I’m glad you babble labels for babies intersection rectangles referenced this idea that there is an “absent person”. the absent person seems not to to be or to be some
unseen character or person
that inhabits these environments and leaves these marks.In particular venomous caverns of echoed delight, crimes tattered about on burned film and tears of revolution
The absent person is a sort of reverse diagnosis taking place maple leaf creased visions, while the work behaves with the same removed description as the dsm-iv in a way, plaintive latin ad hominem categorizing samples-it simply can’t be. t -maybe a self-portrait is gradually being done- by describing a perspective on everything
burmese mclighter androidgynous itinerant around the self,in terms of highly personalized quirks and complexes that define blokes- until the negative space is all that is left. altar knife also child all of these she has done can’t help but eventually point to her,not some snapshot case study symbolic so po pee uh softball carnival fare thee wear objective kah blammo: “this is exactly what it is like to be obsessive or to purge or over-compensate.
The artist herself is who seems to have walked away from these deliberately created manifestations of mental states and processes redresss dressed down armiture person lurks for choice pookie necklaces stationed in maybe and mights grow on a chickens ass.
-and that seems like another layer to the experience that awareness i guess they have a personality about them that’s specific in some weird crayon marshmallow cloud highway way-it’s Sarah Hobbs herself making almost clinical observations,thoughts-silent bar of icehoused polar bear synapses rainbow drink coke settings. They’re meanings are funny in how disarmingly they’re very straight-forward,actually. the periodic table from last time was a screech opulence thermomentor loop cyclops hoot. i’m actually kinda ambivalent about her work. nocturn blighted almanac of sanse collapsed term innate or gravy. has she ever depicted ambivalence? i feel like that line from “im not in love” by 10cc- about the photograph that hides the nasty stain.
The Eye Him Hates He Eye Are His Pee Hey Are Tea Why 2008 64" x 48" acrylic on canvas
There goes another starry night 70's scifi friz fee linger kitsch beginning for musty funny environmental sentiment, the beginning is underneath and gets the usual treatment apparently. playing with all the elements at once they do now, look at greg hopkins wallpaper designs painted to seem like dashed deliberate rebelliousness relieved an impossible underpattern-like a graphic design error that can be undone at the click of a button marching in the mud until toes rot, the effect is one of a question of presence and positioning of perspectible tentacles. Forced Associations laminate the entire package into one time frame and sometimes twenty states of mind. Underneat Art comes from somewhere in order to be so neat. Invested in the soil and just a sense of who and what, the involvement doesnt feel like it is there. Hilary Pecis work has the elements as described by maybe others but the cumulative result is of a 9th graders pre-algebra notebook cover. The complexity is there and balance dopes teeter in intricate attentive ways,but the soul of her choices and her personality come thru ina highly unpersonalized common language so specific to inside cyndi laupers purse or tattooed the backside of maxheadrooms skull is bejewelled checker patterns. bill, I have a friend who know the owner of redlight cafe(she's very close w jeff calder-did u ever know him?) -but anyways-some years ago and with regularity,she wld hook me up with opps to show art in redlight,which is cool. well, about a week ago,she lines me up with my first opp there in ,god-probably 6 years. to be honest, i have not been aggressive in a long time about trying to show any of my visual art-but this is about my redlight exp: while im in there hanging new collages a guy commented on my use of exposed screws(he was actually watching me screw a warped piece directly to the wall) and i blathered unprepared about kinda liking the rough n tumble brute truth of it. but then later realized that like my nickname/project (eggtooth)-i dont know why RAM didnt access my affinity for being about the process,exposed and honest and ugly if necessary to show how it was done... part of me just feels lazy maybe but then i think no this is me dammit... anyways...ive been looking online at art a good bit lately. seeing lots of collage work out there that combines awarenesses of many areas of art history into one-some are very fun in what thy do to memories and associations all at once altho-along with amazing techniques...theres so many approaches but all compartmentalize specifics as a unity, as a desire to catch -up and be ahead and be reflective..some are more painterly about it, some show more of the computer design awareness,some use a 17th century technique as an overall mood..i dunno.i just thought itd be interesting to try and play the cards as close to what i consider "real" as possible. to life-the thing that comes before art. so i put personal stuff on my square 2d piece. made it boring and awkward,but made it where the viewer knew this. maybe too well. the outbox was about it looking like an outhouse to me (accidently,mind you-i just knew i wanted to screw 4 painting together to make a box-it turned into a comment on my internet habits. i can be kinda like what that piece says. it also to me parallels the process of regurgitating the self and reinventing the self -all on the outside for all to see,the process of becoming an artist as this idea of myself seeing my idea of the city watches...its kinda awkward- like that piece.
