Tribal tattoo in starbucks
with arms like snow. and finger inkies in my back.
Sum of thinks til' flaps calves, it's a chasm,it's charm,
its fiends. Shutter bugged. John Tesh's shrink wrapped
testicles pour milky ways for puke rock. Spastic actors trample the
method why fee fie foe hum. The median glass is
shattered grass and traffic aint cozy. And then.
A figure trace, that effortlessly takes up space.
So graceful ways and tickles the air up and down
beautiful slope to two reaches
and tossed multicolor thoughts
a wry smile and inside sighs at a secret sight.
Webs stretched and tingles details to dream
outside is passed thru and gone is now returned.
Beige and browny dim sum lite tea of the day. Order up.
I never knew Chai men existed.
Mirror smears are popped personal creamers.
Flame and sand bur in my glossy magazine cover, says class is fashion. I can't stare too long.
Stacked and wack a poll up warn it's trick to systems and diligence.
Factor as a glass a traffic light,a stanza piss sips again sits.
The spastic jitter buggy thoughts.
Sips slaptor flaggish haggis sand bur class is fashion, slipped impish hips in tight
squirmy square sugary lips.
And sweet stones licked, collapsed in the fridge. On break for drive thru's.
Gallops a collosum and drafts across a lean two bean pole. Per cool,later. Friendshit pressed dark and strong.
Woodland stalk crackle wernt cane a sum,mumbled guffaw of frost or foamy counter weight.
A bird shit this?
So, blue mounting ten cups rushing rivers of words fills up. Didja make in time too strong?
Uh, do something drought,collapses the energy chasm. Its charm mirth strafes your wrath. With hair everywhere.
Concocted fry height hot zips zip. Chapel chaff bees sing about crashers disease,
Worker applications branches whisper about
the marble dirt covered halls. Stalled out for four seventeen.
For new baby's breath's pay check the shot clock chock
Full of express in your wake.
Anti-lycanthrope skin so soft tea thyme. and three stars. one wishbone ,cheap balm,one washer. amphibian cubicle eyes.. wrought quarters file a faint caffeine. drifting black hairs in the corner of your vision
you watch by not watching.
Sunday 25 January 2009
SUNDAY: metanega (on a tear)ritive Skipsskipsskips (the past)
Conveenyins. (n (out of)sync)lovr, uv all -haver uv nuthin -what a metaperspective.
Faux br'er ft (or why i am so wise)
sweet lbrl teats run dry. or - a Babbling rvr Brick in YouR Own wndw. convenient.
physical violence doesn't have to touch. pop's clchr cold shldr jean pull/ richyoull.
always be jealous.
so sigh (and have) tea (in yr face with ache to owe,oh no!) times up.
Th sin. I. C. ntnsv Lee. Give back to grass for feats to eat what you breath.
A stationary body is a levee (berlin wall?) of space.
Squatwars: The return of the Memeyeself&I. Dig oh blog training-
on monopolitico strings little green n.v. sez , "THAT...is why you fail".
Poor Mo' Dense-isms on me. in loose torn Deaf Lyo tards.
cest bon blow me. steal whores you write. unwanted.
Chrn bnded (callous!)nee sez-" is that 2 much to ask?"
Twster tny fsts in stale smoke's scanner poorly
fillup (or dont) yr gut. aaaaw,it's ooooh K, Dick.
Feigny packed daring machine. Atticus Pilch masticates on the broad hips.
So... Sidewalks See? a Flaneur Faux Webby txt. U C.?
(it's for the people)
uh huh...(chew gum hear and listen)
Conveenyins. (n (out of)sync)lovr, uv all -haver uv nuthin -what a metaperspective.
Faux br'er ft (or why i am so wise)
sweet lbrl teats run dry. or - a Babbling rvr Brick in YouR Own wndw. convenient.
physical violence doesn't have to touch. pop's clchr cold shldr jean pull/ richyoull.
always be jealous.
so sigh (and have) tea (in yr face with ache to owe,oh no!) times up.
Th sin. I. C. ntnsv Lee. Give back to grass for feats to eat what you breath.
A stationary body is a levee (berlin wall?) of space.
Squatwars: The return of the Memeyeself&I. Dig oh blog training-
on monopolitico strings little green n.v. sez , "THAT...is why you fail".
Poor Mo' Dense-isms on me. in loose torn Deaf Lyo tards.
cest bon blow me. steal whores you write. unwanted.
Chrn bnded (callous!)nee sez-" is that 2 much to ask?"
Twster tny fsts in stale smoke's scanner poorly
fillup (or dont) yr gut. aaaaw,it's ooooh K, Dick.
Feigny packed daring machine. Atticus Pilch masticates on the broad hips.
