Limits, specialization and realized compartmentalization are the basis of mercantile culture.  The idea that we can’t know or do everything for ourselves is the basis of the trades, professions, and academic disciplines. This fact also gives us purpose, as my propensities are not yours and likewise. However, there are those whose wits outweigh common dogma, are apt at many things. Sometimes aptitude follows aptitude and those who are really good at something are also good at many. I am haunted by thoughts of the Jeffersonian ideal of an agrarian gentleman scholar, a renaissance man, as skilled as he is well-read. Personally, I set a goal for myself a long time ago to know as much about as much as I could and remember at least 90% of everything I encounter. I am sure you do not need to be a neuroscientist to know how the 90% part has declined over the years, but my will is still good on the ‘know as much, about as much’ it is the ‘i can’ part that has slowed it seems.  Or has it? We are faced with so much information, and so much of it is complete shit, distraction, hassle, spam, bad advertising, and it just keeps coming at us.  With my practice of knowing unmitigated I would have gone mad like some supervillian’s backstory; ‘His only fault was paying attention. Attention to EVERYTHING! He is the Insane Omniscientro!  Driven MAD by the Details!’  No, I have a sharpened double-edged Bullshit Detector, which helps.  But, I still am inclined to get sucked into the desire of knowing, only to be pulled back by a environment staked to mediocrity and status quo.  Environment is a euphemism of course for the place I am in my life: art here, academia here, and community (which I use loosely).  My stubbornness to know is pit against time and capacity, as well as, my moments for implementation of that knowledge. If the problem of knowing is distilled down to the most basic, fundamental moment of everything we might be talking about Physics in practice or Philosophy in epistemological treatment of knowing itself.  But it is Art which parallels life and at times is knowing, or requires knowing something to make new knowledge in the form of new art.  This is not to lionize Art, but to come to terms with why Art is marginalized in the academy, yet it persists in all gradations throughout all places in our lives.  Just because we know something or transform the commonplace to a static memory (like still-life painting and photography), does not make it important.  I am digressing. My point is hovering around a personal stubbornness based on my inflated sense of knowledge interest, capacity and above all time for knowledge acquisition and implementation.

I am stymied by the narrowness of others.  The world is such a vast and wondrous place, yet we fight over two people wanting to officially love and care for one-another because they happen to have the same genitals, and deny civil rights to those we fight in the name of freedom and civility.  And these greater issues find purchase in the little moments, personal moments when it seems a broadness of thought, art practice, and caring for others is found to be a fault rather than a strength.  The world is crazy right now, as I suppose it always is, but that is no excuse to stop to try to learn and grow.  I wish at times it was in my character to make one narrow road of practice and pave it until famous and smooth like warm feet bare and rubbed over frosted ice, until the ice were a perfect flatness ready for a picture to be snapped or painting to be wrought.  I wish I could, but I want to know more about more, and fuck it, I am good at lots of things, and I hope, I mean I really keep waiting for some of this breadth and depth to payoff; breath held and fingers crossed.

The UML Art Department, Web Art & Design Area is pleased to have

I blame the Middle East for stretching out the bill too far and too late for a Wednesday night, and having some sound issues.

Go see Cub Country in NYC tonight at the Cake Shop or Maxwell’s on Friday or both, praying for longer sets and early on times.

Untitled (UMA! with three planes) by Jim Jeffers, 2009

I walked around Genii Loci (Ghosts of Protection) an exhibition by Jim Jeffers (the guy who runs this site) looking for a piece I knew only to find it not included.  I asked Jim where the “rabbit with the gas mask and the three planes” piece was.  He told me it was hanging in the lobby of the Dean of U-Mass Lowell’s office.  I thought, “Cool” and then on to other matters.  I would not have given the matter another thought except while out with Jim and Jean, I mention to Jean how much I dig the drawing of Uma (their rabbit, the model for the piece), and she asks me if I want to buy it as it is back from U-Mass Lowell.  I’m thinking I don’t have the cash, but then I think, “why is it back?”  So she tells me it only hung for about two weeks before someone in the administration found it “inappropriate.”

“What the fuck?”  I say, “Why? How could this image be ‘inappropriate’?”

