Garland Farwell in Alabama

Fish Explosion

2010-07-11T16:52:00.000-07:00

I've gotten all into fishing this summer and now there's a pond in every other backyard where I didn't notice them before. And every other person seems to have the obsession.

Ann Torme is one of the Grande Dames of York. She owns a huge tract of land together with her brother down in Cuba...
Not THAT Cuba...Cuba, Alabama.
Ann was gracious enough to allow me the use of her freshwater pond loaded with Bass and Bream. But actually catching a fish is no match for the pleasure of casting a line in the quiet early morning...
...Well, no. Catching a fish is the best rush you'll ever have. So let's just say the whole package is great.

I have a couple of decent rods so I invited my good neighbor, Suzanne Hagood, to come along.

Suzanne is the current (soon to be former) Coordinator of the One Mile Garden . She's been in York for a year and is due to pass the torch come the end of July.

Her work here has been phenomenal. She transformed a dusty parking lot into a kind of Eden, overflowing with the best organic fruits, vegetables and herbs money can buy. Except it's all free.

The garden is a Collective effort. My Spring semester students added a bit of visual spice by creating this thematic Wall.

Each mold is individually sculpted in sand. We then mixed and cast the cement. Takes a few days to cure. The results are very cool.

The Garden Wall was part of a broader survey of Public Art. We also raided the nearest dumpster and transformed some choice junk with stencils and paint.

There's a few other completed Public Art projects I hope to install in the coming weeks. We'll make our mark on this town yet.
But back to the day's catch.

We caught only four Bass between us and they weren't that big. But they will do.
Suzanne whipped together a fine wine marinade using herbs and vegetables almost exclusively from the garden. Our finned friends will soak in it overnight.

I left a little treat out for the neighborhood dogs and cats.

We all thank the kind fish for their sacrifice.
Sounds jokey but I really mean that.

With my Summer Art students I wanted to focus on approaches to sculpture . We experimented a bit with varied materials and took a good look at Traditional and Modern Art.

These Tower constructions were inspired by Brancusi and West African Art. We painted them in a modernist style, creating a symbiotic tension between color and form.

Few things give me more happy joy joy than the presence of the Ward sisters in my class. Shon is the quiet, brainy middle sister and sweet as brown sugar.

She's also super focused with a subtle flair about her work.

Jaleah is third born. They call her "sassy". I call her a colorful and gifted wit. She slays me with her insightful humor. Jaleah sometimes has to miss class because her older sisters may determine that she's exhibiting too much "attitude".

But Jaleah is a model student and a total pleasure to work with. She's inquisitive and adventurous with an infectious positive energy. She dives into the challenge and everyone follows.

We created these assemblages in the style of 20th Century Master, Louise Nevelson.

Nevelson teaches us a lot about form and composition. It's also hard to fail when you're doing a Nevelson. There's a certain sophistication and elegance that comes with the territory.

This process of recycling and re-imagining found objects is extremely satisfying and fun for young students. They tend to make several of them in one session with much variation.

Down at Water Valley Lodge, July 4th is a very big deal. The Utsey's hire Bubba and his crew to prepare barbecue for about 300 people

They begin cooking a whole day in advance and continue all through the night, manning the massive grills in shifts. I popped in around 9pm and stayed up as late as I could, drinking beer and chomping on the occasional rib.

Bubba is some kind of genius. Whatever mysterious spices he rubs into the meat causes your DNA to grab your soul by the waist and do a spectral square dance with God and Einstein on banjo and fiddle.
In other words, Bubba's barbecue is outstanding.

Tip the dog gets it. He sits all night on the ground beneath the grills, catching and devouring frequently tossed scraps and bones.

2010-06-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

I came out of my building and slammed into a stench so great you could taste it and practically see it. Anything THAT awesome deserves a closer sniff. I followed my abused nostrils to a garbage can with fresh possum inside.