So... Sidewalks See? a Flaneur Faux Webby txt. U C.?
(it's for the people)
uh huh...(chew gum hear and listen)
A silent black pick up truck rolls away from Eyedrum. Eggtooth's twisted black braids uncomfortable under the seat of his pants. Eyebrows might grow back,if it weren't for the performance art burn scars. Long magician's fingers, swollen with callouses, no rings on his drumming fingers. Matching his spinal cord, draped from brain to sitting ass is his long black braided hair. Eggtooth will see Haley's Comet again. and again, seemig so recent, the pattern leaves trails still from the time before.braiding radiant tails and memories across his sky.
Contemplating the sick sillycomfort of the why worn jacket and the meandering thoughts, and no-voices in his head. the uncomfort of the braids of over thought things.
A gangly smart man with cable wire arms, the greying man on the street corner.he sees bats in.his dreams, Eggtooth senses with feigned boredom. Emaciated wolves gather dry text for his thoughts,too ya know? glass lit fragments for fingernails.cackle on yr window. gods crazed surface level palm flat outright. boulevard and freedom, have i seen you before? He's "older independant contractor for homeland security man, at 10:30pm". He's talking to the people in the car in front of the black pick up truck." Umm...japanese model", leans in with a proud whisper, says the little black pick up truck. Gentle meandering, the almost quiet beat of Pinback skipsteps, an arty little beat. Attention meandering. artists are neat.
A room full of people. and he carried this jug in, it would be better if it said K&B brand vodka, but it does not. towards the backroom a mixture of voices a strange tongue emerges, a unified language so friendly..and why the weight. An animal collective zones in and back out and a glance a worried chair with a lady under photography lamps. why is that guy climbing that thing.?run, athucra min cios, run. but slowly too. fast drips ignorance and apathy like clumps of dried sneaker mud. respect is in the dip.
eggtooth posse wanders now, surrounded by the spirit he commands. a spell twisted flowing drape in hourglass form. drawing from his skin into the air. An empty gift of a thousand thoughts. paintings, judging by the scale, worth more than a thousand zillion words. but even Eggtooth wouldn't want to read all that. All he needs is to see. It's a traditional medium,man. hmmm. the use of figurative images in an abstract composition...is this abstract,then? or..what is it? perhaps i will read about it in the AJC review.
Shape shifting eyeballs pierce his insides,no pupil cell division in this cranium, their snail captive cavitysugs a reassuring tight.and with a piched hit of a sentence,a comand" look around"
"look at that thing that guy painted". and these pilow cases with faces, a cohesive piece. the title and image tell it all. Eggtooth closes his eyes for a second. a swarm of wasps from the house he painted, high up looking in the triangle louvres a bat sleeps while at his feet, fourteen yr old wasps, planting seeds for his dreams. They are back Now .in this gallery. buzzing and meandering up and down the length of his long black braids. hangin' out. landing on the portrait behind him, admiring the teal to turquoise torn-ish illustrations. wasp stinger inspection scans for viruses and reports back to eggtooth of none.
"cast a spell make these bees be gone" he whispers. and they are bidded away, a silent cloak inside lining mother's them over. like baby stars singing a busy hum, and replaced with silence. Eggtooth looks quickly now! the door over there is the escape route. and beyond is another caring collective.under the hopper. a gauntlet of communal hugs. faces that he could very easily love. "what the heck?" his beat tries to speak, freak flag flops from his internal-less breeze. carries him home to a warm cozy disease. looking back and theres an occasion to greet.crunch crunch black boots jingle at the ends of his regular sized feet.
crunch crunch tumblers a black key in the lock, from which it came out not 30 minutes before. "...and to this i supposedly adore", over his shoulder love. a familiar entrance with careworn sign. in seven distinct pieces one with each letter. "in between years",pause "is where i am," As much of an auto pilot as his little black pick up truck. "You wish" says the little black pick up truck. out the stolen bbq joints parking lot.
and the sky explodes.behind him fills in with a twist of colors,mostly pink and white. gasps of brilliant baby blue and a sick lime acid green. no haven.they claim they are, and eggtooth duck his head. the 10:30 night crawlers, a late beautiful day carries a parade of healthy warm buzzes into the evening. their voices on eggtooth's shoulder, a pillar of flame,no, colors! pour from the building towards the sky. an air pushing blast as if from the mouth of God. displacement. dispersed into a milion birds.
a beautiful guilt, plays on his tripometer. analog. ticking like a silly fuse, an angry muse, a quiet witness to lessons skipped.
