Links

I got posted in three different places recently. On Streetsy they were not sure who I was but they used my Flickr name. On the other two they did not mention my name at all! -- even though they got the stuff from my YouTube account. They might have used kvvn rggn... This seemed a little odd. Of course, you can click through to my YouTube account since they were embedded from there. And lest it sounds like I'm being ungrateful for the attention, while that's not true at all. I just wondered why they obscured the authorship of the work (er, my work). Is this the way of social networking and web 2.0? The death of the author... Well, nevertheless, thanks for posting me.

1. (*\***

2. that-unsound

3. Streetsy

Unintentional Rory Hayes Birthday Tribute

Rory Hayes, 1971



It did not occur to me until this morning, when I was reading the Edwin Pouncey essay in When the Demented Wented that I'd posted the Rory Hayes piece on Enantiomorphic Chamber on his birthday, which was yesterday, August 8th. I did not know who he was until yesterday evening. They actually mentioned that it was his birthday at the book release event at Desert Island but it did not register. I made plans to go to this event not because I knew of Hayes but because Kim Deitch was supposed to be a part of it. He, however, was MIA. I wondered why legends such as Kim Deitch and Bill Griffith were involved in this, giving a talk about this guy, Rory Hayes. After a quick scan of the book I decided he was contemporary. I was then surprised to learn he died in 1984. The most interesting thing was that he was on the periphery of the original underground comix scene in San Francisco going back to the late 60s. Hayes first comic was published in 1969. Bill Griffith's stories intrigued me so much I got up this morning burning to read the Pouncey essay. Gary Panter, who it seems is a Hayes fan, was in the audience.

Six Six Sixties, Throbbing Gristle, 1979

I am one of the injured
A tear blurs flesh
Dissolving
Like an injured dog
Like wasted limbs
Get smaller
Pain is the stimulus of pain
But then of course nothing is cured
This is the world now
Move a fin and the world turns
Sit in a chair and pictures change
Try to eat us
And get trapped
Or injured
Just

Jane Birkin (is hot!)

Scanners (draft)

Scanners
David Cronenberg
1981







Andrea Portrait 1
James Juron
2008







Channeling Dorothea Rockburne
Kevin Regan
2008







Jonathan Hartshorn
2007







Stan Narten
Ketchup and Plastic
2008

The Praxis of Art in the early 21st Century

Before I realized that I was being targeted for some reason, I used to get a lot of odd damage and stains appearing in my house, but I chalked it up to having a child. There would be no way of knowing what he might have spilled. When the drain pipes from the roof kept repeatedly getting crushed or pulled apart (so that the basement would get water when it rained), I knew it wasn't my son doing it, but I thought maybe it was some kids in the neighbourhood who liked to dismantle drain pipes.

When the screen doors developed tears in them right next to the door handles (which I locked at night), I felt slightly suspicious. When the door locks themselves went askew and my keys didn't work quite as well, I had no idea at the time that this was an indication that my locks had been tampered with.

Looking back, I realize that there was sabotage going on a fair amount. The stains were some kind of engine oil, spread all over the house, including on my son's bed under his sheets. He's not a baby, so he wasn't throwing motor oil around.

Drips

Carolana Parlato
The Kiss
2007





Eric Sall
Icy Hot
2008





Christina Sucgang
Someday Maybe
2007





Wallace Whitney
no caption info






Jasmine Justice
Big Rock Candy
2006




Michael Cody Drury
Untitled
2006






Elizabeth Cooper
(no caption info)





Mary Heilmann
Go Ask Alice
oil on canvas
2006




One of my favorite things about Mary Heilmann's paintings are those fucked up drips. They communicate a kind of resignation. They're a shrug, an "oh well," a "sorry, I just couldn't help that..." It is a gesture without drama, not uptight, but, rather, in a casual, almost flippant, manner. This is a kind of giving up that accepts that it's giving up and learns to live with itself. It’s completely unheroic. It is not about "I am nature." It's simply nature, the nature of gravity. Nothing else. Paint drips. If you load the brush with too much paint it drips. And here is where the thing reverses itself. You see it is in this way that it's a form of trying too hard. The kind of trying too hard that usually fails, that comes on too strong, that, well, acts like a drip.