Now I understand that maybe the chesty gas-masked ladies might set the imagination off, but a rabbit?  The semiological leap-frogging from rabbit to bunny to playboy playmate might be doable, but who wants to do that?  I think this kind of editing is the symptom of a much larger unspoken secret in Massachusetts.  People here are afraid.  Afraid of seeming unseemly, but ‘gawd’ knows this is only thin veneer.  For it takes a special kind of dirty mind to jump from rabbit to bunny to playmate to bondage scene to the apocalypse!  And it takes a mind so dark and dirty to think the thin layer of prophylactic-like ‘protection’ encasing the purity of essential moral rectitude could be ‘offended’ or compromised by an image of a rabbit in a gas mask that it would defy measure.  People are busy in Massachusetts keeping us ’safe’ from burned-out LED Mooninites and MIT students who are too smart to think the rest of the neighborhood could be so dumb.  Puritans know best what is filthy down below.  Okay, so those of you reading this in the deep south are thinking, “Massachusetts is filled with liberal elites who love abortions and bible burning right?”  No, the brand of liberalness in Massachusetts is grounded in caring for those less fortunate than you.  Which I might point out is not out of line with over wrought protection. After all in Massachusetts you MUST have health insurance or pay a penalty. And again this is not out of step with ‘appropriateness’ and “putting yourself in other people’s shoes.”  My problem with this ideal taken to extreme is “I know what is best for you” arrogance and eventual intolerance.  My response is, “Fuck no, you don’t know me.” and “with that said I think you underestimate the audience in general.”  There are heros who push community standards, Jeffers, sure ain’t one of them.

Perhaps ‘gawd’ blessed greater Boston with a paucity of natural disasters and cursed it with appallingly suck weather, but lighten up will you.  ”Art is the Handmaid of Human Good” (Lowell City Motto) don’t second guess the audience, they are smarter than you think (mostly).

Sounds Great But What Does It Look Like?

If you peel away the skin is there anybody there
If you peel away the skin is there anybody there
If you peel away the armor is it too late to begin
Is there anybody hiding if you peel away the skin

from “Skin” by Oingo Boingo

This show is a great idea turned into a hot mess.  Perhaps peeling back the skin and looking at the guts of the pre-art making process is, in this case, like seeing your steak get the air-bolt to the head; something only the toughest of carnivores can take.  With that said, maybe this show is so solipsistic it is great.  Artists marginalized, or rather artist’s most marginalized activities, i.e., sketches, doodles, mind-farts, etc., are given voice in this exhibition. But, the major question is who cares?  We skip from unrealized work to unrealized work, and one gets visually down, without the conceptual up.  I really get what Raftery (the juror) was going for, and I’m sure in the dark with slide after slide snapping by it looked really cool in his head, but on the wall the exhibition has an insurmountable incoherence.  Oh, sure there are pieces (two on the home page) exemplifying the beauty of the ’sketch’, and there is the video by Nicole Ratos Enerson which stand up, or out in the noise of unrealized art; like a show of ugly ducklings–I know there are some swans, somewhere.

The really great concept of this show is not enough to save it from formal mediocrity.

Go see it and tell me if I’m wrong!

Juror: Andrew Stein Raftery

Artists:

Gwen Barba • Nancy Berlin • Nataliya Bregel • Dana Clancy • Ken Clark • Camila Chavez Cortes • Michael David Stella Ebner • Liz Ensz • Andrea Evans • Jodi Hays • Diane Hoffman • Victoria Jacob • Julie Levesque • Clara Lieu • Lara Loutrel • Jeffrey Marshall • Nancy Murphy Spicer • Kristen Mills • Stephen Mishol • Lynn Newcomb • David Teng Olsen • Andrew Pez • Linda Price-Sneddon • Trudy Raftery • Nicole Ratos Enerson • Matthew Rich •  Amy Sallen • Karen Schiff • Suzanne Schireson • Brian D. Smith • Jill Slosburg-Ackerman • Linda Stillman • Jonathan Weinberg • Deb Todd Wheeler • Sung Won Yun
Opening Reception: September 10, 2009 at 6:00 pm. Free and open to the public.

Gallery Talk: Andrew Stein Rafferty will give artists talks on Wednesday, September 30 and Wednesday, October 14 at 6:00 pm in the Mills Gallery.

