Saturday, May 17, 2008
I took the train out to the opening at the Claremont Grad. School yesterday. I got there just at the end- but it was really nice, probably my favorite show I've been in- and I took awful photos (!) It was hung super minimally. I really like the amount of space everything had.
I met some of the students there (two I knew-accd classmates) and got a tour of the studios. It just made me want to go to grad school a lot. I love the idea of being around that many people working all the time.
I got a kick out of Christina Pierson who showed us her studio. She works with super simple material- and then tracks the light that hits them, or reflects it or...
After messing around with vinyl lettering this week I keep thinking I should try new materials.
So here are some photos of the show. Thanks to everyone who so kindly showed me around and fed me cupcakes and beer.
(the pinkish piece in the corner is mine)
I met some of the students there (two I knew-accd classmates) and got a tour of the studios. It just made me want to go to grad school a lot. I love the idea of being around that many people working all the time.
I got a kick out of Christina Pierson who showed us her studio. She works with super simple material- and then tracks the light that hits them, or reflects it or...
After messing around with vinyl lettering this week I keep thinking I should try new materials.
So here are some photos of the show. Thanks to everyone who so kindly showed me around and fed me cupcakes and beer.
(the pinkish piece in the corner is mine)
On the subway home this morning there was a group of about 8 kids (10-12?) years old all with skateboards. They ran up the escalator at civic center before I could get a great picture. I envied them so much- that was exactly what I would have been wanting to do at their age: riding the subway downtown, no adults and fours wheels.
Monday, May 12, 2008
hello...this has been such a busy time. I am posting this in hopes of keeping in touch with all the people I have been wanting to call... so catching up.
I just finished a bookcover for Mcsweeny's and a couple pieces for an upcoming show. I guess I'll wait till the book comes out to post the final pics. But here is the info on the shows this weekend.
East and Peggy Phelps Galleries at Claremont Graduate University, 51 East Tenth Street, in Claremont, California in between the 210 and the 10 freeways. For general gallery information please call (909) 607-3631 or visit www.cgu.edu. Claremont Graduate University presents under current, an exhibition that examines a collective anxiety and the ways that contemporary artists engage with this experience. The exhibition brings together works by twelve emerging artists from the U.S. and Europe working in various mediums. It opens on May 16, 5 - 9pm with a free reception open to the public and runs through May 30, 2008.
This one is the third time they've done it in S.F. It is usually pretty great. How can trees be bad? I'll post mine tomorrow...
I hope everyone is well. As soon as I unpack I promise I will call.
Also a good friend, Drew Beckmeyer is showing at tinlark this weekend. I'll be there, will you?
In the last three months I got a job at Gemini, moved into an apartment in West Hollywood and became a pro at figuring out a good part of the L.A. transit system. Very very eventful.
Here are some photos...
My boss calls this "my new digs". I think that means my new place. (Part of why I like my job is because I like my boss (83) so much. Is that weird?)
Up until I moved I was spending about five hours a day riding the trains and buses back and forth from WeHo to Pomona. This was a daily odyssey that literally scrambled me. I don't know how to explain it- but around the same time a friend lent me a Japanese novel about a man who is struggling each day to move a sand dune away from a house he is trapped in. I couldn't think of a better comparison.Here are some photos...
My boss calls this "my new digs". I think that means my new place. (Part of why I like my job is because I like my boss (83) so much. Is that weird?)I just finished a bookcover for Mcsweeny's and a couple pieces for an upcoming show. I guess I'll wait till the book comes out to post the final pics. But here is the info on the shows this weekend.
East and Peggy Phelps Galleries at Claremont Graduate University, 51 East Tenth Street, in Claremont, California in between the 210 and the 10 freeways. For general gallery information please call (909) 607-3631 or visit www.cgu.edu. Claremont Graduate University presents under current, an exhibition that examines a collective anxiety and the ways that contemporary artists engage with this experience. The exhibition brings together works by twelve emerging artists from the U.S. and Europe working in various mediums. It opens on May 16, 5 - 9pm with a free reception open to the public and runs through May 30, 2008.