Poor thing got trapped during nighttime scavenging. Couldn't crawl back up the plastic walls. I felt bad for it but I mostly just wanted it gone. It snarled and displayed pointy little teeth as I lowered a 2x4 escape plank into Its accidental trap. Then I was outta there.
By my afternoon return the critter was gone, stench and all, thank Jeebus.
I can't believe people catch and eat these monster rodents. Humans are strange, ravenous beasts who'll eat just about anything.

But humans are also damn cute.

I finally got Samita Sinha to come to Alabama. Because of her interest in real folk music and real folks, I always thought she'd enjoy exploring the place. Being that her work is very much in line with the goals of The Coleman Center, I connected the two and there you have it.
It was like a miracle seeing my Brooklyn/Queens buddy tramping about this deep South town. But she landed here beaming, pleased by the sultry air and awesome friendly people. Said it all reminded her of India.

For this week-long exploratory visit, Samita brought along Sound Artist, Stephanie Loveless, one of her collaborators out of New York via Montreal.

Inspired by her late, great mentor, Sekou Sundiata, Samita has made the COMMUNITY SING a component of her musical collaborations.
The idea of gathering a group of strangers for a sharing of traditional songs and conversation is brilliant in its simplicity...or simple in its brilliance?

Some of the old songs Samita brought were born right here in Sumter County and all along the Black Belt, recorded and preserved by Alan Lomax for the Smithsonian Institution in the early 20th Century. Such a genius thing to do considering how now, even among the direct descendants of those who originally sang them, the words and tunes are mostly forgotten.
The big beautiful irony is that it took a Samita, this first generation child of immigrants, to bring these powerful songs back home.

We were pleased that Jody White was present and vocal. Jody is a fine singer who also happens to be the great niece of Ruby Pickens Tartt, the maverick woman responsible for introducing Alan Lomax to the people and culture of the region. Jody gave some interesting insight on that history, bringing the conversation to a whole other level.

I work with Jody in the theater department at Demopolis High. She brings me in for periodic residencies and it's just the best time. We've done a good number of dynamic projects together with her theater students. I totally, totally treasure those times and hold Jody in the highest regard.

Samita was kind of blown away by the ease with which Southern people, black and white, take to song. They just belt it out and let it flow. A marked contrast to the more timid Yanks she's used to dealing with. As the project goes forward she'll have to adjust her program to accommodate this very different attitude.

I'll say that probably the best part of the week was simply having the opportunity to hang with an old friend I don't get to see much these days. You know how it goes.

Choctaw County High had me in residency for a few weeks. But it's the charismatic and awesome coordinator, Brandi Clark, who's really responsible for connecting me with this fine institution. I guess she saw the work I did down at Southern Choctaw High a coupla years ago and found me worthy.

The mission again was murals.

I taught the basic elements of drawing. We also covered color and composition, line and detail.

We brainstormed themes and images and dug into old books, magazines, and the internet.

Then we sketched, doodled, scribbled, and traced for a few days straight until every individual had built up a good body of work.
It was up to me to sort through it all and collage the best most representative images according to the chosen theme.

We worked out the color schemes on scale mock-ups.

We got four themes on four panels - Environment, History, Higher Learning, and Pride.

Each panel is about 9'x5'. They were installed in the vestibule of the school.

It's hay baling time down on the farms. And it's time to enjoy some machinery you'll never see in the big city. Check out this Rhino-like Spearing Beast.

Kidart Gallery

2010-05-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

Self Portrait. mixed media. James G.

Sunflower. pastel, glue. Keldreana D.

Fish. mixed media string print. Israel M.

Masks of Mexico
Paper Mache, Acrylic, Raffia

Foam Plate Prints

Flowers. LaShondria W.

African Ax. Tyriek F.

Panda. Terrell J.

Truck. Phillip D.

The Presidents
Seated Figure collaborations by the students of Demopolis Jr. High, Civics class
mixed media, collage, assemblage

Kandinsky Color Studies
acrylic on paper, music

Breanna M.

Cyknesha B.

Self-Portrait. mixed media. Breanna M.

Radial Design. watercolor, pencil. Leroy B.

