post-apocalypse sorry now

Notes on Bravo's "Work of Art"

2010-06-06T00:54:00.000-07:00

So many people are up in arms about a reality show featuring art, acting as if art is somehow RUINED by any kind of reflection in pop culture. People, get over it.

No pun intended, but take art off the effing pedestal already. It's ART. It's part of our lives, not some sacred cow that can't possibly stand to be sullied by the dirty medium of television. The inherent classism in the arguments against this show is exactly why art gets MOCKED relentlessly by popular culture. The art world does itself no favors by being mysterious and obtuse.

You know, the fashion world didn't shun designers from Project Runway. Chefs on Top Chef don't get mocked for "sullying" themselves -- on the contrary, Top Chef Masters features some of the best chefs in the country. The show exists. Deal with it. If you're so closed-minded that you can't even consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it might not suck, and you won't ever watch it to see for yourself, then I truly pity you for the limits you place on yourself.

I actually CARE that people connect with art. I'm an artist; I don't make art for only one type of person and I don't care as much how it's seen as I do that it IS seen. I don't want to be a court jester to the wealthy; I want to make art for everyone, anyone who's interested. It hurts me that people don't care about art. I currently live in a state where there is not one grant for individual artists, a state with one of the lowest funding for the arts; yet, we have the fifth largest concentration of artists in the U.S. That's shameful, and it's because people don't see enough art to care. I've taught at rural schools where kids never see art, have no way to see art, and if one kid gets to NOT feel like a freak because suddenly he can see people like him on tv, then to me, it is a GOOD THING. If art is to have a future, then I'm sorry, but people have to give a shit.

I didn't audition for the show, not because I think it's bad, but because I'm already too busy with other opportunities, but I will confess I did consider it. I don't fault the artists who did -- hell, I think it would be a fun experience, if only for the chance to be challenged. In fact, I'd find it interesting to do the challenges without the television portion of it at all -- some friends and I have talked about doing the challenges at home, just for fun. I can't imagine living such a joyless, curmudgeonly existence that I couldn't allow art to be fun at times, too. Art reflects ALL of human experience -- the poignant, the trivial, the smart, the stupid, the sublime, the downright ridiculous. Should it only speak to a narrow band of concerns?

Grrrrr.....

2010-01-19T20:09:00.000-08:00

I'm not disappointed in Obama, I'm disappointed in EVERYONE. Maybe I just wasn't as fervent a believer as others, but I truly expected him to get cock-blocked at every turn, which is exactly what has happened, even at the hands of his own party. Doesn't matter. For me, it is ENOUGH that he is not a madman, nor stupid, nor willfully ignorant, ... See Morenor aggressively religious. Have we forgotten where we just came from? Baby steps, people. We were teetering on the brink of insanity, there is a lot of damage to be undone. It can't all get undone in a year. Perspective.

That said, I truly believe we are talking about the moral failure of our entire culture, and nothing short of that. We have monetized human suffering, allowed wholesale greed against our own people. It is shameful. I am aghast at anyone who thinks health care should only be for the rich. I can't believe the stupidity of those who think this system WORKS.

Anonymous Iran

2009-06-23T13:25:00.001-07:00

I have never seen anything more worthy of going viral in my life. Please, take these words and spread them, repost them, and if you are a member of the media or good with technology, act on them. The people of Iran are showing immense courage and providing the kind of example the world needs. The American people should take note: there is nothing more important than protecting our voting rights, and demanding accountability from our government and media.

TUESDAY, JUNE 23, 2009

A Message to the International Community from Inside Iran

This was found in an undisclosed location. The text is as follows:
I apologise in advance for the tone and style of this letter to you. The people in Tehran of whom I speak on behalf are weak and tired. I hope you are able to clearly understand the message we are sending to you. This letter is a call to all people outside of Iran, both Persian expatriates and other people. At the present time this is very important for the fate of Iran. To quote Napolean: "There is but one step between victory and defeat." We in Iran are at the same critical step. Your help is of the most urgent importance.
Tonight I was just up on the roof. I was at home and began hearing the voice of a young girl crying out from her roof top, "Allahu Akbar!" I began to join in with her chant until I had no strength remaining to yell. "Allahu Akbar! We're all together!" For 30 minutes we cried out into the night together. Eventually I became a bit frustrated and nervous about being on the roof and came down. But the sound of the girl continued. She began chanting loudly, "Iranians join together! Support, Support!"
These words warmed the hearts of those of us within the range of her voice. The last few days I have been all around the city, demonstrating and chanting. This girls voice touched me most of all.
Here in Tehran people are scared. The rumors are swirling about people who are identifying demonstrators from pictures found online and then going to their homes at night and attacking their families. Yesterday CNN aired a video with a voice screaming from inside a house. The video showed darkness, but the sound of a woman begging Basiji to leave her home has galvanized us. People are scared!
Another video has also put fear into a lot of Iranian people. That is the video of the late Neda Agha-Soltan (the woman shot on the street who died). Neda's death has perplexed people. As foreign media has been removed from our televisions, we are dependent on Iranian State Television which is practising a severe psychological warfare with our minds. Now everywhere people go they are watching who is behind them. All over the streets of Tehran are clothes which have been left behind by those arrested by police and Basiji. Today I became downhearted when I saw only a few thousand at 7 June Square for Neda's memorial. God, we all have to get our spirits back! Right now, time is very critical! We have these immediate needs:
Please tell your governments that if they are seen as interfering or supporting our actions - then we have lost! I believe that if we can receive covert resources and support without prompting action by the regime, our enemy will be severely suppressed. Today we heard from sources outside of Iran that we can not win. Those who are saying this in the media please notice: You must also mention the success of the results thus far. For the sake of the spirit of our demonstrators, you must mention that we are making great strides. Your words have the power of giving energy to our cause. The actions against us will only escalate unless the legitimacy of this government is removed from popular opinion. We only have ourselves to depend on. Today the commander of the Tehran Police refused to implement the suppression orders sent down to him by the Government. This was a small success, however many were later arrested when the information became known to the Officials.
People are afraid to demonstrate without money or resources. Many are afraid that a general strike will drain bank accounts and thus cripple our efforts. Please be cautious when calling for demonstrators to remove money from banks, stop shopping and work. While it is effective for us to use these measures, please be cautious and regard that we are making necessary plans within our groups. Your information being sent en mass through public mediums is falling directly into the hands of our enemies.
Continue blocking Iran regime websites. We continue needing Firefox plug-ins, anonymous portals and IP devices. If you can find a way to provide those to us, it will be important in our efforts.
Iranian State Television is creating massive distorition of truths. Their reports are stirring fear and frustration in the people. They collect information from foreign media websites and report just the opposite, or design filtered propaganda to distress our efforts. The Iran television news is showing pictures that have been collected off websites of the demonstrators, and they are asking viewers to send in informative leads to who the face belongs to and where they live. Recently many have blanked out the face of the demonstrators before uploading our pictures. That is a great help to our cause.
The Regime is accusing foreign governments and Western media with unfounded charges. Their motive in doing so is to create chaos and diversion. They are provoking governments to take a position instead of well-thought passive defense. The State-Run News plays up the Western governments as imperfect and problematic - attempting to inspire people to stop these protests for fear of becoming like the Western nations. These allegations have been extremely critical of the USA and President Obama administration. What we feel is best would be the United Nations to call on Iran's regime to hold another election. We all have the courage to face this, so International Community, as your governments to pressure the UN to act on requesting a new election in Iran. Also continue to call on your governments in Europe and America to visibly appear neutral and do not show explicit support. The USA administration is doing that and it helps so much. President Ahmadinejad is very worried at this hour of the protests.
It is very likely that quite soon our leaders: Mousavi, Karroubi and Khatami will be arrested. It is also very likely many other political leaders will be detained. We call on the International Media to continue broadcasting fair information while remaining responsible.

Of Underdogs and Overnight Sensations

2009-04-18T13:16:00.000-07:00

Like everyone else with an internet connection and a pulse, I bawled like I’d been snorting onion juice at the ultra-viral video of Susan Boyle surprising the judges and audience of Britain’s Got Talent. But with each callous description, with each wide-eyed commentary, I find myself growing more and more dismayed and angry.

First of all, consider the cynical manipulation of their viewers by the B.G.T. producers and editors. Following the undiscovered virtuoso of former snaggle-toothed cell phone salesman Paul Potts, the formula for success must have become crystal clear to the producers. “Unlikely” (read “ugly”) contestant possesses world-class talent, comes on show to jeers and guffaws, and proceeds to produce a stellar performance with accompanying standing O and “shocked” judges. We conveniently forget that everyone involved with the show knew exactly what to expect, the oft-irritable Simon Cowell included. It’s not as if they hadn’t heard her initially audition for the show – they can’t possibly drag everyone who shows up onto stage. And if you watch the banter and audience reaction preceding her performance, it’s clear that everyone is “in” on the “joke” except for Susan herself.

So, while the show led to her worldwide fame, it was ultimately at the initial cost of her dignity as a serious artist, and potentially at the cost of her long-term viability as having a serious career, once the inevitable backlash starts. There’s a cruelty and cynicism in the clip that betrays all of the “feel-good” status of her amazing rise. We’ve grown so accustomed to seeing slick, over-produced acts who have been groomed by stylists right down to their toenails that we apparently believe external features have something to do with one’s vocal chords or lungs. We’re used to multi-tracked vocals, pitch adjustments, and a hundred other digital enhancements. A singer’s qualifications for pop stardom, in other words, rely less on talent, hard work, and practice, and more on “image” and star-quality these days. (Interestingly, a fact that seems clearer in American Idol than in the other Cowell productions.) But it’s clear from even a cursory reading of Susan Boyle’s biography that she has been a singer for her entire adult life, singing in church choirs in her village, and even appearing on a recording ten years ago. This isn’t an overnight sensation, but someone who has plodded along as a working artist, studying with others when she could, holding her dream inside her for her 47 years. She hasn’t been singing in her shower, she’s been performing in public weekly, just like thousands of talented singers in churches and community productions everywhere.

The fact that anyone could be surprised once she opened her mouth says nothing about Susan or the quality of her talent, but speaks volumes about US. We all like to think we don’t judge by appearances, but this is about more than that even. Everything in Susan’s life works against who we “think” someone with her talent should be: looks, yes, but also age, weight, lifestyle, and even geography. Every article mentions that she has cats, every article comments on her mode of dress, and every article mentions that she’s “never been kissed”. These classifications build upon the stereotype of the “spinster-singleton-small-town-cat-lady” in order to increase the “surprise” that she manages to sing so beautifully.

How different the story would be, however, without the game show. Susan Boyle is a very good singer (from the 2 songs I’ve heard, anyway), but is she good enough to get discovered any other way but through a game show? Well maybe, if “getting discovered” was about talent anymore….it’s not. We tell ourselves that we live in a meritocracy, that having enough talent or enough drive is enough to get us through the magical doors of fame and fortune, but the gatekeepers no longer care about talent, or drive, or hard work: they care about marketability and profit. And Susan Boyle is marketable, but only based on our wicked assumptions that people we have collectively deemed “ugly” can’t possess world-class talents. After all, would you have forwarded her video as an “inspiration” had a stylist tweezed those bushy eyebrows and tarted her up a bit first? Be honest: would you?

And really, what IS “ugly”? The popular and quirky television show Ugly Betty would have us believe that America Ferrara, a stunning girl dressed up in goofily clashing outfits, braces, and glasses represents the tv version of “ugly”. But there’s the rub: modern beauty is as manufactured as Betty’s supposed ugliness is. Look to the plethora of makeover shows for your evidence of how simple it is to turn a hot mess into hotness. Anyone with enough money can be beautiful these days, it has little to do with genetic gifts or healthy living. Our ultimate shallowness and vapidity has eclipsed us, and found us lacking: few of us qualify to be “beautiful” by today’s standards, unless we’ve opted for plastic surgery or spend a large part of our budgets on makeup and hair products. Meanwhile, eating disorders in young girls have doubled since the 1960’s, 12.1 million Cosmetic Surgeries were performed in 2008, and the latest trend for 5-year old girls is mani / pedi parties in spas. Focus on appearance has obscured all other qualities a human may have. We buy the books based on the covers and don’t even crack the spine.

We all love rooting for the underdog, but I think we fail to see our own patterns in creating the very condition of underdog-ness. Our expectations and habits dictate what we listen to and whom we pay attention to. We’re all guilty of judging on first appearances and buying based on the packaging. Even in the art world, looks and youth play a part in what artists make it into the best galleries & museums, though neither should have anything to do with marketing artwork. With the monolithic entertainment culture that has grown up in America and spread like a viral video throughout the world, we only see talent that has already been manufactured for us, with little of the inherent creativity of the artist left to shine through. A band’s marketing and image sells them as much, if not more than, the music itself does, whether on a major label or an indy start-up. We rely on hype and PR instead of our own instincts and tastes, and only find underdogs after they’ve been discovered by someone else and groomed for our consumption AS underdogs. We’ve lost our sense of discovery.

So, I would like to issue a challenge, to anyone reading this. Go out and see the bands you’ve never heard of, buy art from local artists, go out and DISCOVER the talent in YOUR community instead of waiting for them to “get big” and then pretending you went to their early shows. Hunt out the underdogs in your own community and SUPPORT them. Every single community on this planet, large and small, urban or rural, has talented people in it. If you miss them while you’re gobbling up the latest Hollywood offering and downloading the next Billboard hit, then ultimately, the one missing out is you. Susan Boyles are all over: go forth and find them.

Do the Right Thing

2008-12-12T08:19:00.000-08:00

Gov. Mike Huckabee just wrote a book called "Do The Right Thing". What an ironic title, unless by "Right" he's referring to the right wing. How can someone argue that "the right thing" is that semantics are more important than people? His need to keep the definition of marriage the same as it has been in relatively recent years overrides the right of a gay man to be at his lover of 25 years' death bed, for just one example? Does the "right thing" include killing abortion doctors, I wonder?

Let's not forget what marriage began as: a business transaction. A transfer of property (i.e., the woman) from one family to another. Sometimes in exchange for a few cows. Now, I'm as glad as anyone that the concept has evolved, but then again, that's the point: it has EVOLVED. Marriage is not an institution that has been static for hundreds of years like they want us to believe. Not allowing it to evolve further is false logic with more than a dash of cruelty.

No one on the religious right has ever been able to clearly explain how gay people marrying one another manages to harm marriage. R and I don't even have a marriage license -- Colorado is a commonlaw state, so we're married if we say we are. But then again, I don't want a marriage license if all my gay friends can't have one, anyway. My argument always has been, why pay the state to ratify our relationship? Especially since 100 years ago we wouldn't have been allowed to get married anyway!

What harms marriage more: abstinence-only education causing teens to get pregnant and then married too young, or gay marriage? I would argue the former. Allowing two people who love one another to commit themselves legally and have the same rights as everyone else could only be wrong if you're crazy. And really, believing that a virgin gave birth and a man rose from the dead would be considered crazy in today's world, so why allow that mythology to influence the removal of someone's human rights?

Nathrop

2008-10-16T17:58:00.000-07:00

Yep, it's true, I wrote a poem, my first in years. Enjoy.

