Pictures of Buildings

I've gone through periods of time throughout my life when I've been obsessed with photography. Since I've traveled constantly the past ten years it is a perfect creative outlet. I've always admired architecture from ancient ruins to modernist skyscrapers, even though I don't know enough about the topic to engage in intelligent discussion. The only architect I have any sort of opinion on and absolutely hate, is Frank Gehry. He seems like a one-trick-pony, whose garish, bordering on obscene, buildings would have done themselves a favor and stayed in the conceptual design phase, like some of those haute couture runway fashions or prototype cars, that are meant to shock and gain attention, never to see the light of day. Perhaps I miss the point, falsely assuming that one of the purposes of architecture is to blend somewhat within its surroundings, instead of becoming an annoying blister upon the landscape.

Okay, enough about that. I had no idea a rant was about to occur and I apologize. Anyway, so I've taken some interesting photos of buildings from around the world over the years. I particularly enjoy capturing the nooks and in-betweens of buildings, e.g. alleyways, fire escapes. However, I've never kidded myself, as I'm sure, no matter how cool they might look to me, it's nothing that hasn't been seen in countess coffee table books.

This brings me to another point I'd like to discuss. A number of years ago, a talented photographer friend, who is currently also a pro photo-journalist, had a gallery show of a series of pics he took on a trip to South/Central America. They were very good and professionally matted, framed, etc. His prices were very reasonable. However, as I was acting as DJ and co-curator, a woman asked me if the photos were, "film or digital." I told her they were digital and she upturned her nose and snobbishly said, "Hmm...that's too bad." I asked what she meant by that. She replied, "I would have been interested if they were film." I was stunned and didn't know what to say. I used to be a bit of a snobby purist myself in the analog/film/digital debate, but at that moment, that feeling began to disappear. Yes, "the medium is the message," as Marshall McLuhan wrote, meaning that the form of the medium embeds itself within the message, creating a relationship that influences how a message is perceived. However, if the woman had to ask, it meant that she wasn't sure, and if she wasn't sure, then the medium shouldn't have mattered, right? She was interested in the content, the substance of the art, yet she was constrained by some notion of "real art=film vs. digital=amateur." This was about five years ago, so perhaps the increase in technology and prevalence of "digital" in our society, it has become more acceptable.

Hipster-matic or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Retro-Techno-Picture Craze

Fifteen months ago I took a month or two off of work when my daughter was born. Even though I had enough vacation time accrued, I still found myself a part-time job to pass the time and make some extra scratch as a bouncer/parking-lot attendant for a local bar. Most of my time was spent sitting in a parking lot reading and drinking Guinness out of a thermos. However, one night I took the accompanying photos with my phone using a free app I downloaded. They look cool in a mysterious David Lynchian way, but I never looked at them again until now. A good friend and professional artist has actually sold prints using his camera phone pictures, but I just don't have the heart to do that myself. I like to think that the key of art comes purely from the intent of the artist as I may have mentioned before, but it just seems too easy when technology performs the brunt of the effort or perhaps the effect that makes it aesthetically "cool" or interesting. I don't know. Perhaps I'm just making excuses again to justify laziness of putting a project together.

Accidental Narcissism

Apparently it's been awhile since I've last posted, as I had forgotten how to login to my own account. In the process, I inadvertently subscribed and became a fan of my own blog; an empty wine bottle near me may have contributed. However, I now swallow my pride and mention this for two reasons:

1) I am not trying to bolster my subscriber-ship 100% (and by that, I mean, adding one.)

2) Now that I'm logged into my account, I cannot figure out how to remove myself from the aforementioned subscription. (See all above).

The ironic post

I had intended to post daily, but the laziness got the best of me. It's probably redundant, or irrelevant that I feel I have to explain myself due to the title and purpose of this blog. I suppose I caught myself in a moment of unlaziness.

The Trend Project

So, back in 2004, not long before I moved from San Francisco to Phoenix, I came up with an idea for a sort of "immersion" art project. I use that term loosely as it apparently pertains to a digital "virtual-reality" based sphere of the art world. I don't know if it was really intended to be an "art" project per se, as it was more of something I wanted to do out of a sociological, scientific curiosity. The idea was merely to see if I could actively and purposely "influence" or "start" a trend.