Radial Design. watercolor, pencil. Cyknesha B.

Identity Box / Set Design - Diary of Anne Frank
mixed media, assemblage, collage
Theater 1&2, Demopolis High School

Kristi W.

Ashley G.

Brittany L.

Deandra L.

Lexi M.

Amber L.

Yorkheart

2010-04-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

The City of York got its first official Historic marker. The unveiling was on a Saturday morning on the grounds of the Coleman Center. The event was really a tribute to bonafide Yorker, Artist, and CC founder, Tut Riddick.

About 50 or so people came out. The Mayor spoke, a Senator spoke, a Congressman's wife was there, songs were sung.

One side of the marker commemorates The Coleman Center, its founding and its mission. I was a little heartened because the Education Program gets a mention here. I'm at least half responsible for its existence and I work hard to keep its wheels rolling so I will consider this marker a speck of my own immortality.

The other side of the marker gives a brief rundown of York history. No mention of slaves and all that dirty business but I think that's just taken for granted. This area was always relatively poor and out of the way anyways. There were never really any huge plantations or massive importations of human chattel. Not like, say... New York City and Newport, Rhode Island. (Google Wall Street slave market and Newport slave traders) Heh.

Tut shared a few of her poems. In her writing as in her paintings, Tut is all about the homage. She renders portraits of the people and places that inspire her. She told me she has a painting of me at her place down in Mobile so I guess I have arrived.

The rest of this York Homecoming day was taken up by a few more presentations, speeches, craft sales, and community singing. But in typical and very refreshing York fashion, this little fair was oh-so-mellow, friendly, and crowdless.

The Coleman Center brought in Alabama Art Casting, a traveling foundry with a hands-on, audience participation approach.

I love what these guys are doing - bringing this otherwise rarely witnessed process to the public. Metal castings are all over the place but few of us are aware of what goes into it and how it's done.

The townsfolk got to etch an image into these tightly compressed blocks of very fine sand.

Then after a couple dozen sand plates are ready, the crew pours the molten metal.

It's bright bright orange and flows as loose and liquidy as water.

The flames leap high. The smoke billows wider. You can feel the heat many yards away.

The strong, alien odor causes reaction.

The metal plates seem to cure quite rapidly, soon reverting to a more familiar-looking metal. But as they're spread out for cooling they're still deadly hot at over 800 degrees.

The medieval tools and equipment; the cowhide protective gear; the heavy shielded masks; the shooting flames and the noise. Alabama Art Casting combines education and awesome spectacle.

The leader of the group is the good man, Johnny P. Williams, also a York native, who was very happy to return to his hometown on this fine day.

The best part of that clip is the adorable lilt of the Southern "Yay".

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Then over in Livingston, our county seat, there's the annual Sucarnochee Folk Life Festival. Kinda typical small town faire - craft booths, food, and live music.
Not the kind of thing I'd be inclined to attend but, again, this is Sumter County in Black Belt Alabama. No hype, no crowds, total relaxed friendliness. It's just about hanging loose and running into people you know.

Coleman Center wanted to have a presence there and asked me to help out but I didn't have any ideas for an outdoor craftsy project for random passersby. So I just kinda threw up my hands.

Then Shana recalled a photograph of a project I'd done in New York and New Jersey schools. She thought 'Build Your Own City' would be perfect for Sucarnochee and I agreed.

You just have to gather old cereal boxes, construction paper, scissors, glue and...Voila.

And it was kind of a hit. Folks of all ages formed a constant stream of builders.
This little girl pretty much camped out and single-handedly built an entire subdivision.

Sumter County ain't the most diverse place. It's basically Black, White, and Christian all over. When I see foreigners I tend to perk up.

I thought these wonderful young ladies might be South American but it turns out they're Native American. So who's the foreigner here, eh?
I love Alabama history and the deep Indian connection so I should've asked which tribe they represent but we were having too much fun cutting and pasting and gabbing it up.