Six deer on Moreland. standing in a row, one painted pink. the others clean him. one eats the grass next to the sign that says"I-20 west". eggtooth waves at the largest deer, and receives wink, winding onto the interstate.east of east atlanta. but west gets me there. the grey mountain inthe distance pulls to his wheels. a love magnet, a homing device.
Sing song from the silence out from within a long black sound. she wishes for sweet things this maternal moonlight, a drop of feather on a portrait of pillows so quiet, and somehow so right.
it's written on the dashboard of the little black pick up truck. what exit you missed.
a line of demarcayshun, down that there boulevard. something switches at the prostitute's corner.fried chicken in the south. art ya'll. moving us further and further back, next to the whores we belong, next to, eessh.artists. and an old crosswalk next to the hall of hallsflippig pages through old paper publicatins. . no more snears. official rules for crossing codes. turn left into overpriced dull familiarity. things start to fade now. where did it go? my jacket is gone.
im in a regular old world. without art. darnit.
Contemplating the sick sillycomfort of the why worn jacket and the meandering thoughts, and no-voices in his head. the uncomfort of the braids of over thought things.
A gangly smart man with cable wire arms, the greying man on the street corner.he sees bats in.his dreams, Eggtooth senses with feigned boredom. Emaciated wolves gather dry text for his thoughts,too ya know? glass lit fragments for fingernails.cackle on yr window. gods crazed surface level palm flat outright. boulevard and freedom, have i seen you before? He's "older independant contractor for homeland security man, at 10:30pm". He's talking to the people in the car in front of the black pick up truck." Umm...japanese model", leans in with a proud whisper, says the little black pick up truck. Gentle meandering, the almost quiet beat of Pinback skipsteps, an arty little beat. Attention meandering. artists are neat.
A room full of people. and he carried this jug in, it would be better if it said K&B brand vodka, but it does not. towards the backroom a mixture of voices a strange tongue emerges, a unified language so friendly..and why the weight. An animal collective zones in and back out and a glance a worried chair with a lady under photography lamps. why is that guy climbing that thing.?run, athucra min cios, run. but slowly too. fast drips ignorance and apathy like clumps of dried sneaker mud. respect is in the dip.
eggtooth posse wanders now, surrounded by the spirit he commands. a spell twisted flowing drape in hourglass form. drawing from his skin into the air. An empty gift of a thousand thoughts. paintings, judging by the scale, worth more than a thousand zillion words. but even Eggtooth wouldn't want to read all that. All he needs is to see. It's a traditional medium,man. hmmm. the use of figurative images in an abstract composition...is this abstract,then? or..what is it? perhaps i will read about it in the AJC review.
Shape shifting eyeballs pierce his insides,no pupil cell division in this cranium, their snail captive cavitysugs a reassuring tight.and with a piched hit of a sentence,a comand" look around"
"look at that thing that guy painted". and these pilow cases with faces, a cohesive piece. the title and image tell it all. Eggtooth closes his eyes for a second. a swarm of wasps from the house he painted, high up looking in the triangle louvres a bat sleeps while at his feet, fourteen yr old wasps, planting seeds for his dreams. They are back Now .in this gallery. buzzing and meandering up and down the length of his long black braids. hangin' out. landing on the portrait behind him, admiring the teal to turquoise torn-ish illustrations. wasp stinger inspection scans for viruses and reports back to eggtooth of none.
"cast a spell make these bees be gone" he whispers. and they are bidded away, a silent cloak inside lining mother's them over. like baby stars singing a busy hum, and replaced with silence. Eggtooth looks quickly now! the door over there is the escape route. and beyond is another caring collective.under the hopper. a gauntlet of communal hugs. faces that he could very easily love. "what the heck?" his beat tries to speak, freak flag flops from his internal-less breeze. carries him home to a warm cozy disease. looking back and theres an occasion to greet.crunch crunch black boots jingle at the ends of his regular sized feet.
crunch crunch tumblers a black key in the lock, from which it came out not 30 minutes before. "...and to this i supposedly adore", over his shoulder love. a familiar entrance with careworn sign. in seven distinct pieces one with each letter. "in between years",pause "is where i am," As much of an auto pilot as his little black pick up truck. "You wish" says the little black pick up truck. out the stolen bbq joints parking lot.
and the sky explodes.behind him fills in with a twist of colors,mostly pink and white. gasps of brilliant baby blue and a sick lime acid green. no haven.they claim they are, and eggtooth duck his head. the 10:30 night crawlers, a late beautiful day carries a parade of healthy warm buzzes into the evening. their voices on eggtooth's shoulder, a pillar of flame,no, colors! pour from the building towards the sky. an air pushing blast as if from the mouth of God. displacement. dispersed into a milion birds.
a beautiful guilt, plays on his tripometer. analog. ticking like a silly fuse, an angry muse, a quiet witness to lessons skipped.