This one is the third time they've done it in S.F. It is usually pretty great. How can trees be bad? I'll post mine tomorrow...
I hope everyone is well. As soon as I unpack I promise I will call.
Also a good friend, Drew Beckmeyer is showing at tinlark this weekend. I'll be there, will you?
Monday, March 3, 2008
It has been two weeks since the opening of Overgrowth, our show at GR2. I am just now posting about it but it will be closing in about ten days. Thank you to everyone who came.The opening was great and I was excited to have so many people who mean a lot to me show up. Not only did my brother and family make it out- but also a lot of the instructors/artists I admire. I only wish I had taken more pictures (luckily Eric from GR did- so I am borrowing a couple of his- I hope he doesn't mind to much) This is my brother and his family on the left.
I just changed my website and put up some new work. I am hoping the new format will let me update more often. It is still not finished, but almost.
This weekend we went out to a lot of shows and museums etc. Saturday was Aaron Smith's opening at Koplin del Rio- very exciting. We stumbled into a to cool for you opening at Angstrom, where even Mauricio noticed that everyone was beautiful and skinny. The most memorable part of the night, however, was the impossible parking in the alley. The Indian cultural club/place next door was having some sort of a (fancy) function and had people arriving feeling rightly entitled to parking, and fighting/blocking all the slightly drunk opening attendees who were beaded in between.
Sunday we went to see the new Eli Broad addition at LACMA. I was very excited to go. But I came home a little unsure of what I thought. In the books I had always liked Jeff Koons, but seeing all his work together I felt he was mocking me, and disgustingly cold. Why so much Koons? Very unsettling. He made the Baldessari behind him seem warm and thoughtful in comparison. I did love the Lichtenstein paintings, the Ellsworth Kelly, and the Cy Twombly. I thought the Rauchenbergs at MOCA were better. Mauricio (who just had surgery for a hernia) found this Warhol especially sympathetic.
On the 2nd floor, I found out I hate Damien Hirst. Possibly unfairly, but with such intensity I don't have the energy to think about it. I was excited to see the Cindy Shermans. The best part of the whole museum, I thought, was the room of Leon Golub and the table by Robert Therrien. That was amazing.In the last gallery (bottom floor)I liked the Richard Serra pieces more than I would have thought. It is a strange thing to have them indoors- being that they feel like the outdoors simply because of their size.
Exiting the museum, however, I suddenly realized I was all the way through and there were almost no women included; in fact, it could almost be the museum of white male artists. Not that I have a problem with white guys, but how boring, and especially in L.A. which is fantastic specifically because it is not a city of white men. Babara Kruger was prominent in the elevator shaft- but what is that? Almost like a band-aid over the rest of the collection? Like if you stretch a feminist artist over the outside of three floors you don't have to actually put any on the inside of the museum? I understand the amount of artists was few- but it still felt awful and discouraging to realize.
I am not sure why I am posting this- if only to alleviate my frustration. Partially it was Mauricio's idea. He wanted me to write a letter; I love that he thought someone would listen to me and actually do something.
I hope everyone is well.
Monday, January 28, 2008
I'm Home!
It felt weird for about three days. But now the fact that I was gone feels weird.
I wish I could post pictures-but my camera broke on my first day there. Fried by a French Best Buy employee (FNAC), whose was kindly trying to help me replace my battery.
Since coming back I have been working on two upcoming shows. I am especially excited about the one at GR2. Brian Rush, Zachary Rossman and I have been passing some collaborative pieces back and forth, and they are coming out super interesting. And there is a lot of them. Painting is so much easier with six arms.
So here are the postcards with the info for the show. I hope you will come! I am also including a picture of my studio in all it messiness. Hurrah. It does feel good to be back at work.
It felt weird for about three days. But now the fact that I was gone feels weird.
I wish I could post pictures-but my camera broke on my first day there. Fried by a French Best Buy employee (FNAC), whose was kindly trying to help me replace my battery.