I get a little cranky around crafty things. I'll forever maintain the snobby notion that Art and Crafts should be forever separated. I'm constantly reminding my students of the distinction between the two.
But I ain't gonna lie - crafts are an easy path to fun and you can't name one that isn't totally innocent.

Minor Artisans

2010-04-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

I'd like my students to become more familiar with local and regional artists and craftspeople and more aware of accessibility.
I also hope to demystify art and art-making; to get them up close and personal with the makers; to break down that wall and widen the realm of possibility.

I've been putting the word out to professional artists and designers in the area and the response has been grand.
We had a 3-day Art exchange with local glass artist, Linda Munoz, who was kind enough to invite us into her studio to explore her process.

Linda specializes in stained glass, jewelry, and mosaics.
Working with college students at U. West Alabama, she started this mosaic mural in downtown York over a year ago. But due to circumstances she hasn't been able to complete it with them.

Our highschoolers enthusiastically stepped in and finished the job with finesse.
They added colored glass and pottery fragments and they repaired damaged sections.

Yahlah owns a space adjacent to Linda's on the main strip. She's currently renovating it to open an organic produce and sandwich shop sometime in the fall.
She was just passing by and decided to pitch in.
Yahlah's one of those people who grew up here, then spent a lifetime away, then returned to her roots for good.

Linda also introduced us to the tools and techniques of stained glass and jewelry making. We cut, chipped, and assembled our own pieces, firing them overnight in the mini kiln.

We converted our small but pretty cool-looking glass works into jewelry by applying pendant, pin, and earring hardware.

Linda gave us an excellent intro to the wonders of glass and its varied potential as both a large and small-scale medium. I think we all would love to return to it at some point.
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Marilyn Gordon and Lillie Mack run Black Belt Designs, a hands-on fashion house based here in Sumter County. They have a highly inventive, folksy approach to clothes making, incorporating recycled materials and hand-painted fabrics.

Black Belt Designs commissioned me to fabricate a series of hangers for their exhibit at Webb Gallery in Livingston. I thought it'd be a great idea to involve students, staff, and anybody else with a hankering for hangers.

I cut 30 or so identical shapes out of standard 1/2 inch plywood and invited young and old people of all skill levels to paint a hanger.

No rules or limits were imposed. We left it wide open, sorta reflecting the eclectic style of the clothing.

Funny thing is, no one had any prior knowledge as to which outfit their hanger would be paired with. It was all chance. Marilyn and Lillie simply took what we gave them and managed to match things up quite nicely.

Didn't matter if a hanger was abstract, realistic, crude, or cartoony. Together they made for a wild but oddly harmonious display.

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This here little dude is Travin. He lives next door and comes around any time he pleases. Never mind if I'm busy with something or other. He'll just march into the studio and help himself to whatever supplies, materials, and tools he can get his hands on and proceed to construct some far out scary thing.

This time it was a cardboard, wood, and cotton ball man with a huge nose and spindly legs. Looked like some kind of nightmare gnome or a supernatural fetish you don't want to cross. I questioned Travin about the figure's supine position and the red paint. He excitedly replied, "He's dead! I'm MAKING him dead!"

Travin once came in with a plan to build a box. I helped him with the drill and saw and he just went to town with it. He was clear that he had to have swinging doors so we rummaged around for some old hinges.

Once it was constructed, I advised him that he was going to have to put something IN the box. Travin gathered rocks, twigs, leaves, dirt, glue and paint to fill his box. I snapped a photo of him and we threw that in too.
"Now, what's the title of your box, Travin?"

"My Box"

Discretionary Viewing

2010-04-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

Turn away if you're squeamish about ancient food preparation techniques. Go no further if you can't bear to witness what a thousand generations of YOUR ancestors had to do to ensure your very existence. Stop here if you don't want to see the way much of the world still lives.

I was driving the back roads of Alabama with New York designer and fashion icon (at least in my mind), Nneka B.
We naturally dropped in on Water Valley Lodge. It was supposed to be a ten minute stay but, as is usual down there, ten minutes turned to hours and before we knew it we're in another life-altering-holy-heck-I-never-done-anything-like-this-before situation.