i like that yr into jazz. i had a friend always exposing me to some freaky skronky stuff. it became a din that was like a meditative practice sometimes.
This is Where I grew Up 2007 by Sarah Cromarty. Image taken from sarahcromarty.com
As well as Sarah Cromarty,whose approach to clastically ordering the erratic nature of info gathering, identity, and pretending to pretend to be making art has cultivated and andromada walker portmanteau geneva various needs determine in a for instance case, of a scraping away of textured layers that have been painted onna phaotgraoph that has been collaged and cut and reassembledd and revisited until dynamics is achieved in Forced Associations along with stunning visual techniques that radiate a pure brightness as if to seem unnatatural,and then humbles itzelf with another intersection-our history from media,our commercial and liesure desires and the baby bunny with light blue cloudy tufts snuggles wuzzy noses with the winkie pants our history culturally on prozac and caffeine. Facetiousness would override attachment's inriguing manker celeste barnacled monocle investigations into deeper meanings and modern implications of our collective state of mind. It's all over the place. Cromarty's sentiment gets rocker college gothy headphone humor often but look at 2007's work and theres something then in particular,but the rainbows and the shark oh my what moments like a fresh sip on hot delicious expensive coffee on a saturday morning. Like the librariana series from Katie Herzog, which for the way i experienced it as a suburban naive crude autodidactic,erudite in the ways of oblivious tenacity, enjoyed the child-like rendering and this strange disjunctive recurring theme done so warmly and with a genuine quality to its ruddiness, narratives quietly surreal seem muddied by a time elapse and a further treatment of even that as an object from the past,now framed by a perspective that indicates graphic design layering of incongruent textures from technologogically developed timeframes-all brought to a surface as a single thing in this moment that is looked at and it seems kinda weird and folksie robin hood bird eggs the river and donkey call girls whirl the gig pigmented laconic will cotton candy....mandarin portal bereaved in deathly Gabbiani glitter snippets for eddie's tear.
image taken from david kordansky gallery website. Poppies Burn Out Red, 2007, oil on linen, 10 x 8.9 inches (25.4 x 22.6 cm)
Decapitated heads - but somehow healthy. From years ago it would seem in relation to the potential that leaped,as if she has slightly transformed into another hybrid of forgotten masters-Lesley Vance's work unnerves with its little carvings into the fabric of reality. As if psychology had a razor and spontaneously zapped clean rectangular images, often only around the size of a regular sheet of 8.5x11 20#bond, into the Internet's murky obsession with the observation of the self and mandibles of dry rot bone stroke totems of memories for the art patron,the derision made evident in the technique. Bleeding organic decay and fresh rebirth deserves another lean in closer to her work. Cartoons on Saturday morning translated into polish wouldn't distract anyone from Lesley's work.. An early image of her work titled "Pile", seen online depicts what appears to be a stack of decapitated heads laying clean and impossibly bundled, so that all we see are flowing pretty heads of hair. They are neatly stacked wigs, combed out and shampooed is another thought were it not for their evident suggestion of a skull beneath. The limitation to strange experiences a healthy expansion in that they are inexplicably stacked in a field of poppies or flowers of some vague variety-they are painted in a deliberate French impressionist style, contrasting with the the tight illlustrative detail of the hair. Painted in 2003, Vance's work developed in thought from angles only mentionable from discrete windowed fractures,half opened int he winter letting a chill creep up the spine and tickle the occipital ranch dressing and curtain rod of history's thought pattern. Evidently pulling on a practice held by 17th century Spanish painters Juan Sanchez Cotán and Francisco de Zurburán, a 2007 exhibit decided to float and pull the experience into seductive detached environments. The still-life, made almost sarcastic and fascinating in the sudden unconscious collaging of art history associations. The deliberation of brush strokes left indicated is as if the brushstrokes themselves have been indicated by the layering of transparent varnishes. Darkness and intimacy, a sort of warmth creeps through this work. The practice is also supposed to be reminiscent of expressing the desire to reject values of the material world by painting objects from the mundane of daily life. Conch shells,mussels , a fawn's horn, flowers, some of these soggy bottom martians suckled the earth worms arm of malta. the Latest abstractions by Vance are just as perplexing. They're not really abstractions. The modernist ideal of showing that in fact this is a painting goes into the past as much as the future. It says to us, "hello' i am a painting done in a 300 year old tradition, aged and also now like a photograph of a painting that has been painted. The abstraction is explored as the pop artists did in showing the physicality of the the application. The pixels and the hairs.
