tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22095449432369183352024-03-21T04:30:12.727-07:00ART BYSTANDERCraig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-63275639306627756522011-02-05T13:44:00.000-08:002011-02-05T13:49:14.179-08:00READ ALL OVER - Saturday, February 12, 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAepGxEIjf3YYMdzWOUatjIEgUcMYWr6O_jXBZ-_7os1Q_11RlYSk9SQeQlQmcRNuvmaLANKB9hyp4MFzEnwvNPhN9NnEpTSSbZVz4f7Vu5HMfPXzrh-AuXx8nxrDkxAPnrIDdbUP02Sdp/s1600/A+Valuable+Aid+to+the+Memory+-+Kristen+Jensen+%25287%2529.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAepGxEIjf3YYMdzWOUatjIEgUcMYWr6O_jXBZ-_7os1Q_11RlYSk9SQeQlQmcRNuvmaLANKB9hyp4MFzEnwvNPhN9NnEpTSSbZVz4f7Vu5HMfPXzrh-AuXx8nxrDkxAPnrIDdbUP02Sdp/s320/A+Valuable+Aid+to+the+Memory+-+Kristen+Jensen+%25287%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570325510513299458" border="0" /></a><br /><style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }h1 { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; page-break-after: avoid; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; </style>BYSTANDER Presents: READ ALL OVER <h1>Featuring: Brian Dupont, Seth Goodman & Kristen Jensen</h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal">A long time ago words held the images of every person’s imagination was required to take an adventure into other worlds, other realities, to experience the rush of London’s streets, or Paris’ debaucheries.<span style=""> </span>There were no television sets, Marconi hadn’t yet invented the radio and when you wanted to solicit the love a beautiful maiden you would idealize her and then scribble passionate letters.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Times have changed and the media we<span style=""> </span>have to choose from is infinite. The </p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxMBBPdln23_3dy6khn_ECzpBfA1DebNIeLIbMxONfjuxFub6MXwmSWBLDxnQmtB8Vgy4QHcUlFk6fCUVCUiIfBSXDQPJzg7qIlK4gGWef4IQF1vmb7KS6V52P7xYWTF6pKUKB92jiMxc/s1600/Catastrophe+-+Brian+Dupont+%25284%2529.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxMBBPdln23_3dy6khn_ECzpBfA1DebNIeLIbMxONfjuxFub6MXwmSWBLDxnQmtB8Vgy4QHcUlFk6fCUVCUiIfBSXDQPJzg7qIlK4gGWef4IQF1vmb7KS6V52P7xYWTF6pKUKB92jiMxc/s320/Catastrophe+-+Brian+Dupont+%25284%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570325518298187474" border="0" /></a></h1> <p class="MsoNormal">written word has lost its value.<span style=""> </span>Some that resonate these days in the tabloids and news media: <b>Celebrity. Plastic surgery. Fear.</b></p> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">Fear of questions. Fear of thought. Fear that something different must be wrong. I drive the streets of cities and see strip malls, corporate conglomerates erasing the regionalism of our nation. Clothing, books, movie houses. There is no regional identity and we wonder why life is boring and we retreat into "Second-lives" and social media proclamations of having "the best times of our short lives."</span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h1> <h1><br /></h1><h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">READ ALL OVER serves as a celebration of deeper thought. The novel, the newspaper, the written word in general. From literature to pulp, we investigate the items in our society that do a lot of the investigating for us. Inspired by books, their cover art, the stories they tell, or what their readers might actually be seeking.</span></h1><br /><br /> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style=""> </span></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">READ ALL OVER is also serving as an investigation of what people are reading, why they are reading and what they hope to get out of those books.<span style=""> </span>It is a mirror held up and warped. We all want fifteen minutes of fame regardless of how we look during those fifteen minutes.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2t5R05YzOzBkKgSI0EcJlQiTQEKnvEKPdnj8iFngvS5hnLaIIJ71DjfuYU0pmHCS7kJJ66sbzv6ZlnAIMS9LbksqbTzbHjvQefDKsls2OK8-Gg3WRKtXcdjdA24bIDvfwT_QGrth5cWKZ/s1600/Hematomaniacs+Unite+-+Seth+Goodman+%25283%2529.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2t5R05YzOzBkKgSI0EcJlQiTQEKnvEKPdnj8iFngvS5hnLaIIJ71DjfuYU0pmHCS7kJJ66sbzv6ZlnAIMS9LbksqbTzbHjvQefDKsls2OK8-Gg3WRKtXcdjdA24bIDvfwT_QGrth5cWKZ/s320/Hematomaniacs+Unite+-+Seth+Goodman+%25283%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570325520861341666" border="0" /></a></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">We will </span></h1><h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">be holding an opening reception and will be scheduling viewin</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">gs by appointment. The opening will be held on </span>FEBRUARY 12, 2010<span style="font-weight: normal;"> from </span>5 – 9:00<span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span>PM<span style="font-weight: normal;"> at the gallery 2255 India Street, LA, CA 90039.<span style=""> </span>Refreshments will be served.</span></h1>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-82846957998889779862011-01-08T13:40:00.001-08:002011-01-24T10:56:03.578-08:00READ ALL OVER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSAUfDYoM37DiUtjfIE85Yc9OztjXAl00ra-J2LYOeAYEoyu8Ai7kLqK2rFNn95Y_EYN62fKuVSUmsg5IfNKoMjDbm_f1Zi8cjAA3co2m3Jd1prV66Bq_9R5APE7cF92vmpMwiHx5dEKA/s1600/-2.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSAUfDYoM37DiUtjfIE85Yc9OztjXAl00ra-J2LYOeAYEoyu8Ai7kLqK2rFNn95Y_EYN62fKuVSUmsg5IfNKoMjDbm_f1Zi8cjAA3co2m3Jd1prV66Bq_9R5APE7cF92vmpMwiHx5dEKA/s320/-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559935494376710482" border="0" /></a><br />The fanfare has ended, the books have been placed on the shelves, the libraries are emptied out. Dan Brown and that Mormon who wrote Twilight control the bookshelves in Wal-Marts and supermarkets world wide. And we wonder why the country is the way it is.<br /><br />Celebrity. Plastic surgery. Reality programs creating false celebrity. Fear. The best-sellers pre-chosen, dictated sensibilities. No one is safe from the taste-makers in unimpressive offices all over the world (LA, NY, Houston and Chicago).<br /><br />Fear of questions. Fear of thought. Fear that something different must be wrong. I drive the streets of cities and see strip malls, corporate conglomerates erasing the regionalism of our nation. Clothing, books, movie houses. There is no regional identity and we wonder why life is boring and we retreat into "Second-lives" and social media proclamations of having "the best times of our short lives."<br /><br />READ ALL OVER serves as a celebration of deeper thought. The novel. From literature to pulp, we investigate the things that do a lot of the investigating for us. Inspired by books, their cover art, the stories they tell, or what their readers might actually be seeking. READ ALL OVER is also serving as an investigation of what people are reading, why they are reading and what they hope to get out of those books.<br /><br />More thoughts to come soon.<br /><br />ByStander Presents:<br />READ ALL OVER<br />2255 India Street<br />TBD<br />And then by appointment onlyCraig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-7179775828069969762010-09-11T13:18:00.000-07:002010-09-11T13:39:00.368-07:00STAY-AT-HOME.<!--[endif]--><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stay-At-Home</span> was an idea I guess, or maybe it was something else. I remember when I started to venture out into the art world there was one obvious fact, there are less women in galleries than there are men.<span style=""> </span>I do not believe that this is because there are more talented men than there are women.<span style=""> </span>Nor do I believe it is totally associated with discrimination. <span style=""> </span>Men are typically looked upon as the Alpha-Dog of the family pack, and hence even when married the male artist is probably given more time to focus on his work.<o:p></o:p> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal">This probably rings even more true for parents of infants and children. Traditionally, the woman's role was limited to raising her children.<span style=""> </span>While feminism has changed those expectations, many parents, men and women, still chose to stay home to raise their children.<span style=""> </span>This is out of necessity, out of the desire to raise your children the “right way” whatever that might be.<span style=""> </span>And while most parents are willing to sacrifice everything for their children, should anyone sacrifice their dream?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second portion of Stay-At-Home is probably a reflection of personal questions that I, the curator, am asking myself on a daily basis.<span style=""> </span>How does one maintain a dream while dealing with the realities of day-to-day life?<span style=""> </span>Artists are at their core romantic beings in search of greater vision and understanding.<span style=""> </span>What happens when life becomes so overwhelming and busy that your ideals take a back seat to reality? <o:p></o:p> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, while handling Trashed, my first art show based out of my house, I came to the realization that there is a certain level of joy one can extract from pursuing dreams in spare time.<span style=""> </span>A focus comes upon you when you know you have limited time, and clarity of vision.<span style=""> </span>The work is succinct and in many ways a different kind of beauty emerges.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hence, the purpose of Stay-At-Home is to celebrate those artists who have kept their dreams tucked away for free moments.<span style=""> </span>I am seeking artists who are full time, stay-at-home parents.<span style=""> </span>This is not to be an insult, I believe creating art is work, not therapy, but, what I seek are people who have kept that drive and that hope that the world will take notice of their efforts and their vision. <o:p></o:p> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is a call to artists interested in Stay-At-Home.<span style=""> </span>Please submit recent works to me with an explanation on how the experience of staying at home to help raise your family has become a compliment to the art you make.<span style=""> </span>In addition, please let me know where you saw yourself at the age you are now, when you were just out of college and trying to make a go of it as an artist.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While trashed was a large collection of artists, on this project I am looking for roughly 4 to 5 painters and 1 sculptor to fill the space.<span style=""> </span>2 – 3 paintings per and they can be larger, but not enormous.<span style=""> </span>Looking forward to submission.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Please submit to craig.a.platt at gmail.com <o:p></o:p><!--EndFragment--> </p>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-66899782411179620742010-09-06T17:04:00.001-07:002010-09-06T17:44:07.011-07:00The Importance of Sitting In One Place and ReadingThere is a slight breeze. There are people all around. The trees sway gently, the air is growing cool in the shade, in the sun I can feel every corpuscle in my skin, the pink formin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7JxiciDb0OOF_xP-g9G_XJGoBNB1RRxJY6rLvRKM97OITDQNoAlCZrTO8bnrofthLJawroRPKW0UORp4yPhR78ntCqBxNASl5KfCzfoCgGSVlVTYwAQZSczdz5mnBkU-vippaUVl-y561/s1600/Hemingway+Reading"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7JxiciDb0OOF_xP-g9G_XJGoBNB1RRxJY6rLvRKM97OITDQNoAlCZrTO8bnrofthLJawroRPKW0UORp4yPhR78ntCqBxNASl5KfCzfoCgGSVlVTYwAQZSczdz5mnBkU-vippaUVl-y561/s200/Hemingway+Reading" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513965810502784834" border="0" /></a>g on me neck, the matted brown hair on my head hot to the touch. I am leaned over, right leg resting on top of the left, chin parallel to my chest and my eyes are moving from left to right at a solid marathoners pace. I am reading. My mouth slightly bitter from the drink I am enjoying. This is a true feeling of calm.<br /><br />Recently while traveling to Italy I was reminded of something I had learned several years earlier while living in New York City. A time before text messaging, when I would sometimes leave my cellular phone at home, and just read. I would read in Union Square, in Washington Square Park, on a park bench along the Hudson River or on my lunch break while watching the boats from Battery Park. In Italy I sat in Piazzas with a cool beer and read. Dogs running wildly, little children playing in a fountain. I didn't worry about appointments or bills or what time to be back at the office. I read. I read for hours, while the sun set and the street lights came alive.<br /><br />In my early twenties there could be a storm outside or a light flurry, the red of tail lights would trail through foggy windows. I would sit and devour words. There is this strange sensation when you sit and read. The mind becomes clear, at least for me. These ideas present themselves, big ideas, things you are afraid to think about when you don't want to be distracted. And then those ideas vanish and there's a peac<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0kIE2oWl18HJ1s_a-QYvuV3uLojAuC8gKsZf8OJQEkQ44kUbksbjMarvD85aNApyQ-97pFkkQ_xkn7j4Mu7CVjL7SVXIGvR2583XxgCLlIdzq_pankvHcvvmaubPaW1x4JLM-nWlzKxf/s1600/kerouac.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0kIE2oWl18HJ1s_a-QYvuV3uLojAuC8gKsZf8OJQEkQ44kUbksbjMarvD85aNApyQ-97pFkkQ_xkn7j4Mu7CVjL7SVXIGvR2583XxgCLlIdzq_pankvHcvvmaubPaW1x4JLM-nWlzKxf/s200/kerouac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513965168923984226" border="0" /></a>e that settles. And you keep reading and then the imagination really kicks in. A city or a nature reserve can materialize in three dimensions.<br /><br />I find myself transported to the world I am reading about. And I read and read and read. And when I finish the book, or it's time to go somewhere, I feel something, what I imagine the skydiver feels after he lands and hits the bar for some conversation. An exhilaration and a clarity that I don;t normally feel. Also, a level of inspiration and understanding of the world. Or at least that's how I perceive it.<br /><br />And here's what this really is about. Sometimes you want to have a conversation, an interaction, and the real life one's don't fulfill those needs. Well, sitting with a book at a cafe, in a plaza or a park, a hotel room or in bed, these are the conversations I need to have. It is sitting with like minded people, or with people I look up to. It's an opportunity to see new parts of the world, new perspectives, experience emotions and situations I may never experience. And most importantly it puts my own life in context. Helps to sharpen my intellect and my wit and to help me write. It's reading for me that inspires writing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfen9z7qYV-dYHSl24hzcY9pEhKnRu1qtcEXxsEe6tmAfTGF698siVQ13fsdSXZpuqZu-gnZ4YcEYv6gaHDXyRoaNTCejbuNRhGSWY4Ux8H5_iBYK3-DwRSzbVzIglFIm1T1azLCl8sFok/s1600/williamcarloswilliams.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfen9z7qYV-dYHSl24hzcY9pEhKnRu1qtcEXxsEe6tmAfTGF698siVQ13fsdSXZpuqZu-gnZ4YcEYv6gaHDXyRoaNTCejbuNRhGSWY4Ux8H5_iBYK3-DwRSzbVzIglFIm1T1azLCl8sFok/s200/williamcarloswilliams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513965163032526066" border="0" /></a><br />So when I talk about the importance of sitting and reading, what I mean to say is that sitting and reading is as important as breathing for me. I will never be normal, this I know. I will never be at peace. But, when I sit and read for an hour or two I feel more like myself than at any other time in my life. From the day I moved into an apartment on Calhoun Street in New Orleans and sat on the front portch swing and read Hemingway, to this weekend when I say on my lawn and tore into some Murakami. I have made my best friends in the world while sitting quietly and reading. Kerouac, Miller (Arthur and Henry), Hemingway, Ginsberg, Vonnegut, Bolano, Carver, WH Auden, William Carlos Williams, Thoreau, Joyce, Thomas Wolfe, Joseph Heller and C<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HK8AhLZGRr2XScd86CAN6cs_cz4HQNu6luD2k8H4GDgVzV0wuxR4sZ6bKI8nabU7Z8izucMy5ZAmAYnTOGY5nW1kriWyzU2tiICTR_219Fzs_aNfsfjKxqb8iCRXXvAEVK9QZUDlistd/s1600/Wolfe"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HK8AhLZGRr2XScd86CAN6cs_cz4HQNu6luD2k8H4GDgVzV0wuxR4sZ6bKI8nabU7Z8izucMy5ZAmAYnTOGY5nW1kriWyzU2tiICTR_219Fzs_aNfsfjKxqb8iCRXXvAEVK9QZUDlistd/s200/Wolfe" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513965164487684786" border="0" /></a>arson McCullers and so many more.<br /><br />Reading on subways, reading in bars, reading over coffee, over whiskey, reading over rainstorms and heatwaves, snow drifts on large acreages. I love to read. And I love to sit quietly on any type of day and read, finding a gentle peace that can only wash over me at these times.<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-32584906607372466732010-07-05T16:01:00.000-07:002010-07-06T14:07:28.198-07:00The Pessimists Book Club -- An Incendiary Beginning to a Beautiful Intellectual EndeavorThe Pessimists Book Club started somehow, like so many things do in the digital age, with a suggestion sent into space. If you're on Twitter and you feel passionately about a subject, (be it art, sport, magic or bunny wrestling), you will inevitably find new friends who think about the same things. Hence when Jennifer Dalton, William (Bill) Powhida, Zachary Cohen, MuseumNerd (Name classified) and TheButcherBlog (name also classified) all decided to read a book together we started a book club. The Pessimists Book Club.<br /><br />I was tired and I think the rest of us were tired with all the positivity in the world. I loved this, this is "genius," everyone should read such and such. Twenty best under forty, most likely to rewrite the bible because their prose is so divine. I might be exaggerating, but that's me, a man of extremes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3HQBn7le92Vvis46Gjt2LP76w5hifIET676erZJyBTcNTefBbex-Q7SKtyeoHrcMhY66CUyAlXDOoB6DPibFuzWkMth2CDLb9YGg1v5-f5D2lhwaGE9rmqTt57bNyS9dFXZE5-RJb6ra/s1600/TheAsk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3HQBn7le92Vvis46Gjt2LP76w5hifIET676erZJyBTcNTefBbex-Q7SKtyeoHrcMhY66CUyAlXDOoB6DPibFuzWkMth2CDLb9YGg1v5-f5D2lhwaGE9rmqTt57bNyS9dFXZE5-RJb6ra/s200/TheAsk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490567083428398770" border="0" /></a><br />We started by selecting a book, a lot of suggesting went on and then Powhida suggested The Ask by Sam Lipsyte which to my knowledge didn't have a single review. So we read the book and began feeling out the rules, quotes from the book went up, ideas and feelings, impressions on the text. We all agreed it was a fast read, the humor was amusing and the characters were thinly written, the subject matter slightly boring and the depiction of women pretty darned awful. Lipsyte did not write artists well, and he didn't seem to understand that his shock and absurdity was hurting his ability to get the story across clearly.