But anyway, yeah, I was just showing Nneka the well-coiffed grounds of the Lodge and suddenly, somehow, we found ourselves in the deep woods in the deep night with a team of hardcore hunters in the rain. It was chilly out there too but the gunmen were all sweat, mud, and adrenaline.

They killed two whitetail doe and shot a buck but the buck got away. We tracked that animal for what seemed like hours. His bullet wound must have been minor because the trail of blood gradually diminished due to probable clotting.

But the beautiful silken females, so lean and agile, had met their ultimate fate.
Long live the whitetail deer.

With the carcasses dragged into the skinning shed, the butchering process begins.
Surprisingly, the dogs were just as fascinating to watch as the blood and guts.
We get to witness canine culture at its most fundamental.

The alpha dog steps forward to casually inspect the bodies.

The other assorted pooches hang back, guard the periphery, or just gaze longingly at the food they dare not prematurely approach.

Skinning requires a certain precision and a definite knowledge of anatomy and physiology.

The first cuts change the energy of the whole room.

The innards fall, the blood drops, and the dogs close in because the smell...wooo, lordy, the SMELL...

Can't exactly describe the smell - Not repulsive but revulsive. Not fecal but fetid. The kind of strong aroma that turns your head away then turns you right back toward it.

Our alpha dog favors the heart. He clamps it in his muscular jaw and scurries out the door and into the woods. The other dogs cue up to the flesh in order of status.

Don't let the size of these little dogs fool you. These are some tough, fearless, hunter/killer dogs. I've seen them in action and it is downright scary how blood-thirsty they are. I saw one of them murder and nearly gobble ten quail in a matter of seconds. I saw another chase down a mad skunk twice his size. They tackle, shred, and devour wild animals as a team. I will never look at little yappy lap dogs the same again.
Both of them even managed to usurp this much larger mutt.

The remaining viscera is placed in vats, thrown in a massive outdoor pit, and burned. But I think these jumbled organs have their own special appeal. There's something real perfect about them.

Red, Assistant-in-Chief, does the bulk of the carving.

He's a rugged, woodsy guy but he has a delicate hand.

I've had a few whitetail deer dishes. Cooked a stew myself. The meat cooks way faster than your average beef or lamb. It's easy to go too far and end up with gamey and tough rather than tender and sweet. Gotta keep a close eye on it.

We thank the glorious deer for their sacrifice.
And we apologize for lacking the will to vegetarianism.

But it was all worth it because I captured this iconic image, rivaling
'American Gothic' or anything by Norman Rockwell.

Red State/Blue State/Purple Gaze.

A Place in the Sun

2010-03-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

Our little rural Art School is flourishing in the new decade. My partnership with the Coleman Center is spawning a community institution that may very well last a long time, with sustained growth and evolution.

I feel like I built it practically with my bare hands, from the ground up, taking this abandoned, rather tattered wood shed, and transforming it into a place of creativity, art, and learning. Of course it required Coleman Center's corresponding vision to help me make it so. We just really clicked on this particular thing and we work well together.

Most days of the week, after school, I see High School students. They arrive from Sumter County High and Livingston High.

I try to give them the structured art instruction they absolutely will not get in school. I introduce the basic principles of art and design, placing things in an Art Historical context. Sometimes they hate me for all the technical stuff but I can only hope that one day they'll appreciate it. Regardless, I'd say, overall, we have a great time exploring different movements, eras, and forms from DADA to Hip-Hop, Classical and Tribal to Modern Contemporary.

We gathered scrap wood to create these Jean Arp-inspired assemblages. We struggled with color, experimenting with stains and acrylics, eventually settling on basic black.

But this education thing goes beyond the High Schoolers. More and more, we are attracting adults and parents (like my friend, Rock Anderson here) and teachers who want to either volunteer time or just take a class. People are usually ever-so-shocked that my..Ahem..fine, quality, world-class services are %100 free.