Since coming back I have been working on two upcoming shows. I am especially excited about the one at GR2. Brian Rush, Zachary Rossman and I have been passing some collaborative pieces back and forth, and they are coming out super interesting. And there is a lot of them. Painting is so much easier with six arms.
So here are the postcards with the info for the show. I hope you will come! I am also including a picture of my studio in all it messiness. Hurrah. It does feel good to be back at work.
Also I returned to a few copies of Step Inside Design Magazine's Jan/Feb issue on my desk with the interview I did. I was happy to see the images printed pretty good (not funky colors.) Hopefully you think so to. I feel pretty thankful to have been included.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I am in Italy now. I just finished a week in France that was completely overwhelming. There were so many museums, so much art, that I felt like I was gorging myself. I am about to leave for Sardegna to spend Christmas. I hope it is a wonderful time for everyone, whatever you are doing during this time and I wish everyone a wonderful new year as well. I will return on the 9th of January.
Buone Feste!
Monday, December 10, 2007
So the mini show is up at Abacot. I really want to see it. I was supposed to go Saturday but after a long day in the print shop at full speed, along with a lunch with our landlady friend, babysitting, six loaves of banana bread, a Hanukkah dinner, and bags to pack all on the horizon for Sunday, I found my car driving home and not to Chinatown.
So will you take pics for me?
Here is a piece I did for it.
So will you take pics for me?
Here is a piece I did for it.
Here is more art. Gingerbread houses Mauricio and I made with my nephews. The youngest had the most brilliant gingerbread man to house dialog where it was decided that the gingerbread man wanted to be glued to the house. Beautiful.
In matter of hours I am leaving for my trip. Id like to update while abroad, but if it is not possible I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday and I give you my best wishes for the new year.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
I haven't updated in a bit. I was planning a big post to try and explain the strange and beautiful thanksgiving we had, but became overwhelmed and instead spent hours doing something else. I wish I could remember what.
We spent the weekend with an Aunt of mine. She lives down in San Diego where we had dinner but spent the rest of the time up a little farther out of town at Skye Valley Ranch. I have always heard of "the ranch" from her and her kids but thanksgiving weekend was the first time I had ever been. My aunt is actually my Mother's half sister, and her husband (who's uncle and aunt own the ranch) is deceased. I am not sure what we were thinking when we agreed to go, despite the fact that we knew no one and were accompanied only by our younger cousins, but I am glad we went. It is close to the border, near Tecate, but high in the hills/mountains in the middle of what now is all national parks. It sits in a valley that you wouldn't expect to be spread out up above if you saw it from below (hence, I assume, its name- skye valley ranch) It is only a 15 minute drive out of town to the driveway- but the driveway (or the treacherous dirt path that winds up the hill, and across a thin metal bridge to the house) takes at least and hour to climb. My cousins actually left their horse trailer at the bottom and rode up through the brush.
When we got to the top of the hill however, alone (it takes longer on horseback) I was struck with panic. Basically everyone at the ranch had come out to go hunting. Pulling up, groups of men in camouflage were cooking venison near the bonfire. Dogs were running around, guns were out and it was getting dark. We had driven a whole hour into the middle of nowhere and I suddenly realized I felt very out of place. Only it wasn't like a party we could just duck out of; we were arriving to sleep and eat, uninvited, at there house. I made Maurico promise to not state any political or religious beliefs, and to keep quiet his immigration status.
Everyone was very nice, of course, and even fed us delicious veggies despite the sign in the kitchen that said vegetarian:an old indian word that means bad hunter. I eventually managed to convince them to let me help prepare diner which put me more at ease. My biggest relief however, was when I heard that despite the major migrant trail that runs across their property bringing at least 40 people a night, to them border patrol, with their speeding and attitudes is a worse enemy than the illegals.
The night we arrived we were invited to play hide and go seek. Only we took out all the ranch vehicle, the rtv's, the golf-cartish thing and two jeeps. Everyone was a little inebriated. It was so beautiful though; the moonlight was surrealy bright and the grass, which is brown in the day, looked silvery and soft. It was exciting too, backing up off a road, then turning the lights off and watching as someone approached, bumping around and attempting to negotiate the same piece of road you'd just escaped. Surprised, they would look up to see you hunting them from the bushes. I was sorry when it was over.