It’s so quiet here, it’s loud.

That highway sound? Wind in pines. Maybe a touch of river. The high note.
Aspens shaking off their bling with a rattle. A yip in the distance.

Imperceptible snowflakes bite your fingers with a tinny pop. So icy,
They burn like a needle dipped in a candle flame’s

Dance

But not long enough for it to hurt more than my lover’s spiny beard
Against my parted lips.

The yip is now a cackle, rising
From mezzo to screeching soprano in a round of shrieking hoots.
Hyenas have more dignity. Coyotes put low rent porno flicks to shame.

Behind, the house groans and hums. Refrigerator clicks into a purr, heater rattles
A rude cacophony lobbying against the symphony outside.

But it is warmer.

Chalk cliffs draped in a thick fur wrap of dusty clouds, transferring Colorado

Into

China

I step away, fumble
With my camera for a useless
Snapshot,
Then return to find them gone. Moved on to caress Mt. Princeton beyond, to tickle Cottonwood canyon whose warm waters still rise like steam from my skin.

I am the lone witness to an infant storm.

Warmer calls.

Food for Thought

2008-08-18T19:04:00.000-07:00

Accidental Mash-Ups

2008-03-13T23:40:00.000-07:00

We're listening to Kurt Anderson interviewing Susan Sontag on PRI's Studio 360 podcast with Denver Open Media on in the background on teevee. They're playing A Charlie Brown Christmas, for some reason.

You haven't lived until you've heard Susan Sontag's voice coming out of Lucy Van Pelt's mouth.

Truly sublime.

There's one image that has stayed with me

2007-11-04T01:18:00.000-07:00

I found the puppy hit on a dirt road, while out riding my horse. He was still breathing, just panting, really, but couldn't move. The image that stays in my head is of his staring eye, with dirt and gravel stuck to it...if he didn't have it in him to blink, he just wasn't going to make it. The thing I can't fully remember was shooting him -- it's possible that an adult did, but in my memory it's always been me. It was horrible, but by that time I'd seen animals I loved bitten by rattlesnakes, found them rotting under a tree when they didn't come home from pasture, watched our cow frozen over in the lake all winter long when she fell through the ice...you kind of wind up with this frontier view of reality. It's almost less painful to kill it than to watch the suffering.

I think I was much tougher as a kid than I am as an adult. It's all that therapy -- I was pretty damned shut off to anything as messy as feelings. I was one of those girls that would kick your ass if you pushed me. My family life was pretty shitty and tense, lots of passive AND active aggression going on. At that time, I think my parents were both having affairs, they barely noticed what I did. I could get on a horse and be gone morning 'til night, no one ever noticed. It was a beautiful kind of freedom in a way, but came with the heavy knowledge of absolute vulnerability.

Don't get me wrong -- I think my parents were fundamentally good, but seriously fucked up at the time. Oddly, my brothers' memory of the family is like an entirely different family -- they're 7 & 8 years older than me, so they remember happier times.

It's freaky, but I sort of related to the whole Harris / Klebold anger when they shot up Columbine. I was alienated enough to fantasize about horrific things happening to my peers, but thank GOD I didn't ever seriously consider acting on it. I wasn't crazy, at least.

And I'm also thankful I got therapy before Prozac was so in vogue. I honestly think it saved my life. Having someone to be accountable to every week was almost a new thing. I would have OD'd on some damned substance, or crashed my car speeding, or done some other self-destructive thing until I was dead, at that point.

Wow, where the hell did all that come from? Can you tell I'm bored? Babysitting a rave, which, luckily, I get to do from my studio...but the night after an opening, I just don't feel like workin'!

Only four more hours....

Just saw Michael Moore's Sicko

2007-07-07T15:16:00.000-07:00

Truly an amazing piece of work. Seeing the 9-11 rescue workers in Cuba was heartbreaking, as they were finally getting decent medical care that they were denied at home. And for THAT, our ridiculous gov't., in all their "wisdom", is investigating Mr. Moore, and very likely may press charges.

Michael Moore has a way of making us laugh at this horrible stuff on the way to the truth, and for that part I think he may probably earn an Emmy. But this film is much more important than that, and the powers that be just don't want to talk about it, because in the end, we are getting SCREWED. Everyone has these horrible experiences with the insurance industry, either themselves or through friends, so it's really hard to refute this film in any way.

The one thing I wish he'd spent more time on is the tax issue, the difference between what we and countries with national health care, because that's what the opposition will most likely talk about. It's a myth, though -- the difference in tax structure often isn't that different, a few countries pay a bit more but mostly it's just that we choose to spend our money invading countries that aren't a threat to us as opposed to taking care of our own people. It's shameless. Michael Moore asks the question "Who are we, as a people?" And after this film you really do wonder. We need to start making some noise; things are really wrong.

I lost a friend to liver cancer a couple of months ago. He went down in about 4 months from diagnosis, all because he didn't have health insurance. He had had hepatitis C for years, untreated, then couldn't afford any kind of real treatment once they found the cancer. One of the big ironies is that 8 years before, this man had been the CEO of a big oil company, and had walked away from it all -- his family, his job -- because of mental illness and depression. He had spent that 8 years on the street, and just recently had fallen in love and been putting his life back together. He had made it his mission to educate every artist he knew about how to financially plan, how to be smart about their choices. Amazing, beautiful, smart man, who would still be alive if not for corporate greed.

This movie should be required viewing for us all.

A Sweet Bug Story

2007-06-19T23:26:00.000-07:00

When my best gallery ever was still open in Santa Fe, I used to go down and stay there for a week or so when installing a show, or sometimes just for fun. They had a lovely room above the gallery for the artists to stay in, and you could sit on the roof and smell the pinon and burning hickory from the restaurant next door. It was kind of magical.

I became very good friends (still am) with one of the owners of the gallery, T. She and I were having a swell time hanging my show one night, drinking wine late into the evening and talking up a storm, when her adorable neighbor -- who had just moved in to open up a gallery behind hers -- joined in. P. was this lanky ex-skate-punk opening up a photo gallery in one of the alleys behind Canyon Road, and there seemed to be some chemistry and sparks between them. We stayed up 'til the wee hours getting a little drunk together, and while I felt a bit like a third wheel, I didn't really have anywhere else to go.

T., who had lived in Santa Fe for years, was telling an incredulous P. and I about these bugs called "Children of the Earth" that looked like a fetus from the top. We were all laughing, but P. & I refused to believe it, and accused T. of exaggerating. She described them in detail, but we just couldn't see it.

The next day, while T. was out running errands, I sat and watched the gallery. P. came in carrying a small jewelry box, and looking disappointed that T. wasn't there. Then he said, "Well, maybe it's better that you're here and she's not...do you think she would be totally weirded out if I gave her this"? He lifted the lid, and mounted carefully on cotton with T-pins were the very same "children of the earth" bugs we had doubted the night before. I smiled at him and said, "Any other girl would be weirded out...but T? She's gonna LOVE this."

And she did.

I think it's one of the most romantic things I've ever seen in my life.

And I was really happy to get the opportunity to tell that story at their wedding. Best toast ever.

Why are we still surprised?

2007-04-20T22:08:00.001-07:00

School shootings are becoming commonplace, almost. The only thing that shocks us is that each is more horrific, more brutal, than the last.

I think we vastly underestimate how alienating this culture is to anyone who is different at all. The recent shooter's words in the video speak to class difference, and mark my words, there is a LOT of simmering anger in the "have-nots" that can and will explode if not dealt with in some way.

The U.S. used to have a "war on poverty", now it's more like a "war on the poor". Our culture is jamming consumerism down people's throats, and at some point, we're going to vomit it up. If you watch MTV, (and kids do), the message is constantly hammered home that you are NOTHING if you don't have the look, the bling, the car.... People like Paris Hilton are famous ONLY for being rich (it can't possibly be her looks and talent, after all), and all the rhetoric against the poor makes it seem as if it's their fault. We have a sick culture, and a sick culture is bound to breed sick individuals.

When Columbine happened, the earliest reports were saying that Klebold and Harris were "killing jocks". Even then, I said, "well, THAT was bound to happen, eventually". I was never shocked, never surprised, except maybe that it didn't happen sooner.

I don't know, maybe my perspective is skewed because I was violently teased in school. I was spit upon, I was beat up, I had my head smashed into a piece of concrete. Why? Because I was different. Because I was smart, and liked to read, and didn't care about anything but drawing and horses. Maybe because we weren't as rich as the kids I went to school with. (And probably, in part, because I look Jewish, and in the uber-white suburbs of Denver, that was enough.) I learned early on to hate rich kids and jocks, too. I WAS that emotionally disturbed kid in high school, and I DID have liberal access to guns. Luckily, I never confused my fantasy life of revenge with real life, but who knows what could have happened if I were more mentally unstable? I look at these kids, and think, "that could have been me". Everyone focuses on hating these kids that do the shooting, but no one focuses on preventing the next one. No one looks at the root cause, or sees it as a societal problem, all the focus is on the individual.

ay-yi-yi....

2007-02-28T23:04:00.000-08:00

trying to change my evil ways before I make MYSELF physically ill.

My big problem is, I'm neither strategic or tactical; I'm just not a planner. Life happens to me and I say yes to all of it. I've always been that way, sort of a "follow whatever opportunity comes your way" philosophy. The problem is, now there are too many opportunities, too many charities, too many people wanting a piece of me all the time, and I have no ability any more to say no, I lost it somewhere along the way. I'm trying to learn, but sometimes opportunities are too good (or too fun) to turn down.

Case in point, right now: I'm in the midst of a residency, in this little war with the CSO staff, and have 3 incredibly difficult projects on my plate. Also still trying to wrap up the end of the gallery and prevent my business from completely falling apart in my absence while I'm off being an artist. The residency (and the 200 piece installation I'm trying to complete for it) is finished when the show opens March 15, I'll post more about it later when it isn't midnight, if I get time. Okay, THAT I knew about, but then two weeks ago a prestigious new curator called and wanted a piece, which of course, was promised to someone else, so I STUPIDLY told him I was in the midst of creating a similar but much larger piece (which was true, but I had barely begun), so he really, really wants it and I cave. Then the paper fashion show only started organizing and contacting the designers with dates a month ago, and as last-year's champs how can I say no to that? You see how it happens. Last night was the mayor's award for the arts; the place I have the residency won, so of course I organize all the kids to do a painting demo, because I'm asked, and of course it was a blast and an honor (and got my work in front of some very important people), and I'm not saying no to that, of course! And on...and on....seriously, I am leaving stuff out.

Phew...okay, sorry, didn't mean to vent. But jeez louise, I am freakin' stressed right now, and I really only have myself to blame. MUST SAY NO AT SOME POINT!

If you're still reading this (and seriously, a part of me hopes you aren't), thanks for letting me blurt that all out, I needed to.

wot a slacker!

2007-02-27T09:26:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, haven't written anything in a while since the depressive past few posts. I'll try to get back to it. In the meantime, please enjoy this short and charming tale of how Squish and I first met:

Okay, how me and the hubby met: I was in choir in college, so in spite of being in the art department all the time I knew a lot of musicians. During a break in a 4 hour evening snooze-fest of a class, I walked into the hallway and started talking to one of my buddies from choir who was also in band, and he was talking to the first trombone, who was kinda cute. When my friend asked me how the class was, I doubled up my knuckle and dug it into my nostril in the universal mock-nose-picking gesture, and said, "it's like this", grinding my knuckle into my face, crossing my eyes, and pretending to drool. Future hubby / first trombone player apparently found it adorable.

Instead of asking me out like a normal guy, though, he asked where I was showing my artwork, and I told him I was in a show that weekend, and maybe I'd see him there? He mistakenly assumed that I was asking him out on a date, and left depressed when I hadn't shown up. I showed up late because I had mistakenly assumed that when I asked the guy who I thought I was dating (mixed signals, I thought he was gay, now he's married to the girl who introduced us but I KNOW he's gay) and he brought another girl.

Somehow it all worked out, and eventually future hubby actually asked me out on a real date.

To which he showed up drunk, after another girl tried to prevent him from going out with me because SHE liked him so she spent the afternoon getting him all liquored up and tried to hijack him and take him to -- of all things -- a GRATEFUL DEAD show. Ugh!

So, he shows up in his Dad's giant car, and proceeds to try to put my bike in the trunk, almost destroying it in the process, and I said, "maybe I'll drive". He had free tickets to Edward Scissorhands, so we went, but of course we both knew EVERYONE there (he worked at the local hipster record store, I worked at one of the only good nightclubs), and I was completely mortified, since he was not a smooth drunk.

By that point, I was just enduring the date, trying to survive until the end, at which point I would be able to furtively avoid him in the hallways the way I did any number of other guys. But in the middle of the movie, when Anthony Michael Hall said, "I'd give my left nut to see that", something happened...future hubby yelled out, "Your left one?!" apropos of nothing, and the front four rows whipped around to see the heckler. At that point, I was hooked.

So, that's the adorable and completely illogical story of our early attraction to one another. Inexplicable, no? Why ask why?

I am sooooo not into Christmas this year

2006-12-09T18:30:00.000-08:00

In fact, every time I hear an x-mas song in a store (and really, can you enter a store without hearing an x-mas song?) I find myself gnashing my teeth. I feel downright resentful this year that I have to pretend I'm interested in a holiday that I've never much cared about, but especially in light of what I've been going through lately. I am just too sad to give a damn about Christmas this year, unfortunately, and I'm not one that's good at going through obligatory motions.

What galls me, though, is this expectation from people that you must get into the "Christmas Spirit". I swear -- if you are the least bit honest about the fact that you're not feeling the cheer, people practically try to badger you into it. I actually screamed at my Mother (a certifiable loon when it comes to all things holiday) that I just don't give a rat's ass! I think the reason suicides go up at this time of year is just the damned pressure to participate in fake cheerfulness.

I'm NOT cheerful right now. If I were, given what I've been going through, I would think there's something wrong with me. Meeting others' cheerfullness demands has not ever been high on my agenda in the first place, but this year in particular it's making me extremely testy. In fact, one particularly pushy and insincere person was going through the whole, "come on, what's wrong with you, everyone loves x-mas" routine with me, and I almost relished the look on his face when I said, "well, actually, one of my best friends just commited suicide". He had no idea what to say, and beat a hasty retreat. I hope it teaches him some compassion, where do people get off trying to tell others how they should feel?

Sorry to be such a grinch. But thank you for allowing me the room to vent.

elegy.

2006-11-27T22:08:00.000-08:00

we all just wanna know
why?
how?
when?
so many questions, not a
single
damned
answer.
each new theory a kernel
of hope, but no more
guaranteed
of correctness
than the last
or the first
or the next.

can't you reach out,
somehow
past everything
past the grave
that isn't even there
to visit?

you wouldn't be there, anyway.
you would be
here
are you?

your silence
is
an unavoidable cruelty
althought the one certain
thing
is that you
did not
intend for it to be.

or did you?
unending
questions.

no answers.
ever.
anywhere.

Pills

2006-11-19T13:39:00.000-08:00

And here I thought my anger at pharmeceutical companies couldn't get any worse.