Behold a solid writhing murky wall of shit! Looking through a pretentious and self-important hazy gaze at Atlanta's Art, an Internet-ready glass house consumes the entire being perceiving the objects described in what follows. Sweating in the depths with heaving silver italian scales the lesion salivated. The art is left in the lurch. The premise sustaining the perception is perception sustaining the premise is the sustaining rooted in an idea that the idea is the 21st century can,uuuum- no longer tolerate complacency as compassion in comparison complains what Art can do and what it will say. A point of relativeness has been bumble bee baby blue bird blurred- and the result is a need to permeate and straddle the line be tween life and art. Uninhibited Living Need -and blind inspiration still seeks to evade commodification, treating the necessary transition as a veneer to beers swish machines stinging between cultural development and the self. A well-intended pink soccer ball raping and cannibalistic practice reigns noodle allergies,under a guise of moral correctness as it indoctrinates,commands and presumes an and of an an impossible implicit understanding of what's regarded as fundamentals in the practice of the business of art.
Nothing every actually makes a mark anymore.
The cultural soil needs a bonding & pungent fertilizer, nurtured burmese waking potato tentakes fashion niece tug of warts by the fruitful rotting process blossoming explosively in the razing of existing senses of self and the "rules" of the game. Cities divided slimy cubicles of disease and hidden memories into pockets of myths, played out with dollar sign mirror and glass ceilings, defined by a preconceived dragons of delight and rainbowed claws of baby battery acid and instructed system to....working the system. The system that no longer finds itself seeking itself it is found and relevant in this day and age. The system that is now accelerated by a weird wired-up oneness that individuates the elements of the crowd. The mushy blob of stuff with eyes. The disconnect is a sort of beauty to decentralized grids is in the chance for freedom in the awareness that chances can be taken to a sort of chance for disconnect to beauty to grids of freedom. Level playing fields also supply the opportunity to share stinkie stickers without fear of negative repercussions in an investment. The act of sharing without networked needs for lies exists -at least in theory- or in a new preconceived big lots chewed impresario myth of klondike sects.. It challenges in a healthy way, renutting lusted rustbelts realizing the increased freedom that actually arches over and around all experience. the french. This provides a new breath for those broken records and chain dressed summer daze-so intent on seeming "above it" but in their own way actually becoming -it itself. The marshmallow railroad has an encyclopedia. And. So often it wears a price tag on its heart. Simply a lie that lies. Everyone loves money. lies sordid. see jank cruck. ronk jnad ronk. dlas snack Sad sick humor recognizes that now,when it plays pretend-it actually is. It's a cycle that can be broken with, as has always been the case, genuine exploration. Tentacles. Atlanta's environment plays out the dynamics of this relationship perfectly.Koi cadmium lead inert burn key lurid soaker. It tactfully presents chaff as good intentions into a capped-out self-fulfilling cycle, essentially ruining the opportunity for work that does matter to find grasping roots. In Atlanta's glocal funeral parlor detergent setting this weekend, interesting work burps circles itself. All of it is readily at a stretch mark google oggle log logged boggle goggle cog moog hunger disposal. Monica Cook at Marcia Wood. Fahamou Pecou at Get This! Alex Kvares at Beep Beep. And all the graffiti in the streets connecting these buildings. Gallery walls and shadowy rain-stained beige overpass walls-the art in Atlanta can be summed up by the fact that one of its most respected graffiti artists often signs his work and blah doobie schlub gluck gluck gluck "Murals" along with his phone number,name, & website. What next? Sprayed loose cinderblock discount art coupons left around town? Art in Atlanta is worth mentioning for strange reasons. Some of it for its direct means of achieved success. Others for