At the bottom left of this picture you can see the road/driveway.
The light part is the ranch as seen from above.
The dark part is water which you can see in the picture of the road up
helping? + best mustache ever
the view from our room the next morning.
Very cool writing found in bottle under the old adobe foundation of the house. So appocalyptic.
Since we returned I have been busy trying to get ready for my trip. I regret being older and wiser. I am thinking a lot more "what if..." than before and wishing I could get back some of that stupid bliss I had when I was young.
Two days ago I had the horror of realizing that my passport, though valid, was in my maiden name, unlike my tickets. Luckily there is an office in Westwood to help people like me. I spent three hours driving there today, crying for the last hour because I was late and I was sure that meant that my trip was really going to be canceled, only to arrive and find that no one cared, it was one big process, and that I have to go back tomorrow to pick it up.
The whole experience felt like something from a dark short story written by soviet russian. After the long drive I had to circle the guest lot, and, though there was parking spots, they were surrounded by a maze of illegal turns necessary to get to them (keeping in mind it is a federal complex and I don't want a ticket). Once inside the low ceilinged beige building, people cut me in line and then progressed while I seemed to stand still. When it was my turn I went to the wrong window. Twice. Angering the people who were supposed to be there and then, as a result, returning embarrassed to the back of the line while still confused about which window corresponded to me. When I finally found my place, they then took away everything that identifies me, including my marriage certificate, and told me to come back tomorrow and appear at a window on the side of the building which supposedly says "will call". As I left, I was sure I would go outside to have the doors shut and then the whole building sort of close in on itself and evaporate. Or at least the window wouldn’t be there. Tomorrow I will regain my identity and breath a deep sigh of relief.
Though I am taking public transportation to get there. It will be a three hour trip both ways, but, considering the cost of gas and my inability to even go to the right window let alone drive under such stress I think it will be a better choice. I only hope I don't get on the wrong bus.
Today’s anxiety led me to buy a map and a phrasebook for Paris. These are two thing I never would have bought when I was younger. I literally bicycled through Denmark and some of Germany using only the free brochure size tourist maps they provide in each town on the back of advertisements for museums or hotels. When I got lost I would sometimes ride through the whole village before I could find someone to ask direction from. He or she in turn would then go and find a youngster, like a grandkid, whom they were sure spoke english because they had studied it a whole two years in elementary school. The kid would then just look at me with a horrified stare, perhaps because I was going to be living proof of his poor study skills or simply because I was asking to much of his elementary education. Thus the grandparent would frustratedly reprimand him until somehow we would figure out where I was on the map. I would leave them grumbling behind, never once feeling I should have brought a phrase book or a better map. This is what I mean by stupid bliss.
This weekend is the mini show at Abacot. I will post more tomorrow. Fingers crossed that I receive my passport and I take the right bus home. Bonne nuit!
We spent the weekend with an Aunt of mine. She lives down in San Diego where we had dinner but spent the rest of the time up a little farther out of town at Skye Valley Ranch. I have always heard of "the ranch" from her and her kids but thanksgiving weekend was the first time I had ever been. My aunt is actually my Mother's half sister, and her husband (who's uncle and aunt own the ranch) is deceased. I am not sure what we were thinking when we agreed to go, despite the fact that we knew no one and were accompanied only by our younger cousins, but I am glad we went. It is close to the border, near Tecate, but high in the hills/mountains in the middle of what now is all national parks. It sits in a valley that you wouldn't expect to be spread out up above if you saw it from below (hence, I assume, its name- skye valley ranch) It is only a 15 minute drive out of town to the driveway- but the driveway (or the treacherous dirt path that winds up the hill, and across a thin metal bridge to the house) takes at least and hour to climb. My cousins actually left their horse trailer at the bottom and rode up through the brush.