Six deer on Moreland. standing in a row, one painted pink. the others clean him. one eats the grass next to the sign that says"I-20 west". eggtooth waves at the largest deer, and receives wink, winding onto the interstate.east of east atlanta. but west gets me there. the grey mountain inthe distance pulls to his wheels. a love magnet, a homing device.
Sing song from the silence out from within a long black sound. she wishes for sweet things this maternal moonlight, a drop of feather on a portrait of pillows so quiet, and somehow so right.
it's written on the dashboard of the little black pick up truck. what exit you missed.
a line of demarcayshun, down that there boulevard. something switches at the prostitute's corner.fried chicken in the south. art ya'll. moving us further and further back, next to the whores we belong, next to, eessh.artists. and an old crosswalk next to the hall of hallsflippig pages through old paper publicatins. . no more snears. official rules for crossing codes. turn left into overpriced dull familiarity. things start to fade now. where did it go? my jacket is gone.
im in a regular old world. without art. darnit.
TODD MURPHY IN PEACH
TODD MURPHY in atlanta PEACH
If you've been interested the art scene of Atlanta for any amount of time, the chances are good that you have heard the name Todd Murphy. A recent article in Peach magazine addresses a number of issues regarding the artist's career in Atlanta.
Keeping a 6500 sq.ft studio not too far from the Oakland Cemetery(which I am supposing puts him in the Mattress Factory?),the artist is said to have become something of a recluse. Ocassional walks home from studio to a residence in Buckhead, fan the flames of his interest in the city's development, planning, and architecture. He's said to spend time envisioning "social spaces" that could repair Atlanta's urban disconnect. I see him, I really do. It's a dark lonely night for Todd Murphy, looking for another HighRise to sell a BigOl' picture to. The article goes on to say that he sees nothing but opportunity in Atlanta, claiming that his politics are in creativity and that his duty is to inspire. (cough word "bullshit" into hand here)
Todd is presently self representing, after years spent with Bill Lowe.
I enjoy this quote from Lowe: " As imperfect as the gallery system is, it is the only mechanism for creating sanction for an artist's evolution and the growth of their career. My concern for Todd is that there is no advocacy for the work, by any gallery anywhere in the country,nor any museum, nor any strong critical voice. On the other hand, maybe this is just a new paradigm and I just dont get it."
No,Bill. My guess is that you just dont get it. The internet is our friend, the sick empty thing that it is.
(i also enjoyed this quote regarding mechanisms: "It's confusing. We haven't been able to delineate the mechanism by which the moneys can be identified and captured"- I think that can be attributed to Eddie Granderson, i forget.) Mechanisms,huh? I'm going start using this word more often.
I declare "mechanism" the new Power Word. If it isn't already.
Todd Murphy.The article in Peach describes Todd as the object of potential envy of other artists. Im paraphrasing obviously,it states that his work is seen by some as too easily executed and that making a living as an artist is a reason enough for envy. Some of his work is described as" melancholy" and "southern rot art", a description that wishes to pull on an aesthetic that exists and is associated with the south. His work has been criticized as being very theatrical and more concerned with fashion than saying something.
Ouch. I'd go into I hiding,too. Especially if the description was stamped on yr forehead by an adjunct curator of modern and contemporary art at the High. and we all know how respectable the High is.
Im presently reading a book about Thornton Dial. The same day I begin this book, I see a post from E.K. Huckaby announcing a Lisa Shinault opening. To further set my little stage, I have also recently (thanks to MTMitchell) learned(or more accurately, become exposed to) a neat little chunk of latin.
ad hominum.
I became familiar with E.K and Lisa both through friends before having any awareness of their work experience in the Atlanta art community. This is not to say they are my friends, they are not. I simply became exposed to the person, not the work first. I have to realize this for some reason. ad hominum? I write about them as an Atlanta native artist in whatever phase of my life I am in presently.
Hey MTM...it, It seems that art has to do with utilizing "ad hominem" and perhaps pretending that it is not. The moment one leaves their house with art, it is not and never will be about the art. The goal/dream/hope/of the artist is to position themselves and the art in such a way that it gets an intended result. or any result, as most artists seem to be willing to take and exploit any reaction at all. From its orgin to its exposure to its last little piece biodegrading off the face of the earth a million years from now. (Or I suppose since we are the decaying morbid south, it's much sooner) It's a lie that tells the truth, as the old quote goes. In fact, if i want to be really cynical, I'd say its the arts duty to make itself as non-existent or non-confrontational as possible.. Who do we think we're foolin'? and to think..we imagine an imaginary idea of an art collecting/ thinking crowd? ha! where? but oh, the art itself is the thing. It's about sharing in Atlanta because of this fact. It makes it more "real". There's nothing to lose. So this is why I used to always here folks talk about how they couldnt handle "the politics" of the art scene...huh. I personally enjoy trying as hard as i can to pretend i don't care. ad hominum phasors set to stun. become a performance artist and play with this. Comedians do.