Last semester I experimented with running a Saturday program for the younger kids. It was mostly fun but it totally burned me out. Hard going after the week in schools and the after school and doing my own thing and running around, dodging wild boars and bullets down on Jake's farm, then trying to wake up early Saturday morning totally ON for some kids who deserve better than an exhausted grouch.

So to curb this decrepitude, we recently decided to take only the first Saturday of every month and open the doors to families and kids of all ages, offering more specialized, group-oriented projects. Officially known as 'FIRST SATURDAY', this new approach is going extremely well. It's family day at Coleman Center. Everybody on staff pitches in. We have garden tours, gallery talks, and food along with whatever big ambitious project I can put together to be completed in a couple of short hours. Now I spend my free Saturdays planning and prepping and sleeping in like a good man should.

This time, working in teams of two or three, we created the classic, face-in-the-hole, carnival attraction painting.

You trace a partner on the big paper. Everybody decides on a fantasy character or superhero. Then, collectively, the team draws and colors in the details. I encourage them to conjure the fantastic and to embrace the surreal.

Results are somewhat mixed but always good.

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At some point it occurred to me that even our humble, rural students deserve their own personalized college tour geared to the budding artists and designers within. I thought that they should see the possibilities for extended study available to them on any decent campus. Even those who decide to pursue degrees other than the arts can still gain something from a solid arts education. The primary opportunity is scholarship money. Admissions committees also take good, rounded portfolios into consideration when reviewing potential freshman candidates. I wanted our students to talk to these people to get a better sense of what's up.

Nathan, Shana, and I were able to put a great trip together through our friends and professional acquaintances at University of Montevello and University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa.

We toured several departments and galleries and sat in on some classes. We were treated to a printmaking demo at Montevello and a bronze-casting demo at UA. Everybody was very cool and accommodating. Our students got an eye, ear, and mind full. I think they really appreciated the experience.

There's a giant dead or injured robot at UofA. We checked its pulse and piled on top for a group photo.

But by far the best attraction at UofA is Garland Hall. Heh.

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Soul sister, Cassandra and her epic husband , Abdoul, came all the way from Brooklyn via Atlanta to pay me a visit.

I had to show them the best charms of Alabama so it goes without saying that we should swing through the jewel that is Mobile and pay our respects to the legendary, Tut Riddick.

I can't say enough about Tut. Her family has deep deep roots in the city of York. She is a prolific and consistent mad artist, always engaged with her work and always looking toward the next. This vivacious octogenarian has the energy of a spritely kid and won't hesitate to draw you into it. Along with her husband, Harry, Tut is one of the founding members of the Coleman Center. Long retired from involvement with it, she is nonetheless a fierce supporter of my work in the community and of my partnership with the Coleman Center.

Tut and Harry graciously put us up for a night. We stayed in the guest house next to the "Riddick Fun House".

I think Tut took a shining to Abdoul.

But she was more vocal about her love of Cassandra's foot-shaped rubber shoes with accented toes.
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Cassandra and Abdul joined in several of my classes during the week. We were experimenting with Radial Designs - a process where the artist creates a motif on a quarter square then uses tracing paper to mirror the motif around the square. You never know exactly what you're gonna get until you get it.

Radial Design by Abdoul.

Radial Design by Cassandra

Great job, kids!

FIELDS AFLAME!

2010-03-19T16:39:00.000-07:00

I saw these farmer guys setting a field on fire.
It looked so very cool I had to tag along.

It was actually a very wet marshland and difficult slogging through it. The mud was deep and it sucked me down. I couldn't keep up with the guy. He knew exactly where to step and he just kinda cruised along effortlessly like there was nothing to it.

I had to query Jake about this practice of setting fire to the land and he explained that it's a regular part of crop management and "Hey, we do the same thing down on our property. You should join us."
Excellent, I say.

Little did I know that instead of slogging it on foot I'd be outfitted with my very own ALL TERRAIN VEHICLE. And instead of flat empty fields it was gonna be deep woods and steep clay roads.
I even had the task of carrying the emergency water tank.
So after my 30 second driving lesson - clutch, gear shift, gas - I was off on my mini death machine, one hand on the camera and barely able to see.

