{ Monthly Archives }
Some days I don’t have much to say, which is fine, because my words are usually pretty superfluous compared to the visual talent of the artists I post. Such is the case with New Zealand illustrator Andrew Archer, who’s analog/digital work is definitely better than my babble.
I bought a small bag of Cheez-its from a vending machine today with a quarter from 1965, and in the time it took me to walk from my desk to the vending machine, I thought about the small artifacts we ignore. That quarter, which has now become part of a pile of quarters, was minted the year my parents were married. That was the first real year of their lives; just graduated from high school and starting college, fresh off an elopement and honeymoon to Mexico, loving each other more than could believe, living in a crappy apartment in Baton Rouge, Louisiana with almost no money to their name, and just being so happy about it. It’s possible that my dad put gas in his 1956 Olds Special with the quarter that I held in my hands today. He could’ve driven my mom to the woods and walked down some old dirt road while holding her hand, because of that quarter. And that quarter continued to make the same small things possible in people’s lives for the last 45 years.
The point is that, regardless of its given worth based on public opinion, an artifact itself can be worth more than the sum of its parts. So to speak. An artifact can have meaning instead of just worth, it represents everything that everyone has ever believed about it, and everything that has resulted because of its existence. All day today I’ve been listening to music at Left is Rain, and it’s all great, and there is so much of it, but I miss the artifacts. I’m definitely not the kind of person who hates digital music, very far from it. I just can’t help but remember how amazing it was when I found my parents stash of old, forgotten records, and played them for myself on our turntable. And those records must have meant so many things to my parents, too. Maybe they listened to Blood, Sweat, and Tears while they were sitting around their little trailer on the lake in Alabama, the sun was out, it was Saturday, and everything was gonna be fine. The music is the most important part, but we also can’t forget that the record itself comes to represent those memories, and even more, that whole period of their lives.
The point of all of this was originally that you should go to Left is Rain and just let it play through all 700 -some-odd songs, and have yourself a fine time doing it. But that stupid quarter got me wistful, and a little sad that the digital age doesn’t offer much in the way of artifacts. Even these words are going to just vanish into nothing someday, because they were never really here. It makes things seem not only less permanent, but less meaningful. But hey, I’ve got a woman I love and my parent’s old Blood, Sweat and Tears record at home; I can make memories of my own.
For some people art is work — there are all kinds of reference photos, and layers, and sketches upon sketches — but Sam McKenzie is clearly one of those rare breed that can just draw whatever they see in their heads directly, and it will look perfect every time. He is also one of those people who’s work makes me think of Mountain Dew fueled speed metal jam sessions with friends, where one of the guys just bangs on an overly distorted guitar with a screwdriver. Hot chicks, surly dudes, and a bunch of non-sequitur phrases…and who am I kidding, he had me at hot chicks. Thank you, Sam McKenzie for amping up my rock n’ roll spirit through the heavy, gray fog of morning. And in case you are ever interested in having a jam, I play a mean fucking screwdriver.
Magniflorious
Donny Hathaway - A Song for You (better if you just ignore the actual video)
I think most people fantasize about what it would be like to be a kid again, but with all the knowledge and awareness that they’ve gained throughout their adulthood. Maybe that means that most of us are lazy and would rather have all the work already done for us, or maybe it means that most of us regret not living with the general fearlessness and freedom from responsibility that we had as kids. It does mean that we don’t regret having learned the things we’ve learned, and that’s at least some comfort. I, just to be contrary, would rather be a kid without my knowledge. I’ve learned so many wonderful things over the years, and dammit if it wouldn’t be fun to learn those things again for the first time. Knowing things never quite compares to learning things. Jesus, is that just another way of saying that the journey is more important than the destination? If so, please tell me to fuck off. What does this little exposition have to do with the artist whose name is in bigger letters up there? Well, Brian Cronin’s work would be the ideal picture book illustrations for that little version of me that has all my current knowledge. While other kids were believing that things were real with undying certainty, I would be sitting somewhere quiet, reading that picture book, trying to remember what it was like to be a kid, while knowing exactly what it was like to be an adult.
From a combination of good fortune and laziness, most of my content today comes from other art/design sites. I’m not ashamed to let others do my work for me. What I am ashamed of is how much I like the song stylings of Neil Diamond. But I like the oil paintings of Mary Jane Ansell only marginally less that Mr. Diamond’s profound works, so she must be pretty spectacular. Contrast should be the key word with her; contrast between the smooth background and sharper foreground subjects, contrast between the light and dark elements of her composition, and often the contrast of the subjects themselves with their simple clothing, but bright eyes/hair and non-sequitur symbolic objects. *insert clever remark about contrast* See, I told you I was lazy.
Mary Jane Ansell found via booooooom
There’s something very comforting about Joe Kievitt’s lines and colors crossing and hatching there way across the paper. I don’t know if that says more about his art or my neuroses. Let’s just go with the former, since it leaves out the hours long introspective odyssey of self-awareness. Either way, you go enjoy some line drawings, while I sit here and look morose.
Maybe it’s just something about Wednesday, but usually by the middle of the week there’s a nice angry core inside of me whose embers are fueling my drive to work. Wednesdays I listen to metal. Wednesdays I watch shark attack videos. It’s not a great day to schedule a meeting with me. It’s definitely not the day to use words like “workflow” and “action item” around me. But for Faro it’s the perfect day to send me some samples of gritty, semi-angry, metal-powered work. That shit is just exactly what the doctor ordered. So while Bruce Dickson (I start off old-school in the mornings) is bringing my rage up to a nice healthy glow, Faro’s work is providing the perfect backdrop with neo-Egyptian monsters wreaking havoc on my screen. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that feels the anger on Wednesdays, so join me won’t you, for a journey with my favorite of the 7 deadly sins — wrath.