Hold up, Let's focus this. It is about Todd Murphy, I promise.
Thornton Dial and Todd Murphy both paint(create,sculpt, develop photographs) on large scale.(Okay. so does the guy in the studio next to anyone reading this)
I have this theory about painting/creating on large scale,but that's for another day.Let's just say..scale, is a trump card for some.
Thornton and Todd.Both have a sense of the south's culture or declare a sense of southern decay, growth, history,as imperfect and horrible as much of it is. There is a mood to their work. Perhaps they allow others to say that, and nod in acceptance when the characteristic is applied. When the VALUE is applied. One being suggestive of narrative, the other very clearly all about his ideas, his place in life. His story.Him being himself. Self representation status vs. the gallery system.
Todd's work is marketable. Simple as that. He used a gallery to get going. Was it necessary? I say yes. It had to start there for him. Now he can approach all the commercial properties he wishes with his name and the work, which are very open to theatrical vapid eye candy things. And no, I am not saying this out of jealousy.I say it because I feel what he does is a disservice. It parades,prepared to hide with a sense of holding the Moral High Ground .How dare you? Yr just jealous!You run headlong into it if you dare honestly critique. What I wonder, and have to wonder if Todd wonders or schemes/hopes...50 years(or much less) from now...is Todd Murphy folk art? is that the angle? If yr in the south, braid yr intent with that stigma if you are fer real about art and want to stay here doing it. It's the only corner certain artists from certain walks of life have left as even a scatch of a marginal sense of a chance. So lets keep it sacred. (heh)
I am saying this because I am aware of E.K. Huckaby. I wish to draw a comparison only to the extent that I will say I find Huckaby's work to be fascinating. He has similiarites in slight ways, key words pop up between them that would not in others.For me, a silly but apt comparison would be, take the rock group Bauhaus and set them beside the rock group Type-O-Negative. With E.K., I wonder about where he is going with things. His work is undeniable. In his case, I wonder what his next research will reveal. Just as I am pleased to see that evidently Lisa Shinault has found comfort in her artistic voice and style, as it appears to be much as it was when I first discovered it close to ten years ago. Beautiful and non-confrontationally difficult strange fun images.
I have developed an awareness of ways different folks position themselves in their artistic market. It has to happen.Market.Audience. If I am jealous of folks,it is folks with burning passionate vision.I only get blurry visions and a voice full of heads.
I can't decide if I envy Thornton. Honestly,I can't say I appreciate the work all that much. The scale is sometimes impressive.I have seen some that were interesting.(i'd like to see "billy goat hill" in person) Oh. I'm from the south, was I supposed to just gush about liking it,him. his work? which one?? Would you question me if I DID like it? Perhaps I need to see more of the work in person.Perhaps i need to know more about the person. I will allow that and will always allow that. Fine. I used to despise Andy as well. Speaking of Andy:
Ad hominem. I'm sure there's gonna be some elaboration offered up to me on the full meaning of Ad Hominem. I'd enjoy it actually. About the writing, not the writer. Oh make me famous, but don't talk about me. Especially if you dont know what I eat for breakfast. Create the myth, but oh..nothing matters here. Have an opinion, but don't voice it. You probably don't know something and its better to let those in the know do the talking. This is Atlanta.. So you best just hide in yr shrinking suburb... until IT forces you to swim, fight or procreate.and buy a trendy loft. and some trendy art. from a trendy studio. in what used to be the sticks.
Let us pine for our lost pines.
If you've been interested the art scene of Atlanta for any amount of time, the chances are good that you have heard the name Todd Murphy. A recent article in Peach magazine addresses a number of issues regarding the artist's career in Atlanta.
Keeping a 6500 sq.ft studio not too far from the Oakland Cemetery(which I am supposing puts him in the Mattress Factory?),the artist is said to have become something of a recluse. Ocassional walks home from studio to a residence in Buckhead, fan the flames of his interest in the city's development, planning, and architecture. He's said to spend time envisioning "social spaces" that could repair Atlanta's urban disconnect. I see him, I really do. It's a dark lonely night for Todd Murphy, looking for another HighRise to sell a BigOl' picture to. The article goes on to say that he sees nothing but opportunity in Atlanta, claiming that his politics are in creativity and that his duty is to inspire. (cough word "bullshit" into hand here)
Todd is presently self representing, after years spent with Bill Lowe.