<br /><br />Finally this morning we had a conference call on Skype, after 30 minutes of figuring out how to do it, and began what I found to be a very interesting and intimate conversation about books, art, ideas and how absurd is too absurd. We spoke about Lipsyte and then French novelist, poet, and provocateur Michel Houellebecq. We talked about George Saunders and why his form of absurdity is successful, what Lipsyte might've done differently if he were Saunders. We brought up Philip K. Dick and bad landscape painting. Everyone spoke and ideas lead to other ideas. It was an extremely pleasurable experience.<br /><br />Now we have set some sort of foundation. Reading is time consuming and solitary and sometimes you want to discuss a book. There are options out there for Book Clubs, Therumpus.net has one for fiction and one for poetry that I might participate in at some point as well, but for now i have The Pessimists Book Club.<br /><br />So as for a mission statement or a description of what we're doing. I guess simply stated we're a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-tCV6ANtE5Q-NZKA5c4UkjNPj68QpZDiXUVNe1b8pOZa55aiQ8UV0wrKgBsxpmartJL0te9TJkbcVmgduvA2KdqxOMmdRKctk4-p497On0Rxexn8JdZVEFFipAzBG3HEkIiUkJk0nbGa/s1600/Houellebecq.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-tCV6ANtE5Q-NZKA5c4UkjNPj68QpZDiXUVNe1b8pOZa55aiQ8UV0wrKgBsxpmartJL0te9TJkbcVmgduvA2KdqxOMmdRKctk4-p497On0Rxexn8JdZVEFFipAzBG3HEkIiUkJk0nbGa/s200/Houellebecq.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490567574724290290" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiyAFX_wObVyKqE2rySQbR-27j7KjMEmut6VxMJoovdCpFprqqSFT8gC4-BT6OTj-Xu3FDQCoLVV61LmecMJBl0dfjrNXkB7_8G6hYChxKIaPU_33UjlRViApD4W47fkzzCEtfwPlNUJC/s1600/pastoralia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiyAFX_wObVyKqE2rySQbR-27j7KjMEmut6VxMJoovdCpFprqqSFT8gC4-BT6OTj-Xu3FDQCoLVV61LmecMJBl0dfjrNXkB7_8G6hYChxKIaPU_33UjlRViApD4W47fkzzCEtfwPlNUJC/s200/pastoralia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490567566251376866" border="0" /></a>group of intellectuals interested in dialogue. In order to focus our dialogue we will be using works of fiction, though I am open to poetry and non-fiction as well, as a spring board for discussion and discourse.<br /><br />You can find us on twitter and the hastags will be #pbc #pessimistsbookclub #thepessimistsbookclub #pessimistbookclub. Also at the website: http://pessimistbookclub.wordpress.com/ Where we will fine tune our discussions so you can observe.Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-9016185939997570392010-06-03T11:49:00.000-07:002010-06-03T11:52:53.837-07:00BYSTANDER Presents: TRASHED<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9i6Ihf6Yy7VPVcHzRjMotxpbX7j4dHfI49R0h5YUT53avWrDlyt1Z_l_YaK23vno5noBOIT18VTUe6iq9-eKNDDtQ914sGEtEzGCDdRSir_6b-256k8j6eW9AODTqVq0fPRfmN3QOjcen/s1600/Trashed+Invite.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9i6Ihf6Yy7VPVcHzRjMotxpbX7j4dHfI49R0h5YUT53avWrDlyt1Z_l_YaK23vno5noBOIT18VTUe6iq9-eKNDDtQ914sGEtEzGCDdRSir_6b-256k8j6eW9AODTqVq0fPRfmN3QOjcen/s200/Trashed+Invite.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478622047236483698" border="0" /></a>
<br /> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/craig.platt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>396</o:Words> <o:characters>2261</o:Characters> <o:company>Trailer Park</o:Company> <o:lines>18</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2776</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} h1 {mso-style-link:"Heading 1 Char"; mso-style-next:Normal; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; page-break-after:avoid; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning:0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;} p.MsoFooter, li.MsoFooter, div.MsoFooter {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-link:"Footer Char"; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} span.Heading1Char {mso-style-name:"Heading 1 Char"; mso-style-locked:yes; mso-style-link:"Heading 1"; mso-ansi-font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt; font-weight:bold;} span.FooterChar {mso-style-name:"Footer Char"; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-locked:yes; mso-style-link:Footer; mso-ansi-font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:.5in 1.25in 81.0pt 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style="">Contact: </span><span style="">Craig A. Platt<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style="">craig.a.platt@gmail.com<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style="">
<br /><o:p></o:p></span></p> <h1><span style="">June 3, 2010</span></h1>
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<br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <h1><span style="">For Immediate Release:<o:p></o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <h1>
<br /></h1><h1><span style="">BYSTANDER Presents: TRASHED <o:p></o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="">Featuring: Jonathan Allen, Leticia Bajuyo, Jennifer Dalton, Jennifer Faist , Olympia Lambert, William Powhida, Garric Simonsen, Mark Venema, and Jeff Woodbury<o:p></o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <h1>
<br /></h1><h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">We acknowledge that we are sending you this press release so that you the listings editor or critic can ignore it. We are not trying to change the world, nor do we believe wholeheartedly with sound mind that the art we are hanging is the best or most important art ever to adorn a wall here in Silver Lake, California.<span style=""> </span>In fact, we're sure we saw a Ruscha and an Irwin in a window along the reservoir, a Hockney on our drives to day jobs and there is assuredly a Warhol out there somewhere too, probably up in the hill where people have medium sized houses with large listing prices and zero yard space.<span style=""> </span>Make no mistake, what we're selling is, literally, trash.</span></h1>
<br />
<br /> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">But, that is a digression.<span style=""> </span>Trashed seeks to answer the age-old question, what makes it art?<span style=""> </span>We have reached out to artists across the United States and even up into Canada and found a collection of savvy painters, thinkers and craftsman who have happily handed over their trash to us, which we will be hanging on the walls, placing on the floors and leaning against furniture in our home.<span style=""> </span>We can't afford a gallery space and if we could, then you probably couldn't afford the art.<span style=""> </span>So please, before you arm yourself with your poison pen, remember we are doing this for the right reasons...oh, hell, whatever that means.</span></h1>
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<br /> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">As explained to the artists when convincing them to join into Trashed: The show isn't meant to look clean or organized. It's meant to be studio trash, ramshackle and bare for the world to see and appreciate. Like looking at a skeleton or a gutted building. Simply put, the raw materials. The individual parts rather than the sum of those parts. The idea of failure resonates in everything we do as aspiring artists, but begging the question, "what is art?" Also begs the question, "At what point do we fail as artists?" Perhaps the artist will send art that didn't sell, or pieces they didn't think made the cut for a major gallery show. Or, maybe it's really trash, failed sculpture or collage, studies in color or maybe a notebook full of communist ramblings. Really, it's up to them to decide what the trash in their life is.</span></h1>
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<br /> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <h1><span style="font-weight: normal;">We will be holding an opening and closing reception and will be scheduling appointments with people interested in the art. The opening will be held on JUNE 12, 2010 from 6 - 10 pm at the gallery 2255 India Street, LA, CA 90039.<span style=""> </span>Refreshments will be served. BBQ might be on hand as well, come find out.<o:p></o:p></span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">###</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style="">Photos available by email </span></p> <!--EndFragment--> Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-31878087751618693482010-05-30T11:45:00.000-07:002010-05-30T11:50:03.375-07:00Why Los Angeles Is No Place For A Poet Anymore If It Really Ever Were<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk5WeqKyZXC_5Ic4nwa2VH6lzARoiFmlJmwBCX63qguIYAdjJ4T-EX6bVuhWnnWW-Zn8ynB2FuDOWcfVoPO5bOWPOhRDDY8v8sx8FLFyknNnmY8lsu2pefv84qwbo7GC2-pqOnX3Q8jUO/s1600/bukowski028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk5WeqKyZXC_5Ic4nwa2VH6lzARoiFmlJmwBCX63qguIYAdjJ4T-EX6bVuhWnnWW-Zn8ynB2FuDOWcfVoPO5bOWPOhRDDY8v8sx8FLFyknNnmY8lsu2pefv84qwbo7GC2-pqOnX3Q8jUO/s200/bukowski028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477136579313337170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Poetry: the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated tho</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ughts.</span><br /><br />Name the poets from Los Angeles who have left any long-standing impression on the form. There are not very many of them in my memory, Bukowski stands out, and make no mistake, Bukowski was an anomaly here. The landscape, the people and the culture of Los Angeles make it nearly impossible to write poetry.<br /><br />I was looking through old notebooks a few weeks ago, from my time spent in both New Orleans and New York, and I found that I wrote poetry almost constantly. At bars, in backyards, subways and by the river. I wrote on public transportation and in bed. Now, in Los Angeles I find it impossible to write poems like I used to, and I have been trying to investigate why that is.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztkQa0saMAgFznKEqCDj7iCMdpffAlYwJNes5aCHdVSHVz56GekWNfGuuOq4pwNOhpueLuyRSEleuq6j2UH1E8jMKvwOINAHwGibHPCKUd2hUTAQJsyx4s-69YxkbGuGf2QM3Ed1a9Dqm/s1600/Hal-Chase_-Jack-Kerouac_-Allen-Ginsberg_-William-S-Burroughs_-Morningside-Heights_-New-York-City_--late-1944-or-early-1945.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztkQa0saMAgFznKEqCDj7iCMdpffAlYwJNes5aCHdVSHVz56GekWNfGuuOq4pwNOhpueLuyRSEleuq6j2UH1E8jMKvwOINAHwGibHPCKUd2hUTAQJsyx4s-69YxkbGuGf2QM3Ed1a9Dqm/s200/Hal-Chase_-Jack-Kerouac_-Allen-Ginsberg_-William-S-Burroughs_-Morningside-Heights_-New-York-City_--late-1944-or-early-1945.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477136583449478130" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">New York, Paris, Berlin, Rome, New Orleans and even San Francisco, these are places with a natural and consistent rhythm. It’s as if the collective energies of these metropolis’s converge into the consciousness of everyone and the poems feed from that energy. This is I attribute to the close quarters and constant feeling of connection with those around you that these cities provide. I am simplifying, sure, but I truly feel that Los Angeles may be the loneliest and happiest place in the world, all at the same time.<br /></div><br />Los Angeles’s landscape is gargantuan. It covers 498.3 square miles, compared to other major cities, Manhattan = 22.7 square miles, Paris = 33.5 square miles, New Orleans is 363.5 square miles, but half of that is water and uninhabitable landmass. What I am getting at, is in these other cities all classes, colors, and ideologies are forced to come into contact on a daily basis. This is not the case in Los Angeles. Here we drive to work, to the store, to dinner. We eat in strip malls with people of similar income and similar color and beliefs. We eat at restaurants with one name that boast a “fusion” style meal, a melting-pot of cultures.<br /><br />Let’s be honest, America was not meant to be a melting pot, it was meant to be a salad bowl, where flavors, colors and textures could co-exist in a harmony. We were not meant to all melt into some sludge of similarity. Hence, when I walk the streets of Manhattan or boldly spend 24 hours out and about in New Orleans, I come in contact with all walks of life, from the poorest man to the richest woman. In Los Angeles, I do not. I spend my time in bars and coffee shops with aspiring actresses, screenwriters and executives. These people not only seek fortune, but also fame. And the industry they seek it in lacks any motivation toward innovation, risk or being creative incendiaries.<br /><br />Hence, poetry in Los Angeles is dormant, dead. And the poems that will inevitably flourish here are the shallow and lonely kind. A wish for intercourse with a model, a job on set, or paparazzi snapping photos outside an underwhelming bar. Whereas New York City’s poems are of echoing footsteps in late streets, the flicker of footsteps and the traces of hip hop playing from windows. In New Orleans it’s blurry bar rooms, sweat filled sexuality and the stinging sound of jazz. And in Paris it’s insomnia and politics. But, in Los Angeles, it’s Bukowski, drunk and alone with a whore, embarrassed by his face and longing for success, which he will only want to cover with more success.<br /><br />This is what I began writing today, searching for poems and finding people at the table next to me bragging that they went to summer camp with a friend of Seth Rogens. <span style="font-style: italic;">Liking everything is failure. Failing is what people here perceive as success. Poetry is a bone cleaned of the meat that once held life and meaning. </span> <span style="font-style: italic;">But to write and to do it well one must be in the rhythm of nature, hence when an individual lives his or her life against nature, they become detached and unable to find the natural movement of ideas and sentences. Once they become conscious of that, it becomes an escalating battle so frustrating that ultimately everything becomes so extreme that things seem hopeless. The poet, by this point exasperated, must remember that Nothing is a failure, everything is to learn.</span><br /><br />Los Angeles, a poet’s town? Maybe not, but a poet living in this town, must work harder in his imagination or memory to transport himself to the locales that inspire him. Either that or he must move.<br /><br />~ Craig A. Platt<br />5.30.2010Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-38276371076768300652010-05-23T13:27:00.000-07:002010-05-23T13:29:34.431-07:00The National are America's Nostalgia, Sadness, Frustrations and Failures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK3ruynYfDdmSlrhRPx0F8HYEFAS5e_IwIEbegAWyq3L9UaNn4VxdoQ8cXpS1gIyG9wSE3i5uQuk3F_tOUu_DFHWRwlOxur5IhnNWmnldSrhy2DZKRyWw-keYkCmJumhbO8f6RFKVkWrh/s1600/x2_167e469.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK3ruynYfDdmSlrhRPx0F8HYEFAS5e_IwIEbegAWyq3L9UaNn4VxdoQ8cXpS1gIyG9wSE3i5uQuk3F_tOUu_DFHWRwlOxur5IhnNWmnldSrhy2DZKRyWw-keYkCmJumhbO8f6RFKVkWrh/s200/x2_167e469.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474565069656950354" border="0" /></a>
<br /><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/craigplatt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>453</o:Words> <o:characters>2586</o:Characters> <o:lines>21</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3175</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>11.1287</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotshowrevisions/> <w:donotprintrevisions/> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Raymond Carver once wrote, “"What good are insights? They only make things worse."<span style=""> </span>Listening to The National confirms that with a true American feel.<span style=""> </span>We have spent nearly the last twenty years searching for a band whose sound and lyrical power could describe the modern American experience.<span style=""> </span>Not since Nirvana has a band’s sound so completely encompassed such a large group of people.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Funny that no one really knows whom they are and that their music doesn’t play on MTV.<span style=""> </span>There is a reason for that, see The National are not tailor made for the young generation.<span style=""> </span>No, they are for the generation of people who have left their youth behind, the ones that search for meaning in the hours between leaving the office and falling asleep.<span style=""> </span>They are the band for the foreclosed, the bankrupt, the failed in love and the stoic, softly glazed glance at a half of face hidden in a mirror behind a line of bottles.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">With lyrics like, <i>sorrow found me when I was young / sorrow waited and sorrow won </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>a little more stupid, a little more scared / every minute more unprepared.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> They insist on loss, late night, glaring lights, blurred vision and all in the deep textured baritone of lead singer Matt Berninger.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">What’s more surprising is last night at The Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles they filled a big room.<span style=""> </span>A big room there to hear them, the headliners and they philosophized about loss, love, liquor and long winter nights.<span style=""> </span>And standing there wondering what all these upper middle class hipsters were doing standing around listening were finding in the music.<span style=""> </span>With a literary scene that has become overly cute with meta-narratives and wildly imaginative investigations of eastern European family trees, I realized that people were still seeking out pure Americana.<span style=""> </span>And then it hit me, The National are America's nostalgia, sadness, frustrations and failures.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">They are instinctively an American band, two guitars and a piano.<span style=""> </span>They have a violin and drummer whose hits shake the room.<span style=""> </span>The lyrics are literary and dreamy.<span style=""> </span>They are indeed about loss and love.<span style=""> </span>They are about a search for something.<span style=""> </span>And maybe, maybe just maybe, the iPod, Blackberry, laptop, interweb scene is a little lost on what their bodies, their minds and their words are for.<span style=""> </span>Maybe, just maybe, they need someone to remind them how low they could sink, how important flesh and blood and hate and sorrow are.<span style=""> </span>Because, in the lyrics and the albums they create a litany of broken desperation woven into an American night.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>