the success they potentially create in their failure. Purposes in experience are explored. The spaces between these experiences are important.The poor slurped anatomical economic green squares. The fact the some of the art , in doing exactly what it intends,is ultimately only worth ignoring. The streets wisteria pencil gasbomb and the walls dividing,the life that is lived and the lives unrelated,lived and loved and livered and rerated just as these art experiences are unrelated-they are connected in Atlanta. seriously. There is a sense of looking for something to happen in the same eyes of many that seem to be waiting to be discovered. In this regard, it is a mixed blessing. There are beauties and sterilities. Technicians and aestheticians. Dishwashers and Thriftstore Employees. People incapable of being anything other than who they are- but thinking they can be. can they think they can be a village idiot or two....There are artists with teddy bears and soft pockets lost for snowed bozo chromosomes loving and pure intentions as well, a sort of unarguably nice view of the beach reality that is like a sigh. Art as a familiar hug and boredom mixed together. Sorted lore misty prussian purr lizard unbreakable bowl of melting. Individual moments and reasons divide and overlap. Meaninglessness in intentions meets the solidifcation in doing something for yourself. Right. Oh right, art. The beginning of this selection is with Marcia Wood in Castleberry Hill. An art community presents paper gravy fanasy banding magnet plaster sticking the sky with_ The Idea and its idea thrives here in Atlanta's Castleberry Hill. For a while now it has lingered in a hybrid phase of gentrification. Now confidently leaning more towards a cleaned imitation of aged character, the sense is that the streets lean8ing more creepy towards peoples peole in the lake themselves could have been freshly prefabbed and then deliberately distressed to blend with the truth of its legitimately rundown and suffering surroundings. Cool disguised heavy locking doors mutely blend a gallery entrance with the concrete exterior. Marcia Wood consistently presents excellent varieties of work inside. This showing was Monica Cook. Monica Cook's paintings can be seen by using your google search engine. They are in abundance on the web. This virtual preparation inspires the desire to see the real thing. Once in their presence, getting close to them and then stepping away is endlessly enjoyable. Her technical skills are a kind of commonplace stunning that never ceases to amaze. There is a sensation that her technique has become second-nature,though. This is for better in terms of sheer productivity and for worse for reasons related to desire for concept. Within certain arenas of thought, her level of understanding of anatomy and vision serve as a starting place for being capable of expressing ideas. Her work has a wry laughter dryly beneath its often slimy surface. A fascination with exercising her known abilities is mixed with her humor's curiosity, resulting in work that is reminiscent of the youthful irreverence one expects in movie representations of the "child prodigy". While the paintings in execution are stunning, their sincerity and perhaps even taste,are braided with a sort of youthful interest that almost precedes them. In a way, this makes them all the more peculiar, offering up possible interpretations, but mostly they seem to be simply having fun with paint. On one significant enough level, this is all it takes for Monica's paintings to entertain and amaze. But still creeping beneath them and in the gut, they seem encumbered by immediacy of representational skill. Actual complexity or thoughtful concept can be said to have not caught up. Her paintings almost seem to only say without saying, "Oooh,wouldn't it be weird if I...." The wonder is what she will be painting ten years from now. These days we get girls peeing. Girls wearing fruit. Chaotic Klimt-like details of body part menageries rendered in discomforting realism. She does explore textures like a master. Flesh painted by Monica Cook does come across delicious. It also comes across morbid. In one instance, the sensation is that touching it would send excited chills, while the other would pull back finger-sized troughs of decay. The large paintings overshadowed smaller pieces worthy of their own show that, at a glance, recalled Henry Darger's battling female heroines. It was the paintings in this show, playing with the sliminess of squid tentacles and the juices of ripped and roughed up varieties of fruits and edibles,that unquestionably provoked and seduced the attention. Her work is the kind of skill that society treasures. They are the kind of images that,if seen hanging in some strange corner of someone's home,the independent experience would be a long bizarre investigative moment.