I feel incredibly lucky that years ago, when I went through a 2-year bout of severe depression, it wasn't fashionable to dump pills on the problem. My therapist held out pills as the stick, not the carrot -- as in, "if you don't improve, I will put you on anti-depressants". It was a powerful motivator to deal with my problems through talk therapy. I think the current trend towards prescribing medication so easily and quickly means that many people never get to the root cause of their depression and learn to fix with it. Any coping skills I have I learned in that time of my life, would I have tackled the hard issues if I was medicated? I don't think I would.

I know dozens of people on Prozac, literally dozens. It's a shortcut panacea. We have pathologized pain to the point that no one wants to deal with having any, but nothing good in life comes without a little pain. The hardest thing is watching people struggle with these medications instead of the real issues causing their depression. B. wanted off the pills, and struggled with finding a balance between a level of pain he could tolerate and the level of medication he could handle, for as long as I knew him. Would the outcome have been different if he had been encouraged to feel his emotions and struggle through unencumbered by mood-altering substances? I wonder.

Letter to B.

2006-11-19T03:39:00.000-08:00

B-

Dammit, I took you for granted, and for that, I'm sorry.

I thought we had plenty of time -- time to collaborate, & trade art, swap tips and tease each other. Time to argue over whose techniques were "right", & commiserate over what slobs we were surrounded by in the shop (oh, no, never us, though!).

I took it for granted that we would be friends forever, because you were one of those people I sure intended to have as a friend forever. I figured we'd argue about the right way to tap ink off of a squeegee until we were feeble and grey, tomato, tomahto.

I can still see you peering over your glasses at me, still hear your laugh, still remember the way you'd cock your head and haltingly say "hmmm..." when you didn't know what else to say.

When I saw your car at the curb I would get excited, like a puppy, couldn't wait to catch up with you and hang out, see what idea you were working on, dream up some Lucy-and-Ethel style cockamamie idea together. We should still be working on those ideas together, it just isn't fair.

You taught me so many lessons, and the last one is this: don't take your friends for granted, because you never know when they'll be gone.

I wish we had made more time to just hang out. We were both always so busy, but for what? Nothing could be more important, and now I miss you so much it hurts like a bee sting, a killer bee.

You were too smart, too talented, and too good a person to have left the world this way. I hope you know how much you are loved, by so many, how many lives you've touched. You were so much more to so many than I think you ever realized.

Love you and miss you, buddy, and always, always will.

L.

devastated.

2006-11-19T00:43:00.000-08:00

I don't even know what to say. My dear friend Brandon, who was my rock, just killed himself this week. The week has been a horrific blur of exhaustion, I sit here now all night as one of the dance parties goes on next door, too exhausted to go in, too sad to go into our printshop, Brandon's print shop, his passion.

He got in his car, and he turned it on in the garage, and when his brother found him Tuesday morning both the car battery and Brandon were dead.

Why? Why, why, why?

We saw him Friday night, he seemed a little dejected, and his last words haunt me still. But, I didn't detect anything bad, I've seen him profoundly depressed and suicidal before and it was different. He didn't say goodbye. He left early in one of the greatest openings, Capsule's last, I never even got time to write about it. It was a magical evening, marred a few days later by the discovery that it was the last time Brandon was seen alive. He ordinarily stuck around and drank beer (free beer for life, we used to joke, since he fixed up and donated the kegerator, 'cause that's the kind of guy he was), and since he was "stumbling distance", as he would say, he was usually the last one here.

Such a kind, gentle soul. I loved him like a brother, we got each other. He always opened up to me, we poured out our feelings to each other about life, about relationships, about art. If he was going to tell anybody he was in pain, it would have been me, K., or I.

I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm confused. I can't believe I'll never see him again. I'm lost without him in the screen printing shop, he knew so much more than I did, he taught all the classes. I'll never forget him looking over his glasses at me, one eyebrow cocked, squeegee angled to pull another print but pausing at some outlandish thing I'd said. It was a scene replayed many times. He was the kind of guy that -- as Miss V.R. quipped at the memorial -- "would not only get excited about whatever project you proposed, would have bought all the materials and had everything ready for you by the next time you saw him". He was thoughtful to a fault, constantly burning screens for people, staying late after class, a natural teacher.

Two weeks ago, he left a list of jobs for the shop tech, which was essentially him, although we were getting a new one to assist. He posted new emulsion times. The shop was tidy. His last class was Thursday. Was he planning this? Did he know that I would never see him again on Friday night? If so, I want to kick him in the balls for not saying anything, for not even hinting. Was I too neglectful, too busy, too distracted? Hanging Matthew's fantastic show -- Capsule's last -- was exhausting and time consuming, 804 collages in one room, mailed to me over the course of two years. Was Brandon trying to tell me something? He said he was really tired...come to think of it, he's been saying that a lot lately. But it was his busy season at work, and he was worried about paying the bills, and both of us were working a lot, and still trying to get our work done...of course we were exhausted. Something else we shared -- workaholic insomniacs, with different "cures". His involved Ambien, so the early thoughts were that he had "sleep-driven" the car. But...he left two signed checks for his folks. He locked the house. I keep grasping at every clue, desperately trying to remember every conversation, searching and searching for meaning in the most trivial of things.

M. and I were given his art supplies to divide by his parents. It was hard...we both sorted through, decided what was useful to us...I love the thought of painting with his brushes, and he had some very cool things that will open new artistic directions for both of us, and we were getting excited with possibilities, talking about airbrush techniques (I haven't used one since high school, but suddenly I am in posession of one). But then, we would remember, and feel guilty for any enthusiasm over materials, which is the most natural impulse for any artist, I suppose. Odd, mixed, horrible feelings. His parents gave M. & I one of his unfinished canvases, as well, which we will collaborate on finishing. It is covered with screen printed candy hearts in B's patented "trash-fer" method, but the candy hearts say "Fuck You". I am so grateful to his parents for allowing us that deep honor, and it's daunting. My last good talk with B. was sitting around in the print shop helping him cut out those little hearts, procrastinating on doing my own work. We discussed the future, his work -- he was excited. He had been making tremendous strides, breaking through to new territory.

So, I've been thrust by bad fortune into the role of advisor to the family of my dear friend, who are struggling to decide what to do with his vast body of work.

We hung all of the work we could find and fit on the walls last night, and had a beautiful memorial. The family wanted it to be like an art opening, the community handled everything, worked together to move his work, hang the show, bring food, flowers, make a brochure, etc. I made a powerpoint of all the pictures of him and his work I could gather together, and playlist of his favorite songs. Another friend passed around a book for everyone to write a surrealist poem, it's something this artist did whenever he gave an artist's talk, his tradition. My husband's band played (they were all his friends, too, and he was a fan), by the last song the entire band had tears in their eyes and could barely play, but still played fiercely, it was breathtaking. Beautiful tributes from many friends, one friend stepped up and sang a lovely folk song in a tenor rasp that had everyone sobbing by the second chorus. I managed to hold it together to say a few words. I'm guessing there were about 250 people there -- his students, his friends, family, and admirers.

The hard part was everyone wanting to buy the work (and coming to me about it, since he's shown mostly in my gallery), and me having to gently refuse them, the family has decided to delay any decisions regarding the disemination of his work, which I think is smart. He was an emerging artist on the cusp of a brilliant career, and just coming into his own, so his most recent work is seminal, and incredible as well. He had been building up multiple layers of gel medium and airbrushing, with reflective elements underneath, really cool.

At this point, all of us who loved him want to continue his career for him, in spite of the anger many of us are feeling towards his actions. I feel that the goal is to build value for his work and get him into good collections with what's remaining -- there ain't gonna be any more.

I desperately want one of his paintings -- I have many of his prints, but no paintings. The family allowed me and another friend to take a partially finished work that we will collaborate to finish. But I've decided that, rather than a selfish need to own one, I would rather that it go for a lot of money, and if I can manage to pony up, fine, but I will donate it to a museum where I can visit it, there just isn't enough of his work to hoard. I know which one I want, too -- one of his last paintings, still on the easel, almost finished. A long, horizontal image of a hand firing a gunshot through an egg, shattering it, with a brilliant lime green background. Juicy. We had been in the midst of working out a trade when he died, I thought we had plenty of time. A huge missed opportunity.

It's difficult to turn people away who want a piece. But I think it's wise. And I've been telling people who want a piece that the only way for his legacy to truly live on is if we can manage to build his career the way he could have if he was alive. And unfortunately, that means building value into the work, trying to get into known collections, generating museum interest, getting articles written....it's daunting. But I owe him big, for more things than I can even name. And I believe he's a talent worthy of doing this for, although it veers dangerously close to the "art dealer" status that I'm trying to escape.

Based on the advice I got on Craigslist, I rushed over to his house as quickly as I could and spent nine hours there gathering every scrap of paper, sketch, or piece of writing in his studio. His family, feeling the need to purge, was basically throwing almost everything out. I'm worried that there are things that they wouldn't have known were important, it was as if they just needed to stay as busy as possible, and I can completely relate, I did the same thing this week. (Making phone calls to all of our friends, and the press, however, is the most horrible task I have ever had to perform. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, each call is just heartbreaking. Every time I dialed my heart beat faster and it got harder and harder to get through the whole sentence. I finally resorted to a mass email, it was impossible to do anything else.)

A friend of ours who is not an artist but an ardent supporter and one of his bigger collectors is going to put together a database of all the work. We photographed it all and carefully wrapped it for storage at a family members' house. She built him a website and wants to write an article about him.

I'm working on the exhibition end. I have one small museum interested in a show, but I'm going to check the larger ones first. We're also planning a tribute show, and several of us are going to work on a canvas he had started for inclusion in a Dia de los Muertos altar next year. We're going to catalogue his library with another librarian friend, all of his source material, notes, and sketches. Many of his sketches were digital, so we're working with the family to get those sorted out. (The family, by the way, has been incredibly cooperative, and although they are a little guarded and protective, who wouldn't be. I think they know we all share their goal for his legacy.)

This artist also used a rather unique system for creating paintings based on a list of numbers that corresponded to different things. (example: #11 = Bee, #45 = medication, etc.). When he wanted to create a painting he would buy a quick-pick lottery ticket, and the numbers would determine the imagery in the painting. While I was going through his work and his papers I managed to figure out his list, I'm only missing a few numbers. Prior to his death, he and I had talked numerous times about curating a show where we would give artists his list and a lottery ticket to create a work using his system. We're planning on doing this as a tribute show, and using the funds to generate income for his scholarship fund. (This is something he always talked about doing if he "made it big", those fantasy conversations all us artists seem to love to sit around having.) In the event that his work is someday sold, the sales will go into this fund.

This has all been an enormous learning experience, and I'm still figuring it out. I'm also dealing with an array of emotions from immense sadness to intense anger, coupled with extreme exhaustion from the past two weeks, so excuse me if for rambling, I hope this all makes sense tomorrow. Or hell, I wish any of it made sense, but I think maybe it never will.

All of the cynical motherfuckers of the world can flaunt their detatched hipster irony, but it won't change the fact that this is the one thing guaranteed to happen to any one of us, and if we, as artists, want our work to outlive us at all and not wind up in thrift stores we better start doing some estate planning. There's no guarantee that someone else will have the patience or foresight to know what to do with our work, sorting through our messy records and trying to piece things together. I know I don't want to leave that job to my family, now. My records are a mess, my work is scattered everywhere, not properly wrapped or stored, my slides haven't been organized for years. It's holding me back, and if something were to happen to me, why should someone else have to deal with it?

Bunch of lessons, still sorting through them. It would be the first time Brandon taught me stuff, but sadly, it may be the last. It's time to get my life in order, NOW. No more fucking around. I am more committed to getting things organized than ever.

Phew.

Dammit.

I miss you, B.

VOTING HELL.

2006-11-08T01:54:00.000-08:00

It took me three and a half fucking hours to vote today, jammed into a sweaty, stinky gymnasium with around 300 angry and anxious people. And worst of all, we were surrounded by 27 voting machines, but since someone in charge decided they only needed 4 creaky old laptops operated by hunt-n-peckers to check in the people for those machines (a process that, when smooth, seemed to take an average of 5 minutes per person), those machines were empty most of the time. Yes, folks, Colorado was Ohio this year.

I've voted every election here, my whole life. There has never been a single time, not once, that I waited more than 15 minutes in my old precinct, and that's with half-blind old ladies poring over good old paper books. Help America Vote act? Ha -- with help like that, who needs a kick in the teeth? Why did they "fix" something that, at least here, had been working fine?

We started out this morning bright and early to head to a local bookstore, where we had been told for weeks that we would be voting. When we arrived there, a handwritten note on the door informed us that there was a misprint and we weren't able to vote there. We went to the next closest polling place, the Botanic Gardens. After reaching the line and finding that people at the front had been waiting 2 1/2 hours already, we decided we'd better get to work and take a late lunch.

After rushing through a bunch of meetings and running out on my poor visiting artist, I picked up my husband and we tried to vote. Drove by the botanic gardens and found it was just as bad, and decided to head up near our neighborhood, over in the barrio, thinking it would be less crowded. (Remember, one hour for lunch, that's all we technically had.) The first community center had about an hour and a half wait, and we settled in with our lunch and began kvetching with the folks in line. After about 20 minutes, someone came in and said that the community center a few blocks away had no lines.

So, we jumped ship and sped over to the other community center. No lines? Hah. By that point, we figured we'd just stay put, how bad could it be?

Well, apparently we were one of the good ones, at least from the rumors that raged like cranky wildfire throughout the weary lines. We all started out with a sense of humor, joking and playing with sedition by discussing issues in line. No ipods or cell phones allowed, you have to talk to each other, you'll go nuts otherwise, so at least you get to know some neighbors. Of course, after the machines went down, and people started noticing the lines moving at wildly different speeds (so that the person who just came in could easily pass you up), our joking turned to bitter comments and reached full-scale, seething rage by the time we haltingly neared the front of the line.

Voting shouldn't be painful, and it shouldn't be prohibitive. I feel absolutely disenfranchised, and thanks to how hard they made it for us to vote, I'm writing this at 2:30 in the morning, having JUST gotten home because I still had to go back to work and hang the show. Neither one of us could afford to miss work, but voting is THAT IMPORTANT. What's horrible is that I don't even have faith that my vote was counted, and I know that in my Democratic city countless voters had to give up, couldn't wait that long, while voters in the rest of this red state breezed through, and measures that seemed guaranteed to pass failed. (And of course, the Republicans fought a last-minute court case that the Democrats brought to try to extend the polls in Denver for two hours to make up for the machines being down for even longer, altogether.)

BUT STILL, I VOTED, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY STICKER! (Well....maybe not all I got, but it's hard to feel excited even after such a hideous ordeal.) I'm pissed off, but dammit, I voted, as traumatic as it was.

