I’m mad…in love. I love you . I don’t. I love you. Pretend, and always will. I love you. Stop. How many times did I write it, never said it, cause you’re never. Can’t imagine. Already, I love you. Done. Another life. Sleep. I’ve got mine. I miss you. I do. You were always the reason I stayed. I left and wrote and never. Right. I’m going. Sea….

The New Aesthetic

In regards to new aesthetic movements in art, lately I have been thinking about the influence of the post-modern movement and how it has influenced aesthetics for the past thirty years. The post conceptualism movement in art has failed to create a definable aesthetic and on the contrary has created a declassified aesthetic by placing the focus of the individual. The argument that everything has already been said dramatically shifted the importance and progression of aesthetic movements to the ideas and practice of the individual. Although many critics at one point argued that past movements such as painting were dead, the liberties of individualism has led to some amazing work that can be classified into previous aesthetics. The definition of quality, meaning what is good art, it what has really taken a shift. Previously in the movements of modernism, works were largely praised for their progression, a strong protestant industrial revolution ideal. Greenberg in the mid century praised movements that redefined the practice of painting such as abstract expressionism. However, as post modern artsists found themselves unavoidably working in similar styles as past movements, the presence of aesthic progress became inferior to the presence of content. Contemporary works created by artists such as Eric Fischle and Tim Hawkinson largely resemble the works of previous movements. Hawkinson works with similar forms and in a similar practice that Jean Tinguely did about ninety years ago. However, the redefinition of form or sculpture is no longer what makes his work good or the appropriation of past forms what makes it bad. It’s the content of the work, the ideas expressed through forms, regardless of new or old, and the continual redefinition of what art is, rather than what it looks like that creates importance. The new aesthetic is one that appropriates forms of the past in ways that express contemporary ideas and content. It is the ideas that are progressive and their relationship to contemporary society that defines their quality. In that way good art will continue to be not only influencial, but also avant garde.
I might also argue simultaneouly that it is nearly impossible to define a new aesthetic movement because they really no longer exist. Art today is just one big cluster fuck of artists doing what they want, what will get them laid, or what will get them famous, and there are far too many trying far too hard at it. Look at its consequence in society. The two biggest aesthetic movements today might possibly be facebook/myspace and blogging. Their similitude to contemporary art is aweful. Individuals using generic templates, questions, posts and pictures, hoping to somehow acheive some sense of acceptance and community, helplessly defining their influence by their number of friends.
The only alternative to the existential cluster fuck, is the possibility that all the individual artists together compose a single movement. It may be possible to define the post modern movement as a movement of modernism in itself, a movement that may one day shift. Artists may find themselves in communities again collectively making art inspired by a single ideal and the current aesthetic or absence of a concrete definition of one will become just another chapter in the lineage of fine art, bracketed by dates and classified by individuals.

Matches, Tree, Fire, Video, Au Revior

Here’s the video of my tree being set on fire. Please refrain from making any references or connections to the destruction of things that are beautiful. I apologize for the blue streaks, its a bit unprofessional, but then again, I make things out of match sticks.

Match Stick Cherry Tree

I used over twenty five hundred matches to build a cherry tree. Who knows why. Maybe Bobby Dylan made me do it, or maybe it was my OCD, obsession with construction, or the fact that I was broke and still needed to make things. The project began in the summer of 2008 and finally ended January 22, 2009, with the long awaited igniting of what proved to be another consuming endeavor. I was glad to see it go in glory, rather than the slow deconstruction it had experienced while making it due to the intense heat waves during the summer. Sure I would have loved to see it last, possibly be shown and shared with others, but it was necessary to get it out of my space and out of my head. And of course I am able to share it here, with anyone who cares to look, and don’t fret, the video of its destruction will soon be aired, as quickly as youtube decides to process it.

Motto

“Every man has to believe in something, I believe I’ll have another beer”

"What's your favorite beer? Whatever I'm drinking right now.

Bertolt Brecht and “The Good Woman of Szetzuan”

I have been continually inspired by “The Good Woman of Setzuan” by Bertolt Brecht. “Slowly the lifeboat is lifted down, too many men too greedily hold on to it as they drown.” I am working on a new piece full of experimentation and brand new materials. Like the gods of the story I am searching for the good that lingers in the world and like Brecht, leave it up to the viewer to decide what to do.

The Mold for Casting A Large Amount of Skeleton Forearms

I am only partially through the casting process and have taken a bit of time away to work on a different piece. However, I am excited about the direction the piece is going and the content it is taking on. It seems the work that I make about repitition, middle class America, and the monotony of life’s structure, have a growing importance and relevence as current issues in America escalade.