When we got to the top of the hill however, alone (it takes longer on horseback) I was struck with panic. Basically everyone at the ranch had come out to go hunting. Pulling up, groups of men in camouflage were cooking venison near the bonfire. Dogs were running around, guns were out and it was getting dark. We had driven a whole hour into the middle of nowhere and I suddenly realized I felt very out of place. Only it wasn't like a party we could just duck out of; we were arriving to sleep and eat, uninvited, at there house. I made Maurico promise to not state any political or religious beliefs, and to keep quiet his immigration status.
Everyone was very nice, of course, and even fed us delicious veggies despite the sign in the kitchen that said vegetarian:an old indian word that means bad hunter. I eventually managed to convince them to let me help prepare diner which put me more at ease. My biggest relief however, was when I heard that despite the major migrant trail that runs across their property bringing at least 40 people a night, to them border patrol, with their speeding and attitudes is a worse enemy than the illegals.
The night we arrived we were invited to play hide and go seek. Only we took out all the ranch vehicle, the rtv's, the golf-cartish thing and two jeeps. Everyone was a little inebriated. It was so beautiful though; the moonlight was surrealy bright and the grass, which is brown in the day, looked silvery and soft. It was exciting too, backing up off a road, then turning the lights off and watching as someone approached, bumping around and attempting to negotiate the same piece of road you'd just escaped. Surprised, they would look up to see you hunting them from the bushes. I was sorry when it was over.
At the bottom left of this picture you can see the road/driveway.
The light part is the ranch as seen from above.
The dark part is water which you can see in the picture of the road up
helping? + best mustache ever
the view from our room the next morning.
Very cool writing found in bottle under the old adobe foundation of the house. So appocalyptic.
Since we returned I have been busy trying to get ready for my trip. I regret being older and wiser. I am thinking a lot more "what if..." than before and wishing I could get back some of that stupid bliss I had when I was young.
Two days ago I had the horror of realizing that my passport, though valid, was in my maiden name, unlike my tickets. Luckily there is an office in Westwood to help people like me. I spent three hours driving there today, crying for the last hour because I was late and I was sure that meant that my trip was really going to be canceled, only to arrive and find that no one cared, it was one big process, and that I have to go back tomorrow to pick it up.
The whole experience felt like something from a dark short story written by soviet russian. After the long drive I had to circle the guest lot, and, though there was parking spots, they were surrounded by a maze of illegal turns necessary to get to them (keeping in mind it is a federal complex and I don't want a ticket). Once inside the low ceilinged beige building, people cut me in line and then progressed while I seemed to stand still. When it was my turn I went to the wrong window. Twice. Angering the people who were supposed to be there and then, as a result, returning embarrassed to the back of the line while still confused about which window corresponded to me. When I finally found my place, they then took away everything that identifies me, including my marriage certificate, and told me to come back tomorrow and appear at a window on the side of the building which supposedly says "will call". As I left, I was sure I would go outside to have the doors shut and then the whole building sort of close in on itself and evaporate. Or at least the window wouldn’t be there. Tomorrow I will regain my identity and breath a deep sigh of relief.
Though I am taking public transportation to get there. It will be a three hour trip both ways, but, considering the cost of gas and my inability to even go to the right window let alone drive under such stress I think it will be a better choice. I only hope I don't get on the wrong bus.
Today’s anxiety led me to buy a map and a phrasebook for Paris. These are two thing I never would have bought when I was younger. I literally bicycled through Denmark and some of Germany using only the free brochure size tourist maps they provide in each town on the back of advertisements for museums or hotels. When I got lost I would sometimes ride through the whole village before I could find someone to ask direction from. He or she in turn would then go and find a youngster, like a grandkid, whom they were sure spoke english because they had studied it a whole two years in elementary school. The kid would then just look at me with a horrified stare, perhaps because I was going to be living proof of his poor study skills or simply because I was asking to much of his elementary education. Thus the grandparent would frustratedly reprimand him until somehow we would figure out where I was on the map. I would leave them grumbling behind, never once feeling I should have brought a phrase book or a better map. This is what I mean by stupid bliss.
This weekend is the mini show at Abacot. I will post more tomorrow. Fingers crossed that I receive my passport and I take the right bus home. Bonne nuit!