Okay so let’s start this by saying I missed most of Big Bear’s set, but what I did catch sent me right back to the noise of my childhood and I could not help thinking this sounded a lot like Santa Cruz circa 1993–with much much much less plaid.  Not to say good or bad, just the kind of discordant soundtrack over cyclical vocals people were playing with in the bay area before the more melodic and directional music leapt the bridges and hit the mainstream.  They were loud, and maybe for good reason.
Next, Sunburned Hand of the Man, started their set with a kind of chanted ‘blessing’ by a black-dressed guy, bearded, ponytailed, and freaky.  The music then poured forth from two drummers and two guitarists plus gadgets.  The music was fine, and the attendees seemed in to it.  They were earnest, but something about them just bubbled-up anger.  Sunburned Hand of the Man, just made me mad.  And not mad, like ‘I just spent 10 bucks and these guys suck,’ but rather a profound visceral soul anger, that made me want to punch someone.  At a point in the set, after cruising along sans vocals, the greasy ponytail snaked his way through the audience frotaging his boozy cigarette stink on me and the Pabst swilling guy next to me, and up to the mic.  As soon as he started singing, more like chanting, my personal anger was hitting a tipping point.  When the bearded ponytail started taunting the audience to dance in post-punk high pitched vocal waves, I couldn’t take it anymore and shot through the audience and grabbed the first non-lethal thing from a sink area next to the band and poorly winged a plastic lid at the entranced band.  At this point I lost my cool totally and yelled at the band, spilling forth nonsense swear words, there bearded ponytail said something about my courage and handed me the mic into which I blew my voice out, I grabbed the bearded ponytail by the lapels and shook him, then sprang back and whipped off one of my flip-flops at a time and threw them at the band.  Regaining my senses for a moment, and needing my shoes, I hit the stage again to retrieve my sandals, which I did along with the poor guitar player’s last Sierra Nevada which he was willing to fight for, so I opened it for him and handed it back.  I’m not sure if this was what Sunburned Hand of the Man was going for but that’s what they did for / to me.
Last up, Onieda.  Onieda is a five-man crew powered by drums.  They sounded like the best soundtrack to the best car chase sequence ever, for an hour plus.  The rhythm holds the tonal drift in tight reins, and moves the transitions smoothy through waves of sound.  Some of their songs had vocals, but where neigh impossible to make out.  The end result was a power meditation, a loud trance state of muscle, poignant feedback and synthesizers, creating a ride more than a show.
Somehow by the time a got home I had torn the front open of my favorite pair of camouflaged shorts.

The interior of Tepthida Khmer is elegant but, with a prominent bar and at least one massive flat-screen TV, there is a general comfortable feel to the place.  The service was very good, with ample warnings and questions about how authentic we wanted our food.  This is good and bad.  Good, if this is your first trip to eat South-East Asian food, and are not initiated to the tastes of fish sauce / paste.  Bad, if you are well aware, and just want to order your food.  I am reminded of sending back the calamari at another Lowell jewell, Viet Thai, because it did not have the red pepper to which I am accustomed, asked, “do you want three star?” and I said, “Yes, three star!”  It came back great and spicy.  But, this is really material for another review.

We started with drinks: I with a chinese beer, Harbin; and Jean with a glass of Argentine Cab.  My beer, was a typical asian lager, and Jean’s wine was fine, if a bit long in the tooth for being opened.  The next thing to come out was the crispy rolls in vegetarian, which were really nice, with a light vinegary dippy sauce with peanuts floating in it.  These rolls were perfectly cooked, not greasy, with a filling including mung bean threads and julienned vegetables. For our shared main dishes, we ordered the Cha Greung with chicken, and the Teuk Greung.  Let’s start with the Teuk Greung.  This dish consists of a bowl of ground fish, with lime juice, spices and green onions, and a plate of lightly steamed broccoli, cauliflower, raw eggplant, cucumbers, and cabbage.  We are instructed to eat the salty-sour protein with the vegetables. This was very good, but not for the unadventurous.  The Cha Greung with chicken was more familiar, being one of the many dishes in south-east asian cuisine employing red chillies and basil on meat.  This was really great, the chicken was coated with spices, and green beans carried the bulk of the vegetable component; not too spicy but with enough kick to get me interested.

All and all our meal was excellent, and we plan on going back.

