Labels: pHOTO:r. KERN
This was the weekend I was not looking forward to. It was time to empty out mom's house. When the old man died he left a pile of self help books, a very nice velore kaftan, a can of old watches and enough money to see mom through, and then some. He'd already given away his guns and the portable crapper is still up for grabs. He was not one to collect anything. He had no records, art, furniture, or treasures of any kind. Stuff meant nothing to him.
There's been a flurry of activity here at the shack. Bow season opens on Monday. There's camo to be washed, gloves to be found, branches to be trimmed and of course arrows to shot. It's been a while since I've put one on the ground with the bow. This year i vowed to practice more. My bow (a nice Browning loaner from Savage Lynch) feels good in my hands, but is failing me on delivering consistent groups. I'll thread two right down the pike, then have one go wild. It's driving me crazy. Out come the allen wrenches. I re-set the sights and it's worse. Then, as i pulled back the string i noticed the arrow slide, then drop into the rest. Could this be the problem? A pair of pliers and some fiddling later and damned if I wasn't holding the groups. I think I got it.
First let me name drop a little. Signaling the end of Sullivan County high society summer season, the Ethelbert B. Crawford opening at MO David North on Saturday was a big hit. Attended by such art world luminaries as Dr. L. Chua, Robin Winters, John Letourneau, the Druckmans, Julie Merhetu, Paul Pffeifer, Brett Budde, the Voegelins, Alan Barrish, the Markovitz's and many others, the work of Mr. Crawford was ushered into the 21st century in proper fashion. A lovely cheeze platter was provided by the Wray Voegelin Foundation.
I know there's been no talk of hunting or pics of supermodels for a long time in a blog dedicated to such. Patience. Bow season opens Oct. 1 and I have promises from my photog. friends that long legged, scantily clad supermodels are coming. Can't hurry these things. In the meanwhile it's art, religion, money and boredom that seem to be most on my mind. This summer has been a watershed. Both parents now gone, turning 70, a drained bank account, a small toe dipped back into the NYC art scene, and 7 churches now under our belt, from the Glen Wild sanctuary, finds me searching for a way to entertain myself, for how ever much time I have left. As always, in order to go forward, I look back.
Jesus, Buddha and Mohammad go into a bar.......Wait a minute! Can I tell this joke? A day after the 11th anniversary of 9/11, following the death of U.S. ambassador Chris Stevens and three other diplomats in Libya, is it possible that the telling of a joke in an obscure American blog will unleash some violent act a world away? I'm not taking any chances. Just Buddha and Jesus went in the bar. Mohammad stayed outside, stoning a hooker, while the joke continued.
I'm clipping my toenails, catching the end of BABYDOLL on TCM, when the phone rings. You'd think this was a fictional statement, but it's the God's honest truth. Hey, i deserve a little pampering. It's 6:00 pm and I've been working all day trying to figure out where to stash all the artwork I have displayed everywhere in order to make room for Ethelbert. I'm doing pretty good considering I keep making the stuff and never seem to sell anything. Then there's the mice. The combination of bad eyesight, low lighting and and a general malaise when it comes to cleaning the kitchen, was just the opportunity the vermin of Sullivan County were waiting for. A couple of days ago i'd had enough. I started a top to bottom, spiral approach, working my way towards the mouse crap covered table in the middle of the kitchen. Traps were laid and 4 trays of poison were consumed in one night. Where's the trail cams when I need them? Who's on the phone? Doesn't matter.
My entire career has been a search for material with which to make my art. In the early days it could be something as intangible as relationship. How could someone get to know another person and contextualize the experience within (art)? MISSIONARY (the extended family as sculpture) 1978 attempted just this. At 26 years old I picked a 12 year old boy out of the SF Examiner newspaper and "got to know him" through phone calls, a series of outings and letters. Then I documented the experience with objects and writings. I was still in graduate school at the time. When I presented this piece to the review panel it was met with bemused dismissal. One panel member suggested I drop out of art school and join the Salvation Army.
We live in a society of rules, regs. and boundaries. In these days of rampant social media these can sometimes be a bit fuzzy. Just the other day I may have inadvertently crossed some lines. There's a great shot going around the web of the Russian punk girl band PUSSY RIOT kicking up their heels and kung fu fighting in front of an over the top gilded altar in a Russian Orthodox church. Since we are doing A PUSSY RIOT CHRISTMAS here at the CLGM I thought this was a good image to use to start the holiday hype. All the girls are hooded, so I decided to "tag" the band members with the names of female artists I knew and respected, as a kind of homage to their "pussy" fierceness. My original line up for PUSSY RIOT cover band was- Karen Finley, Kembra Phaler, Joanna Went and Alix Lambert. Within hours Ms. Went had removed her tag, quitting my fantasy band. Then Kembra jumped ship. Had I somehow insulted these women? Not to be deterred, I replaced Kembra with Linda Montano and then watched Linda walk. Too many Divas? I have no idea. Finally I had Polly Ester and Dreke Caprice join Karen and Alix. This line-up seems to be holding. Jeesh! Completely fake, FB dream bands are as hard to keep together as any working outfit.