I enjoy this quote from Lowe: " As imperfect as the gallery system is, it is the only mechanism for creating sanction for an artist's evolution and the growth of their career. My concern for Todd is that there is no advocacy for the work, by any gallery anywhere in the country,nor any museum, nor any strong critical voice. On the other hand, maybe this is just a new paradigm and I just dont get it."
No,Bill. My guess is that you just dont get it. The internet is our friend, the sick empty thing that it is.
(i also enjoyed this quote regarding mechanisms: "It's confusing. We haven't been able to delineate the mechanism by which the moneys can be identified and captured"- I think that can be attributed to Eddie Granderson, i forget.) Mechanisms,huh? I'm going start using this word more often.
I declare "mechanism" the new Power Word. If it isn't already.
Todd Murphy.The article in Peach describes Todd as the object of potential envy of other artists. Im paraphrasing obviously,it states that his work is seen by some as too easily executed and that making a living as an artist is a reason enough for envy. Some of his work is described as" melancholy" and "southern rot art", a description that wishes to pull on an aesthetic that exists and is associated with the south. His work has been criticized as being very theatrical and more concerned with fashion than saying something.
Ouch. I'd go into I hiding,too. Especially if the description was stamped on yr forehead by an adjunct curator of modern and contemporary art at the High. and we all know how respectable the High is.
Im presently reading a book about Thornton Dial. The same day I begin this book, I see a post from E.K. Huckaby announcing a Lisa Shinault opening. To further set my little stage, I have also recently (thanks to MTMitchell) learned(or more accurately, become exposed to) a neat little chunk of latin.
ad hominum.
I became familiar with E.K and Lisa both through friends before having any awareness of their work experience in the Atlanta art community. This is not to say they are my friends, they are not. I simply became exposed to the person, not the work first. I have to realize this for some reason. ad hominum? I write about them as an Atlanta native artist in whatever phase of my life I am in presently.
Hey MTM...it, It seems that art has to do with utilizing "ad hominem" and perhaps pretending that it is not. The moment one leaves their house with art, it is not and never will be about the art. The goal/dream/hope/of the artist is to position themselves and the art in such a way that it gets an intended result. or any result, as most artists seem to be willing to take and exploit any reaction at all. From its orgin to its exposure to its last little piece biodegrading off the face of the earth a million years from now. (Or I suppose since we are the decaying morbid south, it's much sooner) It's a lie that tells the truth, as the old quote goes. In fact, if i want to be really cynical, I'd say its the arts duty to make itself as non-existent or non-confrontational as possible.. Who do we think we're foolin'? and to think..we imagine an imaginary idea of an art collecting/ thinking crowd? ha! where? but oh, the art itself is the thing. It's about sharing in Atlanta because of this fact. It makes it more "real". There's nothing to lose. So this is why I used to always here folks talk about how they couldnt handle "the politics" of the art scene...huh. I personally enjoy trying as hard as i can to pretend i don't care. ad hominum phasors set to stun. become a performance artist and play with this. Comedians do.
Hold up, Let's focus this. It is about Todd Murphy, I promise.
Thornton Dial and Todd Murphy both paint(create,sculpt, develop photographs) on large scale.(Okay. so does the guy in the studio next to anyone reading this)
I have this theory about painting/creating on large scale,but that's for another day.Let's just say..scale, is a trump card for some.
Thornton and Todd.Both have a sense of the south's culture or declare a sense of southern decay, growth, history,as imperfect and horrible as much of it is. There is a mood to their work. Perhaps they allow others to say that, and nod in acceptance when the characteristic is applied. When the VALUE is applied. One being suggestive of narrative, the other very clearly all about his ideas, his place in life. His story.Him being himself. Self representation status vs. the gallery system.
Todd's work is marketable. Simple as that. He used a gallery to get going. Was it necessary? I say yes. It had to start there for him. Now he can approach all the commercial properties he wishes with his name and the work, which are very open to theatrical vapid eye candy things. And no, I am not saying this out of jealousy.I say it because I feel what he does is a disservice. It parades,prepared to hide with a sense of holding the Moral High Ground .How dare you? Yr just jealous!You run headlong into it if you dare honestly critique. What I wonder, and have to wonder if Todd wonders or schemes/hopes...50 years(or much less) from now...is Todd Murphy folk art? is that the angle? If yr in the south, braid yr intent with that stigma if you are fer real about art and want to stay here doing it. It's the only corner certain artists from certain walks of life have left as even a scatch of a marginal sense of a chance. So lets keep it sacred. (heh)
I am saying this because I am aware of E.K. Huckaby. I wish to draw a comparison only to the extent that I will say I find Huckaby's work to be fascinating. He has similiarites in slight ways, key words pop up between them that would not in others.For me, a silly but apt comparison would be, take the rock group Bauhaus and set them beside the rock group Type-O-Negative. With E.K., I wonder about where he is going with things. His work is undeniable. In his case, I wonder what his next research will reveal. Just as I am pleased to see that evidently Lisa Shinault has found comfort in her artistic voice and style, as it appears to be much as it was when I first discovered it close to ten years ago. Beautiful and non-confrontationally difficult strange fun images.