Jake's ATV carries the fuel tank and flame thrower. The fuel is a gelatinous substance similar to napalm but not quite as thick. The Rednecks have a racist term for the fires caused by this fuel having to do with our former enemies in Asia.
The whole process of this soil management does feel rather like a military operation. You have squads, captains, deadly weapons, and a briefing to prepare the platoon for the attack.

Guys with hand-held napalm cannisters strike out on foot to lay down a line of fire.
Jake and the flame machine flank and surround this line on a wider perimeter to form a strong back fire.

I follow with the yellow water tank in case something explodes.

These images don't come close to showing the intensity of the fire and smoke. I couldn't film the most hairy moments because I really needed both hands on the handle bars to maneuver through the thickest smoke and searing heat. Emerging with my eyes burning and lungs scorched, all I can say is, HOT DANG!

Then the clutch on my ATV broke. I felt bad for riding it so hard. I think in my first-timers panic I may have pushed it inappropriately. But everybody gathered around to fix it and I think I was forgiven. Then the power cord on the water tank snapped when we tipped the ATV over.

Striking out on our final mission, a real emergency occurred. A section of forest fire was getting out of control and threatening to expand beyond the designated perimeters, potentially destroying the livelihood of everyone involved.
Jake went for the water tank but the power line was broken. I re-inserted the electric wire and manually held it together while he directed the water. All the while Jake is screaming for Big Red, his lieutenant, to come assist with the dowsing of the widening flames.

Let me tell you - there is nothing more scary than a bunch of pissed off Rednecks in an emergency.

It's almost prescient that my camera should suddenly shut off - battery dead, memory full - just as they were starting in on each other. Their language was way too colorful for a family audience.
But believe me, it was an awesome show.

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This Jake character is taking over my whole darn Blog. But there ain't much I can do about the fact that my days down on his farm are some of the best days I've had in Alabama.
So much so that I invited friends from far and wide to be the first to experience the first 'Water Valley Lodge Southern Experience Tour'.
Utsey actually wants to expand his business to include a kind of Rural Heritage/Historical Tour to introduce urban Americans to this foreign land in their own country.
My good friends functioned as sort of a focus group for Jake's entrepreneurial experiment.

There's Marvin Novogrodski from Rhode Island way out in the distance there and Gabe here on loan from the US Army. Kimson and Abby came from Brooklyn and the good man, Richard Goulis, from Providence.

We cast our lines in the pond with poles of various sizes. Mine was pretty high-tech and very long.

We all gave our blood sweat and tears but Jake's 5-year-old daughter caught most of these fish. We were all thankful for our good fortune anyway. The meal was outstanding.

The Creek Indian attack on Fort Mims in 1813 is right up there with 911 or Pearl Harbour. It prompted the USA, under Andrew Jackson, to go bonkers on Native Americans, seizing millions of acres, killing or displacing tens of thousands of people forever.

Abby, Rich, and Kimson survey the scene. At Fort Mims as in most events in this country's history, nothing is just black and white - or red and white or what have you. Negros and Indians were inside the Fort too. The Creek attackers were led by two mixed race men, William Weatherford and Peter McQueen. One of the leaders of the white settlers was mixed race as well.

Half the charm of any tour is Jake's encyclopedic knowledge and colorful commentary. He's also good for a lively debate.

The alligator farm was a doozy. It was worth the side trip even though the tour guide was an annoying rightwing shill with the worst, most unfunny political wisecracks. Pathetic and stupid. We all agreed that he will most likely one day go the way of this chicken.

The cemetery at Selma is splendid. The rebel flags and tombstones of unknown confederate soldiers were no surprise. What surprised us were the thousands of Jewish graves with names hailing from the far reaches of the diaspora. Their gravestones are the only indication of a large, influential, but now vanished community.