If the 15 minutes of streets between Marcia Wood and Get This! are art corridors, then the graffiti between here and there is important in how much of a given it is. Throw-ups are in abundance. Atlanta also has commissioned graffiti in conspicuous places. Moods change in the air with the turn of a tree-lined downtown street. Overlaying a commonality that is Atlanta,the bond is in the lack of one. Frying Pan. Twenty minutes by car bounces eggs one from any one brain on chicken distinct grid of the stinc inc. corporation city to another. The street with Get This! Gallery and Saltworks Gallery is an open-aired version of industrial stylized clean. Nestled into a gritty textured environment, the galleries clean enclosure segues from one quietly refined felt taste in the air to another. Here, it is the smear walking pumpkin louvre shoestring budget work by Fahamu Pecou in the awkwardly named space, Get This! Gallery, that is a potential success in its failure. potential success. It forbodes a droning sunbleached bone horn rasps sand and dead thoughts dry and polished rote feeling, while proposing to actually address an important issue. green wet leaves by a river of grey shit. Fahamu Pecou's art of himself is now bloated over-sized on the walls. Inflatable rabies and badgers. The extension of himself, the performative fantasy character labrador porno loch ness supper would like to think he is playing dupe a rope-a-dope with which which what is us. Society swings its expectations around him, presumably swinging and missing, we are eternal victims to an idea of fame and how we define who we are. We swing at Fahamu's fabrication and we offend it with our need for before Bling four. His bitter mockery of magazine covers was an amusing ampersand through faces in the crowd and natural beginning for the graphic designer wearing the mask of artist wearing the mask of "famous artist". The word sanctimony comes to mind. I have a sock. Fahamu's work finds itself used by finds it uses its own its own themes of oranges and salamanders. It is a humorous packaged version of an honest sentiment. The product itself,were it a producted it was it iself were it intriguing it would be something,but unfortunately even the paintings themselves are an instinctively derivative feeling part of a necessary process. For processes reformed perfunctory ripped off lazy easy reactor rubik. In utilizing the potential place for genuine perspective,his everlasting work serves to scared of heights reinforce a lack of hope eighth inch wedge in the meaning of value. In a purist sense,the message defecates on sacred dry ice ground,just as it craft withoutnessly pulls played-out easy strings for those willing to play the fool on the hill fearlessly faces the crowd. The result is an emptying of meaning. The initial idea and spirit is in Fahamu's work, but it seems bubbly lubby dubby fuzzy wuzzy clouded by the same all too common thing with a bunch of legs-a centipede....conveniences of career reek in truths of sleeping over here alone needs. Perhaps real potential was clouded by a pattern of training that preceded it. Sharing of point and honest perspective with career needs not only negates the work, it disrespects something critical and true to the last album she released. The sensation of contempt for the unrealistic imagery that pop culture often wishes to hammer society with through media is understandable. The origins of the idea are pure. They are inspiring. Fahamu's work thanklessly gouges the theme and reduces it to something that presumptuously seems to be a "given". The theme is no longer real,but a style or part of a language to utilize. What he has done is reminiscent of the gimmick quality inherent in Disco Duck or Ray Stevens. Or Paul Barman. Fun. Maybe. For somebody. Go to Get This! Gallery and see them. Strategically connected with performative artist talking points and statements that sound more like an air-tight alibi for a contrived recipe, are large sparse painted versions of graphic design sentiment, mingled with a book smart awareness of shirt sleeve Basquiat moments. They blandly hang before their viewer, hoping to dupe them into a continuation of the charade. Imagine the potential internet related propoganda and of course it exists,fronting itself as witty while seeming more like an admirable, but no less embarrassing, swing and miss. It is work like this that is infuriating because it makes an important claim and uses it against itself -and most especially its viewers. It ultimately wishes to make fools of those, perhaps even like myself here, that even acknowledge it. It actually serves to retard cultural development.