<br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>And I'll try to find somethin' on this thing that means nothin' enough, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is the lyric that leads into the chorus of Lemon World off the new album, High Violet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And the great American short story writer Raymond Carver wrote: "life was a stone cutting and grinding..."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps The National have more in common with the great American Literary Voices then they do with modern pop music.<span style=""> </span>Troubadours whose songs transport us to rural areas rainslicked and lonely, a bar room drama unfolding in a lonesome and desperate American night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">~ Craig A. Platt</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>5.23.10<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-69455458335915257822010-05-02T09:44:00.000-07:002010-05-02T10:19:48.871-07:00BYSTANDER PRESENTS TRASHED, JUNE 12, 2010<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">#TRASHED</span><br /><br />Dear Art World,<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I would like to begin by apologizing in advance for letting you down, unfortunately we lack the financial backing we’d like to have, we have a small gallery here at Bystander, we’re working out of home on this thing.</span><br /><br />Even more offensive to you, Art World, we’re going to hang the show in our home. But let’s be honest, the artists we chose can’t always paint masterpieces, sometimes they have to create some trash, make some mistakes, and well, if you laugh at the art or call it trash, that’s okay, it’s the name of the damn show. And you know what, Art World, we don’t really give a shit what you think, because according to most of your superstars everything they do is art and sometimes when they’re together they can’t help “pooping out art.” Right Terrence? <span style="font-weight: bold;">So here it is, Trashed, stripped down and honest for the world, or the six people who show up to s</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ee.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvPXnjDldE6DOUQub8RVoUhpc8e79KgY20g5oD-q_8JT8vKEhM9hB6ciSMIpIO0IdnLaadyq2qmNy1JUiXaDajbj1E_nju_htHbXTypD1Jq9KNJxdZeL9ofakvlMzHqwsmps1iPThGeVY/s1600/Garric+Inventory.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvPXnjDldE6DOUQub8RVoUhpc8e79KgY20g5oD-q_8JT8vKEhM9hB6ciSMIpIO0IdnLaadyq2qmNy1JUiXaDajbj1E_nju_htHbXTypD1Jq9KNJxdZeL9ofakvlMzHqwsmps1iPThGeVY/s200/Garric+Inventory.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466719655085860562" border="0" /></a><br />The art world is flush with clean walled galleries, relaxed dealers standing with arms folded in the center of it all happy to discuss the importance of a work, the social and political significance of a photoshopped hi-res photo of some woman’s cooch spray painted and a pregnant woman peeing in the woods, or some specific drawing of a city's subway system, a blurred abstraction of a bird-on-a-wire, and maybe some words painted in clever phrases over bars of primary colors. The artists are in the business of flying from Berlin to LA to NY then on to Venice, and so on, as I’ve overheard or been boasted to at Mandrake on La Cienega. So how does a scrappy aspiring writer with aspirations towards owning a gallery finagle a group of rising art stars to show their work in his house?<br /><br />For several years now I have been what I believe could be called a non-card-carrying fringe member of the exclusive art world. What that means is that I have attended more galleries that I care to remember, have seen the rise of art stars, gone to MFA open studios and plenty of house parties inhabited by complaining artists in every corner. To say it is a world I am fascinated by would be an understatement.<br /><br />When a friend of mine challenged me a year ago to stop talking his ear off about what I felt was good and bad, right and wrong and the things I characterized as self-indulgent about the art world, and to begin writing good, well thought out criticism. I took him up on the offer, albeit not as often as I should’ve, and in addition I created the account I use on Twitter and the name of this blog, Artbystander. In that process I have met enthusiastic and ambitious artists, critics and fans, too many to name. These people have been an integral part in enriching my daily life and I thank them all for it.<br /><br />Now, with another conversation being had on a Friday night after I’d had a few whiskeys and my friend in New York a few Makers deep as well, I blurted out the idea of having a gallery inside my house. A good idea, we both agreed, but how does one find artists interested in participating?<br /><br />At the start I was without direction. Just a guy who thought it would be cool to have an art show in my house. I would randomly post to Twitter that I was looking for artists. And I received several replies of encouragement, but no artists came forward offering up their work for me to shill from the walls of my Silver Lake residence. A second conversation with an artist friend who was cleaning out his studio projected us forward to Trashed, or our hashtag on Twitter, #trashed. It took a few weeks of posts, ubiquitous quotes from art world public enemies and heroes, but eventually people started writing me and all of a sudden I had a group show in the works.<br /><br />When I lived in New York and spent an inordinate amount of time with two artists and their friends from Syracuse University, I became obsessed with sitting in bars and scribbling on paper placemats, bar napkins, scraps of paper, etc… We’d try to trade drawings for drinks, start conversations with women based on some Sharpie’d work on a napkin, an incendiary work about some fraternity looking dude squeezing some poor NYU girl’s ass, we’d draw up some date rape work and the waitress would laugh, take it and bring us a free pitcher of beer.<br /><br />My friend would say that work was “trash,” but to me it was art. So when I heard he was cleaning out his studio throwing out scraps of notes and sketches I offered to take it all and hang it in my house as a gallery show. He was up for it and Trashed was born. Now we have artists from all over participating and I’ve written what some may call the TRASHED MANIFESTO:<br /><br />The show isn't meant to look clean or organized. It's meant to be studio trash, ramshackle and bare for the world to see and appreciate. Like looking at a skeleton or a gutted building. The raw materials. The individual parts rather than the sum of those parts. The idea of failure resonates in everything we do as aspiring artists, but begging the question, "what is art?" Also begs the question, "At what point do we fail as artists?" Perhaps the artist will send me art that didn't sell, or pieces they didn't think made the cut for a major gallery show. Or, maybe it's really trash, failed sculpture or collage, studies in color or maybe a notebook full of communist ramblings. Really, it's up to them to decide what the trash in their life is.<br /><br />Trashed will let people know it isn't all finished product. That work goes into the art. That we're studying, learning, and progressing as artists and people<br /><br />We will be holding an opening and closing reception and will be scheduling appointments with people interested in the art. <span style="font-weight: bold;">The opening will be held on JUNE 12, 2010.</span><br /><br />Some ground rules for the art. This is all going to be living in my home, so nothing that will rot, invite insects; strong smelling items would be bad too. Art will be mounted on the walls and items may be placed on the floor as well.<br /><br />No framing any of the “trash.” In fact, if it feels right we may collage it into one big piece or maybe not. I want this show to feel fresh and well, like trash. But, really to the artist it may be trash, but to art fans it is not and that is my goal, to give them a chance to own art.<br /><br />Finally let’s introduce you to the artists participating in Trashed. As we receive materials I will post to the blog previews of the flotsam we receive. Trashed is:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Jonathan Allen: (<a href="http://www.jonallenart.com/">http://www.jonallenart.com/</a>)<br /><br />Leticia Bajuyo (<a href="http://www.leticiabajuyo.com/">http://www.leticiabajuyo.com/</a>)<br /><br />Jennifer Dalton (<a href="http://www.jenniferdalton.com/">http://www.jenniferdalton.com/</a>)<br /><br />Jennifer Faist (<a href="http://www.artnet.com/artist/425264437/jennifer-faist.html"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Jennifer Faist on Art Net</span></a>)<br /><br />Olympia Lambert (<a href="http://olysmusings.blogspot.com/">http://olysmusings.blogspot.com/</a>)<br /><br />William Powhida (<a href="http://www.williampowhida.com/">http://www.williampowhida.com/</a>)<br /><br />Garric Simonsen (<a href="http://antipainter.com/home.html">http://antipainter.com/home.html</a>)<br /><br />Mark Venema (<a href="http://markvenema.com/">http://markvenema.com/</a>)<br /><br />Jeff Woodbury (<a href="http://www.jeffwoodbury.com/">http://www.jeffwoodbury.com/</a>)</span><br /><br />Please welcome them all to the show. Most importantly the thing you should come away with when you visit Trashed and you see the work on display, is that this is Trashed, we aren’t saying we’re important or that you should stop and take notice of us. But, what we do say is that if you do decide to stop and take notice, well, you will be pleasantly surprised. Art isn’t just for people that own multiple homes, employ hundreds of people and drive European SUVs to polo matches on the weekends during the summer. No, art is for those sweating it out in beer halls and back rooms, believing in singular moments versus bodies of work. TRASHED and the art it contains is for those who find the holy in oily puddles, desperate kisses, blurred red lights in drunken diver bars. TRASHED is for you, the person reading this right now.Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-31861936271429762002010-04-18T15:17:00.001-07:002010-04-18T15:19:22.301-07:00EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP: The World’s First Street Art Disaster Movie<meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/craigplatt/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>1049</o:Words> <o:characters>4617</o:Characters> <o:lines>88</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>14</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>7345</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>11.1287</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotshowrevisions/> <w:donotprintrevisions/> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--><b><u> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></u></b> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">It’s </span>important to und<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OxDvj6C-Od0MFy1KbNhVyBeuqpmCOC1Ytk2J_l2b6HTmK-Jt0zTUlmkEJR-EHyd2qIzsReYihRi9hIvCc2dfCQtWcLV0jSd_tE68u5yoWT8U1Z1Sm4bqyl8S2ghuc0JgseG034Z-iYKQ/s1600/exit-through-the-gift-shop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OxDvj6C-Od0MFy1KbNhVyBeuqpmCOC1Ytk2J_l2b6HTmK-Jt0zTUlmkEJR-EHyd2qIzsReYihRi9hIvCc2dfCQtWcLV0jSd_tE68u5yoWT8U1Z1Sm4bqyl8S2ghuc0JgseG034Z-iYKQ/s200/exit-through-the-gift-shop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461605278967961234" border="0" /></a>erstand first that no one likes to be picked on.<span style=""> </span>It’s not an assumption I am working on here; it’s the cold hard truth of the matter.<span style=""> </span>As a result of the first statement above we can conclude that in fact everybody likes, or likes to think, that they are in on the joke.<span style=""> </span>This is why Banksy has become so important to the art world and it’s fringe of collectors, skate-punks, skeptics and hardcore believers.<span style=""> </span>Banksy not only attracts the avid art follower, but he attracts the person who could care less about art.<span style=""> </span>He attracts the disenfranchised, the non-committal and the trying-to-be.<span style=""> </span>And bringing us all into his circle without ever actually revealing his true self or speaking to any of his fans, in this he allows us all to both think we are in on the joke and makes us the punch line to his continuing prank on the world, specifically the art world.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Exit Through The Gift Shop,” is a funny movie.<span style=""> </span>It is exciting to see these street artists at work and to have an insider look at the art they create and put out into the world.<span style=""> </span>The premise of the movie is simple enough, a Frenchman, Thierry Guetta, living in Los Angeles with his family becomes obsessed with his video camera filming everything in his daily life, wife, kids, job, car, parking lots, basically any and everything.<span style=""> </span>On a trip home to France he begins filming his cousin who is the famous street artist Space Invader.<span style=""> </span>After filming Space Invader’s exploits on the streets of Paris he becomes obsessed with not only Invader and his friends, but with the danger and life of making street art.<span style=""> </span>He is not only passionate about documenting those who make the art, but with the visceral experience of posting said art it in obscure and sometimes dangerous locales.<span style=""> </span>Upon returning to Los Angeles he begins filming street artists, one of them being Shepard Fairey.<span style=""> </span>And he slowly becomes obsessed with the most secretive and elusive street artist of all, Banksy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In Los Angeles Thierry is finally introduced to Banksy by Fairey, who is under the impression that all the tape Thierry is filming will someday become a documentary about the artists.<span style=""> </span>Thierry for his part has explained that is his intention, though he has no idea how to make a film, the tapes are in boxes seldom labeled and if so done poorly.<span style=""> </span>The elusive artist Banksy takes Thierry up on his offer to be his guide of Los Angeles’ prime wall space and they venture out into the night to tag the city.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not to ruin this or write an entire summary, but at one point Banksy demands to see the documentary and Thierry, not wanting to disappoint his friend and hero, begins editing something together.<span style=""> </span>When he believes it’s done he flies to Bristol to show Banksy and the reaction is poor.<span style=""> </span>Clips of the film are presented in rapid-fire editorial style with explosions and sirens and static resulting in a disastrous piece of cinema verite.<span style=""> </span>Banksy gently recommends that Thierry lend him the footage and go back to Los Angeles to put on an art show of his own so that he can work on his own version of the film.<span style=""> </span>The alter ego Thierry conceives for his street art adventures is Mr. Brain Wash (MBW).<span style=""> </span>MBW goes head on into the process, selling his business, hiring an army of artists, renting a former television studio and building the biggest street art show Los Angeles has ever seen.<span style=""> </span>The result is an insanely successful art-show with Thierry becoming the heir apparent to Banksy and Fairey.<span style=""> </span>A man with no artistic ability who appropriates Warhol into a street art aesthetic sells out his show, becomes a millionaire and gathers praise from collectors, casual fans and hipsters alike.<span style=""> </span>That is the movie.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, what is the movie really saying?<span style=""> </span><b>Banksy is happy you like art and that you spend money on it.<span style=""> </span>Banksy realizes that the chatter and recognition is fleeting and for the most part meaningless.<span style=""> </span>Banksy wants you to know what a follower you are.</b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Banksy’s film takes on the convention, the pomp, circumstance and prestige of the art world and spray paints a red flag on its back.<span style=""> </span>In “Exit Through The Gift Shop,” he turns a funhouse mirror on all of us who want to be on the inside.<span style=""> </span>Those who want to create legacies and receive praise.<span style=""> </span>It seems though that getting all of those things is as easy as collecting all your energies into one endeavor, pouring every cent and thought into it and simply taking what has been successful and appropriating it as your own.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thierry’s endeavor into the art world is a screaming success, people at his art show lined around the corner, the same result of Banksy’s show a year earlier, with MBW having done nothing previously to warrant such attention.<span style=""> </span>In fact, in less than a year MBW apparently materialized out of thin air and created a reputation as one of the edgiest and most brilliant living artists in the world. So, how did it happen?<span style=""> </span>Or better, why?<span style=""> </span>The hype machine, the fast food of it all is that Thierry, or Banksy, or whoever pulls the puppet strings, is showing us that anyone can be successful as long as they steal from other successful people.<span style=""> </span>Either that, or as he mentions later, spend years working; learning, creating and maybe someone will take notice of your work.<span style=""> </span>Or they won’t, what does it matter.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we’ve seen with certain bloated artists who no longer make their own art, but instead hire an army of talented assistants to execute outlandish ideas that fan the egos and consciences of those conservative elitists who want to appear liberal and in on the joke, and spend their sometimes hard earned money to prove it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Banksy appreciates your appreciation, but he also laughs at it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The movie is a fun trip through the street artists life, a glimpse into their sense of humor and their penchant towards late night vigilantisms.<span style=""> </span>It’s extremely enjoyable and most importantly a reminder that art is about expressing yourself and having fun.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> ~ Craig A. Platt</p><p class="MsoNormal">4.18.2010