And yes, I'm cynical enough to think this is all on purpose, this is meant to discourage us from voting, this is ineptitude by design. Because it just isn't possible to believe that computers, which are plentiful, were more difficult to have on hand than voting machines, which are not. Because it isn't possible to believe that anyone could believe that 4 computers to 27 voting machines was a logical or even reasonable ratio. And because, sadly, I am a realist. The people in power have nothing to gain from us voting, they know how we feel about them. Why not make it hard, and the poor people will turn away, and the old people, and the people with kids, and the people with lives. Because you have to be damned committed to democracy to stand for 3 1/2 hours in a gymnasium hot enough to make you want to faint, with no water and with no timetable for your release.

Sign me up for the revolution, too. But I'm still going to vote, just in case.

An Artist Visits

2006-11-06T22:51:00.000-08:00

I've been kind of scarce around here, in part because I've been preparing for Capsule's final show, which opens this Friday. I just got back from the airport and picking up a visiting artist from Paris, who, unbelievably, I met through a posting on Craigslist. He had posted his website in the artists community section, and I instantly responded to his work and struck up an email conversation. His work had similarities to mine, so at first we were talking artist to artist, but then I decided to just invite him to show here. (Without for a minute thinking of what that might entail!)

That was two years ago. In the time since then he has sent me over 800 collages that we will be wallpapering the gallery with. He's staying at my friend Kay's house (one of the Boom people who has a studio at Capsule), we just went and dropped him off and had some wine and French chocolates. (Kay and her husband lived in France, too, and her husband just came back from a business trip there with the chocolates.)

Matthew is very interesting. He's an American expat who grew up in Long Island, and practically obsessive compulsive in his art making, which I so admire. I've been talking to him a lot over skype, so I already felt like I knew him, although I was nervous meeting him at the airport. Luckily I recognized him right away, and we easily fell into conversation. He was a friend of Ray Johnson's and very involved in the mail art movement, and he's also a writer who writes for Art & Antiques and The New York Times, among other publications. He's lived in France for 14 years now, and hasn't visited the U.S. in awhile -- he seems to be experiencing a bit of culture shock, almost.

Tomorrow we'll meet down at the gallery and begin laying out the show, which will be floor to ceiling, wall to wall art. I've set up several artist talks at schools, and next Monday we'll say goodbye by screening "How to Draw a Bunny" (about Ray Johnson), and Matthew will talk about him at a fabulous little bar that has a film screening room in the back.

It should be an interesting week. I'll try to post an update!

St. Lucia's eyeballs on a plate freaked me out...

2006-10-07T01:28:00.000-07:00

...but what really traumatized and upset me was when I was told my dog wasn't going to heaven. It sent me into a tailspin of existential angst at the ripe old age of 8. After arguing with the Sunday School teacher about it, the next week I told my Mom that I thought church was "over my head" and I just didn't get it. I didn't want to go anymore, so she shrugged and let me stay home.

Long story, but little did I know that she was Jewish and converted to Catholocism for my dad -- she didn't really care one way or the other. I remember working up my nerve to tell her like it would break her heart!

I also freaked out my Sunday school teacher by asking repeatedly about where Cain and Abel's wives came from. I don't think I went far enough to think it through, but I found it profoundly disturbing that it wasn't explained, and any time you asked adults they got uncomfortable.

In fact, I still find that a little disturbing!

Sneak Preview of the New Denver Art Museum!

2006-10-02T23:34:00.000-07:00

The new Hamilton wing of the Denver Art Museum, designed by architect Daniel Leibskind, is opening this weekend to the public. I went to a member's preview the other day, and it's a fantastic building. Somewhat problematic for the art in places (the paintings are hung off of slanted walls, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't), but the staff has found some marvelously creative solutions in the space, such as projected video that fits perfectly into little faceted walls, a Carl Andre that reflects it's pattern high up into one of the points of the building (what we've been calling "the prow"). I look forward to watching them continue to evolve their installations into the space.

Best of all, the new Vicki and Kent Logan collection bequest is stunning. (And makes the rest of the collection look somewhat humble, by comparison.) Several huge Takashi Murakami works, an amazing Matthew Ritchey installation, Katarina Fritsch, Yasumasa Morimura, Nara...just stunning. Unfortunately, my camera died before I got there. But here's a few sneak peak pics before it opens:

The Claes Oldenburg at the entrance, sweeping up:

A Louis Bourgois Spider, a small, but still 9' tall mock-up of a room sized piece to be installed later:

Looking up at the skylights:

Over a balcony:

Part of the Atrium, showing artist Tatasuo Miyajima's "ENGI" installation, in which 80 local residents set the intervals for flashing numbers:

Richard Serra piece, nicknamed "killer" by the staff since according to some apocryphal story it fell on someone when being installed and killed them! (I've never seen this anywhere else, by the way, don't know if it's true.) It's only held in place by gravity.

Over a balcony, Calder and Ruscha on view:

Stairway and Calder, Damien Hirst's controversial ashtray peaking from underneath the stairs (famous for being mocked by Morley Safer!):

Another view, Warhol's portrait of Russell Means in there:

On the roof, Donald Judd in the foreground, which unfortunately resembles a row of rooftop air conditioners in context (would have been better installed somewhere else!):

From the roof, looking towards the original museum (now called the North building) designed by Geo Ponti:

Looking down off the roof towards the library, Red Grooms piece on the roof and Mark DiSuvero's Lao Tsu towards the center:

rave

2006-09-10T04:34:00.000-07:00

It's now 5:29 a.m., and I'm at work, waiting for the rave next door to end in 1 minute. Then the guys will tear down and clean up, I'm hoping to go home in an hour.

It's a pretty cool event, unfortunately I got a stomach ache (too much coffee!) and was tired, so I spent most of my time at my desk with Theo putting my wrists to sleep. I intended to do all of these creative things tonight! At the most, unpacking my downstairs studio, working on the upstairs studio, and hopefully screenprinting. At the very least, working on the website or some graphic design! But alas, I didn't do much of anything. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. I've got serious deadlines coming up, so I could have used the time, but I just didn't have the energy and felt a little on edge and nervous.

I'm feeling much better now, if I get no neighbor complaints I think I'm onto a good thing. The guys are thrilled with the venue, and let's face it -- a regular gig every month will do a lot to stabilize the place, even if it means staying here all night.

I had looked forward to an all-nighter all week, truth be told, but I think moving all day and all the expenditure of energy lately, the opening last night and working for Kolacny's, all combined have left me drained.

I need to get creative, though -- I have a whole series of deadlines coming up! And I actually can't wait to unpack my studio, I think it will be fantastic.

The other night I was in there, and it hit me...this is mine! After all the months of hard work, I had almost forgot! But I've got a killer studio, and I can't wait to get to work!

Something else hit me, too -- I really am too old for raves. It was fun, but a little lonely. But I think I'll acclimate -- after all, I've spent half my life staying up all night working. It's good for me.

I miss R, though. Can't wait to go home and curl up in bed with him and a kitty or two.

random advice to a young artist (that I also need to hear myself from time to time)

2006-09-06T23:16:00.000-07:00

always strive to do your best work, don't show anything less. Keep regular hours in your studio so that when you go through a slump you have discipline to bolster yourself. Work hard, talent alone is meaningless without a work ethic. Realize quickly that the art world isn't fair and move on. Don't sell yourself short, and don't let anyone else sell you short, either. Be confident, but not arrogant. Never burn a bridge if you can help it. Read everything. Be able to intelligently discuss your work. Don't let rejection get to you, there's another opportunity around the corner -- be ready for it. Don't forget to have fun, if you don't love what you do there are certainly more profitable professions. And speaking of that: don't expect to make money at your work, it will be that much more pleasant of a surprise if you do. Don't forget to grow.

Yup, guess that's about it.

Challenging the Viewer

2006-08-18T01:54:00.000-07:00

I believe humans are on the planet to learn and grow and expand their minds. The whole of human existence has been moved forward by artists, writers, scientists and thinkers pushing on the boundaries of what we think we know. Without that pushing, striving, challenging, would we really be human? Would we have ever found fire, even?

Some of my favorite artworks I hated on sight. I'll admit it. It was through being challenged, through having my brain prodded and expanded a little, that I grew to "see" those works and appreciate them.

Frankly, I like to use my brain, but struggling to survive in the world doesn't always afford the opportunities to use it in the ways I'd like. Thank god for artists that shove me in that direction. And pushing my art, the same way, keeps me excited about it, and keeps my brain cells engaged.

That, or I suppose I could just do the New York Times crossword puzzle to stretch my head -- just not as interesting or fun, though.

Artists in America

2006-08-16T08:06:00.000-07:00

The history of art is like rungs on a ladder. To understand Conceptual Art, for example, you need to have come up the ladder and worked through understanding Pop, and Assemblage, and Abstract Expressionism, rung by rung. And it would be impossible to understand Post-Modernism without those movements before, too.

The rest of the world, the "civilians", stopped on that ladder at Social Realism, the Ashcan school, right around there. When Pollock and all those crazy Ab Ex painters came along, they made a crucial mistake that has affected the rest of us forever -- they said, "It doesn't matter if it makes sense to anyone else, it makes sense to ME". (Paraphrasing, of course.) In other words, "you can't get it". Of course, it wasn't so much a "mistake", it was speaking to a personal vision and very much a reflection of the times, but it was a mistake in the public's eyes and came off as elitism.

Life Magazine took the picture of the Irascibles in 1950, and art was still important to Americans then, but it was the beginning of a divide. Suddenly, people felt uneducated because they didn't understand what they were looking at, and no one took the publics' hand and helped them to understand. They stopped climbing the ladder. So they didn't understand what came next.

Anyway, that's my extremely half-baked theory, thus far. We live in a time with an extreme number of artists graduating from school, and what's more, an extreme number of people graduating from school. All of a sudden, having a degree doesn't make you special anymore. And there are artists everywhere, although the attrition rate from art school hovers around 97%. Why? Why are so many kids choosing art school? It's fairly easy to see why they drop out -- there aren't a lot of rewards and it's difficult to survive. But why do they choose it in the first place?

My alma mater (Metropolitan State College of Denver) now boasts that the 4th largest department on the campus is the Art Dept. They recently graduated 900 art students, or as I like to call them, the future unemployed. The chair of the department is so proud, and I keep thinking: why? The level of talent doesn't appear to have increased, if anything, the department has been decimated by the clearing out of the tenured profs. (a horrifying trend that appears to be infecting universities everywhere -- the trend towards cheaper part-timers and adjuncts.) There appears to be nothing remarkable about these students coming out. When I was there (let me put on my crotchety old woman hat for a minute) the department was small, but a high number of students graduated were very successful, and very good. Now? I see a couple of shining stars, and a sea of mediocrity. Obviously larger class sizes and disinterested part-timers who are struggling to pay their bills aren't equalling better art students.

And all of these art students are heading into a world where art, although ubiquitous, is misunderstood, almost reviled. Art is thought of as an elitist pursuit, a luxury purchase, and not terribly relevent in people's lives. So where are the art students headed? Madison Avenue, Microsoft, game design, and a fair number of them away from anything even resembling art. And if they're real artists, they'll stick it out, but many face a life of frustration and obscurity.

Wow, that was a little bit of a downer, sorry! But I guess you have to understand the beast to change it, and I'm at the stage of trying to pick it apart and understand. I do think I've been changing things in my little corner of the world, but of course, I've got those damned, grandiose "change the world" scheming thoughts running through my tortured little brain.

It occurs to me: this is what happens when I don't get into my studio enough!

Body Worlds

2006-07-28T22:37:00.000-07:00

Went to see Body Worlds last Saturday night at 3 a.m. with R. As usual, we waited until the last possible minute, so that's the only ticket we could get -- but it was really fun, and there was such a novelty in going to the museum at that time of night. And it was still crazy crowded. Long lines, in spite of the timed tickets. But pretty well worth the wait.

It's pretty crazy. It's shocking how quickly seeing people that have essentially been turned into plasticized meat & splayed out becomes normative. It really was pretty cool, and fascinating from both a scientific and aesthetic perspective.

The most interesting thing for me, however, is the controversy surrounding it in Germany, where Dr. Gunther Von Hagens first developed and displayed this technology as artwork. People were outraged, and there were rumors (don't know if they were ever substantiated) that the bodies were bought from the Chinese Gov't., which was killing prisoners. I believe he still isn't able to display them in Germany. But the key thing in the controversy was that they were considered art, and the good Dr. presented himself as both scientist and sculptor.

In the U.S., there has been little controversy, and the show has sold out to blockbuster crowds, and I suspect in large part because it has been marketed purely as science (although in the exhibit they are presented as art, in a sense, because they have nameplates with the year on them just as in an art museum). There were even enormous billboards with the human meat sculptures displayed large on busy streets, and no one freaked or even complained.

If it was presented at the art museum, I believe people would have a difficult time with it -- art is seen as more "frivolous" than science, even though just as much (and often the same things) is learned through it. People forget about the early anitomical studies -- for example, Pietro del Cortona's early renaissance dissection drawings were some of the earliest diagrams of the human body on the inside.

It's interesting, sometimes, how the lack of general knowledge about art history can collide with social taboos.

regarding art snobbery...

2006-07-18T02:04:00.000-07:00

Now, I am one to always come down on the side of contemporary art and intellectualism, and I abhor the ongoing attacks from pop culture in the form of mockery, but even so...

Last weekend at the public lecture for the Site Santa Fe Biennial, it's curator, Klaus Ottman, actually uttered these words (emphasis mine, to capture his inflection): "...but the theme is that there is no theme!" (Now, repeat that to yourself in a german accent and excited tone, to get the effect.)

I nearly blew milk out my nose, and I wasn't even drinking any. Could he have said anything more pretentious, more cliched, than that? It was like the Spinal Tap of artspeak, it sounded like it could have been on the Simpson's, or in Daniel Clowes Art School Confidential. It sounded ridiculous.

This is why, I thought to myself, this is why they mock us. We just walk right into it. If I can't take it seriously, who the hell does? It's those times when I almost...just a tiny bit...get Kuspit. But then he hasn't appealed to me since he juried an awful show here. The only one I've consistently agreed with is Dave Hickey, who seems to leave the bullshit & artspeak at the door, very refreshing.

As to the rest of the biennial? A snooze. It left me cold, only Carsten Nicolai's work managed to move me. There are only 13 artists, each of whom has their own room, so in contrast to previous biennials it seemed stingy & sparse, & left one feeling a bit cheated. Considering the lengths to which previous curators have gone -- off-site installations, live performance (that you don't have to pay $20 for), even modifying the outside of the building, Ottman's approach seemed a tad lazy and uninspired -- although others have been kind enough to call it "conservative". No one I spoke to that weekend seemed too impressed. I have been a Catherine Opie fan, but her work relied so heavily on context that it ultimately failed, in my eyes. The painting was awful, and I used to be a huge Jennifer Bartlett fan but felt her new work lacked the same aesthetic pull. And I had looked forward to Wolfgang Laib's work, but it somehow felt just like a minimilist exercise in spatial composition, unlike when he uses natural materials.

Ottman did say one thing that was good, but after everything else he said it seemed disingenuous: "I want this show to be about the artists and not the curator". I believe he tries, and perhaps even means well, but his own pompousness got in the way.

the treadmill

2006-05-18T19:17:00.000-07:00

I've got that "be careful what you wish for" feeling.