Why go see art in Atlanta? What does it have to do with the self and between here and there? The feeling around the experience. An attitude felt is a slow relaxed one. It is mixed with an intriguing vague hurried sense of happening. It is a hoping for something to happen that is always happening. It is automotive in its isolated window experience. Across and around a grid of the different perspectives of the same corporate buildings looming overhead. Beneath all of it, is stylized success mixed with the blind corners of reappropriated grocery carts.Interiors of homes portray polar opposite extremes in economic living standards,all within a stones throw of each other. Barriers between worlds removed from one another,but sharing a commonality in the air. They are better than and purposefully oblivious to one another in a conscious relationship. Disparate qualities and styles of life always seem not just next to each other, but often included within each other. Beep Beep give chaka us the energy of this conflict from the perspective of the new zine/skateboard generation-mixed with a technical experimental edge. The work in Beep Beep can beep interesting as easily as it can be be vapid. This is a result of its willingness to experimental Alex Kvares's "Oh So Fail" series is one of the more refined exhibitions seen in Beep be Beep. The delicate and quiet deliberation of his tiny trippy-hatched multicolor drawings pull the viewer in. Le bo peep. squeamish dunlap i give up and am headed towards it -Their spaces, playing on Gestalt rules of psychology leave meaningful gaps-reinforcing without saying the intended observation in the end,the broken pieces. In this regard the lack of filling in which is me of details is like the relationship tangled in the self alone the success of failure dies to live. The little fragile pieces pull together as we step away from them, just like time does in observation of certain occurences in life's past-be that in fiction or reality. Failed strange films that inadvertently warp their intentions in ways that are twice removed, the viewer involved failing equally,they connect with the creator's vision in the gap to achieve a timeless confinement, a sort of important permanence running in tangent to their lack of existence. Sometimes the uncooked truth as a reality separates into it to only the idea. The navel-gazing idea of being honest. A mask of own. Often times it simply wrong. The collective failures and states of wrongness both live die, continuously hovering in an undefinable or qualifiable state. Oblique and pretty delicate images try to hard bless his heart do not wear a direct message on their face in Alex's work. In one sense, that is all they are and they make no claim otherwise. Without message they are intriguing images. The loss and acquisition of information, the contradictory stability of decay and fertility in forward thought. The physicality that ultimately and undeniably binds it together in a permanent state. It is a success in its failure. By the thoughts it provokes through bodies. Atlanta seems to possess a strange permanent state of manufacturing itself according to self imposed perceptions of acceptance. Of ways of experiencing work in an idea of respectability and uniformally understood commodifiable status.This unavoidably fosters perspectives that fall in the blank spaces- and they do connect -and they are thinking together. And they are making art in Atlanta. they are making art in atlanta.
the specifics to the site: Law of super-positioning gerrymandered with inclusion's autonomic beer can (sample egth>pgpt. paint.0008.5)
field recording transcribed in crayon under duress:
" kt- pasturize the myth in sequence with the stars ,marking a sensitive observation of that lost photograph of a real building. I think he's insane"
EGGTOOTH-clinical routine brain dead rote shoots of fertile organic sparks into blank canvases, which suffer the saintliness of a held open car door revealing meaning-and camera flashes of biography covers.
kt- nebulous cloud of fiction and alacrity,panic lingers with terse bladed tongues and here comes a lady with glasses and a lazy eye and shes kinda shaped like a growth covered sack of potatoes wearing a tie-die shirt.