<br /><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-28885893670419381572010-02-24T15:15:00.000-08:002010-03-17T07:59:42.615-07:00Fiction Writing, Art, Writing...And A Brief History<span style="font-weight: bold;">THE HISTORY OF WHAT I FOUND</span><br /><br />When I decided that writing was the profession I wanted to pursue I was, in my mind, late to the game. As a student in high school I was truant, disinterested and unsure where I fit in the world. I grew up in a small suburb of New York City without any mass transit to the city. I was trapped. My friends all had parents with similar backgrounds to my own, participated in sports and became fans of mainstream music. There was little discourse in my life regarding art, literature or the world outside of New York State.<br /><br />I moved away to college in Colorado, which felt like an odd extension of my hometown, and I began to grow more shy and introverted. I had spent so much time trying to be popular, interesting and to fit in at all, that I had lost sight of my most prized possession, my mind. It was that first semester of college that I wore myself down trying to make it to every party, drunk and stoned and searching for friends who wanted to discuss something more than when a concert was happening or what sports were on TV. I found that in books, in silent dialogue between my eyes and the words printed on the page. I started with simple literature and eventually dug deeper.<br /><br />After that first year of college I moved to New Orleans, which was a terifying moment of self-realization. I had for 19 years refused to have an identity and that had cause me so many nights of restlessness. Even worse, not having a personal preference or identity for that long opens you up to the type of personal criticism that could act as an agent counter to the development of personal preference. I found myself constantly being discounted by friends and elders as I took the road to discovering a voice of my very own. I remember that the first piece of art that spoke to me was THE LIVES AND TIMES OF ALLEN GINSBERG a wonderful documentary about the poet. Besides the title, what left the biggest impression on me was Kerouac. And the summer leading into New Orleans I read every book Kerouac wrote, grew an affinity for Port wine and trains.<br /><br />At Tulane I read Thomas Wolfe, because Kerouac spoke of him constantly, and then I finally understood trains as the blood and tracks as the vains of old America. From there it was all the books by Hemmingway as I skipped every class that semester and then James Joyce for Christmas break. First, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and then Ullyssess. From there I hit Dylan Thomas and by then I was restless and typing constantly, not sure what I was doing.<br /><br />Simply put, I thought writing was the practice of developing legend or myth. When I look back now, I believe that is indeed what writing is, as is art, music, and basically any artistic endeavor, even the ones I lack the capacity to describe with words. And maybe this shouldn't hinder you from your own opinions about art, but it was a very personal thing. I was an underdeveloped person and art was the place where I finally found my voice.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE PART ABOUT BOOKS</span><br /><br />The thing about books and I learned this rather quickly. They are maps. They are maps to history, to the pyramids and the railroads. To religion, philosophy, love, alienation and ambiguity. I cannot put one book down without wanting to pick up another one.<br /><br />I was cocky once, saying I had read every book worth reading, but now I realize that is nearly impossible. I am now of the belief that while I think my writing contributes to the greater picture of literature, that literature is an ocean and empty space is quickly filled in by the tide of words.<br /><br />I read one thing which lead to another and another and have never been able to stop. History, fiction, poetry and essays. I read newspapers, websites, blogs, poems, art magazines. And books encompass them all. Everything can be found in a book. Nabokov has a story that describes a painting so well you would never want to see the actual painting. Regardless of what I try to convince you, I realize that everything is not connected, but there is a relationship occurring at all moments in time.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tomorrow's Post Will be About Time.<br /><br />To Sum Things Up<br /><br /></span>I write because of Calhoun Street in New Orleans. Because of the sound of trains, the burn of whiskey, the belief that love is holy and that a sensation can be summed up in a sentence like, the night was wet and humid, my mind was goopy and her breasts were pressed close to my chest in the Maple Leaf, Rebirth Brass Band playing a tune familiar to the way it sounds to enter a room and know that chaos will tackle you. My mind's mystery is the character of my friends and the way I see them all spread across the room dancing and sweating and finding something to break the silence of their bodies.<br /><br />I write because I believe that someday I could be the reason you write. I write because I once was lost, and I am still lost and I may never be found, but from second line parade to boardroom meeting in my Hollywood office I feel sensitivity to the bum, the artist, the woman, the man, the drunk, the drip and the dream. I feel the earth shake at night and the sun shine in the day. Mostly, I feel guilt. Every moment is guilt.<br /><br />Guilt: I should have read more. i should have written more. I could be painting, playing music, reading poems, feeling something stir inside me. I could be doing Paris on $2 a day, in Brooklyn with my best friend destroying a world.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><br />The point is, I could be doing and I celebrate those who are. And here is the point of the night, for you people out there celebrating, complaining, being celebrated, being criticized. You are provoking some reaction. You are proving me right, I am done tonight.<br /><br />Tomorrow I will discuss time and how it wants us all to die or live.Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-46472154093018700102009-12-11T13:58:00.000-08:002009-12-11T14:11:39.352-08:00Pre-Roundup ThoughtsLately I have spent an enormous time at my job, with my girlfriend, reading great writers and trying to re-enter the world of my own fiction. I have been working on a new novel, contemplating the idea of writing a screenplay about a legendary jazz musician and trying to find subjects to write non-fiction about for a larger audience.<br /><br />It is precarious to be in my early thirties now. I used to look at thirty year olds as full blown adults, but now I know that dreams are always these metaphysical ideals that we are constantly reaching for. I have a job that many people dream of having or at least think would be very cool to have. I am not sure I can agree. I want to write sprawling fiction through the eyes of my twenty-one year old self, with the control and understanding I have now. Only, my eyes see things differently.<br /><br />On criticism:<br />It is easy to criticize things, art, film, music, politics, athletes, etc... I do it, you do it, everyone does. But, when we critique something we need to truly believe in our critiques for them to be affective. This is to say, you need to have strong feelings, the skill to execute your ideas and the information to back it up. Not liking something isn't enough. I do not like Brett Easton Ellis, but I respect his work, he is neither lazy nor unoriginal hence I can not criticize him, in fact, I celebrate him.<br /><br />On creating art:<br />A very good friend of mine makes art, shows art and is celebrated for it. If he were never to sell another painting he will have this moment in time. He has captured an audience and they are talking about him. I am very proud of him and the conversations we've accumulated over the last ten years have all found themselves in his work today. To say I am not jealous, would be a lie. He has control over his craft, like a sniper marine with his rifle, he takes aim at an idea and nails the target every time.<br /><br />And this leads to what the purpose of art is. Painting a picture, telling a story, writing a song, it seems that it is all the same thing at the heart, getting something across, something you need to remove from yourself, nail to a post and let the world see. I need to remember that more. That's the reason I started writing. Observing, seeing the cracks in the foundation and filling them with ideas.<br /><br />Ending:<br />I do not know why I just decided to post this idea rant. But in summary, I want to be a better person in terms of my art and appreciating other people's art. The books I read, movies I see, songs I hear and art I look at, I want to celebrate not just the finished product, but the process, the motivation, the furnace that burns and heats the moment.<br /><br />~ Craig A. Platt<br />12.11.09Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-55354505542501665042009-09-20T23:01:00.000-07:002009-09-21T21:56:25.818-07:00L.A. Art "Scene" Roundup 9.12.09<span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Los Angeles Gallery Roundup 9.12.09</span><br /><br />It seemed like this weekend was the kickoff of the Fall Art Season in Los Angeles, so I decided to head out with my acid tipped pen to see what all the buzz was about. I recognize that I have stayed West of Chinatown thus far, and I promise to rectify that situation.<br /><br />As the date approached I began assessing life in Los Angeles and how the art here reflects upon it. Rarely do I see an unattractive person in Los Angeles and when I do they undoubtedly have an attractive person in tow. Without fail I always overhear a person talking about this or that person who sold a script or starred in some pilot, an introduction already in the works. To sum things up, life is perfect in Los Angeles and everyone is on the up and up. To compare this to New York is silly. New York is the home of the beats and the abstracts, people proud of their calloused hands and working class backgrounds, people who saw the angelic in the destitute and depressed. Los Angeles aesthetic is look poor live rich. Hence the skinny jeans, scraggly beards mixed with Mercedes, iPhone, Blackberry and three hour lunches on platinum cards.<br /><br />So why should the art be any different than the people, fleeting. This is just an idea mind you, but the Los Angeles art scene seems to focus on the beautiful and the vapid. All sweet sticky paintings that’d look good over your sunstained bed while you make love to unreal blond you met at Bar Marmont the night before. I am not complaining, this is the art you’d hang at vacation homes in Laguna, Palm Springs or Santa Barbara. But, what is marching into museums and history here? And if it is, who got their daddy to buy it and donate it.<br /><br />Anyhoo, here we go with the roundup, more thoughts on all this later. Decided on a quick crawl this week as work had been crazy and I wasn’t in the mood for a marathon. The idea was to go through West Hollywood and straight to Culver City. Do the galleries fast, get out and go to Father’s Office for libations and burgers. The mission was accomplished and if you followed me on Twitter (http://twitter.com/artbystander) you know it wasn’t a horror show like last time. Though there are a few galleries that I will challenge to do better.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">REGEN PROJECTS</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">DOUG AITKEN </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 – October 17, 2009</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QpNoHTZ-m_L6F1Ak2yH9eXUWV1uREkFxeTNC7xo5P_ws21jjhtr5B2jadugw32xZn7UksWNMQIXLr2XEoc7dX_pvIrNSkjnCcJ0LLOgl3ryAYLQjjAVgeYdYARPnru8TRqql2aHqqZpq/s1600-h/Aitken.Regen+Projects.StartSwimming.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QpNoHTZ-m_L6F1Ak2yH9eXUWV1uREkFxeTNC7xo5P_ws21jjhtr5B2jadugw32xZn7UksWNMQIXLr2XEoc7dX_pvIrNSkjnCcJ0LLOgl3ryAYLQjjAVgeYdYARPnru8TRqql2aHqqZpq/s200/Aitken.Regen+Projects.StartSwimming.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384148505469629554" border="0" /></a><span><br />Nothing like light boxes of pretty and somewhat over photoshopped photography, wi</span><span>t</span><span>h words no less. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for words, hell I type them nightly, but when you p</span><span>ut </span><span>words in your art you can really lose your audience fast. The press release states that, “Doug Aitken's new light boxes combine image and text in a collision that creates a rupture in which alternate connections are presented.” I say, phooey. These are the perfect example of a Los Angeles art. Aesthetically there isn’t much to complain about, the art is good looking, the artist is skilled, but there is little to no commentary. Photos of Vegas in it’s raw form don’t even feel like an exposition on the seedy underbelly, it feels like a ripoff of some hip California bands album cover. Regen Projects continues to let me down showing cheesy LA art filled with meaningless words and lame art. Lightboxes might be the single most annoying idea for photography. If it isn’t a one sheet for the next kids movie keep it out of a lightbox please. This show was boring, pretty and boring, like a blind date with a beauty from Iowa moved to Los Angeles to make it as an actress but working at a sports bar to pay the bills and waiting for someone to discover her.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">M + B </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Andrew Bush</span><span style="font-style: italic;">: Vector Portraits</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 – October 15</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NZ1mqyjOtRLdKISEM9zxSXKKeAcHgbLocqq97D5vPcwDLrGr4wfunhUosFYHKYKRCl_9ECotg3SjX0ZBVh7nKVQ61OI6bqPW8W69sTHJtNZpNETxuiPTb_8e2ITGjp1VFqmOBOWDUhaW/s1600-h/M+%2B+B+Andrew+Bush.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0NZ1mqyjOtRLdKISEM9zxSXKKeAcHgbLocqq97D5vPcwDLrGr4wfunhUosFYHKYKRCl_9ECotg3SjX0ZBVh7nKVQ61OI6bqPW8W69sTHJtNZpNETxuiPTb_8e2ITGjp1VFqmOBOWDUhaW/s200/M+%2B+B+Andrew+Bush.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384148975794829074" border="0" /></a><span>M + B’s clean space and dreamy west coast photos are rewarding to the viewer for what they are, sensuous views of the Left Coast lifestyle. Bush’s subjects are all driving cars in the beautiful west coast sunshine. As a child of a family of car enthusiasts I appreciate the Americana of it. That he doesn’t capture the entire car and chooses to photograph the driver’s side from back window to side mirror allowing you to complete the car as you like only adds to it. This is the type of eye candy that I expect in Los Angeles and would never complain about seeing. It’s Hockney’s Los Angeles in photo, people driving to those Los Angeles homes to lay beside pools, drink fruity beverages and discuss four picture deals and minorities on their way to the country club where they’ll be caddying and serving Arnold Palmers to those very same dealmakers. It’s Manifest Destiny on Kodak Paper. Go see this work for a little glimpse into the left coast lifestyle, stay for the California dreamin’.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">KOPLIN DEL ORO</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sandow Birk: American Qur’an</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 8 – October 30</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif35roWx4OvQ9dHyByddsskjXAiGcTvbngIAzAFY0Ak5xvD1hYxc0wDpa8Nnh_RERzYq74vPJtVmwVfO05k8nXU6N3m8Jvt7qcf3kwiZm3Y7_9G2foWWRU2b4AcpQV07VRqEv_qnYRPKQh/s1600-h/Sandow+Birk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif35roWx4OvQ9dHyByddsskjXAiGcTvbngIAzAFY0Ak5xvD1hYxc0wDpa8Nnh_RERzYq74vPJtVmwVfO05k8nXU6N3m8Jvt7qcf3kwiZm3Y7_9G2foWWRU2b4AcpQV07VRqEv_qnYRPKQh/s200/Sandow+Birk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384149241971098338" border="0" /></a><span><br />The first stop in Culver City was Koplin Del Oro for Sandow Birks controversial sh</span><span>ow</span><span>, which</span><span> should come as no surprise to the Los Angeles Art Gallery goer, was anything but controversial. American images confronted with a Muslim font style and basic feeling. This work , if you took the time to read it might say something interesting, but the whole idea of an artist born and raised in Detroit, Michigan and educated in Los Angeles choosing this subject matter, “An ongoing project to transcribe the entire Koran according to Islamic traditions and illuminate the text with scenes from contemporary American life.” Simply put, the Koran and contemporary American life have very little to do with each other. Another example of an American grabbing onto a hot American topic and trying to appropriate it as a commodity that will help in being controversial while saying little and making some money off the heat. The price point was high and the art was boring. This show looked good from outside but quickly became a bore.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">KINKEAD CONTEMPORARY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">James Everett Stanl ey: Let It Burn</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 - October 31, 2009</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWf6tpVkkGPBqUPI2HbbCP40bg-lbKVxN74iFcYaXnXIE_tSM-i9u0pijZR6R9MNc4lboKS7_HX2JqTqZ5Qwyzt7qPL-xf6Xm807-mv4AO8d6E22JLiw4eFGO-a8gWuiCEsc9lUi_hpy_8/s1600-h/stanley-current.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWf6tpVkkGPBqUPI2HbbCP40bg-lbKVxN74iFcYaXnXIE_tSM-i9u0pijZR6R9MNc4lboKS7_HX2JqTqZ5Qwyzt7qPL-xf6Xm807-mv4AO8d6E22JLiw4eFGO-a8gWuiCEsc9lUi_hpy_8/s200/stanley-current.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384149463059962194" border="0" /></a><span>The last time I visited Kinkead Contemporary it was offering the tired insider Artist photography of hip artist hell that makes me vomit in my mouth and spit it on the floor. This time they were presenting James Everett Stanley’s portraits painted to reflect the destruction happening all around us. They are, “subjects transfixed by the after-effects of destruction and loss.” This is a subject a native New Yorker can really get behind. And you know what, they were the first truly memorable thing I’d looked at in a while. The portraits did fall short on a few walls, but the direction was right and it was a nice reprieve from Sandow Birk’s over-worked, over wrought work. Everett’s playful imagery of the end of the world was reflection on the “scenes” inability to grasp that their even is a world outside of the thirty-mile zone. Still, the playfulness suggested slightly that the artist was as clueless as the members of the scene and in that sense it fell slightly short. To say it nicely, the art lacked an angst or anger that would’ve helped enormously in putting it over the edge. In summary thought, these works are totally worthwhile and should be looked at.