Just walked up the street to the openings, and looking at art made me depressed. Looking at people's resumes made me more depressed. Talking to the gallery owners made me exhausted and depressed.

I took all this on with excitement, not really thinking about how much work the new space would be, how long it would take to make the transition, and what I would do in the meantime. But it's hard, I'll admit. The work load is crushing me. And I've over-scheduled in order to make it all work out financially, but the burden is going to kill me. I need help, and I need it yesterday. And all the while I'm asking: is this what I really want? Is it?

I think I'm a pretty good artist, but I look at the things happening for everyone else's careers, and I wonder. I don't have the time and energy to put into being an artist that I had when it was my full-time job, and I'm really afraid that I've sealed my fate. When will I get more than an hour in the studio at a time? And when I do set out studio time, how will I keep from being exhausted and drained? How will I have time to manage my career? Do I still have a career, or have I destroyed it with my hubris and overinvolvement in outside things?

R tried to warn me. He did. And I love him for that, above all else. Sometimes I think I should have listened. I do get excited about the community I'm building, and I know that one day it may nourish me, too. When I spend time hanging out with other artists, I feel more at home. Even though I own a gallery, I'm not one of them, they know it, and I know it. And I don't want to polish up and put the energy into being like them, either -- it's a shallow waste of time meant to appease the rich, meant to let them think that they're buying art from one of their own.

I know what did it, now. What got me into this funk. When L, the exhibiting artist, introduced me to his friends as a "gallery owner". And I guess he's right. But the rub is that I'm really an artist, masquerading as a gallery owner, or businessperson, or whatever. And I have a physical pain from the ideas that are straining to reach paper. How did I let this happen to me?

Hubris. I've created a monster with it. In my zeal to create this "perfect world" I've left nothing in it for me. The workload for the things that I am doing, things that I want to happen, is crushing me. I've no time for my real work, no time for my poor, beautiful, patient husband, no time for proper meals, no time for art, no time to go out with friends, no time for housework, no time for nurturing my soul, no time to just be, quietly, and do nothing. I cannot survive this way for much longer, and we're at the beginning. What have I done.

And then there's Denver, too -- do I want to stay here? Am I deluding myself that it's changing? Have I wasted my options, my career, my future -- which is quickly dwindling, I might add? M said the other day that I was "too old to move". But I still feel the pull... this place has never felt quite right, since childhood. But I'm still trying to "make it work". When is the right time to give up?

Is there any way to find some balance?

I miss my old life.

Notes to a Young Artist

2006-04-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

Ivan Karp once said at a lecture I heard that, "If you're good looking or rich, you'll be very successful in the art world. If all you've got is your talent, then you have a long, hard road ahead of you".

Depressing? Maybe. But what's more depressing -- toiling under the illusion that the art world is a meritocracy? Living a lie on the faith that you will be discovered?

Knowledge is power. Learn EVERYTHING you can, about art, about history, and even about who's who in your scene and in the art world at large. And work hard -- not because you expect a big pot of success at the end of that rainbow, but for the joy of working hard and honing your craft.

Yes -- the art world is often about who you know. That much is a fact, whether we like to admit it or not. But it is also rooted in practicality -- what is easier than looking in your own back yard for an artist if you are in a position to help artists? Your job is to be in that back yard. No, you don't have to schmooze (or screw) your way to the top, but be involved in your community. Meet other artists, go to lectures, volunteer at the museum -- you would not believe how many opportunities can come your way because you were in the right place at the right time, so why not maximize that possibility?

And be kind to others -- the youngster asking for your advice today could be your best collector or advocate tomorrow. Artists can choose to see things as a competition, or hold open doors for each other -- I think the latter will help you more.

The art world is frustrating, and most definitely not fair. Like most things in life, actually. Acknowledge it, and move on. Don't let it be an excuse for not trying, or worse, a bitter badge you wear on your martyr complex. Define what success is to you, and set about to achieve it. Even if you only get halfway there, you can revel in the knowledge that you got off your ass and did something; that's better than the majority of people, at the very least.

Good luck, and I hope you are able to find success, whatever that means to you. (all that's important.)

Mixed Feelings

2006-04-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

I have such a strange mix of feelings right now, it's confusing. On the one hand, I've taken on this new building, which is by alternate turns exhilarating and terrifying. Mostly terrifying. I'm responsible for a huge amount of bills every month, and yet, in spite of how good things looked a few weeks ago, people are canceling, events aren't filling up -- it's incredibly stressful. I know in my heart that I'm making the right move, yet at times I regret ever jumping into this, it feels as if it's taking me so much further from where I want to be, which is making art. I know that I'll have to make sacrifices in the short term to make this happen -- and it will be incredible if it all works -- but in the meantime, it's leaving me very frustrated.

I just came from the studio, and I couldn't be more frustrated there, too. I've been walking this line for awhile with my work, and I feel as if I'm being ripped in two. I want to use my artwork to communicate my feelings about the world, especially about the world as it is now. But my process is so intuitive, so stream-of-consciousness, that I have difficulty injecting content that I want there, it just sort of has to emerge. And at the same time, much of the content that emerges is usually silly, & frivolous, and more about beauty and surface than anything political, which is what I really want to discuss.

Working on this piece for the food show has brought me to such a point of extreme artist's block that I wanted to scream tonight. I agreed to be in the show before I really knew how crazy my life would be at this particular time -- building studios, moving the screen shop, putting together the seminar, moving my office & turning the space back into a gallery -- all while trying to put together Art-O-Mart and freaking out about money...is it any wonder I'm struggling? Of course, I have to finish the piece for the show, but unfortunately, I couldn't be less interested, and the piece shows it. I'm left turning in something that feels like I'm coasting -- it feels empty. I don't want to show it, but I don't feel I have a choice. And there's going to be such strong work in the show -- I hate being in this position. And it's not that I'm just blocked -- I'm incredibly frustrated, I want to work, but I'm not able to work on the pieces I'm inspired to, since I have agreed to this "assignment". (Now several days late, too, which compromises my professionalism.)

This makes me realize a couple of things:
1. I need to say no to all theme shows, unless my work already fits the theme. I'm forcing myself into an illustrator mode by accepting the task, and it feels really uncomfortable right now. I didn't feel like I could say no to this one, since it was a good friend who curated the show, but since I seem to be in this mode where the theme of the work emerges, it doesn't seem right to force it.

2. I feel I've gotten lazy about the fundamentals, and it's time to work on the basics. I need to draw, go to life drawing maybe, start getting some discipline back in the studio, and still focus on the business. I also really need to work on my career stuff as much as the business -- it's so hard to balance it all. I'm overwhelmed right now. I know it won't always be this way, but right now, I'm juggling a hundred knives.

3. I need to get much better about time management. I had time to go to the studio today, and stopped into Capsule to do a few things, and just wound up dealing with phone calls, and emails, and everything else. God, I need an assistant bad. I need to get another intern in there, pronto.

4. Website needs to be top priority, after the move. This goes with time management and answering phone calls.

5. I really, really need to do more reading, and more writing. I need to get to the bottom of some of the conceptual quandaries in my work right now, and there's no way around it but through it. I do NOT want to become one of those artists that phones it in, and that's definitely what I've done with this piece. Yeah, people might sort of like it, I don't think by far it will be the worst thing in the show, but honestly -- it's not my best work. It doesn't hold together, and it doesn't have anything to say. It's not my best effort, and I never want to put myself into a position again where I feel like that about something that I'm putting in the public. Just because I can get away with it, doesn't mean I should.

6. I need to get organized. In my head, in my home, in my office, on the computer desktop even. It's really time -- my messy desk and messy house and messy mind are holding me back.

And finally, I need to be less hard on myself, in spite of everything I said above. Yes, I need to do all of the things I just said, but I'm not a superhuman, and I need to stop scheduling my life as though I am. It's living, not a horse race. The pressure to get things off the ground is high, partly because I want to feel like I have a life again. I need to make time for the things I like to do, not just what I need to do.

Of course, for the time being, I just need to try to get through the next month. It's going to be a very, very bumpy ride.

haven't had time to write

2006-04-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

but I'll try to get the blog caught up with my crazy life soon.

In the meantime, enjoy my seven deadly sins quiz.

Greed:	Very Low
Gluttony:	Very Low
Wrath:	Low
Sloth:	Medium
Envy:	Very Low
Lust:	Very Low
Pride:	Very Low

Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz

(personally, I think the gluttony & sloth part could even be a little higher, truthfully!)

I've been a bad, bad blogger

2006-03-11T01:16:00.000-08:00

I got tagged by squish awhile ago, and never fulfilled my duty. So, here it is: the four things meme.

Four (other) jobs I've had:

* Singing Telegram Performer
* Stall Mucker
* Telemarketer
* House of Toast Manager

Four little-known facts about me:

* I have a tiny hole in the roof of my mouth, and when I take sinus medications I can sometimes suck air through it, making a high-pitched guinea pig sound.
* I barrell raced in minor rodeos & gymkhanas when I was a kid.
* When I was in 6th grade I wanted to be a trucker. This is about the same time that I was put into some torturous classes at school to teach me to be "girlier".
* I had a 12 inch mohawk at one time. Unfortunately, I lost the one picture I had of it. I wish I could find someone who has one.

Four movies I can watch over and over (okay, maybe more than 4 for this one):

* Hedwig & the Angry Inch
* Pulp Fiction
* Happiness
* Breakfast at Tiffanys
* Tod Browning's Freaks
* Santa Sangre
* Blue Velvet
* Basquiat
* Princess Mononoke
* City of Lost Children
* Delicatessan
* Repo Man

Four city airports I have been to:

* La Guardia (NYC)
* Rome
* London Gatwick
* O'Hare (Chicago)

Four favorite male actors:

* Phillip Seymour Hoffman
* Steve Buscemi
* James Gandolfini
* William H. Macy

Four TV shows I like to watch

* The Sopranos
* Project Runway
* Real Time With Bill Maher
* Arrested Development

Four foods that I hate to love:

* Salt & Pepper Potato Chips
* Chocolate & Sweets
* Cheese, cheese, cheese
* butter. on anything.

Four web sites (not blogs) I visit daily:

* craigslist.org
* truthout.org
* ebay.com
* g-g-g-google

Four things I want to do before I die:

* Travel. Everywhere. Anywhere.
* Have a major museum show.
* Make it into an art magazine, or better, a book.
* Change the world.

Four places I would rather be right now

* Paris, eating crepes & picking through the flea market postcards.
* New York, always.
* In my studio, painting.
* Soaking in a hot springs with R.

Four people I'm tagging:

I can't. I just can't. All the people I would tag have already been tagged, so I'll just say, if you're reading this, and feel like doing it, then go for it. Let me know if you do, so I can change this pathetic ending & make it look like I actually have friends that read this drivel!

We are the Champions, my friends...

2006-03-11T00:36:00.000-08:00

After a grueling 2 weeks, $100 in adhesive products, and about 27 paper cuts, I am very proud to announce that my team, the Capsule Art Thugs, won the 2006 ADCD Paper Fashion Show! Yay!

The ADCD puts on this paper fashion show every year, and it's a pretty cool event. It's an amazing challenge to try to get paper to move like fabric, and to engineer it in such a way that it fits your model, rather than just being a stiff cylinder.

The last couple of weeks were incredibly frustrating, and there are things the organizers could do better next time, but overall it was worth it. I had a blast working with Dave & Katie & Brandon, Amie was the most fantastic model and muse we could have ever wished for, and the fact that the event was the night after the Project Runway Finale helped us get pumped up. (Santino was robbed! Sorry Chloe, still love you too, but that pink dress!)

Here's some photos, and a link to last year's video. (My dress was the last, sort of NAKED one!)

Happiness is a choice

2006-02-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

It's not so much a state of mind as it is a series of decisions.

When you know what makes you happy, you can choose to expose yourself to that which makes you happy. If you reverse it it works the same way. (i.e. -- what makes you unhappy can be avoided.)

Happiness is not something that happens to you, it is something you create within yourself, usually in spite of the world rather than because of it.

It's never easy, but we all have it within ourselves to choose happiness. If you look deep within your soul, you know what you need to be happy. Then it's up to you to strive to create that world.

I'm still striving...but it's in the process of "creating your happiness" that it's found.

Good luck on your journey to happiness. I hope that you are able to find it, or at the very least, peace.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Punk

2006-02-16T10:23:00.000-08:00

Both of my parents were artists, who were somewhat frustrated since they had kids so young. My Dad started art school, and wound up in drafting, since he was being pushed to be practical because of the kids. He still makes stuff -- mostly he's a carpenter, he carves the most incredible guns, of all things, carves mantlepieces, but only for hire. Never, it seems, for himself.

My Mom, on the other hand, had incredible promise. I have some of her drawings from the '50's when she was 16, they are remarkably unique, with a strong style of her own. When people look at what she did in the '60's & '70's, they see this very paisley-like, detailed style that became popular during that time, but she was doing it long before it was in the mainstream, just naturally.

When I was a kid, my Mother painted every day at the kitchen table, and packed it up when I came home from school. She had a solo show at a prominent art center when I was about 7, had a good gallery, and was starting to sell. Unfortunately, when my parents divorced, she couldn't handle being a single working Mother and an artist, so she gave it up completely. I've tried to encourage her, but she doesn't want to do anything but what she did before, and her hand shakes too much to do it. Plus she's lost confidence (and in my snotty teenaged years I'm afraid I may have contributed to that, a crime I've tried endlessly to make up for).

I was always an artist. I'm surprised I didn't come out of the womb clutching a pencil. I drew constantly, stole my Mom's paints, made things all the time. My teachers began telling my parents I had talent in pre-school, but they already knew. I got art supplies for every birthday, and was in my first art show with my Mom at 5.

You'd think that's the heavenly upbringing for an artist, that would result in no issues, but not really so. I was as interested in music as art, but since my brothers had both earlier abandoned their expensive instruments, my parents wouldn't let me play anything. So of course, the drive to be a musician overcame the drive to be an artist out of sheer rebellion. I bought my first guitar with my own money in 9th grade, and played in punk rock bands after high school. My parents had pressured me so much to be an artist (to make up for what they had sacrificed, I now realize) that it was the last thing I wanted to do.

But all through those days, I still made art, drew comics, wrote 'zines...I found my outlet mostly in painting t-shirts and friends' leather jackets. I couldn't stop making art if I tried, and eventually it won out, as I practiced less and painted more.

Both of my parents encouraged me to have a practical skill, though, which I wrongly poo-pooed. My Mother constantly told me how hard it was to make a living as an artist, and like most kids, I ignored her.

The funny thing about pressure from parents, whether it's encouraging or discouraging, is that it always seems to backfire, at least for awhile. I think my parents recognized that I was an artist and tried to nurture that, but there was always an awareness for me of what they had given up, which instilled a huge dose of fear about following the same path. I always feel like if I give up, I'll be destroying their legacy, since I haven't ever bothered with the whole having kids thing.