Ritual ideas relativety
Only buildings no people prophecy
Timeslide place to hide nudge reality
Foresight minds wide magic imagery

Space guy fell from the sky
Scratched my head and wondered why
Time slide into time
Across international dateline
Scientist eats bubblegum
Hall of fame baseball
Senators a Hoodlum
Big chiefs in the hall
Ritual ideas relativety
Only buildings no people prophecy
Timeslide place to hide nudge reality
Foresight minds wide magic imagery

Lyrics from “E=MC2″ by Big Audio Dynamite

Bucky ROYGBIV by Matthew Day Jackson, 2007

Matthew Day Jackson, now playing at MIT’s List Visual Arts Center (May 8th-July 12th, 2009), sets fire to the place.  He knows we know he knows, and he goes there.  For example, in Lonesome Soldier (2008) one is instantly reminded of Charles Ray’s Plank Piece (1973), which was a humanized performance riff on Richard Serra’s Prop (1968), but Jackson’s is not a sheet of lead, or his own body, but rather a felt space man, oh Beuys!  We are in the presence of greatness, all the time.  But, at times it feels a little bit like the Leonardo DiCaprio / Claire Danes version of Romeo and Juliet, in that Jackson brings guns instead of swords, or carbon fiber instead of marble; but is it still Brancusi?  I guess as much as that movie was Shakespeare.  We know, the permission for this work was hard fought, it takes guts to place a Hemi drag racing motor on rod power pyramids (like my parents picked-up at the crystal-hopped new age store when I was a kid) as Jackson does in Heart of Prometheus (2009).  There are themes here (racing, space chasing, atom bombing, geodesics, so on), but I can’t help thinking Jackson’s meta-story is getting thick like another Matthew, Barney.  This is not bad, and in fact maybe the saving grace of Jackson’s work, his earnest sincerity.  For no matter how many layers of great artists (and thinkers, and, and, and) he can stack like a Dagwood, I believe Matthew Day Jackson believes in this work.  And faith goes along way here, even tangled in the miasma of testosterone-fulled modernism on fucking atomic-powered Red Bull.

Go see it before it comes down, and check out Duncan Campbell’s film Bernadette in the other gallery, but bring a hoody it’s cold in there.

Chariot II-I Like America and America Likes Me by Matthew Day Jackson, 2008

P.S. I thought about just leaving the B.A.D. lyric quote as the review, I heard it on the radio on the way home, and thought it summed up the exhibition well.  But, ElPezCore would have none of it!

Last night in Lowell, MA - Something was happening at 119 Gallery, there was cooking smoke, a belly dancer, porn from the advent of moving image, and fuck-an-A, ART!  I cruised by the opening of Seduce Me curated by Setheyny Pen, and featuring the work of: Ebenezer Archer Kling, Anthony Palocci Jr, Christopher Eastwood, Hali Vik, Christine Tuccelli, and Timothy Goguen. And was pleasantly surprised to find an elegant show of thoughtful work by a crew of smart young artists.  Concurrently, was “Improvised Comfort Device (food) (Superhero Action)” a performance by relative old-timer, Jim Jeffers: “as a piece [sic] offering to swine 40 pounds of chicken will be grilled and eaten” (from a flyer at the event).  Where, Jeffers dressed in a red jump suit, and partially covered by a blue tarp strung off the back of a hatch-back, grilled chicken and served it up to the tentative audience.

Standing out were the tightly crafted 40’s (40 oz. beer bottles) with sexy lesbian silhouettes, both clearly celebratory but evoking some sad alcoholic fantasy of lesbian prosthetic copulation, black & white and cracking, by Timothy Goguen.  Also, Ebenezer Archer Kling’s drawings, abstracting images pulled from ukiyo-e Japanese erotica, are quirky, smart, and delightful.  Jeffers, who was not on the bill for Seduce Me, must have crashed the party, but at least he brought beer and chicken…fucking good chicken, served on a blue blanket (like my little brother sucked his thumb through until he was twelve), evidently these “Improvised Comfort Devices” are a series, can’t wait to see what’s next!
(Jeffers, has a solo exhibition coming up a UMass Lowell this Fall: http://www.uml.edu/Dept/Art/galleries/university-gallery.htm)

Check out Seduce Me curated by Setheyny Pen, at 119 Gallery up now until July 11th, 2009, worth the trip to Lowell, MA!
(and check out the kick-ass Cambodian restaurant on the corner by the gallery, so good).