Sitting There, Reading This...

By K.

Get ready to peel the layers off. You want to eat this art ichoke he art.

No. You stole that line from a good writer!

I considered saying something, but that would be unpunfessional.

No, stealing lines would be unprofessional!

Picasso said, “Good artists copy, great artists steal.”

Picasso would know! He stole everything from Braque!

He’s a great artist then.

No, he’s not! Wait…who are we talking about?

Duchamp.

I like Duchamp!

Did you know he was a cross dresser.

He was an artist!

Same thing.

What do you do again?

I’m in school studying art.

So does that mean, like, portraits and watercolors and stuff?

Didn’t you say you liked Duchamp?

Huh?

Yes. Watercolors and stuff.

Jackson Pollock is my favorite, though.

Why?

Well…I can’t really put it into words.

Neither could Pollock.

So are you going to write about art now?

I thought I was.

But you haven’t said anything yet!

Story of my life.

Can we talk about it?

No one cares.

I do.

I stole it from Thom Yorke.

It was a bad intro anyway.



Are you confused? Me too, art feels all jumbled up inside my head and I can’t find the detangling shampoo. Artist statement, state of the art, artwork, work of art, art object, object-based aesthetics, dematerialization of the art object, I’ll tell you where to put your object, subject, viewer, relationships.


Would you like to write a little somethin-somethin about art? Where are you going?

The bathroom, I mean my studio.


What happened? Did Duchamp put art in the dicer while no one was looking? Did Duchamp put art in the dicer while everyone was looking? Did they applaud him as he flushed the remains down a toilet, THE toilet, THE infamous Fountain.


The urinal wasn’t connected to anything, though.

I know, I know! So where did it all go?


Maybe Duchamp took art out of the loo, pasted it back together, and our new eyes have been adjusting to the light ever since.

That would explain why no one could find the pieces.





I know it’s hard to keep up, but this is the way things are now, take a breath and tighten your sneakers. Cause yes, things are different now.


Throughout art history a beat emerges that you can tap your foot to. Each artistic movement, each philosophy, each style arrives, reigns as valid, and then disappears into the next. Classicism, Byzantine, Baroque, Impressionism, Cubism, Abstract Expressionism, ism, ism, etc, etc. One dominant, ruling ism. One school of thought. One right answer, usually reacting directly to the style that came before. Usually, reacting against the style that came before.

Enter Postmodernism. A name that makes us sound like an intelligent afterthought; it’s one of those things that’s not like the others. What is our dominant philosophy, our aesthetic standard? We don’t have one. No ideal, no standard. Almost every movement from art history can be found represented in major galleries and other artistic practices across the globe today. There is no collective reaction to any of the past movements, to any philosophical norm, to any one tradition. We swallow all the opinions, all the styles, all the approaches, pat the artist on the head and whisper “Everyone’s Perfect.” There is no negation, no rejection of any religion, activism, political tilt, ethical standard, aesthetic approach, artistic purpose, or medium in art (and much of life). We swallow it all. Why? Because no one is wrong. Why? Because we got tired of others claiming they had it right?


If all that is true, what then is art? Or better…what is not art? Are there any more rules or did we relish destroying each one? Acceptance, acceptance, acceptance.

Can I tell you that you, sitting there, reading this sentence yes reading this sentence, are part of a performance piece I’m calling Sitting There, Reading This Sentence.

You’re performing it now.

Am I right? Am I wrong? Is that breaking the rules? Do you give up? I agree, let’s go drink fake cherry limeades at Sonic. But wait! Before we go, do try to come up with an answer (that is, if you think answers exist, because deep down inside, your thoroughly Postmodern self probably believes there are no answers…only eternal questions).


hey

LET'S HANG

Mulling at the Meeting



Seurat said to move the mistaken
Manhattan
over wants of coffee
rich didactic

Staggered mushroom cap plumes
in the window and shortly swallows
the scene;

a fat man well
meaning
though dissociated


Selfish is blindsided by an overstood
cadillac.
The driver wears a feather in
his cap and cowboy boot
gloves

the only walking thing on an earth stopped spinning



pulse confirms the urgency of nonplussed memory. paint me nude
peter altenberg
eating death and death in the sun and swarming sun
so prone to believe and dream of ideal we forget who we are in the here and now

Sheek Louch's aversion to the vulva...