Today my Mom is my biggest fan, and her apartment is full of my artwork. She comes to all my openings, my friends all know her, and she gives a damned fine critique, too. My Dad doesn't really get my stuff and wishes I'd go back to drawing horses, and doesn't go to many of my shows (I think he's afraid to thanks to some of my younger, more radical work), but is always encouraging and willing to help me build things when my carpentry skills aren't up to snuff. I don't think either of them realize what an impact they had on me by giving up what they really wanted to do.

Painting is Dead

2006-02-11T23:19:00.000-08:00

Or at least, this is the claim made every few years by art critics and historians who've run out of things to say.

In the "old days", (to use a quaint term), there was generally one accepted style or genre of art being done, which is what we know about today -- we really have no way of knowing what else was done, because history is "written by the winners", as they say. For years, art historians (wrongly) assumed that women were never artists, because they were so rarely given the opportunity and much of their work was attributed to men. It didn't mean women artists didn't exist, it just means they weren't cared about enough to be catalogued & archived.

I was very fortunate to once have the opportunity to visit a small room underneath the Medici Chapel that had only recently been discovered. It was not open to the public, only scholars, but since I was studying in Italy I was allowed to visit with my professor. The theory was that this room was where Michaelangelo hid from the Pope, and the walls were covered with the most magnificent drawings, which definitely looked to be done by Michaelangelo's hand. But there were other drawings on the walls, too, that seemed so modern & wild that they could have been done by Picasso, yet with the same marks, the same weight to the line as the other drawings. Upon testing the pigments, it had been found that they were the same age, and had been put down at around the same time. Art historians are still arguing about whether this work was done by Michaelangelo or some random workman, but there is no argument to the fact that the two styles existed, side-by-side, at the same time.

One of the hallmarks of postmodernism is the acceptance of a plurality of styles, which is what I think makes the times we live in so exciting. That's why I never understand the people who say "xyz is the one true art form" or some such hogwash -- there is no "one true art form" now, and in reality there probably never was.

That's the problem with people making essentialist statements -- it's impossible to declare them true.

Arguing on the Internet...

2006-01-23T15:28:00.000-08:00

is like running in the Special Olympics -- isn't that what they say? (Even if you win, you're still retarded, is how the joke goes if you haven't heard it.)

I have wasted the better part of the day arguing on the Craigslist arts forum, with a person of questionable integrity. I don't know if "waste" is the right word, though -- I mean, it was fairly intellectually stimulating and fun, but there are FAR better uses of my time.

I have a tendency, from time to time, to get addicted to these stupid things. I think it's because I crave some sort of intellectual exchange, although that's rarely what's provided. It does provide a certain amount of stimulation, a little bit of adrenaline....but does it have inherent value?

What worries me is that so much verbiage is spilled on the internet, rather than in any sort of quantifiable format. What will future historians look at? Instead of written correspondence, people use email. Instead of physical diaries, people use blogs such as this one. Is there any one entity that is keeping a catalogue, a record, of these times? Will all our degradable, flawed media stand the test of time?

But even more -- the quickly fired-off angry post, the flippant email -- how does it represent us as a people? No longer do you have the valuable moments it takes to address the envelope & hunt down a stamp to let your better judgment come into play. Now, as quickly as you hit send, it's in the world, complete with all of your slips of the tongue and angry moments.

Email is hard to take back. Posting on an internet forum, even more so.

Not that I have any regrets. Well, unless all of my writing is lost one day because it's all on the internet.

The Zen of Telemarketing

2006-01-21T11:59:00.000-08:00

Right after I graduated from art school, my goal was to work the least amount of hours I could for the most money so that I could have time in my studio. Which led me to, unbelievably, telemarketing, something I NEVER thought I would do, and which I am still loath to admit.

I would sit in a little carpet covered cubicle with a bunch of down-on-their-luck chainsmokers, and call people and ask them if they wanted to change their interest rate on their mortgage. I did this because in four hours a night I could make what I would make in an 8 hour day at my old job, so the remaining hours of the day could be spent at the studio.

Do you know anyone in the world that is nice to telemarketers? Okay, a few people say yes -- hence the fat funds -- but most people go to the greatest lengths of rudeness that any rejection can have.

It taught me a few things: 1)any verbal onslaught can be survived. 2) people, in general, enjoy being assholes. 3) rejection is meaningless. It's a zero-sum equation -- if you hadn't even tried, you'd be in exactly the same place. 4) Never give up. Someone will eventually say yes.

Better lessons than anything my student loans paid for, to be sure.

Balancing Art, Money, & Life...

2006-01-18T09:09:00.000-08:00

(caveat: I actually posted this on the Craigslist Arts Forum, but thought it belonged here, too -- so it probably won't sound exactly the same as the rest of the blog...)

This is the thing artists struggle with more than anything. It also goes far to explain why many of the artists who "make it" seem to have a fair amount of money. Not only does the money give them better promotional materials, better supplies and technology, and bigger studios, it gives them the one, most important thing: TIME.

I am one of the few artists I know who was LUCKY enough to get to spend 3 years in the studio, making art while making a living off of it. (And yes, luck did have a fair amount to do with it -- but more on that in a second.) It ended with 9.11, which, in the grand scheme of things is a pretty minor tragedy, but I'm still a little bitter about it. My career totally changed within months -- I had New York galleries interested in me that just went away, all of my out of town galleries closed, all sales stopped -- luckily, my wonderful husband Rick had a stable job, so we've survived, but I hate being a drain on the family resources. In the midst of major depression and after months of staring at the walls in my studio, I began applying for jobs. However, with no recent experience on my resume I had a tough time. (Oh -- you're an artist? Don't you mean CRACKHEAD, slacker?)

Feeling that I had nothing to say, I wanted to escape being an artist -- and so, I opened a store (Pod) that sold handmade goods, which was meant to become my day job. Except, I never reached the point I could pay myself and made VERY bad decisions regarding who I would allow to be my partner. 2 1/2 years later, I've finally started to figure out how to make it work -- it's evolved from a shop to a gallery (Capsule), with a heavy studio component in the building and a community screen printing shop that offers classes. Does it give me more time to be in the studio, as I had fantasized it would at the beginning? Hah! Much less than when I had a day job -- go figure. And yet, I can see things starting to evolve into a decent balance, and it's given me the chance to actually help others in the community, as well as a higher profile. (Sometimes higher than I am comfortable with, frankly.) A big drawback to the "higher profile" thing is that people now see me as a gallery owner more than an artist -- something I am fighting tooth and nail. (There's nothing more chilling to hear, after 15 years showing in one town with a brief 2 year hiatus, than: "Oh, you're an artist?" Oh, the horror!)

Now the luck part: how did I get to spend 3 years just making art? Through both good luck, and what at the time I thought was bad luck. I had begun selling more work, and had finally gotten a couple of out-of-town galleries, but still had a day job. My co-op gallery (ILK) had arranged for a show in Philadelphia, and my husband's band (PW3) was playing in NYC, so we loaded up my new van (new to me, anyway, and the first "real" car I'd ever had, complete with payments and insurance, thankfully) and drove out east. It was a great trip, in spite of the fact that my van inexplicably caught fire and BURNED, with no one anywhere near it and with my portfolio and all my slides inside (they were damaged, but rescue-able). I was stranded in Brooklyn while I tried to deal with the insurance, heading to Philly to hang the show, and getting what was left of my stuff back to Denver, and in the midst of this extended "vacation", my job -- somewhat understandably -- went away.

This "bad" luck, however, became good. Through some vicious, tooth-and-nail fighting with the insurance company, I was $5000 ahead, thanks to my prudent shopping, since I had paid well under blue book for the van. THAT was the cushion I needed, and also the push. Since I didn't have a job, anyway, I figured I'd just make art until I had to get a job. As long as money was coming in, I would go to the studio every day, just like it was my day job.

That was the most blissful 3 years of my life, but not without it's struggles. We all think we want to go to the studio for 8 hours a day, but when faced with it, you realize how disciplined you have to be. Luckily, I'd spend the past 2 years doing telemarketing (that's right, you heard me -- but I could work 4 hours a day and get paid like it was 8 anywhere else, and definitely learned to handle rejection), so I was used to having most of the day in my studio, anyway. To really make it work, I did a lot of commissions through art consultants and wore a lot of other hats, all art-related -- teaching, illustration work, freelance graphic design, sewing, and so on.

I'm also lucky in that I had a spouse that was willing and able to support me (however frugally), and also supported what I should be doing, in spite of what I had chosen. While he supported me financially while the shop was open, he also constantly told me that the shop was a mistake, that I should be in the studio making art. (How's that for a change-up?)

I didn't mean for this to get so long -- this is practically my life story. But it's such a complex question, and I feel that every choice in my life has revolved around trying to solve this issue of balance. It's been on my mind a LOT lately, and most of my New Year's resolutions have something to do with it. I'm finding that what works is to try to keep to a balanced schedule -- keeping regular, committed studio hours, even if all you manage to do is wash a few brushes and do some grunt work, you're THERE. Trying to balance that with being a small business owner is also a huge struggle, but still better than my experiences when I had a day job, since it gives me flexibility. And I'm getting closer to being able to pay myself, as well as trying to piece my career back together.

Anyway -- that's how I've dealt with it, this far, as well as a frickin' story of my life. If you're still reading this far -- what, don't you have anything better to do? Get to your studio, already!

Is it live, or is it stealth marketing?

2005-12-29T22:49:00.000-08:00

I was browsing NYC's Craigslist, and came upon this. Who the hell is Charles McCarthy, and why does he need my help? It aroused my curiosity, so much so that I found myself getting sucked deeper and deeper into this story of a loser who so desperately wanted to work on the Cartoon Network's Adult Swim (and here I am, doing their marketing for them like a dunce -- but I guess I am sort of a fan. It's some of the most creative stuff on television right now, but geez, how hard is it to climb to the top of that pile?) And not only did I read several pages of this guy's blog, but I wound up signing his freakin' petition! (I don't know why it showed up twice!)

In the comments section, I wrote: "See, here's the thing -- the guy's already working for you. He's advertising adult swim all over the place. why, I bet there's people who hadn't even heard of adult swim that need to check it out just because they need to see why this dude needs to work there so friggin' bad. the man just wants to be paid. what do you have to lose? he's so desperate to work there, he'll probably do it for next to nothing!"

I hit post. And then. It. Hit. Me.

I had just been so succesfully, so brilliantly stealth marketed that I had actually enjoyed it. It was advertising as entertainment. While trying to figure out if this loser was for real, (and I am about 97% sure the answer to that is no) I was laughing my ass off at the goofiness of it all.

And I still don't know for sure: was it brilliant stealth marketing? Or is this guy really a loser begging for a cool job? Or is he just someone doing his own brilliant little art project?

It's a little creepy. But a little funny, too. I'm not sure if I've been violated or entertained.

And this after having to pay nine bucks to watch freakin' commercials in a movie theater tonight.

No, you do not have permission to colonize my brain.

Visiting South Park

2005-12-27T19:59:00.000-08:00

If Rick and I were animated...

Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables

2005-12-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

Well, I went to Urban Outfitters for the first time today.

Heather was in town to buy a wedding dress, (with very specific, un-weddingy requirements, and to cover a growing pregnant belly) and we headed towards Cherry Creek. We are NOT Cherry Creek kind of girls, but the hip maternity shops are there, so that's what we tried. After a lovely happy hour meal at Hapa, we wandered towards Urban Outfitters where Heather had earlier spotted a likely candidate.

While a quick glance at my mode of dress might identify me as an "aging hipster" (or bag lady, if you prefer), I've never really had enough money to truly qualify in hipster-dom. So much of being a hipster has to do with purchased accoutrements, as though one might adorn oneself in a chosen identity that has no bearing on any actual personality traits or individuality. Urban Outfitters is the high church of rich-kid hipsterdom, bestowing the "look" of being, for lack of a better word, "alternative" without having to actually dirty oneself achieving said look. The pre-ripped jeans, the pre-faded and obscurely referenced t-shirt, the pre-creased trucker hat -- these are the marks of today's ironic urban hipster, who fails to see the irony in paying exorbitant sums for the afore-mentioned wear and tear. The entire point seems to be to emulate the thrift-store look that is pioneered by poor kids with individualized tastes, while at the same time making a status symbol out of the specificity of the look. It's not enough to have a pair of jeans with holes in them after all -- they must be the right jeans, with the right holes. Last season's holes just won't do. An entirely new set of holey jeans must be purchased, and god forbid you do any physical labor in those jeans that might make any untoward holes in un-cool places.

And not only are the clothes expensive, but they're cheaply made and don't seem to come in any size but ruthlessly skinny. And some of the things for the home are again, rip-offs of easily found vintage items that populate thrift stores coast to coast. Worst of all, they mock the very idea of the handmade, by emulating the artists & designers in the recent craft movement with cheap Chinese knock-offs utilizing a quaintly sanitized unevenness, as though the designation of "hand made" is merely a set of pre-planned irregularities meant to mimic an amateur crudeness.

When I first walked in, I was dazzled -- why, there are "cool" things in a mall store! They even had the Gorillaz vinyl figurines I've been drooling over at Plastic Chapel! But after a few minutes of consumerist dazzle, I realized that most of the crap in there is merely recycled ideas and cheap Chinese labor. Within ten minutes the romance was over.

The roots of all this "alternative, hipster" style are firmly planted in the dirt of punk rock, the grungy, DIY aesthetic that I came to flourish in. And I catch a whiff of the cranky old lady in me when I think, "By God, when I was a kid we didn't have no Hot Topic! We cut our own hair, died it with kool-aid and teased it into liberty spikes with Extra-Super-Hold blue-haired Aqua Net! We made our own clothes, altered thrift store finds, pierced whatever we could think to pierce with a needle, some cork, and a shot of whiskey. And not any Knob Creek or fancy shit like that -- we drank Mad Dog, not Appletinis. And we liked it like that!" And while my particular version of trudging 8 miles to school in the snow may be less traditional, it's not just mistrust of the under-30 set or a version of "those-kids-today". It's deeper than that.

Because it boiled down to self-expression, a forging of one's individual, personal style. Yeah, there were more than enough Mods with targets on their trench-coats and mohawked boys with the stereotypical A-for-Anarchy emblazoned on their backs -- not everyone succeeded at the task of being an individual. But it took true creativity to fashion this look from thrift-store-finds and hand-me-downs, especially in a cowtown in the mid-80's. Punk was dead by the time it reached Denver, but we breathed it in like a life-force anyway, channeling our rage and energy into bands and 'zines and fashion that got us beat up and spit upon.

We couldn't buy our identities, because that store didn't exist. (Although some among us began to open those stores -- Imi Jimi, Fashion Disaster, Fashionation -- a couple of which are still open to this day.) When I see some young kid walking down the street in his twee little mohawk and Hot Topic gear, it makes me a little sad. Sad that he's not forging his own way, just regurgitating hand-made ideas of twenty-plus years ago and listening to bands that broke up before he was born. But only a little sad. The rest of me wants to kick him in the groin and laugh my ass off, because that's punk, baby. You think you're a rebel, bitch?

