Sunday, December 29, 2013

The Next Day

"Oblivion shall own you-death alone shall love you"
You feel so lonely you could die-David Bowie

That's a detail from the piece "What's past is prologue".
The visage of a Bowie emerging from a bloodied scar could be a pretty apt summation of this year.

Why? Because if 2013 has seemed an endless tide of diminishing returns and fuck you affrontary, one beacon in this annus horribilis was the unexpected release of The Next Day. 

It couldn't have come at a better time frankly.

It's the sound of an aging artist, fully aware of less time ahead than behind, refusing to go quietly.

When I hear it, I think of Goya's painting-"Fight with Cudgels" or even late Picasso daubing images of sirens pissing into the Bay of Biscay.
At times if there has seemed little hope than the visual echoes on canvas, the album has been a welcome companion.

For a year that's felt like merely marking time, that much bares witnessing.

Farewell 2013-fare better than I ever did in your care.

Here's to the next day. 

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A very Bruegel Yuletide

For my money (what little I have), no artist portrays seasonal salutations better than the elder Bruegel with his 'Hunters in the snow.' The three ragged peasants and dog pack emerging from the spindly wooded glade, to behold the unraveling icy spectacle below, could be likened to a modern day parable of shoppers scavenging for last minute holiday bargains. 
Parables are a big thing this time of year after all.

It could also be just my way of wishing you all a very merry feast of Saturnalia.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Sharon Tate and the daughters of Joy

One of the most tremendous and extraordinary happenstances to come in the wake of the Man/son show last year, was my introduction to David Herrle, whose opus Sharon Tate and the Daughters of Joy, has just been released. 
Expounding a similar trough, Davids prose is a fascinating rhythmic riff on an eternal arc of the goddess, femme fatal and eviscerated muse through history,and I was honored then to be asked to contribute my 2010 piece-the Valley-as the frontispiece. That aside, I make no bones when I say that I believe Herrles work is as profound as Ginsberg's "Howl" and every bit the master painter with epigrams, I'll leave you with a selection of his remarkable prose, and the hope that you will click the  following link and fill someones stocking: 

check out Sharon Tate and the daughters of Joy

Scatalogicians say “we’re born between urine and feces”
and evolutionists reduce human births to fishy non-events.

I rebut that we burst from Zeus’ head and correspond
to true love as the moon reflects the sun.

We are one part piss and shit, three parts magic.
There is a vast heaven between the hole and the hole.


 I stand against genetic egalitarians, insisting — and proving —
that there are perfect tens among us, that the streets, malls,
schools, slums and cubicle lands teem with females that shame
Playmates, Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, Gibson Girls, Miss USAs.

Physical beauty and limbic dope can't make us righteous or
inspire peace (those darling pinups on bomber noses: all femmes
fatales) so we must abstract delectable flesh into concept, Muse,
trickle-up aesthetics: unveil the Sublime, inform the world of Forms.

This is the Reverse Galatea, an unreification, a Cocochanelism.
Let's piss off gender-feminists and Left and Right ascetics.

My radical subversion compels me to saturate the social sphere
with post-Pre-Raphaelite cream women, hot ebon lovelies and
supermodels, conflate proto-Soviet Plato with Marie Claire, shine
pop culture's flooziest swan-sired Helens into Nurse Ratcheds' eyes.

Offend puritan Hitlers, Marlene Dietrich! Toss your bra at social
realism, Dita Teese! Muffle Rembrandt noses, Courbet bushes!

The Aesthetes were right in praising scopophilic and olfactory
bondage: arresting style and images, powder, blush and perfume,
Prada over Pravda, because curative visual frottage stimulates a
sugary ooze to gum up utilitarian machines and appall soul-police.

Mary Poppins is Julie Andrews (not the marm of the books), Gypsy Rose
Lee frees, Trudy Stein jails, Joplin's a jalopy, and Katy Perry's a Ferrari.

We need gorgeous gargoyles to repel drab demons, a return to pulp
magazines' dichotomous depictions: an aesthetic equivalent to war-
propaganda art that defends the pure genius of being good-looking.
Who's afraid of Naomi Wolf? Not us! Beauty is an ever-expanding box!

Pin-up artists Vargas and MacPherson are high-treasonous.The centerfold is a revolutionary act.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Serial Killer Culture world premiere screening date

It's in Chicago, the day after festivus which might as well be the Moon for me, but at least it feels like reaching that far. No real inkling as to the amount of face time for my contribution, but my hope is fifteen minutes, because it's as close as I'll get to mine.

 Details as follows:


Doors open at 6pm, film begins at 6:30pm. Stay for the performance by MACABRE after the film!

Thursday, December 26th
at Reggies 2105 S. State Street in Chicago, IL 60616
doors at 6pm 17 & over show

The 16th annual Holiday Of Horror



ELBOW DEEP (record release show)


World Premiere screening of SERIAL KILLER CULTURE by filmmaker John Borowski (Filmmaker of H.H. Holmes, Albert Fish and Carl Panzram).

Serial Killer Culture examines the reasons why artists and collectors are fascinated by serial killers. Through music, painting, filmmaking, writing, and collecting, thirteen individuals are interviewed about creating art and searching for murderous artifacts. Featured in the film are: Joe Coleman, MACABRE, Rick Staton, Hart Fisher, The Dahmer Tours, Joe Hiles, Sam Hane, Stephen Giannangello, Sparzanza, Matthew Aaron, John Borowski, David Van Gough, and The World Famous Crawlspace Brothers.

Official Site: serialkillerculture.com
Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Sg85xdzHjM


presented by
The Chicago Metal l Factory