Saturday

It feels like a Saturday
The sun running its fingers through the empty trees,
A man with Vatican arms trying to capture a child.
The ground still spotted
With pools from the previous rain,
Reflecting what’s left of autumn leaves.
It’s strange to think that what’s closest to the sun
Is most difficult to see,
Like leering into a spotlight,
Only with distance can the individual parts,
That comprise the landscape,
Be fully observed.

I Make Objects

I have been recently working with new materials including silicon, urethane, and other liquid plastics. It has been a wonderful process learning these materials and has opened up many new possibilities for the physicality of content. I will be posting my latest idea in process next week. As for now…

Asteroids Have No Brains

One of my first photos in my high school photography class was a thirty minute exposure of the solar system moving through the night sky.

As I think back now, upon that photo, I am comforted by the thought that all the particles in existence must move through the space of time as I do.

I wonder if I and they are the same, gliding along lifes unstoppable gravity, or if we are perhaps engaged in an eternal struggle to break free from the parameters of physics and go our own existential directions.

When it’s Finally Good…It will be really good

I ended the night saying to the one person I never have to explain myself to, “With all the difficulty of getting it, and living among people that don’t, with all our feelings of madness, being alone, poor, and struggling, at least we have the comfort of knowing that when it’s finally good, it will be good, really fucking good”.

I5 FWY

I took the 5 freeway up from San Diego on Monday, my day off, for a drive away from everything, to find refreshment and understanding in some amazing restaurants and conversation. After a quick stop, I arrived at Spago around one oclock, for a meal I don’t think I will ever forget. In the framework of a nineteen nineties white tablecloth restaurant, that by the end of the meal I was smiling at in endearment, I enjoyed the delightful cuisine of world famous chef Wolfgang Puck, a bottle of Tempier Rose, as well as Massolino Barbera, and remembered that there are others who are in the know, that share the same perspective as I do, towards creativity, life, and utter madness. We began the meal laughing over both of us saying, “were so rich”, and after leaving the esparagus filled shoes by the bathroom, I walked out of the frosted doors of Spago into strange LA weather thinking to myself that I may not be rich in monetary means, but I could live today as everyday, regardless of whether it was set within the framework of a shack in the forest or a house in the hills.

Naturally, I took the opportunity to fall flat on my thoughts over Fleetfoxes on the player and a drive up the hills to Mulholland. The windows down, the back roads of Beverly hills, the welcomed reclusive silence, and stories of stupid parties in the hills led us to Mulholland Drive. We stopped off at the Mulholland drive lookout to take in the view, possibly take a piss, and ponder who owned this amazing modern home on the ridge. I asked an older couple if there was a restroom anywhere near and the man proceeded to point down a trail and respond, “you can go down there, just don’t light a match”.

Almost everyday I have somewhere to go, something to accomplish, or someone to meet, but I found myself careless and rather than go back the way I came, I continued my journey down the backside of the hills, indifferent to the idea of getting completely lost, and ended up at a great little coffee shop on the border of studio city and sherman oaks. My double cappuccino was perfect. The foam was one of the best I have seen in a long time and they had almond, soy, and some other milk that was impressive to my counterpart. We sat outside in the heat and I enjoyed the normalcy of our most common interaction, me silently thinking and her texting away.

After the drive I ended up back where I began, excited about a mission to find sunflower seeds, accompanied by a little rest to the sound of Garden State. Idealism permeates all areas of life. It seemed the topic of the day and it carried right through into the search for sunflower seeds. The first brand we found weren’t up to par and there was no damn way we were about to get seduced into that fifty percent less salt shit.

No Damn Way

Less salt…it’s only good when pertaining to the green bottle of soy sauce rather than the red. It only took two more blocks to find the appropriate brand, harvest, and vintage. I took the opportunity to discuss Jean Luc Godard’s Breathless, its wonderful portrayal of passive and active nihilism, and the so often misunderstood ending.

“I’m ok with being unimpressive, I sleep better.” It had been a while since I had watched Garden State, but I hadn’t forgotten how much I identify, as most kids do, with the movie. I watched the movie drifting in and out of sleep, taken back to old memories of the people and places I had experienced the film with before, occasionally waking to spout off some quote or explain how meaningful some tiny little detail was to me.

I could say so many things about Mozza Pizzeria. The way it looked, what was said, what we were wearing, but I would rather just say we had a bottle of Lini Lambrusco Rosato, caprese salad, ahi stuffed peppers, and hand made pizza.

I had a long drive home ahead of me, plenty of time to contemplate my difficulty with everyday living and the normalcy of being away and with someone who shares a similar perspective. I dropped her off on St. Andrews Street, put on In Rainbows (the best baby making music according to her) and drove away wondering if what I had just said about when it’s good was already now.