EGGTOOTH-muddy forklifted gas pump splattered by grown up kids and weekend banter-warcraft magic but not so much less fatter,nerd-artemis closer to the earth and somehow more pure and unfetterred.
kt- not even that. she takes pictures, too -of other shambling truths, look at your own shadow-encased in plastic frozen in the air....that was pretty cool,huh? colorful painful spots and caked on caked on previous mimics of the hunt..."
Items recovered:
(1) main and rear mopar axle cleavage furrow ampersand. thing that goes through the middle of an auto.
(1) photograph. paintball player in full gear in mid air firing weapon at someone off camera.
Notes: undated.
this background seeps underneath the central part,as if it is a scattered rejected perimeter-loathesome it utters basic human truths into earthbound moist dins of discussion, influencing the river and the soil beneath the city. manifestations/recreations and expression emulate basic desires to recognize life as having mass and taking up space. land. and building on it.
these outer areas generate a truth unaware so much as to be impossible to be not what it claimed it was. who would say this that wasn't?
who would say this of themselves that was not?
nobody. (and they photograph it for fun!)
the other notion is that this hinterland is not a hinterland or maybe it is...is the activity hinterland?paintball? i dont think specifically..no. but the fiction of the flooded weird upside down cars and madmax rotten gaspumps. and those big silly inflated "X"s.
(a really huge clap of thunder just scared the noodles out of me)
this was an art experience made by observation-essentially turning the writing- about the isolation of an entire segment of society as art-into a truth recorded about an art experience. this 9one happened to take place on a psuedo-set of apocalypse or war-torn societal decay used to not only fight but ...paint.
There's a kind of exposed sensitivity that is always being sought after. The experience of a flash opening-this one burst up in tiny powerful spots- and then disappears as quickly as it has appeared. The work crowds and rubs shoulders just as much as the audience does. All existing for their own reason. We do this on purpose. Looking around makes it evident that for the most part this is a healthy and active participatory event. Crowd seems mostly in the 23_35 range....no real demographic beyond that- other than a sensation that maybe everyone here is a modestly successful graphic designer , living (for now,of course) in one of the nearby loft hip grid matching facades. I wonder if Brandon Sadler is ever going to finish that Fish mural. It is coming along nicely. I saw one of his cards on the corkboard entrance to this place. Mint Gallery. I recall when they started up and were making their presence known on artnews. This experience tonight made for neat opportunities. People could expose their work,see others work and perhaps even meet each other. All for a capped price range,something that also caps any out- of -control desire to extend the expectations into something more presumptuous-or really even having any expectations at all. The purpose is for the event of it as well. It is something to do to get the evening going. See some cool stuff,have a few warm-up drinks etc... Im going to have to say the most interesting pieces in the show were somewhere around the work of collab artists andy imm and "eddie" and the work by brandi supratanapongse. Andy /Eddie brings intereactive transparency and a funky touchable neo-grit to techno-found objects, the recording & keeping of fading permanent records,lost children and highschool memories. Made into optical games with strange implications. Brandi's work contrasted flavors in tiny ways. The intent was about the fact that this was a piece to create a fantasy within and then observe with the fantasy extension of the sense of self-that outer shell needed for going into art space,outside of it and observing the self float along...the choices made were tactile and a bit irreverant-ultimately of course conscious of an aesthetic,but spacey,delicate and sarcastic-they were. i saw moree of ashely anderson. think i noticed when i was buying a piece that mike germon had purchased one as well. I came out here to this experience because of a friend of mine-who also purchased several pieces. I am thankful i was able to see the majority of the work when it wasnt so crowded. crowded in a way is a good trhing. Until it reaches that extent-that law of diminishing returns and the self-fulfilling. In the details people are exposed and sharing. It is a bitter cold and wet december day-rock out