At his age, it would never occur to me to try to replicate the styles of the older generation. I hated hippies -- there's no way I would have been caught dead imitating one, aside from the occasional acid trip. And any over-coiffed rich kid with expensive gear was called a poseur, derided and sneered at for their lack of imagination. Mostly, I think these misguided kids are missing out -- they aren't participating in creating the culture of their own generation, but simply cutting and pasting an identity onto themselves that they think people find shocking, different. But it's little more than a uniform, about as shocking as nurse shoes or polyester tunics.

Punk is dead. And individuality is on life support.

Anarchy, anyone?

Wonka Redux

2005-12-24T08:08:00.000-08:00

Something else occurred to me since writing this last night.

While this culture of victimhood didn't spring to life in the ashes of 9-11, it certainly fell into heavy play at that time. "Why do they hate us?" "For our Freedoms", was the inane rallying cry from Bush & Co.

No. They don't hate us for our freedoms. They may be jealous of them, but as our government chips away at them bit by bit our "freedoms" are less enviable, anyway. They hate us for good reasons, reasons that we can't be bothered to try to understand because we're too blinded by our pitiful victimhood. Reasons that may seem unfair or trivial to us -- but real reasons, nonetheless, and not too petty to want to kill us for.

Maybe if Ward Churchill hadn't been such an inflammatory dunce, he might have gotten this point across more eloquently. But then again, no one wants to listen to this sort of talk -- it's branded as Un-American by the unthinking. I guess it's easy to think you're right if you never question whether or not you are.

It doesn't matter if we agree with the other sides reasons for hating us or wanting to kill us -- what matters is that we at least make the honest attempt to understand them, for only then can we have a dialogue.

I know why they hate us, and I have trouble blaming them or disagreeing. Not because I hate America -- rather the opposite, because I love us enough to want us to be better. They hate us for our arrogance. They hate us for our greed. They hate us for our exportation of smarmy pop culture laden with soft-core sluttiness that offends their religious sensibilities. (True, they're buying it, but they hate us for making it ubiquitous.) They hate us because we use more than our fair share of the world's resources, and cause more than our fair share of the world's pollution, yet refuse to sign the Kyoto Protocol. They hate us because we're hypocrites. They hate us because we lie. They hate us because we exploit. And now, they hate us because we torture.

And while I won't go so far as to say they're wrong, I'm also squeamish about going as far as hatred. A more apt description of how I feel about my countrymen might be a deep-seated disappointment, a sick feeling that we aren't being the best we could be. I'm disappointed in my fellow Americans -- that we so blindly follow without questioning, that we rarely look deeper than the sound bite, that we're being wimps about demanding accountability from our leaders, not to mention the electoral system that is meant to choose those leaders. I'm disappointed that I live in a country that helped invent modern-day democracy, yet holds so many citizens who refuse to participate in it, whether through ignorance, or complacency, or sheer stupidity.

Most of all, I'm disappointed in myself. For you see, I haven't taken to the streets yet, either. What's my excuse?

Willy Wonka and the Government Accounting Office

2005-12-23T21:08:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here, recovering from whatever flu-ish hell I've been plunged into, and watching Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory -- the first one. I'm mentally comparing it with kids movies of late, and finding a message that our entire culture has heard far too little of, lately -- that of personal responsibility.

Would that movie even be believable today? The Gloomp family lawyer would have reached the fudge room before Wonka finished whistling. The media would have been screaming about how poor little Veruca Salt, little white rich girl, was horribly traumautized and put in terrible danger by the horrible Wonka Corp. And the Oompa Loompas would have most likely been kept in their homeland and exploited for pennies on the dollar, Vermicious Knids be damned.

But in the technicolor childhood dream, even the Oompa Loompas know enough to blame the parents for their neglect. And Charlie Bucket knows he did wrong by stealing the Fizzy Lifting drink -- there's no spin, no excuses, just a sorrowful apology and a surrenduring of his Gobstopper.

What happened to those values?

When we have a "president" who has commited countless impeachable offenses and an administration who peddles lies and spin like it's soft-core porn to pre-pubescent boys, where does personal responsibility come in? I'm desperate to hear someone -- ANYONE -- in the public realm stand up and say, "Yeah -- I FUCKED UP". No WMD? "Oops -- my bad." Commited treason by revealing the identity of a CIA agent? Anyone?

But it's not just the administration -- our entire culture appears to have decided to live by this set of tragic rules. We've embraced victimhood as a national identity, relenquishing any and all responsibility for our own actions. Everything can be justified away, no one ever has to admit to a single failing. Slip and fall? It's someone else's fault -- find out who and sue them! For when you're eternally the victim, then nothing is your fault. Of course, that also means that the solution lies just out of reach as well. For if it's never your fault, then how can you muster the responsibility for change?

And sadly, the results of this excessive litigiousness has led us to the hot button issue of tort reform, which on the surface, thanks to all the news reports we've been fed about silly lawsuits, seems like an almost good idea, at least in sound-bite form. But that's the problem -- all of this is always in sound-bite form. Everyone loves to cite the case of the McDonald's drive-through coffee spill, as though all lawsuits of an individual against a big corporation are over equally minor matters. Yet, huge corporations in America are routinely harming individuals -- and then fighting like stray dogs over any scrap of settlement money. The tobacco companies are but the tip of the iceberg -- the drug companies are continuously finding their way into the news via criminal carelessness. Even someplace as relatively scandal-free as Home Depot has somehow managed to keep it's benign reputation while routinely killing it's customers.

Personal responsibility requires access to informed choice, if it can truly be said a choice is being made at all. If you grew up in the time of tobacco warnings on packaging, then it can be said that you were given the opportunity for an informed choice. However, if you were raised during the days of Ronald Reagan hawking smokes for their health benefits -- well, you have a legitimate gripe, because you were lied to, and your consent was ultimately compromised. Likewise, if you voted to go to war based on lies you were told and intelligence that had been spun like frothy veils of sugar, one might give you the benefit of the doubt. However, one also might ask why those lies were believed, when the rest of the world managed to see through them for the cotton candy fluff that they were.

Even the organization meant to keep our government accountable, the Government Accounting Office (GAO), seems to be rather relaxed in it's responsibilities. For in September of this year, they released a report that essentially says that it's entirely possible, maybe even probable, that the voting fraud and irregularities in the 2004 elections means that Bush is not actually our president. Is the media reporting this? Hardly. Are Americans taking to the streets, demanding accountability? Are you kidding? The XBox 360 just came out! Dude, Chill!

"So shines a good deed in a weary world".

sniffle. snurk. hack.

2005-12-22T19:04:00.000-08:00

Sick as a dog right now, and have been since Monday. Well, actually Sunday night, when the cashier at Big Lots was kind enough to share her unspecified disease by coughing directly in my face. I was out trying to do a bit of Christmas shopping, finally, with the hideous craziness of this year behind me at last. I felt the rasp in the back of my throat by the time I reached home.

I've been taking everything possible, and yet I'm still sick -- how can this be? I'm taking Coldsnap (swear by it, usually!), Zicam, some new thing called Umcka that my Mom said works, and of course, the usual roster of anti-histimines, cough medicines, and vitamins. With this regimen, I should be as healthy as the proverbial horse. Giddy-up.

I'm not sick very often, and I get stir crazy easily. I keep making lists in my head each morning of the minor tasks I could accomplish while still "resting" as it were. But this time, I've been too sick to do anything but catch up on teevee (I fall asleep in the middle of nearly anything) and do a wee bit of knitting. I had all these grandiose ideas that I would use this down time to organize shit on my hard drive, make presents, and most of all, clean the house, which badly needs it. I did manage to gather the trash to go out and do a load of laundry, both tasks that left me exhausted, sweaty and panting by the time I was finished. I went to the store to buy vegetables this morning, and by the time I white-knuckled the shopping cart into line behind an obsequious white-haired lass that questioned every swipe of the cashier's hand, I was quivery. Driving home was very nearly terrifying, not helped by the fact that I saw two seperate accidents, both of them ugly. Well, actually, one of them was sort of funny -- some yuppie chick with a cell phone hermetically sealed to the side of her head managed to crash her ginormous, shiny, and quite new Expedition into a concrete pole in the parking lot. Gee, wonder how that happened? From the looks of it, it was totalled, wrapped, neatly around the pole like a pig in a blanket, and oddly enough, she didn't even look upset.

Bully Boy

2005-12-15T10:11:00.000-08:00

I was perusing Rants and Raves on Craigslist, where the topic of Columbine had reared it's head again. In one post, I read this:

In my eyes, Dyland Klebold and Eric Harris don't even deserve graves, as their memory is one that should be forgotten as quickly as possible.

Ever hear the phrase, "those that would forget the past are condemned to repeat it?"

First of all, saying they don't deserve graves is retarded -- as fucked up as their lives were, they were essentially children. Children who had been very, very let down by society. How many years did they cry for help before their personality disorders became entrenched? And what's more, as screwed up as their families were to NOT help them, it's difficult to believe that they weren't loved by someone. Graves are for the living, not for the dead.

And secondly, their graves should be MONUMENTS. Monuments to show what happens when people are treated unfairly, bullied, and abused. Monuments to show that you can only push so far before someone will snap. If everyone want to believe that these things happen in a vacuum, they'll only continue to happen again and again.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not in any way defending the actions of these two misguided young men. The entire episode is a tragedy, and while the initial reaction is shock and horror, it's important to remember that we, as a society, created that tragedy and continue to do it every day. Condemning the perpetrators and then hiding our heads in the sand solves nothing.

I was bullied mercilessly all the way through school, and what I was told by my parents, my teachers, and any other adult was to "ignore" the bulliers. Ignore them? Ignore someone who's spitting on you, punching you, tripping you, and abusing you? What the fuck good does that do? It was only when I began fighting back that I gained any sense of self-esteem, and lo and behold, it's also when I was labelled a "bad kid" and punished, regardless of who started it. In my case, I think the experiences made me a stronger person, although rich kids still make me cringe. But what of them? Those bullies went out into the world learning that you can treat people however you like with no consequences. The adults in our world failed us both. It took me years of therapy to come to terms with what was done to me in school, and for many of those years I was trying to convince the therapists that no, my parents didn't abuse me. They did something equally bad, they neglected my abuse at the hands of others, but it really was those others that caused my problems in the end.

Now that I work with kids, I see bullying for what it really is -- the bullier is the one crying for help, too. Kids bully to get attention, they bully because they feel insecure, they bully because they think that dominating someone else will make their world better somehow. The bulliers are the ones that are actually screwed up, but they, in turn, make the bullied screwed up too. And when you talk to their parents about the problems, the response is almost predictable -- disbelief that their little angel would ever do such a thing! Is it any wonder that these kids rarely get the help their screaming for?

I'm willing to bet that Klebold and Harris' problems started their first years in school, and continued ignored for enough years to turn them into sociopaths. The people to blame are every bit as much the ones who looked the other way, the ones who put a band-aid on a bullet-hole.

Every single one of us has seen someone bullied, whether as kids or as adults -- what have YOU done when you've witnessed these acts of aggression? I'm willing to bet that most of you have turned away, not wanting to get involved, minded your own business. If that's you, then go look in the mirror: the person staring back at you is as much the problem as the bully. If you really want there to be no more Klebold's or Harris', then do something about it. Stand up for someone else when they're being agressed by another. Wouldn't you want someone to do it for you?

Thanks, Giving.

2005-11-24T23:33:00.000-08:00

Well, Thanksgiving was great, truly great. A roomful of amazing people, the great Iron Chef Turkey Battle between Dave and I (a draw -- although I must say, I'm quite proud of my little pile of picked-clean bones), and of course Melody's fireworks stash for a nightcap. I meant to go down into my studio and work, but was having too wonderful of a time -- I'm actually proud of the fact that I didn't work, although I was itching to. Better to just live, for a change. How great to be in a room full of such ecclectic and interesting people. I feel pretty lucky to know the people I know. That's what I'm thankful for. Good people, who I have an abundance of in my life. You know who you are.

Oh, and haiku. I'm thankful for haiku.

My So-Called Fame

2005-11-16T00:31:00.000-08:00

Whelp, the inevitable happened. An angry letter in Westword asking why they write about me so much. A part of me is inclined to agree -- why do they write about me so much? While I've grown to know the writers, it's only through their interviews that I met them. A friend on the "inside" of the newspaper industry told me that it's because "...they're lazy and you write press releases". And it's true, I do write press releases. But hell -- that's my job. I can't help it if other people don't. (And no, haven't slept with anyone on their staff. Not related to anyone, either.) And it is a fact that buzz builds on itself -- one article leads to another leads to another. No one wants to be left out of the story du jour. And like the soup of the day, I also realize -- here today, gone tomorrow.

The big irony is that I don't actually want them to write about me. I want them to write about the gallery, and the events we're doing, and the artists. I want the artists to have the press -- as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really pertinent and there's no need to mention my name. If the gallery was about me and my ego, I suppose I would have named it after myself like so many gallery owners do. But I'd rather be known for my artwork -- Capsule is my day job. It's what I do so I can feel connected to the community. And I feel real pride when I get some artist whose work I believe in their first review. That means more to me than seeing my name in print, anyday.

The aforementioned friend also said it was because "I'm a character". Another friend said, "well, you're doing stuff. More than most people are." But it's really just a function of necessity -- I've got to get the business going, and I don't have any advertising budget -- nothing works like free. With this latest thing in the Denver Post, I didn't even write a press release -- apparently the writer was on the email list. Who knew? But the results were phenomenal, and will go a long way towards keeping the doors open. And that's the goal, and the struggle.

The only time I actually care about being written about is in connection with my artwork. That's the most important thing in my life, besides my husband and family and pets. Getting recognition for the other stuff is alright, but I don't want to be hated. I had my bitter years, and I remember hating the people who were being written about. In hindsight, I know that my work wasn't ready, and I truly feel I've earned whatever attention my work has gotten. But I also know that my writer friend is right -- my years working for the Advocate taught me to write a press release, but it also taught me that writers can be lazy, or at the very least, overburdened and on deadline. Whoever makes it easiest for them to whip something out wins. And I don't have any control at all over if or what they write about me or the gallery, my job is to just put the word out. And my control begins and ends with sending the press release.

So, I guess that makes me a local celebrity. Big whoop. I still say that being the big fish in the small pond is like being the kid that gets to sit at the front of the short bus. I'd like to swim in the ocean. And I want to take as many fishies along for the ride as I can. If we all swim together, we can make a very, very big fish.

Thanksgiving

2005-11-13T12:38:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is right around the corner again, and I'm facing a stressful situation this year. You see, every year our tradition is for all of our friends and their families to get together at a warehouse where several of the friends live. This has been going on for a long time, and it's always a lot of fun -- I look forward to it all year. But more importantly, it changed Thanksgiving for my family -- a holiday that had not been great since my Grandmother died directly following it. My family's attempts at creating a new tradition after my parents divorced and my brother moved away were, well, pathetic, to say the least. With only my Mother, my other brother, my husband and myself, we would try a new approach every year -- like the year my brother cooked the turkey in his apartment, only to discover that he'd left in the giblets and the whole thing was pretty much frozen in the center and burned on the outside. Or the year we decided to go out to eat, without checking to see if the chosen restaurant was actually open. So the new tradition of the past several years has turned the holiday around for me, making it something I look forward to instead of dread.