A little backstory: For most of my 20s, I was, for lack of better terms, interested primarily in old-school punk, jazz, and rockabilly music; I snobbishly believed that there was nothing culturally relevant for the last 25 years. Of course this was ironic, as I wrote poetry and short stories, played in bands, and contributed to the contemporary cultural zeitgeist well within that time-frame. However, it was during 2004, that I became exposed to a lot of NEW happenings in Indie culture: music, fashion, etc. One of the things that caught my attention, were specific oddities of the hipster fashion/lifestyle. This was before the beards, flannel shirts, foodie, fixed-gear bike, cliches that established themselves in recent years. I can't remember what it was in particular that triggered my inspiration, but I was curious to see if I could get people to start wearing those giant class-ring relics from the 70s and 80s. It seemed like the perfect thing to try and make happen. Of course I would have to document my "research" somehow with before and after video of an array of hipster hands throughout the country.

The Plan: I bought a Sony camcorder that fit in the palm of my hand for discreet recording, that I intended to use in hipster-centric bars from SF, to Portland, to LA, to Brooklyn. I would then casually show off my personal class ring "bling" wherever I went, perhaps making it a conversation piece. Also, I purchased the domain "trendproject.org" to document my findings or lack there of. I wanted to have periodic video clip updates of myself in a labcoat and clipboard discussing my "scientific" discoveries or non-findings. Well, that was as far as it went.

The End: Eventually I moved away and, again, for lack of a better term, BECAME a person among the hipster-class that I was perhaps smugly trying to detail. It suddenly seemed such an un-cool proposition. I can't recall if it's the Heisenberg Principle or Bohr's Law, that states how the Observer affects the outcome of research, merely by acting as Observer. However, through the years, I have seen a few of those giant rings on the hands of a hipster or two...without my influence.

Deadline...missed

Through the Independent Filmmaker Project - Phoenix chapter (http://www.ifpphx.org/), I have created about a half-dozen short films over the last 5 years, most during their "48-Hour Film Challenges." Basically, you have to write/shoot/edit, a three-minute short within a weekend based upon a prop, line of dialogue and genre they provide. Well, this Fall they hosted the "Breakout Film Challenge," where you had a whole SEVEN weeks to produce a five-minute short, but with a thirty-second trailer, poster art, and marketing package.

Seven weeks? Are you kidding me?!? No problem. This is gonna be fun, I thought. It took me a little longer than planned to get the script locked down, but then I soon realized it was over. I mean, there were still three weeks left before the deadline, but between mine and my cine-partner's work schedules, we only had roughly four solid shooting days to get it done. Still, no problem, I thought. Well, then the lead actor went AWOL half of that time and I wasn't able to find a backup.

I still would like to shoot it...someday, as there are a couple shots in the script I've been wanting to shoot for a while. Due to space, I can't post the seven-page script, but here is a rough mock-up of the poster I did. I realize it looks like a drawing by an 8-year-old of his idea of what a poster would look like for a Woody Allen movie starring Bruce Willis. That's supposed to be a gun in his hand, not an empty beer bottle he's pretending to dump out without anyone seeing. Imagine Jason Statham, head downcast, standing partially in the darkness. I've seen this thing before, to the point of cliche, but can't recall where.

The Pretend Athlete

To continue on the soccer thread...

The Spark: In 2004 , at the age of 31, I wanted to embark on and document a potential life-changing experience. It was inspired by Morgan Spurlock, and his documentary Super Size Me, where he places himself as both the filmmaker and subject, into the film. It was like a scientist who injects himself with his own serum, not knowing what to fully expect.

The Setup: Even with a bit of football play from seventh to ninth grades, years of martial arts as an adult, and a muscular build, no one would ever confuse me with the idea of an actual athlete. However, at the age of 31, I thought about changing that. The international governing body of world soccer, FIFA, places all nations within their rankings. My basic idea was, after quitting my job, all my unhealthy vices, I would meet with a personal trainer and soccer coach to get me into shape and up to speed...essentially building me into a skilled athlete at a late age in a quick amount of time. At this point, I would find a team/country at the bottom of the FIFA rankings, particularly one with a petite populace where my 5' 11," 195lb frame would dominate. I would find one with open try-outs and proceed.