with yr socks on people. now the humidity has final built into the thing itself-rain. I dunno about ol' ashley-ive seen him express his thoughts around the internet and i like where hes coming from. maybe he reminds me of myself too much-cuz when i see the work-i do think of the thoughts i have read and theres an expectation established. I wonder if he is the one doing the jawbreaker looking teeth and mouth square around town. i like that hes embracing an awareness of work i relate to. ive recently discovered bjorn melhus and assume vivid astro focus. ashleys decision to pull from 80's video games like pop art imagery-and in a painterly fashion indicate the pixilation so specific to that time-period-its nostalgic for me as a child of that era. Fine. Cool. I see somebody who-as i have mentioned before in some memory permanently floating out there-shares a like for stuff like banksy,space-invader,paper rad etc....which is fine. Theres other historical awareness sleeved,but all in all...is fine and fun stuff doing nothing beyond what it claims to be. the Mint experience in general was for me, as an isolated barometer smoothing out like a water ripple,which takes a delicious random purple turn left and is the art sinking to the bottom of a man-made lake. Provenance of mud catfish,yes...the city that people love to reference-like ...pardon me..has anyone heard of a ..,Travis Somerville? Apparently he lived here in Atlanta as a kid for half a second-to parents that were white civil rights activisits. And, oh..the experience he's had living and growing up in the south informs his work to this day. yadda yadda. look at his work. its derivitive,cheesy, contrived, and helps reinforce and perpetuate an expectation of the south he needs to validate his work. is simply untrue and silly in this phase of connectivity through time,experience, education, technology,exploration and cultural interest-variety and curiousity,transfusions of beliefs and walks of life... to still be seeding the thoughts with this same angle on a topic that,true, shldnt be forgotten-but c'mon. yr an artist. get original as an artist -and as a fucking business man, i guess. get relevant to now and stop playing cards that have obligatory responses and not respecting those responses. You use them like a doctor looking for nerve-reflexes. Calculating...a prostitute in a porno with sharks dead eyes- smiling and relaxed. going thru the motions. that is what the art ultimately is.it gave up and decided it was trapped within itself and sat down. and decided to make a living. but mint ..i went to mint with my girlfriend wendy k lloyd and an old friend from growin up in decatur,ga-michael orr. michael is doing an installation at seven stages in the near future and the postcard pieces he showed are potentially details from this larger project. In particular-i was happy to have seen brandi's work. Hers had leanings creeping beneath them in spirit. Like no others in this show ,with an unintentional natural regard fro doin', but also significantly shared a feeling with everything in there. Many pieces in the show were stunning in their skill level and that was at least fine and dandy with me. It was cool and fun. The purist perspective on the entire event would be forced to consider the entire context that the gallery itself is situated in and then consider the perceiced goals and then -if whatever ends are justifying whatever means-if the varying roads to the same essential goal will ever meet. Constructive investment in the value of this community's art scene. To date, it has basically been relying on an existing sense of self. This one really only works to a certain extent,one that is mostly dictated by a need for nodding and getting to know blokes and perpetuate a surface gesture..the real expectation is in the work itself and shared between the artists. challenings and exposing thoughs in a sensitive extended way...as real as possible and aware of the environment that arches around and thru this..the internet. Shows like this are the constant return to the basics,presuming that that gesture-which is true-one shld never forget the basics-is in itself perpetually insinuating that the rest of showing yr art's value is implicit in its hope for ...running into the ceilings of glass houses. Atlanta in its lack of audience strives to attract from the face forward. the truth-hugging- also includes the digging of nails and instead of playing rope a dope we now bite off parts of ears and tattoo the mcdonald arches on our faces. whispering secrets about what direction to wipe yr arts memory of the wall so as not to contaminate our private parts