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">LeBasse Projects</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Edwin Ushiro: Softly Encompassing the Womb</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ryuichi Ogino: Idealistically Hypocritical 3</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12, 2009</span></span><span><br />LeBasse is a solid visit for the dreamer. The art is affordable </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt1PHU7ckHckLvPWyDuBrPnajOw1IjFbSs2E2WMVPyz5nbOAaRsuQEwnixmZjofgVm_XxQfdBLBNnLUIefy2acHRr1jYoSpHxulgHLFPfntnw7JSnQZwwUEOqWN5seuKgOEtoInDl_5q5/s1600-h/eu15.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt1PHU7ckHckLvPWyDuBrPnajOw1IjFbSs2E2WMVPyz5nbOAaRsuQEwnixmZjofgVm_XxQfdBLBNnLUIefy2acHRr1jYoSpHxulgHLFPfntnw7JSnQZwwUEOqWN5seuKgOEtoInDl_5q5/s200/eu15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384149698044316162" border="0" /></a><span>a</span><span>nd typical eastern in </span><span>nature. Those </span><span>dreamy Anime type landscapes where women float lazily in the lavender gloom that leave you wishing you could </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rPCQ0rIdygmOHWw-Sc2WcMtNHVXKSfoMHpNSfGESAZkYgSIvp1TIfQjdrIu1ppZnTF9Zhl-ITgbJKGGzBiDFUxZcO0dr5mueWkbtaVvMpbz9ISwba0ylBvv19fsIUZY8y6gfSaH0eQ4r/s1600-h/ro8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rPCQ0rIdygmOHWw-Sc2WcMtNHVXKSfoMHpNSfGESAZkYgSIvp1TIfQjdrIu1ppZnTF9Zhl-ITgbJKGGzBiDFUxZcO0dr5mueWkbtaVvMpbz9ISwba0ylBvv19fsIUZY8y6gfSaH0eQ4r/s200/ro8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384149686942244850" border="0" /></a><span>disappear into some </span><span>early summer sunset floating along the waters of thought. These paintings are not reinventing the ways we see canvas, but they are a nice escape from an art scene that is obviously trying very hard. The couple I brought along even bought a reasonably priced study on graph paper. Ryuichi Ogino is an analytical painter trying to interpret entertainment as a medium that can never attain the categorization of art, if it has value then it is inevitably whimsical and poppy and not worth it’s seriousness. Edwin Ushiro’s dreamy suburban images of couples, kids and lost souls dangling rebelliously in the sunwashed early evening are like a strong drink of gin. You lose yourself in the mindbending colors and hope that the ledge isn’t too far off or perhaps you may drown in their dreaminess. All in all a good show and firm reminder that adults can still maintain their imagination.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">KINSEY/DESFORGES</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Angelika J. Trojinarski: After the Gold Rush</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 – October 10, 2009</span><br />Let’s start by saying this is the first opportunity this critic has had to say he’s reviewing and artist from Dusseldorf, and wow is that a fun word to say. Unfortunately the art lacked a firm commitment to the subject matter. It felt propagated on one bad idea. The releases explained that, “variegated decay and abandonment are the protagonist of Trojanarski’s work.” This Dusseldorf has a weird way of showing it, slow to materialize abstracts and plays on the old abandoned west, it felt like a show lost on it’s own ideas. An idea of an America past it’s prime, lost in itself. The unfortunate thing about this show is the America on display isn’t the American the artist is referring to. This artist shows with Saatchi and is probably much richer than I am, but still, at least I can stay on subject.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CHERRY & MARTIN</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Brian Besse: The Royal Box</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSVsg5Cqr6m3YOfICbvZ9DZqWzw7DZIkKu4xVT8WLSqnbPZnob8qkIbyl9YfNOO1XsDpRhfDwbah25MYmANJasfSLrTIb9kNP1QogcvKkYi-evMY-NT0gcmIKHpb217plXf7aBYfvPNrV/s1600-h/BB_Imposter_TheHead_WEB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSVsg5Cqr6m3YOfICbvZ9DZqWzw7DZIkKu4xVT8WLSqnbPZnob8qkIbyl9YfNOO1XsDpRhfDwbah25MYmANJasfSLrTIb9kNP1QogcvKkYi-evMY-NT0gcmIKHpb217plXf7aBYfvPNrV/s200/BB_Imposter_TheHead_WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384149982804798194" border="0" /></a><span>This video installation of ironic hipster artist singing and cracking inside jokes that passers by pretend to understand is a continued trend that must be stopped. Just because it seems cool, e.g. you do not understand it, doesn’t mean you should smile, nudge your pal, and pretend it’s the greatest thing since Kraft Mac and Cheese. It’s described in the press releases as an, “Unapologetic exploration of human nature, relationships and desires.” This was not what was on display in the work. But, of course, maybe I have no idea what I am talking about and this was brilliant. Probably not, but if it helps you sleep at night, then sure.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br />KIM LIGHT / LIGHTBOX</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5YnM8dwKJ9i0vo5-1plk_BmokOmAm8Z1pd52eWgJUrx0I9rNNijqwO3a5EQz92z2eCR-XZvXJbDiXwLLvrQGdO2FsZ1n-jrs1ptxdrPTs9RMb4g2wDP05UQ9POjQT0t81aKyaDePPo7K/s1600-h/malick-sidibe1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5YnM8dwKJ9i0vo5-1plk_BmokOmAm8Z1pd52eWgJUrx0I9rNNijqwO3a5EQz92z2eCR-XZvXJbDiXwLLvrQGdO2FsZ1n-jrs1ptxdrPTs9RMb4g2wDP05UQ9POjQT0t81aKyaDePPo7K/s200/malick-sidibe1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384150176345984882" border="0" /></a><span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">MALONEY FINE ARTS PRESENT: Malick Sidibé Photographs: 1962-2008 </span></span><span><br />These photos speak for themselves. Very fun to look at. The photographer appro</span><span>aches his subject</span><span> with the eye of a person appreciating every bit of joy, bravado, machismo, celebration or loss in the image and the subject. I really enjoyed these photographs in their primitive and slightly overexposed glory. Every one who stepped into the gallery gravitated to some image and moved closer to the image as if there were something hidden, as if they got close enough they could enter into the image. Very wornderful.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TAYLOR DE CORDOBA</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Claire Oswalt: Peril in Perfection</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 - October 31, 2009</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwMhCL_Xcjv_PD6dZGTG6xhu97npO43eZh4EVkeVJXYV2DPK-fWnQukr8YbWnruuJf_nnn-bEm7ilfByZZCauU9UfqvdoZHyxm61zfXf54SMIlyuwSI2aVOvp_LQFsCHN7pj02bHdvz59/s1600-h/Claire+Oswalt"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwMhCL_Xcjv_PD6dZGTG6xhu97npO43eZh4EVkeVJXYV2DPK-fWnQukr8YbWnruuJf_nnn-bEm7ilfByZZCauU9UfqvdoZHyxm61zfXf54SMIlyuwSI2aVOvp_LQFsCHN7pj02bHdvz59/s200/Claire+Oswalt" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384150412104231858" border="0" /></a><span>These sculptural drawings by New York based artist (of course I would like it) capture people at the moment of violence. Working in the medium is wood and graphite on paper. While these works didn’t feel as if they have achieved what they’d set out for, they were very good. There were several striking elements to the work, that they are set off from the canvas, that they not only depict violence, but also cast a violent shadow make them doubly haunting. Claire Oswalt has captured something so grotesque and added an element of campy humor to boot, so that the expressions on these people’s faces reveal the ridiculousness of the moment, a drunken argument perhaps? A misunderstanding in the high school parking lot? A love lost? These questions along with figures that seem to be puppets, seem to be able to be moved at any moment, create a piece of art that is like us, ever changing. This was a good opening and definitely worth a look.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WALTER MACIEL GALLERY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Song Kun: Seeking the Recluse but Not Meeting</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 - October 31, 2009 </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SRmMr4FnCr3Ss-8pUrhOo7AxBhhZ9FVpCKqEy_yp6mu-rp5WQh7yb2CGA9JwDvb7vXfwMR373UOE1mDybaeBcu_KjkkwIl_MN3z13laLhPAF3r_0OczfXwHE7Dy2ssQojvctXqQjzIBJ/s1600-h/skunManontheRoadinSichuan-l.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SRmMr4FnCr3Ss-8pUrhOo7AxBhhZ9FVpCKqEy_yp6mu-rp5WQh7yb2CGA9JwDvb7vXfwMR373UOE1mDybaeBcu_KjkkwIl_MN3z13laLhPAF3r_0OczfXwHE7Dy2ssQojvctXqQjzIBJ/s200/skunManontheRoadinSichuan-l.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384150596718647234" border="0" /></a><span><br />This show felt incredibly strange. The paintings all based in a gray fog of people lost in moments</span><span> of reflections. While technically the art seemed worked to perfection, the detachment was haunting and almost inhuman. It’s as if the artist had taken all the blood and life out of the subjects and turned them into a mannequins floating in life. Song Kun’s undeniably a gifted artist, but his works detachment from real life makes the paintings into ghosts on the wall, almost afraid to approach them you use caution and with your guard up it becomes hard to appreciate the work. This is a show I would actually like to go see again before it comes down, it’s haunting beauty like an uneasy moment revisited in your memory. Like a character from Haruki Murakami, anonymous and searching for something lost, while being lost at the same time.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">LA CONTEMPORARY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Debbie Han: Hybrid Graces</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 - October 31, 2009</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJx8M8Ltd7wfykIqpjgdNq8BzKAW7Iq1h5UZ6FiRrG0ccY7Z-QiIrWzi-Hpq-KzhbUFOUDxIRnNMSUPUGoMnN66uqloXCBmuUu8udx5ccx6YEcZFjCyyFmnvGsIBpiGQ_zAuYHPf76zMTc/s1600-h/Debbie+Han.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJx8M8Ltd7wfykIqpjgdNq8BzKAW7Iq1h5UZ6FiRrG0ccY7Z-QiIrWzi-Hpq-KzhbUFOUDxIRnNMSUPUGoMnN66uqloXCBmuUu8udx5ccx6YEcZFjCyyFmnvGsIBpiGQ_zAuYHPf76zMTc/s200/Debbie+Han.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384150795884977330" border="0" /></a><span>I don’t have much to say about this show except that for whatever reason, I got a kick out of it. Thrown in between all these contemporary works the study of these classical Greek style sculptures made me laugh and I enjoyed it for that. Definitely worth a look to make you imagine what art was like back when people wore togas.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">JK GALLERY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Group Photography Exhibition</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">David Burdeny, Irene Imfeld, John Mann, Paula McCartney and Stephen Galloway</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12 - October 31, 2009</span><br />Without sounding too condescending and realizing that there have been a lot of words already in this roundup, I will simply state that the JK Gallery’s Group Photography Exhibit lacked originality. I went in, I went out. I felt no contempt for the show, nor did I see it as anything different than looking at a bunch of pictures on a friends Facebook profile. I am done, the real rant is about to follow.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">HONOR FRASER</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Kenny Scharf: Barberadise</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">September 12, 2009 — October 31, 2009 </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxF_-juMB1MQDtERsYQgsc34mrdfkQ4_5O3zFYFEIyYeDNB9H0DIGTlczLGpD-O_wFcz8_JBJn8PBTKmJb9ZNF8OpyTfs__Yz5EJ4NbQqYupU8pwkVQl6Lhb8kP7NDI9oeA5jcgPHqF_8/s1600-h/ComeNGetItKS72dpi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxF_-juMB1MQDtERsYQgsc34mrdfkQ4_5O3zFYFEIyYeDNB9H0DIGTlczLGpD-O_wFcz8_JBJn8PBTKmJb9ZNF8OpyTfs__Yz5EJ4NbQqYupU8pwkVQl6Lhb8kP7NDI9oeA5jcgPHqF_8/s200/ComeNGetItKS72dpi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384151001027141074" border="0" /></a><span><br />Now Honor Fraser and I just don’t seem to get along. While I appreciated som</span><span>e of the wor</span><span>k in </span><span>the galleries last show, the Emma Gray curated Bitch is the New Black, which seemed to be overstuffed with art and a bit of a scene. This new show took it to a whole new level, leaving me reeling and wondering how this artists blacklight poster paintings of popular Sunday Morning cartoons found its way into a gallery which makes claims at being a serious art space. I am all for a commentary about pop culture and while I know Scharf is a bit of a heavy hitter hanging in major museums. I do not see the point of this work, nor did I enjoy it. Too much of the art world seems to be one opinion maker influencing the way we spend our Sundays in the future, pretending to appreciate something hanging in a museum and telling our children it’s art. Well, I for one do not want to live in a world where I would have to explain the paintings from Kenny Scharf in this show. Again, wall candy. But, I think Honor Fraser might be the reason my New York friends thing Los Angeles’s art scene is just one big, gaudy, infantile joke. It was the last show of the night and left me wondering what the hell is going on out here. I had to retreat to the comfort of red meat and sudsy beer.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In summary</span><br />To summarize tonight, I think Los Angeles is all about the “look.” You go into an audition out here and you have to stand out to make an impression. And maybe this is the art imitating life, the art being so concerned with making an impression that it forgets what it’s supposed to say once the person consumes all there is to see on the surface. Next stop will be Chinatown where hopefully I find some more work worth really thinking about.<br /><br />Craig A. Platt<br />9.20.09<br /><br /></span>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-82394683650812534332009-07-28T21:13:00.001-07:002009-07-29T09:48:26.468-07:00LA ART “SCENE” ROUNDUP 7.11.09<span style="font-weight: bold;">LA ART “SCENE” ROUNDUP 7.11.09</span><br /><br />There are many reasons to keep a blog. Dreams of movie deals and TV show running; coffee table books and cable news analyst-ing seem to be a very prevalent ones. There are the Diablo Cody’s of the world who sold their stripping journals and then wrote screenplays so sticky sweet that Oscar landed in her overused lap. The rules of journalism don’t seem to apply here, so the first person is acceptable. This is an opportunity for your host, me, to keep writing and to write about another facet of creativity, something I am none too good at, but understand that aspiration towards greatness. Which is why it comes with such difficulty to point out the considerable amount of slothfulness in the art world, and when I say art world I am specifically talking about my own environs, Los Angeles.<br /><br />The goal is to continue to go out into this Los Angeles “Art Scene” and try to both be critical and to insert myself into it. To make friends, share ideas, discuss books and art and music and all of that highfalutin stuff we’ve all read about that took place in the 40’s – 70’s. You know, salon discussion of Descartes and Warhol, of the meaning of paint on canvas, word on page, sex on screen and drugs in blood. But, What I am finding thus far, and perhaps it is the way it was then, it seems more a fashion show, a gathering of the cool kids to admire their new hats and skinny jeans (I realize the skinny jean comment is as useful as a mother joke at this point, but still). This isn’t a diatribe designed to condemn the art scene, nor is it meant to discourage people from going out to look at art, celebrate artists and buy paintings. It is two fold, one, if you go to galleries you should actually stop to look at the art while not speaking to someone else about your own personal projects and where you’ll be showing next, second, don’t pretend that bad art is good just because it’s a scene and people are pretending it’s good because the “scene” is good. This is all abstraction, isn’t it, not making sense? Well, it does when you think about it in the context of what I just experienced at the last roundup. Onward.<br /><br />And so, as we venture out towards the galleries of West Hollywood, Mid-Wilshire, Culver City and Santa Monica we ask several questions. Has technology ruined any chance we may have towards a useful and productive artistic community? Have the kids today missed the point? Why do we make art and why is it so important to some of us? Is a crappy digital photo of a hipster pregnant, pissing in the woods art?<br /><br />Oh man, I can see this may be a two part-er already.<br /><br />And to tell the truth, which is hard to do, most of the art I saw was so confusing and all over the place it reminded me of reading an US Weekly written in Russian over someone’s shoulder in a train station while tripping on mushrooms and drinking a screw top bottle of port wine in 120 degree heat. But alas, away we go.<br /><br />All of the LA Art Blogs were stammering at the prospects of all these amazing openings on the weekend of July 10 – 12. I am going to disclose to you the places I have gone to find art:<br /><br />www.dailydujour.com; http://artscenecal.com/Calendar.html; http://themagla.com/; www.artslant.com; http://try-har-der.blogspot.com/; and the nice people at LeBasse Projects and Charlie James Gallery.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEST HOLLYWOOD AND MID-WILSHIRE</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">REGEN PROJECTS</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">633 North Almont Drive, Los Angeles California 90069</span><br /><br />I had gone to Regen Project once before, Manfred Pernice, and to be honest the installation was some silly play on prefab furniture, it barely filled half of half the gallery and it fel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwNDdHDFq1Nb-_fXfaYJ7U9xaQ7Sw2QcFe02yRoo16FYdHVt_aQlYYRwpoNbhkC1S2mEhe8B5T2LZYxM52TcYGKNIoeQwffOLbVpFFMSRG8zh-vn4BIfwZcpWUBys1hLvgcsY2kNMIXcb/s1600-h/REGEN+PROJECTS,+LAWRENCE+WEINER.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwNDdHDFq1Nb-_fXfaYJ7U9xaQ7Sw2QcFe02yRoo16FYdHVt_aQlYYRwpoNbhkC1S2mEhe8B5T2LZYxM52TcYGKNIoeQwffOLbVpFFMSRG8zh-vn4BIfwZcpWUBys1hLvgcsY2kNMIXcb/s200/REGEN+PROJECTS,+LAWRENCE+WEINER.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363730605055084562" border="0" /></a>t pretty silly. A gallerist friend insisted that Regen was a good gallery and an “important” one. But after going the second time and seeing Lawrence Weiner’s “Placed On The Tip Of A Wave.” One wall had the slogan “PLACED ON A POINT NOT QUITE AT THE POINT.” In fact, the art was not so clever slogans like this plastered up on the walls. The middle of the space left empty for wandering chucklers. I don’t know Weiner’s work, but this was laughable. I did not feel the least bit interested nor did I do that thing I do when I see a carefully crafted work of art, nor did this conceptual art make me think anything other than, this isn’t as clever as everyone here is pretending it is. Maybe it was the simple stenciling and the lack of thought directed at the slogans, but the entire show was off putting and gave off the uneasy feeling of waiting in an emergency room for the doctor to tell you bad news. Regen Projects; you’ve let me down twice now. Shape it up.