I have developed an awareness of ways different folks position themselves in their artistic market. It has to happen.Market.Audience. If I am jealous of folks,it is folks with burning passionate vision.I only get blurry visions and a voice full of heads.
I can't decide if I envy Thornton. Honestly,I can't say I appreciate the work all that much. The scale is sometimes impressive.I have seen some that were interesting.(i'd like to see "billy goat hill" in person) Oh. I'm from the south, was I supposed to just gush about liking it,him. his work? which one?? Would you question me if I DID like it? Perhaps I need to see more of the work in person.Perhaps i need to know more about the person. I will allow that and will always allow that. Fine. I used to despise Andy as well. Speaking of Andy:
Ad hominem. I'm sure there's gonna be some elaboration offered up to me on the full meaning of Ad Hominem. I'd enjoy it actually. About the writing, not the writer. Oh make me famous, but don't talk about me. Especially if you dont know what I eat for breakfast. Create the myth, but oh..nothing matters here. Have an opinion, but don't voice it. You probably don't know something and its better to let those in the know do the talking. This is Atlanta.. So you best just hide in yr shrinking suburb... until IT forces you to swim, fight or procreate.and buy a trendy loft. and some trendy art. from a trendy studio. in what used to be the sticks.
Let us pine for our lost pines.
ASSART
Lack of credibility in order to have credibility (voice/change)
the will to call it like you see it for an idea of the greater good.
unattached,free -no credentials but for the murmur whisper of... the mob? who?
where the comon denominator? there isnt one. thats the beaut of it. i agree with all of you.
(no personal gain evident) is only trustable source that inspires the beginning of real Gain.
the concept of the freakin UFO
i wish aliens were allowed to hang out with us so they could gain credibility, ya know.
it will always remain.
the atlanta art scene
to make it "everybody's", you can't have "valuable" stuff.
cuz then you'd need locks and alarm systems
Alarm Systems Support Atlanta's Repetitive Troubles
ASSART
sing it with me dirty
alarm systems support atlanta's repetitive troubles
jeh ya.
Lack of credibility in order to have credibility (voice/change)
the will to call it like you see it for an idea of the greater good.
unattached,free -no credentials but for the murmur whisper of... the mob? who?
where the comon denominator? there isnt one. thats the beaut of it. i agree with all of you.
(no personal gain evident) is only trustable source that inspires the beginning of real Gain.
the concept of the freakin UFO
i wish aliens were allowed to hang out with us so they could gain credibility, ya know.
it will always remain.
the atlanta art scene
to make it "everybody's", you can't have "valuable" stuff.
cuz then you'd need locks and alarm systems
Alarm Systems Support Atlanta's Repetitive Troubles
ASSART
sing it with me dirty
alarm systems support atlanta's repetitive troubles
jeh ya.
KIDDY
a tribute to roadtrips and life experience:
He walked on down the hall and
the paintings bulged and shifted under mountain dew and dorito crunch priorities
he looked inside chaos
places us with friendship that paints for us
light years from home in a freedom prison riding a silver horse named billy gallerywrap
green mysticism of the shaman and youthful inspiration
father yes son
drop shadow pops never-idle acidic dayglo faces
life is curious every night
get here, we'll do the rest
bertolt brecht never wrecked his god dint make no junk
crazy lieu in life of value for passion and memories passed on
krazy kreatures deliver messages through baby alien's placenta. on canvas
cramped away experience influenced this way a brush stroke a parental e-joke
trucks scuffed on the curb send shards and visuals grind it out sweat the day away
being amped in cuteland by the newness of the new and marinating in the ways Knew ways.
dont stop
friends in this time the energy of the night...yr opening up alright. dig.
she gives birth to you art
drop it off and hang loose talk about yr work and the process is here it hurts
it's alive and smile dependable as
mother
i want to
eggtooth ist rad
He walked on down the hall and
the paintings bulged and shifted under mountain dew and dorito crunch priorities
he looked inside chaos
places us with friendship that paints for us
light years from home in a freedom prison riding a silver horse named billy gallerywrap
green mysticism of the shaman and youthful inspiration
father yes son
drop shadow pops never-idle acidic dayglo faces
life is curious every night
get here, we'll do the rest
bertolt brecht never wrecked his god dint make no junk
crazy lieu in life of value for passion and memories passed on
krazy kreatures deliver messages through baby alien's placenta. on canvas
cramped away experience influenced this way a brush stroke a parental e-joke
trucks scuffed on the curb send shards and visuals grind it out sweat the day away
being amped in cuteland by the newness of the new and marinating in the ways Knew ways.