Not this year, though. One of the friends who has more recently moved into the warehouse has betrayed me in a very hurtful, costly, and public way. (I may write more about it later, but for now, let's just say that there was a business involved, and the situation may become a legal one. 'Nuf said.) Now, it's not enough, aparently, that she has sabotaged my life and career and stuck me with all of the responsibility and debt for our jointly owned business, but it seems that she has also been trash-talking me for quite some time and appears to be on a campaign to exclude me from the circle of friends that she met as a result of her friendship with me. I'm hurt, enraged, and frankly, a little surprised. I'm not sure what I did to her that was so bad, and she doesn't even return my phone calls, so there's not much chance of an explanation. (And since she floats down the river of denial it's not likely she'd even admit to anything.) I have noticed a strange vibe amongst this circle of friends, but I don't know if that's my own paranoia or if I'm witnessing the results of a stealth campaign against me. Either way, it's going to make Thanksgiving stressful this year, but I have no intention of skipping it. But I also don't want my friends to be in the middle, and don't want to make things awkward for anyone. All I can do is be the bigger person, and be the best human being I can. And if that isn't enough for people, then I guess I can conclude that they never really were my friends to begin with.

My classic mode of dealing with confrontation is to avoid it. Don't get me wrong -- I'm a pretty scrappy hothead, and most people who know me wouldn't believe the above statement. But it's true -- when confronted with a person that I've grown to deeply dislike (which is extremely rare), I tend to avoid that person at all costs. Since I hate a public scene more than anything, I will just act like I don't know the person when I'm in the same room with them. I'm not good at being fake, so I figure the best way is to do what my Mother taught me -- "if you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all". So far, this tactic has worked. (And before you get the idea that I'm some psycho that's running around avoiding people, there are really only 3 people out of the hundreds that I've known in my lifetime that I've ever felt this was necessary with. And none of them are ex-boyfriends.) The above-mentioned former friend has entered this category, but since we are in the same building every day and share this group of friends my usual strategy (which, admitedly, is emotionally retarded) will not work. But I'm not sure what to do in it's place. Do I try to smooth it over before the holidays for everyone's comfort? That would require me stuffing my considerably strong feelings into a deep, dark place and doing the best acting job I've ever done. Do I force a confrontation with this person? That would do neither of us any good, although I'd probably feel better. Is there a way to call a truce?

What's needed is someone to mediate, I suppose. But I don't think there's anyone who can. It's going to have to be dealt with, but how? How do I keep the peace with someone I've grown to actually hate? How do I get over my feelings of betrayal so that everyone can enjoy the holiday without being poisoned by all of this excess vitriol floating through the air?

There's a part of me that just wants to run away and not deal with any of it, but then the terrorist wins.

So, I've been busy...

2005-11-13T01:25:00.001-08:00

...getting ready for a show.

I haven't ever talked about my art in this blog before, because I intended it as a political blog. But I'd like to use it for more personal stuff, too I guess.

So, yeah, I'm an artist. I have a show coming up at plus gallery on Dec. 8. Those guys rock, by the way. I'm excited about it, not even really nervous. It's a big departure from what I was doing before, but I'm feeling pretty happy with how it's all turning out, and running into few technical difficulties at this point. (Although, last night I was so tired I poured resin into my molds without adding the catalyst, what a freakin' mess. That was fun to clean up. Best not to play with toxic and expensive substances while suffering from a lack of sleep.)

Here's some random thoughts on my work right now:

I have an internal war going on between beauty & content, which is expressing itself in the work. I've been reading Dave Hickey & Arthur C. Danto's treatises on beauty -- which really resonate with me -- and trying to reconcile these ideas & my attraction to them with the need to express myself politically and the seething rage I'm feeling about everything. The show is a bit schizophrenic, in that sense. There are a couple of straight-out, sardonic political pieces, and then some that are just about shiny, sparkly blinged-out surfaces, which of course has it's own weird political angle regarding class, surface, greed, and any number of prototypically American dilemmas.

This show has literally hundreds of separate components. Hundreds. Each of them cast, sanded, primed, and finally, painted. (Or upholstered, or collaged, or whatever.) Yeegads. Obsessive, much?

Speaking of sleep...I have a lovely waiting husband. I miss his arms.

The laziest blogger ever...

2005-10-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, I've had this blog for a really long time now, and what, I've got 3 posts? WTF? This was started two computers ago! So I've decided it's time to start writing in it, not just when I feel like it or have something to say, but all the time. It may make for boring reading for you, dear internet people, but it isn't all about you now, is it? The fact is, writing is a skill, and you have to keep your chops up. I've always been told I'm a great writer (it's true, I have been told this, not trying to be a snot), but I never put any effort into it at all. But I imagine it's like playing an instrument -- to keep your chops up, you need to practice. And while writing press releases and ranting at morons on Craigslist technically qualifies as writing, I hardly think it passes muster when it comes to the academic rigor in which I was so vehemently trained. So. This is it. It's time to write, dammit.

The real inspiration for this sudden interest in my failed blog is actually my dear husband. He has decided to document his journey down the path of not drinking, and I commend him for it. I've quit drinking as well, in solidarity with him, although before you get the idea this is some kind of saintly sacrifice, one must be aware that I don't really drink that much to begin with. Ironically, I have alcohol scattered everywhere in my business right now, leftovers from a recent party. Lucky for me it's not much of a temptation.

And just for your entertainment, apprapos of nothing, I am including this photo of a bug I saw perched on my shoe on our porch. Please note that while he's camoflaged to look like a leaf, his camo has worked a little too well, and the unfortunate little guy has had his ass munched, for lack of a better way to describe it. For some reason, today I know just how he feels.

An Open Letter to John Kerry

2005-01-05T23:12:00.000-08:00

John Kerry, I have never been more dissapointed in another human being in my life. I have lost all hope now that anyone in Washington actually cares about our democracy more than their own careers.

I am ashamed that your sticker is still on my car. I can't believe that I donated money, time, and effort on your behalf. I believed you when you said you would make sure all the votes are counted -- as far as I'm concerned, you have reneged on that promise.

I was dissapointed when you conceded. I tried to believe that you were doing what you thought was best. But when the reports of voting irregularities, supression, and outright fraud began pouring in, and the Greens and Libertarians were left to defend our fragile democracy by raising that money themselves for a recount, while you sat on your bulging war chest in silence...I guess I hoped you were stragizing, waiting to pull a surprise from your hat. But now...

You (or your speechwriter, perhaps) write in your email letter of January 5, 2005:
"Despite widespread reports of irregularities, questionable practices by some election officials and instances of lawful voters being denied the right to vote, our legal teams on the ground have found no evidence that would change the outcome of the election."

I'm left to wonder, at these words, and left with the question, since when was it about you? Since when was this about changing the outcome? Why are lawyers making decisions about the future of our democracy? When, for once, can it just be about right and wrong, the way we were all raised to believe it was in this land of ours?

Sorry for my crassness, but screw the outcome. None of us are gullible enough to believe that the outcome will be allowed to change. But if you refuse to stand and protest the awarding of those electoral votes, if you will not protect our must fundamental, basic right to vote and have our vote be counted, then you are not fit to serve your people, Mr. Senator. You have a duty to do what is right, not what is best for you. And while I try to choke back my cynicism, try to believe that this has nothing to do with 2008, I also weep. I weep for your soul, and I weep for the children that are doomed to bear the burden of your generation's irresponsibility.

And I ask you, Mr. Kerry: do we have lesser men here in America than in the Ukraine? Do we deserve the legacy of our Founding Fathers if we lack the heart to fight as hard as they did for our democracy?

politically incorrect

2004-05-31T21:17:00.000-07:00

As wretched as it is to admit it, I actually feel sorry for Private Lynndie England and her yo-yo cohorts. I abhor what they did. I am appalled and ashamed for our country. Yet, I don't really blame them. Sure, everyone's good at yelling "but what about the Nazi's! Were THEY just following orders?", in shocked, apoplectic tones. Well, yeah, unfortunately, they were. (I can hear my Jewish grandmother spinning in her grave from 2000 miles away.) To understand what these moronic kids -- and I stress kids -- did, one has to think about the culture they did it in. No, not culture as in first-person-shooter videos and Quentin Tarantino flicks, but culture as in Military. We've all seen some approximation of military life in the movies, so we know enough about boot camp to know someone will probably be yelling "maggot" in your face at one point or another. Not having personally endured or witnessed boot camp, it's about all I have to go on -- but then again, it doesn't take a huge leap of faith to realize that you've got to get people willing to die somehow. At what point does one desensitize to "maggot" being yelled in their face? Or how about any of the other vague humiliations and discomfort one suffers through in boot camp? Or to hell with boot camp, how about just high school? Flash back to Columbine, a direct result of bullying. Think back to your own childhood, and tell me you weren't once -- not even once, on one side of that equation or the other. We are programmed, in our culture, to band together in a pack, and then do whatever the leader of that pack asks of us, good or bad. Remember the lessons of Lord of the Flies? And lets notice, for a moment, that the women in the pictures -- particularly the aforementioned and infamous Ms. England, are recieving the majority of bile from the media. I guess the fact that it's particularly unladylike makes torture even more unpalatable. The American people are loath to believe women are capable of this sort of behavior, so whenever there's an example of women being bad, it trumps all of the nasty males in the immediate vicinity. (Case in point: Aileen Wuornos, the lone female "serial killer", has been the subject of numerous movies & television shows, while literally hundreds of male serial murderers languish in relative obscurity.) Again, none of this makes their actions right. At any point, an exemplary human being would rebel, would say no to participating, even if ordered by a commanding officer. (Which is, most rational people believe, what probably happened.) An EXEMPLARY human being would. We all like to think that WE are, of course, that exemplary human being. And until being faced with a similar situation, we all bask comfortably in the luxury of being able to believe that we are -- we would NEVER go along with something so base, so horrible. But then again, we aren't frightened 18-year-olds from Podunk, Alabama, who have just had our wills broken through basic training and the horrors of war, are we? What mortifies me are the shoes. The countless people standing around in those photos, watching one grinning soldier after another take their turn at posing. It was sport, it was playtime. What haunts me is the grinning, the mugging for the camera, unselfconscious, as if it were just another snapshot. But, really, truly, what mortifies me are the shoes. That's a lot of shoes. Shoes standing around, watching silly attrocities. Shoes that didn't walk to someone higher up, or if they did, they were ignored. Because someone higher up -- one Donny-boy Rummy, has known about it for months, if he didn't just plain out order it. But all that, that isn't the real reason I feel sorry for those idiot kids. I feel sorry for them because their lives are ruined. They are going down in history for NOT being the exemplary human being, and for all we know, they may even have tried. They are the low men & women on the totem pole, and because of it, they are taking the fall. And why? Because they were poor, or wanted an education, or felt they had no other choice but the military, and for whatever reason, they didn't have the moral fortitude to refuse to participate in some very bad behavior. They are being punished for being pack animals, for giving in to the evil desire, innate in all of us no matter how you protest, to punish the weaker and protect our position, like chickens pecking the runt. They'll be court martialled and ridiculed, be jailed and denied jobs, all because they betrayed what we fear most about ourselves. Worst of all, for not being exemplary, for being merely the low end of average, their lives will be stained with blood. Not only the blood of the hapless Iraquis they leashed and sodomized, but with the blood of Nicholas Berg, and the countless that will no doubt follow him. They just ratcheted up the hatred a notch around the world. And no matter what the Bush administration would have us believe, it's not our Freedom that they hate us for.

arguing with one hand tied behind your back.

2003-08-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

I’m arguing with my brother on the phone again. Politics, as usual.

"But I just want you to have an informed opinion – what have you been reading? Where are you getting your news?" I plead.

"I’m taking a break from the news…it depresses me. I just don’t want to think about it."

My brother hates it when I do this to him. He’s a pretty average guy, goes to work, comes home, smarter than he lets on. He votes Libertarian, which is somewhat of a relief, considering he’s more conservative than most Republicans I know. And for the record, my constant frustration with him aside, he’s a decent human being. He’s generous to a fault, always friendly and kind…. and I find this hard to reconcile with the guy who quotes Rush Limbaugh from time to time and who delighted in handing out fake Clinton joke dollars to anyone he met. And I just want to know: what is informing his opinion?

"Are you watching local news?"

An exasperated phew, "No."

"Talk Radio?"

"No."

"USA Today? Internet? Wall Street Journal?"

"No, no….look, I just don’t want to talk about politics, okay? Stop picking on me."

"Well, you brought it up, making your Ah-nold jokes and all."

Sadly, this conversation has gone round before, round and round with no real conclusion, with him offering nothing to back up his opinions. When I cite sources, he calls it liberal claptrap. When I suggest articles to read, he claims a lack of time. When I press him to give me one reason, just ONE, why Bush is a better president than Clinton was, he actually, astonishingly cites "honesty", then skitters away from a discussion of yellowcake, Haliburton, or the 2000 election. All he’ll say is, "Clinton was sleazy. I never trusted the guy."

And herein lies the rub, for all Americans. Image is everything, substance nothing.

The media rubbed Clinton’s nose in every perceived mistake, from Whitewater to spooge stains, while Ken Starr squandered children’s textbooks and old-folks medicine on a fidelity witch-hunt. And every night, I turn on the news, expecting to see something, anything that is critical of Bush. And I wait. And wait again. And don't see it anywhere but the editorial pages, for the most part, Nigerian yellowcake notwithstanding. And while we hide our collective noggins in the sand on this side of the world, blood cakes the sand on the other side. Rivers of it. And I keep wondering….when will people get mad? When will they wake up?

My brother is one of those guys who wears t-shirts with the American flag and watches football on Sunday afternoon. And what I want to tell him, if he would listen, is this: "Look, you call yourself a patriot and a good American. What does that mean if you refuse to make an INFORMED opinion? What does that mean at all?" But I don’t say that. I hear the anger creeping up in his voice, and I know that from here on out, we’ll get nowhere. So, I let him talk about his dog and his job, swallowing my ire and acting like the good sister.

But what I want to tell him, if he would listen, is that this is what it means to be a good American: I have a responsibility, as a member of a democracy, to participate fully and actively in my government. Not just wearing my "I Voted" sticker every four years, and not just waving flags and singing songs and saying I support our troops. And "taking a break from the news", like I suspect an awful lot of Americans are, is a LUXURY that should not be granted in a democracy. After all, there are people on the other side of the world LIVING the news, people that we have a responsibility to. Are soldiers in bunkers able to "take a break?" Are shell-shocked Iraqis? Are starving Liberians?

There is a reason that the rest of the world calls us lazy, complacent, and ignorant. It’s because we ARE. And saying that doesn’t make me unpatriotic or a bad American. I’m including myself in that criticism, because I haven’t taken to the streets yet either. What it makes me is disappointed. Because America is a really, really great idea. But right now, we’re not "living up to our full potential", as my high school teachers liked to say. We’re not sharing or playing nice with the other kids. We’re not being good citizens, of our own country, or of the world. The truth hurts. But if we want to change, and be an America that aspires to true greatness, then we have to start with the truth. Just like an alcoholic hitting rock bottom, we have to want to get better before we will.