<br /><br /><br />ACME<br />6150 Wilshire Boulevard, Spaces 1 & 2, Los Angeles, CA 90048<br /><br />Aaron Morse & Bill Jensen showing paintings. To start, this gallery is a great space in a horrible location. Housed in a complex with a few other galleries, ACME is the face of it, the largest and closest to the street, facing Wilshire Boulevard. It’s a more upscale crowd drinking Grolsch out of swing top bottles. The main room was filled with Morse’s paintings that cleverly chart the course of man from fishing with spears to riding on enormous Titanic style cruise ships. Morse’s work was clever and extremely accessible. Each painting was well thought out and held little surprises hidden in the color and texture. They did not make up a very compelling or original topic, evolution of man has been done for eons, but it was pleasing and well worked art.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpQMQFDCxC_PyDE3naCdri6Pn6CIWqV9DuncZaqqoKVYOhZEzOP6dVw6FYxypfKgQmxJMNs86hmFFxbLdC5ool_0Odx4zz2zTCEHHRL7ETY2h3pHx-P-bU6aCVZE_DINzZpmBpqwLSXi1/s1600-h/aaronMorse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpQMQFDCxC_PyDE3naCdri6Pn6CIWqV9DuncZaqqoKVYOhZEzOP6dVw6FYxypfKgQmxJMNs86hmFFxbLdC5ool_0Odx4zz2zTCEHHRL7ETY2h3pHx-P-bU6aCVZE_DINzZpmBpqwLSXi1/s200/aaronMorse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363730934440674962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Bill Jensen, as I have been told, is a real painters painter. Maybe that’s a good thing and he should be rewarded for his longevity. But 54 k may be a reasonable price for a an abstract by a big name in the art world, but these feel a little less than earth shaking. You’re in fact supporting the work of a painter’s painter who has really stuck it out and continued to make art well into his sixties. I liked the work, but I wouldn’t buy it. But, hopefully, he lives in some beautiful home with a sexy open-minded wife and a studio <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1V3L4IX74JkMoo2OqerrIEfDC90NX89eUGximuIWm_0oZh-euiUhLkLhAgpSX-Awj0h6Bwa8fDih2G70ksukDyt9TbYjcqqGt-kJ6_Em-ly5Hr-0_xfnqE7Or6m-Tu5tRLXhQIHbBEC1F/s1600-h/Bill_Jensen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1V3L4IX74JkMoo2OqerrIEfDC90NX89eUGximuIWm_0oZh-euiUhLkLhAgpSX-Awj0h6Bwa8fDih2G70ksukDyt9TbYjcqqGt-kJ6_Em-ly5Hr-0_xfnqE7Or6m-Tu5tRLXhQIHbBEC1F/s200/Bill_Jensen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363730926601736978" border="0" /></a>overlooking a gorgeous creek with purple sunsets. Hopefully he’s developed a respectable drinking habit, eats well and sports a good beer gut while still having a muscular physique. Because, in fact, that’s what we expect from our ruggedly individualistic abstract painters, the lifestyle we longed for. Us fans of the abstract got into it all as much for the freedom of the art as we did for the cowboys making those paintings. Keep in mind that I am not making fun of this school of art; in fact it is one of my favorites. However, the future of abstraction should not be the past. Bill Jensen’s paintings were great, completely hang-able, but slightly overpriced. Acme, you’re doing a good job, been there twice this summer and I’ve liked what I’ve seen.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CULVER CITY</span><br />Now we enter into the meat and potatoes of the openings. The really confusing stuff, the “LA art scene” Mecca of the night filled with clever art, bad art, good art, rock bands playing and art shows taking a back seat to the “scene. “ There were the rich, the poor, the rich disguised as the poor, the art fanatic, the scenester, the hipster; the normal dudes just out to see art. I wish it was a little grittier here in LA, but it just feels like Beverly Hills comes down off the hills and slums it for a night every month or so. The crowds were out in full force to swill the free booze, nod there heads at the bad art and most importantly to talk to each other about themselves.<br /><br />And this is where the questions mentioned earlier start coming into play. A lot of the art here looks cooler on the blogs and web calendars than it does in person. It’s strange to think that art can hold more power when it’s reproduced digitally, but that seems to be the case with the CULVER CITY galleries. Also, the internet’s opinion makers christen kings of art without so much as a single critical word (see: http://try-har-der.blogspot.com/). Hence, walking into these places and appreciating the art seems to be secondary to saying you were there and then commenting on twitter or some blog about how the “whole world” was there and now we have to go back and take a closer look. I have news for you, save the time. The art wasn’t so good and neither was the crowd. Okay, okay, rant over.<br /><br />The truth is some of the art was good, but the galleries don’t have any restraint allowing artists that are unable to edit themselves to run ramshackle into the spaces covering floor and wall with an inordinate amount of art. This takes the focus off the good stuff because there is so much mediocre art. Also, you don’t have to have something to say to be part of the art community, but, and this is something I learned a while back, if you’re going to celebrate the “ordinary” you must find a way to make it “extraordinary.”<br /><br />Again: ONWARD!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">CHERRY AND MARTIN</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2712 South La Cienega Boulevard, Los Angeles, Ca 900</span>34<br /><br />Bellows and Whispers: Claude Collins-Stracensky, Mari Eastman, Erik Frydenborg, Noah Sheldon & Torbjorn Vejvi<br />July 11 - August 8, 2009<br /><br />The goal of the show: “The Large and Small Effects of Structure, Its Presence and Absence brings together the work of five artists interested in abstraction.”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxzPTIctTRK_dqM0nusIRPDsSgm6iN6_Hxckrzt90qFxNhxweyjPv2RHh2aMIJ5RPNwnXO23eA9ayZYGcvKNqDyaGkiHKAPS8yX35TqYyijeARPH_jk2xwvgdZ7Bgsdbk24eDVdPKYPb-9/s1600-h/cherry+martin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxzPTIctTRK_dqM0nusIRPDsSgm6iN6_Hxckrzt90qFxNhxweyjPv2RHh2aMIJ5RPNwnXO23eA9ayZYGcvKNqDyaGkiHKAPS8yX35TqYyijeARPH_jk2xwvgdZ7Bgsdbk24eDVdPKYPb-9/s200/cherry+martin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363731425346737746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Blah blah babety blah blach. This mish mosh of a show was the first stop on my Culver City tour and while these art-school grads are technically skilled artists it’s hard to find the soul in any of the too clever art. There was too much art to spend an inordinate amount of time on the stuff we here at artbystander didn’t like, but suffice to say this fell into the mediocre and too clever for it’s own good category. It wasn’t the worst we saw, but it also wasn’t the best.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">KIM LIGHT / L I G H T B O X</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2680 South La Cienega, Los Angeles, CA 90034</span><br /><br />Nadia Hironaka & Matthew Suib’s Black Hole (Web), 2009 is a video and music installation that stood out as both original and traditional. With roots in abstraction the film and accompanying music holds a powerful fist and pounds it into your eyes. After leaving Cherry And Martin worried that I would have to endure a similar Culver City experience as I did last time, L I G H T B O X did the impossible and surprised me. I did not watch the entire thing yet I can clearly recall how I was struck by the freshness of the art. It both looked and felt compelling. The score felt th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjse3JrZ-R95RQ5B5trqPh-GlE9o0TWZSdfR2G75L7ATQnrq7Is8hZuL_isASohYJYyGqRbjdNUGAk_Efw08DU0A2orqxoBXH1lOoU47b7ENHrDZQft_aw5GbsVmAYAP4ytM_XcYt4yG0iX/s1600-h/lightbox.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjse3JrZ-R95RQ5B5trqPh-GlE9o0TWZSdfR2G75L7ATQnrq7Is8hZuL_isASohYJYyGqRbjdNUGAk_Efw08DU0A2orqxoBXH1lOoU47b7ENHrDZQft_aw5GbsVmAYAP4ytM_XcYt4yG0iX/s200/lightbox.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363731938635238274" border="0" /></a>ought out like a William Kentridge piece and the video felt French, smart and under control with total purpose. It was a really nice surprise. I intend to go back and watch in it’s entirety, the room was swelteringly hot and the crowd walking in and out was distracting, but there was no one in the room who could speak, everyone’s eyes and ears were fully set towards the art at hand. This was the first great work I have seen since starting out here. It’s a combination of video focused on nourish scenes and percussive music. The press release describes it as so…<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Installed in a pitch-black room and projected onto a black screen, Black Hole presents an obscured sense of confinement and isolation. The environment introduces a sequence of shadowy interior images that rest on the threshold of visibility, and the projection itself appears to hover in space. Occasional breaks of light momentarily orient viewers to the projected image and its surroundings, but the illumination is fleeting. Bright images dissolve back to dark interiors and their accompanying sense of anxiety and disorientation. A surround-soundtrack of hypnotic buzz and martial percussion adds to the sense of confusion.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">WALTER MACIEL GALLERY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2642 South La Cienega, Los Angeles, CA 90034</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">‘LAUGH IT OFF’ GROUP SHOW</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Curated by Jane Scott, Girl Wonder Inc.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Including works by Oscar Cueto, Archie Scott Gobber, James Gobel, Laurie Hogan, William Powhida, Robb Putnam, Kammy Roulner, Lezley Saar and Fletcher Smith</span><br /><br />This is a show that is best explained in pictures. Mostly good, with a little bad, all whimsical takes on contemporary art and art collectors. I am only going to focus on the successful and to continue being hypocritical, will only show photos this time around:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifq6b_uVvpAtBlJ7v9jmv0ag0Ehzx8fw3eKyH3gMmi2z4qkoQc86CAmwe-o6fvVMKzShgsu5yHlwel5DCcw_NmWOaqqx2l9nmTOKj6pANI9peChNtsEe2E-oVntzEuxJ1Z_f8-pDECY23W/s1600-h/P1010271.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifq6b_uVvpAtBlJ7v9jmv0ag0Ehzx8fw3eKyH3gMmi2z4qkoQc86CAmwe-o6fvVMKzShgsu5yHlwel5DCcw_NmWOaqqx2l9nmTOKj6pANI9peChNtsEe2E-oVntzEuxJ1Z_f8-pDECY23W/s200/P1010271.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363923369013846754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTXD4o_xrGGiNm1KAAI40RRb8p4CdpfUsB1KyCavZKdGbS-A7wL_ypFB_EWzUOgDGvrLkp3T-0suxKouBqpiVhnuCht6oa31GlRWmIGFQqWLvxKWE5In-5gXrNtqA2EBNuujfG_O32iD7/s1600-h/P1010270.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTXD4o_xrGGiNm1KAAI40RRb8p4CdpfUsB1KyCavZKdGbS-A7wL_ypFB_EWzUOgDGvrLkp3T-0suxKouBqpiVhnuCht6oa31GlRWmIGFQqWLvxKWE5In-5gXrNtqA2EBNuujfG_O32iD7/s200/P1010270.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363923358731816562" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyocmXkrP88EAiZ0dtBIt3kGe92U5haafjZYXYo-LqptT0DypN5sEdNUEKTW2rTz7ZU1Lh5cAezeJxu3L4ZMEOTNN6ZGdIJIy6UhJeTxsSbqjSsgrnyo_ncppPKIbhCYmFGjtQwHNKXtgK/s1600-h/P1010268.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyocmXkrP88EAiZ0dtBIt3kGe92U5haafjZYXYo-LqptT0DypN5sEdNUEKTW2rTz7ZU1Lh5cAezeJxu3L4ZMEOTNN6ZGdIJIy6UhJeTxsSbqjSsgrnyo_ncppPKIbhCYmFGjtQwHNKXtgK/s200/P1010268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363923373596436882" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3ER2A-UOF_dCbpdpIEuXMB6IOWn9FhPJqnu1Pd-kr-klmeWyb8jQogJXmLgXzy9XpCvcrxzkdS_LQHmAbLv6WXPlaUdWNWMZKdke6MQxxaPOTvaeC6uStPODV_xzA_WZ3sry7DHGOScp/s1600-h/agobberGolDarnAmerica-lg.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 293px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3ER2A-UOF_dCbpdpIEuXMB6IOWn9FhPJqnu1Pd-kr-klmeWyb8jQogJXmLgXzy9XpCvcrxzkdS_LQHmAbLv6WXPlaUdWNWMZKdke6MQxxaPOTvaeC6uStPODV_xzA_WZ3sry7DHGOScp/s200/agobberGolDarnAmerica-lg.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363732262121365250" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">LA CONTEMPORARY</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">634 S. LA CIENEGA BLVD LOS ANGELES, CA 90034</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">LA STYLE III group show</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWj1jC7_ce3iHg-jhUmEKnAT8Je-zPeligGmwBPp9l8Kh3bV25bguJmfc4VOfQCs3HhzeWJ-GJW4HlWibVhKv1VEVGq2UfmNy3T6j5am2v_5iF_s7MhAluJOeFvfo4D312e1sjQqUtO-Qk/s1600-h/la-style-photo434.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWj1jC7_ce3iHg-jhUmEKnAT8Je-zPeligGmwBPp9l8Kh3bV25bguJmfc4VOfQCs3HhzeWJ-GJW4HlWibVhKv1VEVGq2UfmNy3T6j5am2v_5iF_s7MhAluJOeFvfo4D312e1sjQqUtO-Qk/s200/la-style-photo434.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363732726608131874" border="0" /></a><br />Not worth very many words so referring to the twitter account:<br />Low grade graffiti art, unoriginal and bright, and that's just the first wall, the backroom is better though. Todd Williams oil on aluminum is worthwhile and rather decent. This gallery had too little going on it for the amount it had hanging on the wall.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">JK GALLERY</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">2632 S. La Cienega Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90034</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jaclyn Mednicov and Elizabeth Gahan</span><br />This show consisted of pretty art school paintings and drawing, not strong enough to move a pile of salt One piece I k<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMJr6aoPEhCD1E5wGz_MG8WEwY-C4Pfst_nE1LDQeCPKDsxPmvKwB2K6tgPsstfu6coMI1zyYmwZPzjhSjutBbjOVsHe60ybLCVF64OrJjNbezRtAw6faDqLp_gtmsvkpth8xIxqs1ttX/s1600-h/JK2"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMJr6aoPEhCD1E5wGz_MG8WEwY-C4Pfst_nE1LDQeCPKDsxPmvKwB2K6tgPsstfu6coMI1zyYmwZPzjhSjutBbjOVsHe60ybLCVF64OrJjNbezRtAw6faDqLp_gtmsvkpth8xIxqs1ttX/s200/JK2" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363733002545382002" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzO6NElibTjVXv2xuJdGHFAdfYMhOKA1Rw7SbwPGYZQP5wEuDdL4Q0vVASIuf_iOKzIXXQWJYXzQl65V6EbONBy63BvteRBHG1EL95rEXuE7l7HwDkCywJ2ia6-VzsfRRVGB8TU-aNMCR/s1600-h/JK"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzO6NElibTjVXv2xuJdGHFAdfYMhOKA1Rw7SbwPGYZQP5wEuDdL4Q0vVASIuf_iOKzIXXQWJYXzQl65V6EbONBy63BvteRBHG1EL95rEXuE7l7HwDkCywJ2ia6-VzsfRRVGB8TU-aNMCR/s200/JK" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363732999428328114" border="0" /></a>ind of like, the rest, eh. Reminds my friend of the front of a trapper keeper. This is that art school problem, these talented kids go out and know how to make art, people reward them for being good, but never teach them how to make art that is more content and less aesthetic. The work was visually pleasing and well crafted, but the people in the gallery were much more interested in the stimulating conversation than they were about the art. As a footnote, the staff at JK was some of the nicest on the strip, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UopurQw_PriW97ooX0ruuOx9Bs9Mdh4Tk99I-DQhkB_e-5gHc5CPst3QPfkoCcoR1z3xFXunzx6-bGzGLuCoHghr7g0rim4wwsRMjBKPXp87nIXTieAoz7Nf5m8qbVUaWUwo0FgiKxsF/s1600-h/P1010274.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UopurQw_PriW97ooX0ruuOx9Bs9Mdh4Tk99I-DQhkB_e-5gHc5CPst3QPfkoCcoR1z3xFXunzx6-bGzGLuCoHghr7g0rim4wwsRMjBKPXp87nIXTieAoz7Nf5m8qbVUaWUwo0FgiKxsF/s200/P1010274.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363923717128816370" border="0" /></a>showing off the work and open to discussion. The artists both have promise, they just need to dig a little deeper and find some truth in what they are trying. Sex with model is only fun the first ten times or so, then you wish she’d stop doing her makeup and read some William Faulkner, you know? Although, looking at the two slides above, the dreaminess, the simple craftmanship, it makes you forget about criticism for a second, like shutting the fuck up and enjoying a sunset.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">HONOR FRASER</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2622 S. La Cienega Blvd., Los Angeles, California 90034</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">BITCH IS THE NEW BLACK</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Curated by Emma Gray</span><br /><br />This is where my anger starts bubbling like a soda can shaken and then thrown around until it explodes. I am sure there was some good art hanging in Honor Fraser, but honestly there was too much spectacle, too much mediocre art and too much “scene” to really make a difference. The show was not only over packed with under-worked art, it was over packed with people talking and drinking and stepping on the art and posing for photos and laughing and sm<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BGlZ5xA4kVVj_zpbIh0iCFf9-pE_DWLZMecR8s7W-iISg4czorbN31_xTBEgjwl3dCf6bHy7w9HMobJuNPw4g4cJD-hSGLdbN3Ay0YyjQfgcEMi5BF3Vh0q8zDOQqjorUzzcZBy4iK2m/s1600-h/P1010275.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BGlZ5xA4kVVj_zpbIh0iCFf9-pE_DWLZMecR8s7W-iISg4czorbN31_xTBEgjwl3dCf6bHy7w9HMobJuNPw4g4cJD-hSGLdbN3Ay0YyjQfgcEMi5BF3Vh0q8zDOQqjorUzzcZBy4iK2m/s200/P1010275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363923929849293618" border="0" /></a>iling and showing off new suspenders and moustaches and all that, the only thing they weren’t doing was looking at the art. Because if they did they would’ve realized that some of the “art” on display was, a bunch of blue jeans tied together, a wagon wheel broken on the floor, a gray crutch (yes, not a typo) standing in the middle of the space, an enormous tie-dyed shirt with “LEAVE ME ALONE” stenciled on it and a couple of overly photo shopped hipster photographs. One was a pregnant woman peeing in the woods, what feminist freedom, really, taking back the female form like never before, you truly should be applauded. The second a woman’s unshaved vagina being spray painted red. I am ready to teach a graduate level course on that brilliant piece. In fact, every where you looked in Honor Fraser there was art set to quench the thirst of people looking for that little niche of slightly off kilter hipster kitsch that feels just out there enough to be different but at the same time attainably real and free as to make these liberal adult-baby species feel as if they are really living the bohemian lifestyle while under their safety blankies.