*I'm not responsible for the following.
It just made me laugh



Fears of Vocalizing Intention

when you've reached the end of the line in Chinatown?

Genius



our town


dread, relax relax
I love america

I liked Jay-Z once
I didn't mind Guerilla Black

FREE SHYNE here

THE SNOZBERRIES TASTE LIKE SNOZBERRIES

the most profound statement ever made; just in front of maman est morte.

lay down


a rolling stone gathers no moss but meets its destination several times on its journey

a patience in black ink for diamond eyes

affirmation is touching, energy is without sin; grow me an empire of psalms

Killer of Sheep

Neorealism in Watts
A 1977 film by Charles Burnett. A series of loosely connected vignettes--poetry in motion.
The album art chosen for the cover of Mos Def's "The Ecstatic" is a colored still from this film.

Hi, I'm Seventeen...


and my name is Bobby James...

An Intentionally Irrelevant Movement


ANTI-CULTURAL
POETRY

Jennifer Bartlett





SUICIDE




pillows

to sing songs of incompletions
candy joys of unfinished faculty
the child way; savory sweet & lost

three figures like men stand
as you sleep in a garden of if & to be
around the absence of light

three heads cocked slightly
to the left and in the reprise
the body acknowledges

the things beyond normal comprehension
like the unknowable individual you met
that day

down the narrow staircase to where you remember there was nothing much worth memory

winks


keep to your loyalties, keep to your

patience and good grace. honesty

need not be spoken. regardless. You

have tomorrow and someone to love

you.

how old are you now?


I woke up early on my born day...

Simon Says...



GET THE FUCK UP!

80 Blocks from Tiffany's

ONE OF THE GREATEST DOCUMENTARIES ON new york's FORGOTTEN ERA.

This 1979 documentary film focuses on gangs such as the savage skulls & nomads who occupied areas of the South Bronx. Perhaps even more compelling is considering that the backdrop and social conditions in this film are a 'far cry' from the lifestyle being promoted through disco music and film. Perhaps this answers questions to why many people took preference over the funk records which arguably pathed the way for Hip Hop culture.

Five Feet High and Rising

"Bonneville" a photo/poem


The driving force in contemporary art is the need to unsettle the viewer. No longer is it a matter of simple/complex aesthetic beauty. We strive now to open a channel in the viewer; as I have more clearly come to realize discussing Koons with "K". We have become explorers of perception, umwelt. We coax from the viewer a certain frightening freedom--the ability to face one's complex humanity; all that which is hidden and overt.


I went to Philly a while back to visit two of my best friends. Maybe it was the positive energy I'd received from them, maybe it was the buxom chick upstairs I was flirting with--but I became hyperaware of the surrounding landscape. Northern Philadelphia is a sparsely inhabited ruin. Beautiful, but sad and withdrawn. The decaying buildings, the old cars, the peeling paint--as if it were landlocked in time and never found revenue to grow. Under the hand of gentrification north Philly has been left to decay, little by little. The families still live there, but the property value continues to fall and the signs posted by hungry/vulture realtors fly up on the walls.
I spent my time trying to capture the landscape, both concretely and abstractly through photography. But I certainly didn't want the books meaning to be so simple or straightforward. While I thought constantly of gentrification; the photos seek to capture something greater. There is an interplay of duality in idea and color. I sought to find two ends of the same spectrum and present them, side by side as being equal parts of the same environment.

When the viewer is presented with imagistic text--naturally there is a need to configure the image mentally. But what becomes of your image after its creator has presented you with the original ideation behind the word? This is the truest intention of my book, "Bonneville"

It will be available on Amazon very soon. I'll keep you all posted


The Blueprint 3



Sean Carter appeals to nostalgia. As if the Blueprint 3 were actually an album like any that we grew up listening to. As if this album were prolific enough to reinvent the #3. But again, I must concede to his genius. The album cover is a nod to movements of geometric art in our contemporary media design. I, personally, was inspired by the color palette. If Jay in fact had total creative control--without the assistance of marketing analysis and a team of graphic designers--I would be impressed. But of course, as we should all know by now, every artist hits a certain quantifiable crescendo. What this album lacks in hunger and lyrical quality (Reasonable Doubt/The Blueprint)--it makes up for in "old man hustling an easy crowd" style. The album, with all of its resources, promises to be something of a masterpiece.
So Brooklyn...he did it himself. Yes.