The Story: For my intended documentary, it would have been amusing enough to go through the training, all the way to trying out and not making a team. Even better...making the team and playing in a "professional" match, making myself a professional athlete, regardless if I was paid ten pesos or equivalent. Best case scenario...to make a team, and with the accompanying media buzz of a zany foreigner involved under auspicious circumstances, I'm an athletic-celebrity-superstar of a small nation.

The Takeaway: You may recall a couple sections back, that this project would involve me quitting my job, all vices, and getting into shape. The devils advocate in me found three problems with that premise...and as we know, the devil usually wins. Well, he won this time...

World Cup 2006

In the Winter of 1974, the German film director, Werner Herzog, walked from Munich to Paris, to visit a dying friend in the hospital. It took him 21 days, and is chronicled in the diary Of Walking On Ice, published in 1978.

The idea of walking a great distance across country(s) greatly intrigued me at the time after reading about this. I even met a retired lawyer who regularly engaged in such activity, and was leaving the next day to walk the length of Florida. Around this time, I read an article about the French government passing a law allowing village churches throughout the country to broadcast the upcoming World Cup matches for free. During the month-long tournament, my idea was to walk from Paris to the final match in Berlin. Along the way I would shoot a documentary chronicling the people and passions found in the small towns I encountered along the way. France wound up placing second in a controversial and hard-played final match against Italy.

I managed to secure the time off from work and bought a plane ticket to Europe for the project. However, that was as far as it got. It was an inspiring story I enjoyed talking to people about, and seemed simple enough, but two things got in my way, deterring me from following through.

Reason #1: I did not know French. As ignorant Americans, we sometimes assume that people everywhere know some semblance of English. However, after a minor altercation with a waiter in a Parisian cafe a few years prior, I realized this wasn't the case. I figured the further remote in the country I got, the less likely I would find English-speakers to interview. I considered bringing along a translator, but aside from the personal nature of the project, I imagined it difficult to find someone competent and compatible at such a late hour.

Reason #2: I am scared of big, angry dogs in unknown locales. In the aforementioned, Of Walking On Ice, Herzog mentioned having to fight off wild packs of dogs during his winter journey I was pseudo-emulating. I have had a few run-ins with big, angry dogs in my life, including once on a leisurely hike in Tuscany a few years prior to this project. I was walking up a road through an old, hilltop part of a Medieval Italian town. A school bus passed me, dropping off some children. Then, as I reached the crest of the hill, a big dog appeared in the middle of the road. Violently barking, his tail down, he was obviously not looking to make friends with an American tourist. I cautiously retreated downhill to the safety of my villa. Another time, I was walking the beach of a Northern Minnesota lake I grew up on, when a big white dog approached, and without warning, bit me on the ass in front of many people. It was only a warning bite, but my pride remained hurt more than if it had mauled my arm off. There are other, more graphically bloody stories, but I digress.

The Takeaway: So, to sum it up, I wasn't about to go gallivanting through an unknown countryside, fighting off wild animals, in order to artfully engage with a local populace who most likely wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about.

Sometimes a banana is just a banana

So, I found this on a scrap of paper torn out of a notebook. It must be at least 10 years old. It is a rough sketch of a basic still-life of a bowl of assorted fruit with a banana sitting next to it as if it had fallen out, or been removed from the bowl. It was going to be an oil painting, titled, "The Emasculation of Man." I know, I know...don't roll your eyes. It must have come at the sour end of a long-term relationship. Enough said.

Unhappy Face

Written on the back of a hotel notepad (this will be a recurring medium), several years ago. Probably around 2002. It was inspired by the artist Raymond Pettibon, who designed album covers and concert flyers for many early Southern California punk bands such as Black Flag. He designed the iconic "black bars" that was the band's logo and often found tattooed on many older fans of the band.

I had intended to paint a simple yellow smiley/dead face on a medium canvas with the text on the top or bottom. It was supposed to be a comment on the angst felt by free-spirited people entering their 30s and the pressures of adulthood becoming more real. Unlike the happy, laid-back positivism, the original meant to convey, mine was intended to show that happiness was unattainable through the current value system based on a consumer culture aimed toward economic and material bliss.

Several years later, older and with a family, I'm not so militant in my ideals. However, recent events of economic hardship and the protest movement, make the (never completed) painting more prescient as ever... if I had actually painted it.

The Beginning

I was going to buy some new oil paints today, but I did something else instead.