<br /><br />All that being said, it’s nice to see a show of all women artists being curated, definitely not enough of that around. But, perhaps the enthusiasm for the subject may have caused a little loss in judgment when hanging the show. Less is always more.<br /><br />Man, that sounds bitter doesn’t it. Honestly, there were some interesting works of art in the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIHi6hj9pmUenkZlhagDKS88DJH3kXfh98gBLbcqT57mFbFJQY2pvLOQ2gzoB6NXtiohaWGb6q4gyM3vjnf0zzxFaaz7J74c0I1ktodjOXnOPlDyRK9xdN4vMO9wi5FC5NrgMAdXTg9U-/s1600-h/Honor+Fraser,+pregnant"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIHi6hj9pmUenkZlhagDKS88DJH3kXfh98gBLbcqT57mFbFJQY2pvLOQ2gzoB6NXtiohaWGb6q4gyM3vjnf0zzxFaaz7J74c0I1ktodjOXnOPlDyRK9xdN4vMO9wi5FC5NrgMAdXTg9U-/s200/Honor+Fraser,+pregnant" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363734008300632194" border="0" /></a>space, but there was so much art and so many pieces, that in my humble opinion lacked luster, that it was hard to find and discern the good stuff. But still, all the blogs were abuzz with this show, naming it THE show to see, especially Try Harder Art, which never offers anything but nice words about all the art it goes and photographs regardless of the blogs title. In fact, like those hipster photographers from the early 2000’s who blindly celebrated the partying on the LES of Manhattan, it seems like TryHarder’s one goal is to photograph the people looking at the art in hopes of getting a book deal and throwing another shitty and pointless coffee table book at this self-masturbatory community of people who pretend to be humble.<br /><br />To be honest, it was hard to recover from seeing this show. It made me angry and it made me want to go home throw on some music and drink! It made me want to drink and act like a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopTwiyG3_UMls_RXC7dii_sAOQ6cWgipuDxKrtdtR4laZt92HdqwklJbxCvrogBfq3ZkhZFADW7tzBQ8gifhFqLMhRyh16rMNrk74E5jYvsnEaQ46J1urldIB_ZK2iBNQf7wCxf6ibw_w/s1600-h/P1010276.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopTwiyG3_UMls_RXC7dii_sAOQ6cWgipuDxKrtdtR4laZt92HdqwklJbxCvrogBfq3ZkhZFADW7tzBQ8gifhFqLMhRyh16rMNrk74E5jYvsnEaQ46J1urldIB_ZK2iBNQf7wCxf6ibw_w/s200/P1010276.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924123545019826" border="0" /></a>derelict just home from a stint in prison. Fighting everything I laid eyes on. This is the example of people not getting it. They continue to foster this notion that the art world can be like a backstage party at a Rolling Stones concert. They’re missing the point in a huge way. The cool kids want to be cool, they don’t want to be good, but they want you to think they’re good and all their friends will pretend they’re good until we buy it. I ain’t buying it!<br /><br />Taking a moment to catch my breath here, it’ll all be all right; it’ll all be all right, SERENITY NOW.<br /><br />All the other galleries after Honor Fraser will be written about later or maybe never. Here is the list of the rest of the shows and my general impression. After this I am going to pour myself rum and listen to some Bob Dylan.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">ANGSTROM </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">GALLERY</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">2622 S La Cienega Blvd, Los Angeles CA 90034</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Peter Macapia – SKULLCRACKER</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDjwjZxl_rnQcikN3ccKT__ivpA3yqp27b4vnFT-EtBX_TXntnRQJdpuHgDznZyGWJkQZqym6EXYgb4D4ruAVtxkduVf_warlK4MfH1RVMcL6H_JhW6XZwGrVzkug-zIowrE3duTrPnPK/s1600-h/P1010277.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDjwjZxl_rnQcikN3ccKT__ivpA3yqp27b4vnFT-EtBX_TXntnRQJdpuHgDznZyGWJkQZqym6EXYgb4D4ruAVtxkduVf_warlK4MfH1RVMcL6H_JhW6XZwGrVzkug-zIowrE3duTrPnPK/s200/P1010277.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924306597071426" border="0" /></a>Skull cracker was some good intricate stuff, art under control, looked like snakeskins were molded into strange prehistoric bridges. Very interesting and a great offset to Honor Fraser’s complete disregard for control or craft.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">CONSTANT GALLERY</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">2673 S La Cienega, Los Angeles, C</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgMxMzBl171uz1PayxeV9a47vGN4SsivRL1x14oVOIBgg0jkgVqj-6aVfIl2XBIKFwSzSyTsvyBjebapQX2yMgDC-B1jzPXqUYtsz_lmzLW6uW01cNumz9TrNmoKFrP9FSx4wGxRIZqaE/s1600-h/P1010280.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgMxMzBl171uz1PayxeV9a47vGN4SsivRL1x14oVOIBgg0jkgVqj-6aVfIl2XBIKFwSzSyTsvyBjebapQX2yMgDC-B1jzPXqUYtsz_lmzLW6uW01cNumz9TrNmoKFrP9FSx4wGxRIZqaE/s200/P1010280.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924536514358578" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKl3AE1ZZCaYEOSX0vd-QSggt2nHjH-DX0r1yyjKOt9BjdaJY3EkOh0T6n14v5Z198n6iOsuY-lkmwDoQqN1iZLMOCm-binbu2k2nRTGks55GhKnnfsRqH7FUKqS8cKaP38Ui9ndAMvL3K/s1600-h/P1010279.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKl3AE1ZZCaYEOSX0vd-QSggt2nHjH-DX0r1yyjKOt9BjdaJY3EkOh0T6n14v5Z198n6iOsuY-lkmwDoQqN1iZLMOCm-binbu2k2nRTGks55GhKnnfsRqH7FUKqS8cKaP38Ui9ndAMvL3K/s200/P1010279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924530827629938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">A 90034</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">DESERT SEXY</span><br />Desert Sexy won me over. Felt like a David Lynch film written by Oliver Stone. No pretension, just art hanging and installed. A band called Yawing Man or something and a lot of people laughing and looking at the art like their life depended on it. I really enjoyed this show for it’s amateurish nature.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">SANTA MONICA</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">COPRO GALLERY</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCorb-7uKCLV4cvNZlLnrKKjOsPoMR0oNvz80lTycEVvvXUYPAcKX9FfhRXELd0-sPpaXtl2OEmkdLecHM3Uhp1ZW_vXOU-jqEc5CMUIqu739E06u6C-gvk-8X98nUrYR7yCL_GiD5oRw/s1600-h/P1010289.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYCorb-7uKCLV4cvNZlLnrKKjOsPoMR0oNvz80lTycEVvvXUYPAcKX9FfhRXELd0-sPpaXtl2OEmkdLecHM3Uhp1ZW_vXOU-jqEc5CMUIqu739E06u6C-gvk-8X98nUrYR7yCL_GiD5oRw/s200/P1010289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924777627817298" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9TxOlECngyUyiFeqFeUFg6VdehDbMq7w8lGtJ0XHVzXS_NGsQL9N9QlMvvXNDehVfv_D-1TmPH_C47UiEhcxRYnMDcnkRTwxXv3T0IFSsvpvy9S5vrv2BgIWjZrWXVOUvf8AICCYPJGe/s1600-h/P1010288.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9TxOlECngyUyiFeqFeUFg6VdehDbMq7w8lGtJ0XHVzXS_NGsQL9N9QlMvvXNDehVfv_D-1TmPH_C47UiEhcxRYnMDcnkRTwxXv3T0IFSsvpvy9S5vrv2BgIWjZrWXVOUvf8AICCYPJGe/s200/P1010288.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924773057054146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Bergamot Arts Complex, 2525 Michigan Ave T5, Santa Monica, CA 90404</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">MONSTER?</span><br />Monster? Cool takes on monsters. Very comic and playful and affordable. The art was fun and comic bookish, much more graphic designer and less fine art. Not sure what I would buy, but any thing at Bergamot station is always a pleasure. The jazz band out front was a nice touch.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">IN CONCLUSION (of sorts)</span><br />Eeek, is it over? I hope this whole thing hasn’t been too grueling. It was a long tour. Three full hours and a lot of art to then swallow, digest and reconsider. I think that my view of this LA Art Scene is starting to form an avenue of hopefulness. If there is even a little bit of good then that always outweighs the negative. But, there is also this feeling that I really haven’t figured out why people go to these openings. And what is the effect of the digital age on art. These are some topics I think need to be wrestled with in the future.<br /><br />The important thing to remember is that people are still making art and others are going to look at it, talk about and photograph it. They post to blogs and twitter and facebook and they share their ideas and feelings about this. Some are even passionate to the degree that they comment, fight it out with typed words and insist that their opinion is the right one or even more interestingly, are desperate for the exchange even if it’s through cyberspace. But, I think it’s important to consider how this influences the way we look at and the way we think about art and particular artists. Is something as good as it looks when a photographer singles it out on a blog and fills the shots with “cool looking” people or are we being influenced as if it were a carefully written and produced advertisement, like a cool cowboy smoking a Marlboro?<br /><br />I want the art to speak for itself I guess. I want it to be unique, not ikea. I want it to make a push, feel dangerous and move forward in a fresh way.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">~ Craig A. Platt<br />7.28.09<br /></div>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-47044489736735365402009-06-24T16:24:00.000-07:002009-06-26T11:26:25.249-07:00Gallery Roundup -- 20 June 2009<div><div><div><div><div><div>Let's begin with introductions...<br /></div><div><span style="font-weight: bold;">Age:</span> 32<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Education:</span> BA, Communication<br />MFA, English Literature, Creative Writing<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hometown:</span> New York City<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Current Residence: </span>Los Angeles<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Level of Sentimentality: </span>Medium<br /><br /><br />Feel free to skip down to the actual roundup and reviews, but in case you as a reader are curious just who in the world this blogger is, well keep reading.<br /><br />Welcome to the first installment in what I hope with be a bi-monthly round-up of that thing some people would describe as art and others might describe as a gigantic waste of time. A lot of people have been telling me the art scene in LA is the best art scene in America right now and I must admit I have my doubts. But, in an effort to keep my mind limber, and not succumb to Lou <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Gehrig's</span> disease before I turn forty, I've decided to write about the art I see and the books I choose to read. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Occasionally</span> I will cover a film or an album too, but hopefully only when they are truly groundbreaking. Why am I doing this? Why the hell not, right?<br /><br />Now, I'll openly admit that I am an outsider in the art world, but it shouldn't all be about being an insider, right? What I mean to say is that an individual should be able to walk into any gallery and have an impression, there are no rights or wrongs, but there is good and bad taste. Right now I will not be rating according to any scale, I am certainly open to suggestions though.<br /><br />In the words of the horse track: AND WE'RE OFF!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">GALLERY ROUND-UP</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">20 June 2009</span><br /><br />The roundup began with a few drinks at home while writing THE SAVAGE DETECTIVES Book Review, then scouring the web for a reliable resource <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fon</span> the galleries I should hit up. As mentioned, this is a learning process and having surfed for a good forty minutes without much luck I wandered into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ArtSlant</span>: http://www.artslant.com/la/main. It gave me a brief description of each opening, a single slide that was meant to represent the show and the hours of operation. It was as informative as it needed to be except for the warning that most of I would see would be, well, not good.<br /></div><br /><div>After reading through the guide for the weekend I selected four shows to hit along with the hope that other galleries on the main La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cienega</span> strip of Culver City would be open. All openings had open bars and my partner in crime (my roommate) were locked and loaded for a night of fine art appreciation, laughter and maybe, just maybe, some inspiration.</div><br /><div>So, without further adieu, the quest will begin to insert myself into the L.A. art scene like a star quarterback into the head cheerleader. Be careful you say? Danger is my middle name when it comes to the written word. The mission is to honestly and articulately express appreciation or disappointment of and in the contemporary artists and art scene of the day.<br /></div><br /><div><strong>Onward...</strong></div><br /><p><strong>Stop 1: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Kinkead</span> Contemporary, 6029 Washington Boulevard, Culver City, CA 90232</strong> <em>Heather Cantrell - A Study in Portraiture: Act 1<br />June 20 - July 18, 2009</em></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvX1iCEvAIGTiyl2J3ZW7UE1rTUSIj3cpHo4FQ6LJy56HDkVR-mrTYQxViucx0Wg9E1pYNjrEmWeJTGHnsOMYS0YxeSbr_MLzY-kIu4pQzrJczzXicVqxpJzdWNBNTT49uhfGpMPtYmZx/s1600-h/cantrell-current.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351119773049307474" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 159px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvX1iCEvAIGTiyl2J3ZW7UE1rTUSIj3cpHo4FQ6LJy56HDkVR-mrTYQxViucx0Wg9E1pYNjrEmWeJTGHnsOMYS0YxeSbr_MLzY-kIu4pQzrJczzXicVqxpJzdWNBNTT49uhfGpMPtYmZx/s200/cantrell-current.jpg" border="0" /></a>Located on Washington Boulevard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Kinkead</span> Contemporary is a small space to begin with. But, with the front space set up with two backdrops, camera on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">tri</span>-pod in the middle of the room and a shelving installation filled with photography "props," it felt rather claustrophobic. Entering the space to hipsters with curly moustaches standing around joking around about this or that and art revelers talking amongst themselves and ignoring the art, it was obvious right away that this was a show that did not demand attention. After doing a quick <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">walk-through</span>, cutting through compelling conversations about baby's needs and smart filmmakers who are a "personal friend," we checked out the bio and purpose of the show.<br /></div><br /><div><em>A Study in Portraiture deals with the subversion and altering of identity through portraiture and how those issues manifest themselves through Heather Cantrell's exploration of tribes and subcultures, specifically those of the art world.</em> </div><br /><div>Obviously the art world is a tribe, just like the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Hebrews</span>. And, of course, nothing explores that like posing people up in front of backdrops they think are clever and allowing them to play dress up like some damned eight year <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">old</span> that doesn't invite the whole class to the birthday party. The show was, put simply, an insiders show meant to assert importance to a group of people who need that type of positive reinforcement.<br /><br />It was essentially a boring photo exhibit. An elaborate photo booth at a hip <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Williamsburg</span> or Culver City Bar. Doing one last pass to finish the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Tecate</span> and trying to figure out if there is deeper meaning here that one might miss, I went and checked the artists statement again: <em>The resulting photographic image represents this in one captured moment with all its beautiful ambiguity and intrigue - it is a 'play-still.'</em></div><br /><div>This show was neither "ambiguous" nor "intriguing." Instead it was a year book that no one wants to sign.</div><br /><div><strong>Stop 2: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">LeBasse</span> Project, 6023 Washington Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232</strong></div><em>Seasonal Change: Group Exhibition</em><br /><em>artists including <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Tessar</span> Lo, Nate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Frizzell</span>, Joe Black, Alexandros <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Vasmoulakis</span>, Thomas Doyle, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixeICyBUQf9y07ScmaaJD88sAn_7yuca-QSN4qTO5P4L0AWxmPbc5jIeqoz4q16Kfk2qKlLoA62HEXgycjG2etWW-NRGRy8BSEBqpIhO4oPEcpB7VFuExm9nFTDKWVFmSUcxEo5Y7LV9CY/s1600-h/eu13.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351124375820467298" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 154px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixeICyBUQf9y07ScmaaJD88sAn_7yuca-QSN4qTO5P4L0AWxmPbc5jIeqoz4q16Kfk2qKlLoA62HEXgycjG2etWW-NRGRy8BSEBqpIhO4oPEcpB7VFuExm9nFTDKWVFmSUcxEo5Y7LV9CY/s200/eu13.jpg" border="0" /></a>James Roper, Morgan Slade, Edwin <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Ushiro</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Rebecca</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Urias</span>, Meryl <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Donoghue</span> and Michael Steele.</em><br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhT-zNeHQhhxdkBFcBCTao4l1Gm1DUFWTQaGDEVGBBgdsq6vmxij-QAE7mJH3AY-514yqbuxqMmu6QeJiIlA2Xy80clESCb-HFKgftucWsbwhEMLKWxWN4fHRI0KyxjqwpF8Li3bnTVhR/s1600-h/cantrell-current.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhT-zNeHQhhxdkBFcBCTao4l1Gm1DUFWTQaGDEVGBBgdsq6vmxij-QAE7mJH3AY-514yqbuxqMmu6QeJiIlA2Xy80clESCb-HFKgftucWsbwhEMLKWxWN4fHRI0KyxjqwpF8Li3bnTVhR/s1600-h/cantrell-current.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisI8ikAW0ibQH5TedM-j6nCLex-yTw5iy4uq0l_xVWhIjiTqPMWwnV9mr167z-p5iS5AafCLEYKFzN3tSSAb0-gFToG35VUJgvBCP7gl-97i48JTc9RcGRdes4UBLphyphenhyphenEqrvqVeSWOwqVW/s1600-h/cantrell-current.jpg"></a>In direct contrast to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Kinkeade</span> Contemporary <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">LeBasse</span> Project seemed to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">deadset</span> on filling the eyes with such sweet art that it'll give you a bit of a stomach ache, but the kind of stomach ache you revel in. Walking the gallery and feasting on all the eye candy, not every painter was a hit, but the overall feeling was that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">gallerists</span> have a vision for the kind of work they want to show and there opinion of the collector is that they'll want to hang the work somewhere that will catch the eye of the observer. The group show features artists who will be participating in upcoming shows.