more evidence

I’m changing it up. Less intensity. So far I’ve only voiced “Deep Thoughts,” to homage the SNL skit by Jack Handy. But the problem is that this blog has not as of yet captured my sense of the culture [at large], (nor my adoration of brackets and parens), how I filter the world or what makes me laugh. Any of which may or may not be followed up with a more critical, more studious, interpretation later or inbetween. (god bless the infinity of the internet.)
Let’s face it, I’m silly. I think life is ridiculous. I love to laugh. I love to marvel. To drink. To think. To go. There are plenty of people who will take life too seriously for me to justify reserving my blog for entirely original moments — thoughtful chin-scratching, bemused smiling, “yes, yeesss”ing — okay I want all of that to happen too. But mostly, I want this blog to be a collage, period. Bits of everything that strike my interest, paired with a bit of commentary, or not. Because I want this blog to reflect (as this blog has not reflected thus far), my everlasting quest to wrestle with (arm wrestle? mud wrestle? thumb wrestle?) with this culture that is EVER so alive.
Hence, not dead.
And yes, that’s my idea of a joke.

there must be something in the air

So far, I have not been able to write about Unmonumental: The Object in the 21st Century,” the inaugural exhibit at the New Museum on the Bowery that inspired my recent homage to collage and that closes on March 30. It’s been overwhelming not because I’m not interested in teasing out my response to the show, in general, and certain pieces, specifically, but because every time thus far that I have turned to focus on Unmonumental, I’ve not been able to get past my newly-identified obsession with collage as a form.
Incidentally, I’m not alone. In grappling with his thoughts about the Whitney Biennial in the March 24, 2008 issue of New York magazine, Jerry Saltz describes the show’s “resultant assemblage-collage aesthetic” as “the style du jour right now.” He writes: “Huldisch and Momin [the youthful curators] assert that current art is exploring what Samuel Beckett called “lessness,” and that it’s in a “do-over” phase. … artists are working in modes of “anti-spectacle” and “ephemerality,” and employing “modest, found, or scavenged materials.” … artists are working together and off one another, and that they’re making use of the open-source systems, self-replicating strategies, and decentralized networks of our YouTube-MySpace world.”
Yes, yes, yes! To cite that candy-colored sign announcing the New Museum’s presence on the Bowery: Hell yes!

What Saltz fails to mention—or maybe doesn’t agree with—is the whimsy, often surreality, of this mode of art. Collage is playful. A sumptuous full moon adorned in chains of faux pearls, fur pelts, foam-stuffed fishnet stockings, fringe, curling horns shaped out of silver, shiny aluminum foil, a pair of long johns, plastic tubular hose and gourds, among other miscellany, is the focal point of Wangechi Mutu’s wall-size mural (50×25 feet, I’m guessing) titled, “Perhaps the Moon Will Save Us.” Small pink blossoms blown from a crooked, wind-bent tree drift toward the moon. Except, look closer: They aren’t blossoms. Look closer: They are small, pink, (presumably) dead pigs, affixed with a tuft of animal fur. Light as a feather, (they are tiny), they drift on the breeze. The realization doesn’t shake one from one’s dreamlike reverie—at least it didn’t me. Any more than Madame moon’s tacky-trashy accoutrements.
Artists who work in collage generally do not shy away from the grotesque, the grit and grime of life—literally, when working with found objects. What they create is all the more soulful for it.

Thanks to Wooster Collective for the photo of the New Museum. Street arts aren’t unrelated to collage: juxtaposition of textures, colors, surfaces. layers of meaning. irreplicable process. surprising results. the transformation of a wall, a lamppost, into something … else.

what collage means to me

Collage is:
The collective unconsciousness of a subway car, or an airplane cabin.
A waking dream.
Leaves leftover from last season tangled in spring.
Simultaneous tabbed web browsing, emailing and IMing.
Spontaneous decisions.
Mismatched sheets.
May involve paper, scissors and glue.
However, any source material will do. (rhyme!)
— Always pieced together to make one new thing.
There is an eye which sees,
Like how a photographer frames X for desired effect (only with more imprecise edges).
There’s a thought there, to tease out. Call it inspiration, idea, inquiry.
It’s a nudge. of Life’s pieces. Some make sense. Others don’t (until you tilt your head). (And then still maybe not).
A shattered mirror’s fragmented views is still always a reflection.
An different perception, perhaps?
Always a labor of love, inherent opinion.
Perceived as a Frankenstein to some,
A celebration of living, in the best case scenario.
Always a public record. And art, entangled.

(pushed over the edge by Unmonumental: The Object in the 21st Century at the New Museum)

Post script: From where, oh where, did I get my love of collage?
Junking (garage sale scavenging) with Grandma. Loosing oneself in the layers of beats and vocals, looped—hallmarks of the music defining my generation. A result of living amid the ebb and flow of city life. Three instances of how collage inspires life—this one, at least.

this is not a(nother) post…

a.) I’ve been on a sabbatical of the soul. b.) I’ve been on vacation. c.) I’ve been in locations without internet connection. d.) I was overwhelmed. A-D above are all valid reasons **yes, excuses** for not having blogged for the last couple of months. But the point is, I love this burgeoning, creative forum, where I have virtually complete editorial control, even if no one is reading. Still satisfying (and non-navel gazing).

I had my first response to an earlier post just two days ago–that’s roughly seven months after I started this blog–but damn, it was a good one. I encourage anybody who’s read this far to check out the response to the off-the-cuff essay, which launched this blog back in January 2007, “Culture Is Not Dead.” It’s well thought out and intelligent, albeit contrary. And I have absolutely nothing wrong with that.

—

I’m really excited about a lot that’s going on in my personal culturesphere right now. LA graf, the escalating debate over “authenticity”, increased Burning Man prep, sightings and musings on riffs of Magritte’s “ceci n’est pas une pipe”, the heat-inspired fragrance of the New York summer. Stay tuned.

culture is dead.

That’s a bit of hyperbole on my part. But I did recently hear someone whom I think knows a thing or two about the subject issue a not-unlike indictment of the state of cultural affairs. Culture has been in a headlong tailspin since the mid-twentieth century, she lamented, and she’s sorry that this is what we’ve been left to work with.

I beg to differ. If only because of the sheer volume of information that’s available to us—literally at our fingertips—we are living in the most diverse, dynamic cultural period yet.

Granted, it’s nearly impossible to compartmentalize the cultural sphere in a postmodern world, particularly after the explosion of digital technologies in the last decade. That wasn’t a death knell, but a signal of evolution.

Culture today is a kaleidoscopic vision, fragmented into a thousand pieces, constantly shifting, expanding outwards, various forms spontaneously intersecting and collaborating before evolving again, all within a decentralized power structure.

In short, it’s a minor revolution.

***

The purpose of this blog is to document in that evolution/revolution as manifested in New York City, my home turf. This blog is my breadcrumb trail tracing my discoveries, my encounters, my revelations. It is also an entirely subjective catalogue of the best references I can find for information on goings-ons within NYC’s fringe culture—the locus of my interest.

***

I realize that this all sounds very high-flautin’ and I hope you’ll bear with me. A majority of my future entries are going to be very grounded in actual events and experiences, informative and hopefully entertaining. But that doesn’t mean the occasional waxing poetic won’t slip in… every once and a while.