dont stop
friends in this time the energy of the night...yr opening up alright. dig.
she gives birth to you art
drop it off and hang loose talk about yr work and the process is here it hurts
it's alive and smile dependable as
mother
i want to
eggtooth ist rad
POSTED BY EGGTOOTH SATURDAY THE WHATEVERTH
Lives.
Exist as temporarily and as tangible as ever. Exist in a solidifying form, in the minds especially of those who pretend to not hear or see or feel what you do. Those that truly do not, and seem to know better, are all the more responsible. The ignorances of art, the beauty of art, the denial of your own process, as you wade through different venues with your work. As you go to different venues seeking amazing work and more importantly...honest work.
Atlanta has much to offer because of its perceived artistic and cultural status. This expectation or predispositons disarms a certain air to art,bringing it closer to you. Any environment in Atlanta galleries that attempt to suggest an air are false and this smears the work on the wall within. This is your judgment to carry out and it must be done with a surface level awareness. Without shame or fear. Turn and leave if any part of your body senses an idea or perception you have based on other preconceived models. The duty of the venue is to represent the work as the artist intends it.
There are still challenges that anyone can help with. ANYONE. In its fundamental stage,it is neutralized of the closing of its circuit .We have many with a supposed name and a supposed ely perceived respect who are snowing you with an air. Look to their work, Look to who they represent. Look to what they represent. Those to those whose names you respect ,you must look to them and expect more. More for what they think and feel should be done in our art community. More for whose art they love. Look for leadership. Suggest ideas UP to those you respect. They are not going to do anything to help you or in their own comfort and arrogance,ultimately themselves. They are afraid to call truths. They are only concerned about themselves.
To say you do what you do for yourself is a beautiful thing, but the moment you step out the door with it, know that you cannot remain in the dark for too long. To show you care,to expect care in return, means a highly individuated process of self realization must take place.There is no intention with art free from this.
There are those struggling and there are those profiting. They are both equally subject to the judgment that they themselves are required to hand out. It truly is about the art and not the individual. Engaging in the community is about love and the love requires a certain degree of vision and honesty. Do not read names printed and expect they mean something. Find your own names and praise them. Praise them openly and passionately. Find your own expectations relevant. Find yourself relevant. Find yourself participating in an art community because you care about the art.
eggtooth ist silly.
Exist as temporarily and as tangible as ever. Exist in a solidifying form, in the minds especially of those who pretend to not hear or see or feel what you do. Those that truly do not, and seem to know better, are all the more responsible. The ignorances of art, the beauty of art, the denial of your own process, as you wade through different venues with your work. As you go to different venues seeking amazing work and more importantly...honest work.
Atlanta has much to offer because of its perceived artistic and cultural status. This expectation or predispositons disarms a certain air to art,bringing it closer to you. Any environment in Atlanta galleries that attempt to suggest an air are false and this smears the work on the wall within. This is your judgment to carry out and it must be done with a surface level awareness. Without shame or fear. Turn and leave if any part of your body senses an idea or perception you have based on other preconceived models. The duty of the venue is to represent the work as the artist intends it.
There are still challenges that anyone can help with. ANYONE. In its fundamental stage,it is neutralized of the closing of its circuit .We have many with a supposed name and a supposed ely perceived respect who are snowing you with an air. Look to their work, Look to who they represent. Look to what they represent. Those to those whose names you respect ,you must look to them and expect more. More for what they think and feel should be done in our art community. More for whose art they love. Look for leadership. Suggest ideas UP to those you respect. They are not going to do anything to help you or in their own comfort and arrogance,ultimately themselves. They are afraid to call truths. They are only concerned about themselves.
To say you do what you do for yourself is a beautiful thing, but the moment you step out the door with it, know that you cannot remain in the dark for too long. To show you care,to expect care in return, means a highly individuated process of self realization must take place.There is no intention with art free from this.
There are those struggling and there are those profiting. They are both equally subject to the judgment that they themselves are required to hand out. It truly is about the art and not the individual. Engaging in the community is about love and the love requires a certain degree of vision and honesty. Do not read names printed and expect they mean something. Find your own names and praise them. Praise them openly and passionately. Find your own expectations relevant. Find yourself relevant. Find yourself participating in an art community because you care about the art.
eggtooth ist silly.
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