</div><br /><div>Beau <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Basse</span> was there himself and was happy to talk about the current climate in the art world, the works that he felt truly passionate about and the state of art in Los Angeles. The work covered the precious, the grotesque and the ultra cool. Riffs on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">anime</span>, photography and good old fashioned irony. This was by far the best show of the night and if there were a rating system in place, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">LeBasse</span> would score high.<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WCAjueJS2X4qefMdNzemnld06nYgtkoGrMx-XOUcTVRcE9Lasl35u4XKH4kJTn2Us_Rfhyphenhyphen80XkF6Cd1YydE_HPNcFxjn2Vc29lzABQNFS5BLbTNlekwTC8zFVZZ3e06ySxDXK97K4aKu/s1600-h/jr1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351125102492328018" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 200px; height: 140px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WCAjueJS2X4qefMdNzemnld06nYgtkoGrMx-XOUcTVRcE9Lasl35u4XKH4kJTn2Us_Rfhyphenhyphen80XkF6Cd1YydE_HPNcFxjn2Vc29lzABQNFS5BLbTNlekwTC8zFVZZ3e06ySxDXK97K4aKu/s200/jr1.jpg" border="0" /></a> There were several highlights of the show. Two in particular really stuck with me. Both could be considered really good guy art. The first one was a reminder of all that is great about the reckless. James Roper's Exit Vehicle series. The pieces are intricately drawn cars at the moment of impact into some immovable force. The result is an explosion of water color. Only 12" x 17" the work packs a mighty wallop. While probably satisfying only the masculine eye, there is something incredibly vulnerable about the detail in the art. What is omitted is almost as interesting as what is on the page. There is no trace of humanity. Only machine in black and white; impact in a rainbow of colors announcing the beauty and texture of the accident. While Roper may not be for everyone his simplistic and clearly stated vision is one that grasps you and forces that smile you get when art is both expertly crafted and cleverly conceived.</div><br /><div>The second highlight of the show is Morgan Slade's Tiger Balm. Photography that is printed enormously and then manipulated. This art makes Roper's look like the sensitive little brother afraid of getting to second base. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ppY9ST0r8B-8qFyXruDvGYKbN4rZTSdROwMw4OF9hcvFuLwM03Vwbuz3oQG1S039xWlxDS8Sx3alIzaaaowPJ8FWDLneDfJSZBUY_cCI6uMlTPeQApB5sovBmFakrWuqp3D6S3m-yxxS/s1600-h/ms3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351131138526086146" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 151px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ppY9ST0r8B-8qFyXruDvGYKbN4rZTSdROwMw4OF9hcvFuLwM03Vwbuz3oQG1S039xWlxDS8Sx3alIzaaaowPJ8FWDLneDfJSZBUY_cCI6uMlTPeQApB5sovBmFakrWuqp3D6S3m-yxxS/s200/ms3.jpg" border="0" /></a> Largely rendered women that we assume are beautiful, their figures are at least, with masks of large and dangerous animals covering most of their head. In the series we never see the woman's face, nor do we see her nude body. But, we see enough. Provocatively painted and adorned afterward, the work simply jumps from the frame and makes you wish you lived in a world where women had as much attitude and swagger as they do in Morgan Slade's work. Again, this is guy art. But, make no mistake.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">LeBasse</span> Projects has their shit together. They're showing art. Not some conception of how art should be poignant and "out there," or simple and without talent, but with an MFA pedigree. There were a few clunkers in there. Jack Long's Sustaining felt like a dated 1960's album cover and in a small room to the side there were works that felt minor and more suited for the bottom of a skateboard then on the wall of a gallery. But overall, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">LeBasse</span> was the hit of the night.<br /><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div><strong>Stop 3: George <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Billis</span> Gallery, 2716 La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Cienega</span> Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90034</strong></div><div><em>Terry Thompson, Johnny Robertson, Michael Owen<br /><br /></em></div><div><em></em> </div><div>The only thing more upsetting than this show was that no other galleries were open. This was the second time I entered into George <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Billis</span> Gallery and it was the second time I was unimpressed. It might be the last time I go, but I am sucker for the hope that someone will finally get it right after getting it wrong for such a prolonged amount of time. Billis' show is the perfect example of the slides they use to advertise online being a complete lie when representing what the show acrually has to offer. On <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Artslant</span> the images looked cool, quirky and worth a look. In person they were worthless, boring and made me want to drown all the acrylic and oil at the bottom of the Pacific so no one could ever paint again. I'd like to think that this is the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">gallerists</span> and their neighbors fault for allowing them to show that art in this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">neighborhood</span>. It was neither contemporary, interesting or well rendered.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>On my live feed from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">twitter</span> I made four tweets about this show. Let's make them the last thing I say about the show:</div><div> </div><div><br />George <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Billis</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">culver</span> city<a class="entry-date" href="https://twitter.com/artbystander/status/2260711395" rel="bookmark">7:39 PM Jun 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">th</span></a> from <a href="http://www.tinytwitter.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">TinyTwitter</span></a> </div><div> </div><div><br />Just fell asleep on my feet. This show is a mush of pop culture <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">boredown</span> and bad renderings of palm trees. Rum calls<a class="entry-date" href="https://twitter.com/artbystander/status/2260739310" rel="bookmark">7:41 PM Jun 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">th</span></a> from <a href="http://www.tinytwitter.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">TinyTwitter</span></a> </div><div> </div><div><br />Seriously, the George <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Billis</span> show was bad. Drinking at mandrake before heading to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">silverlake</span> for one last opening.<a class="entry-date" href="https://twitter.com/artbystander/status/2260853813" rel="bookmark">7:52 PM Jun 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">th</span></a> from <a href="http://www.tinytwitter.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">TinyTwitter</span></a><br /><a class="fav-action non-fav" id="status_star_2260739310" title="favorite this update" jquery1245908045750="126"> </a><a class="del" title="delete this update" jquery1245908045750="146"> </a><br />In the words of Forrest <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Gump</span>: And that's all I have to say about that.</div><div> </div><div><strong><br /><br />Stop 4: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Azteca</span> Gallery, 2148 Sunset Boulevard - in Echo <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Park, Los</span> Angeles, California 90026</strong></div><div><em>Arte <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">de</span> Eros<br /><br /></em></div><div><em></em> </div><div>This show was interesting for the scene. The work was earthy and Latin American. The space was more pleasing than the work. An old store front, possibly a shoe repair shop. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">gallerist</span> used a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">cubby</span> system along one wall to store his hats. The art was all for sale as prints and was reasonably priced and would look good in any southwestern type store or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">santa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">fe</span> styled house. The most distracting thing about it was that every piece was accompanied by a note card with the title and a description of what was being represented through the loosely figurative work. This was not only distracting, but the writing was overly sentimental and made the work more boring than it actually was. This was the point of overload for the evening and my viewing partner and I escaped to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">CitySip</span> for wine and reflection.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>In conclusion it was a mediocre first outing. There was no work that haunted or chased us into the next gallery and once the wine was poured we did not feel compelled to reflect on what we'd seen. The art seemed to be without "question." Good art is fun to look at, great art makes you question existence.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>My final thought was that the artists we'd seen had mastered their technical skills, but were still lacking that extra push. Whether they lack belief or conviction is hard to tell, but something was missing by God and that missing piece made the night less memorable.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>As I mentioned, this blog is a work in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">progress</span>, but the night was a success. Art was viewed, opinions were made as were friends. Los Angeles I look forward to seeing the best you have to offer.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">~ Craig A. Platt<br />6.24.09<br /></div></div><div><br /><img class="gl_photo" alt="Add Image" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2209544943236918335.post-82765618768921383482009-06-19T09:50:00.000-07:002009-06-22T09:16:08.753-07:00BOOK REVIEW: THE SAVAGE DETECTIVES<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5qK28DA9YTGPfnRhk9aCsqpxw_4h8qB9FFZi-zZGMmPwqyCOybIlg5IFWv-SFqBi4hY6ZtctVmG92qVHo8STyOl6cXOAbzpxod8lKpAj47lf2uxDh2BOlEf0Pz0whMY2IDX_Zv1m1Ars/s1600-h/bolano.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 341px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5qK28DA9YTGPfnRhk9aCsqpxw_4h8qB9FFZi-zZGMmPwqyCOybIlg5IFWv-SFqBi4hY6ZtctVmG92qVHo8STyOl6cXOAbzpxod8lKpAj47lf2uxDh2BOlEf0Pz0whMY2IDX_Zv1m1Ars/s200/bolano.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349082397012083698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">MANIPULATION AS REALISM AS VISCERA</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Art has gone crazy, boys, I said, and they said: it’s always been crazy</span><br /><br />Life is unpredictable. Everyone dies. No one will remember you. This is, of course, an oversimplification of sorts, but is the main theme that is intricately woven through the confessional style of this monumental work of trickery and literary mastery. The Savage Detectives is a sprawling Latin American novel by Roberto Bolaño that seeks to both ostracize the author and his form of literature/poetry while at the same time striving to re-re-redefine Latin American literature and the definition of being an artist as a whole.<br /><br />It would prove to be an impossible undertaking to summarize this novel, a work that is divided into three parts, the first and third being the daily journals of aspiring Visceral Realist Poet Juan Garcia Madero and the second section (the meat and the potatoes of the novel) a five-hundred page series of interviews with people who have at some point in life come into contact and been affected by either the leaders of the poetic movement Visceral Realism Arturo Bolano or Ulises Lima.<br /><br />We begin with a simple sentence from Madero, an invitation to join the Visceral Realists, an invitation we would be foolish not to accept. Madero is a young and brilliant boy with sexual and poetic prowess. A boy who is both confident and insecure, lost in the sea of Mexican identity. He finds himself torn between the bourgeoisie wishes of his family, notably not his parents, and the visceral realists, a band of young Mexicans living the bohemian lifestyle and searching for a greater truth than any Latin American magical realism can offer. The great enemy is of course Octavio Paz, possibly the only well known poet from Mexico and statesman of Latin American Literature.<br /><br />Madero is the reader’s introduction to our two literary heroes and dominant figures throughout the story, Arturo Bolano and Ulises Lima. These two young men are the mysterious figures with limitless power, though few have read a word they have written, a power they wield over a group of young artists in search of a larger purpose. The fact that Bolano and Lima seem to be petty criminals constantly failing to launch any poetry magazine off the ground seems to only enhance their legend as men ahead of their time. One could try to describe every character and intricacy of this novel, but that person would only be feeding into the goal of this work.<br /><br />Bolano and Lima eventually leave Mexico City, Visceral Realism and any permanent life behind, choosing to be itinerant for the rest of their lives. Visceral Realism was never really alive, not according to those who had involved themselves in the movement, though eventually it will be studied, if not by waves of people, at least by one academician who finds meaning in what he is able to learn regarding an undocumented literary movement that can only cobble together a handful of published poems. In fact, to academia Bolano and Lima do not exist and if they do, it is only to those who are interviewed about the subject, the fact that they have published little to nothing renders them meaningless to history. This poses the first major question of the work, how do we define success and if success is the personal barometer to personal artistic satisfaction. Or better stated, does any of it matter if that’s the kind of thing you’re interested in, success? And is success better appreciated alone or within a greater context of your peers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fY95ioMbWiQRlQB8BDBVKc_fpkak1obric2RF0BIaMCLMTLkkPbZ0rkEfcHbAAuDXPyS2b6Z3tTJVI3c8ZwBoVBljRfS9luomqoQpW8EH_w7Khz02TGg4kroiEzjvbGFLE5kCZQL0Q61/s1600-h/12bola190.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fY95ioMbWiQRlQB8BDBVKc_fpkak1obric2RF0BIaMCLMTLkkPbZ0rkEfcHbAAuDXPyS2b6Z3tTJVI3c8ZwBoVBljRfS9luomqoQpW8EH_w7Khz02TGg4kroiEzjvbGFLE5kCZQL0Q61/s200/12bola190.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349566622382588226" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Visceral Realism is dead, said Requena, we should forget about it and make something new. A Mexican section of surrealism, I murmured. I need something to drink, I said.</span><br /><br />This question of whether it is even possible to be an original at this juncture of literary and artistic history, this is another topic Bolaño as author is dealing with through an oral history. The second section of the book, the challenging and important section, is a series of interviews with figures that are important to the lives of both Bolano the character and Lima. From old guard poets to thuggish Austrians, Bolano and Lima have traveled the world from the late 70’s to the mid-90’s and confronted, contemplate and inserted themselves in. Israel, Africa, France, Spain, England, Mexico, Chile, Panama, Nicaragua, these men have worked and lived everywhere. They have mooched and made friends. They have lurched, lived and loved, to a point that they can say that their living has been their art. The world a canvas and the interactions they have had their brushes. They scantily have a dime to spend or a bed to lay in, but they always seem to have a hope, all be it one that lies far away, that at some point greatness will arrive.<br /><br />While Bolano and Lima are quick to criticize art, people, cities, governments, jobs and cliché bourgeoisie life, what Bolaño is really doing here is reminding us that everyone is a unique being and it's the journey they take that influences their place in history (of course that history is essentially the history of one).<br /><br />Loneliness, love, death, sex, lies, art, family, literature, intellect, paintings, poems, pranks, privilege, penis, pussy, hunger strikes, hallucination, birth, murder, equality, discrimination, damnation, visceral realism. A series of catalogs chronicling lives tied in one tight bale of hay for a few short years and then thrown in the back of a truck and driven through the world to be strewn apart. The book is enormously entertaining, gigantically cerebral and sentimental.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">…the search for a place to live and a place to work was the common fate of all mankind.</span><br /><br />After finally finishing the book you flip back through the pages fondly remembering little sections that you’ve forgotten.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">At the time I thought it was a sad story, not because of the story itself, but because of the way he told it.</span><br /><br />In a generation of writers groomed by creative writing programs Bolaño reminds us that what literature and art really needs are people on the ground, living and grinding through this world, seeing the ugly side, remembering the unfortunate events and ruminating over them for decades. Most importantly, and the reason this novel is brimming with greatness, is that literature, art in general, is about being the great trickster mirror man, reflecting the worlds most grotesque, farcical, comedic, sweet, melancholy and bitter moments into some series of words, brushstrokes, horn blows or sculpted stone that remind us of the simplicity of that complexity. That through the complex undertaking that is art, specifically literature, we can see the pure simplicity and joy that life as a human really has to offer. Bolaño is reminding us that literature can be a colossal force of nature blowing through us and sparking our imaginations through a rough and tumble realism.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You have to live your life, that's all there is to it. A drunk I met the other day on my way out of the bar La Mala Senda told me so. Literature is crap.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">~Craig A. Platt<br />6.20.09<br /></div>Craig A. Platthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05993430450458226469noreply@blogger.com0