red Lipglass danced in my head.

Yes, perhaps this is the album Cure fans everywhere have been waiting the last 2 decades for; the one that will have lyrics to challenge even "Disintegration's 'Disintegration.'"

"i never said i would stay to the end
i knew i would leave you with babies and everything
screaming like this in the hole of sincereity
screaming me over and over and over
i leave you with photographs
pictures of trickery
stains on the carpet and stains on the memory
songs about happiness murmured in dreams
when we both know how the end always is
how the end always is"

It's hard for me to even imagine the ability to surpass these at any point in life, let alone hurtling towards middle age and cultural obscurity, but in the past 4 years, The Cure has had a rebirth of huge proportions. Perhaps the relevancy is a trend or the tide has turned. It shall be interested to see how this release plays out to the new 20-something fans.

Back Cracks and Butt Rubs

Recently I was referred to the 2nd chiropractor of my 32 years on planet earth. I was a bit apprehensive at first, given my 2005 track record-- (walking with a cane for 4 months REALLY didn't make me think fondly of back cracks and butt massages (yes, I'll get into this more...) even if my doc back then was a babe and a half.

(photo by williamnyk on Flickr)

Yes, I was fairly "jacked up" as some say... thanks to my ineptitude with a cofeehouse staircase, some slippery boots, icy sidewalks, thin shins and a normal gait not unlike Barbaro's current condition.

Even so, I took the chance to go see Dr. Werner after my ENT suggested him for my TMJ.

"He'll stick his fingers in your mouth and go..." (insert doc making "popping" sound).

"Stick his fingers in my mouth?"

"Yeah. He's really good. Go to him."

So on that note I thought to myself, "Well, worse things could happen."

After all, I HAVE had a colonoscopy, and who KNOWS what happened while I was under. (shudder) At least this guy I'll be conscious with.

So my first appointment went great. It forced me up at an hour I'm not used to-- 6:55AM. Out the door by 7:10, on the train at 7:15 (a seat, even!) and in his 61st Street office at 8:00AM. Not too bad a commute for the distance.

Mellow wouldn't begin to describe Dr. Werner. I always find it strange to call someone "Dr." when they're probably the same age as me. It's just weird.

Immediately I was told, "Yeah, you're speaking to the right."

I turned and looked in the mirror-- sure enough-- it was pretty freaky; kind of like Elvis' lip curl, but not as endearing, and certainly not "sexy back."

So I turned to him and said, "Okay, let's go for it."

Neck crack, back push, butt forced to the side, hip popped, legs pushed, pelvis down.

Whack... crack... pop.

Suddenly I stood up and felt almost a rebirth. It was like blood flowing to my head for the first time in decades. Not bad.

My 2nd appointment consisted of the snapping on of the latex gloves.

Insert my apprehension, and his obligatory, "Okay, here we go. Warn me if you're going to bite."

The poor guy-- much more risky for him with these equine choppers.

"Will do, sir."

So the fingers go in mouth, pushing down on gums, massaging and reaching far back to almost tendon/tonsil area.

It's wasn't fun, (the gag reflex) but it seems to be helping.

I could immediately open and close the jaw with little to no difficulty, even if for a few days after it was sore.

Today's treatment was not as intense, but still was nice to get this cranal side ear massage, pop, Reiki, pressure point thingamajiggy that felt wonderful.

As for the previous doc's chiropractic butt massage "technique," I have to say it was fairly enjoyable, though it probably didn't do much for my leg at the time.

Mind you, it wasn't really perverted-- it was more "Vibrations will help loosen the muscles that are locked," so insert the Thumper Sharper Image/Brookstone mechanism to the glutes.

Fun times.

I love chiropractors.