I'm trying to put together a group for a tour in the coming months. It'll be a longer stay. There's so much more we want to do
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Walton Creel of Birmingham is gaining renoun for his gun-made art.

After his great show at the Coleman Center Gallery he was cool enough to demonstrate his technique of repeated .22 caliber gouging through a steel sheet.

Mississippi to Massachusetts

2010-03-08T18:33:00.000-08:00

I had a 3 month artist residency with the Theater Department at University of Massachusetts, Amherst.
It was nice to get a change of scenery but it turns out the scenery in Western Mass. ain't much different from the scenery in Western Alabama.

You got the broke down houses, lush green landscapes, Walmarts, hinterland accents, Confederate Flags, and guys decked in hunting gear riding in pickup trucks . New England is 'UP SOUTH' in many ways. Big differences are there's a whole lot more money in the north and very few Black folks in rural areas.

My long time friend and mentor, Gilbert Macauley, Chairman of the Theater Department at Umass, brought me in as a collaborating artist to help develop AND JESUS MOONWALKS THE MISSISSIPPI, a play by fellow faculty member and noted emerging playwright, Marcus Gardley.

As Production Designer, I was provided with a private office and full access to the massive state-of-the-art scenery shop. I was also honored to have a reliable and skillful team of assistants and artists to help mid-wife the vision. The team included undergrad students, grad students, professional costumers, lighting experts, and hardcore union guys who truly are the kings of the world.

The play takes place in post Civil War Louisiana but I kinda just took everything I've seen (and heard) in my experience in the deep South and brought it to the stage. This includes visual markers like the ubiquitous vultures. Probably my favorite beast of the South and well-deserving of an homage.

Sean, a second year grad student in set design along with prop master, Rob, helped create this vulture machine.

It's a hand-cranked contraption to be operated by an actor. It casts ominous shadows throughout the theater during a battlefield scene.

A "Tree of Life" figures prominently in the script. I wanted to construct it in such a way that it would become a virtual character - an object with animate qualities. It had to move, spin and transform as well as interact with and find enhancement through a live video feed and innovative lighting design.
Heavy metals, welding, and precise woodwork made it so.

Our "Tree of Life" is inspired by the crude murals in that weird junk yard off Highway 80 going east toward Demopolis and Selma.

Through our cut-out tree you can view the back wall of the theater onto which I had begun to scrawl biblical text as well as text from the actual script.

This is a common approach to graffiti in the region. It's obsessive, intensely non-secular, and visually rich.

The set is less Set and more Installation. The audience is immersed in the environment of the play along with the actors. I needed to add a texture beyond the artifice of painted surfaces and objects. Something more authentic and tangible on the one hand, but reasonably ambiguous on the other.

We created armatures with wire and PVC.

We collected leaves, branches, and used burlap potato sacks to fill out these large bulbous forms. We collectively identified them as "Mojo Bags".

Another layer of burlap will conceal the leaves. A strong lightbulb was placed inside the bags and connected to a dimmer switch. The Mojo Bags projected organic silhouettes and shadows into the performance space, creating an unexpected ambiance.

The floor design is borrowed from the famous quilters of Gees Bend, Alabama.

We managed to get a patchwork effect using only paint, tape , and stencils.

An army of undergrad students assisted in the painting of over 100 folk art style paintings. Each painting corresponded to phrases, images, and characters in the play.

I sketched things out on scrap wood, used doors, old picture frames, felt, and masonite. I gave some initial guidance in terms of color but the students eventually made those decisions on their own, allowing me to focus on the larger, more crucial pieces.

The paintings are what really set the overall tone. They surround the entire performance space including the audience, providing a sense of immersion and an excursion into the unconventional.

I wanted to mirror the cluttered but energetic mode of display I observed at the Kentuck Arts Festival in Tuscaloosa. But obsessive-compulsive, auto-didactic yard art is referenced as well.

In the scale model, I included everything I could imagine creating for Marcus' visionary play. The tree, the quilted floor, light boxes, mojo bags, shadow puppets, paintings, the graffiti wall, video and image projections are all represented to some extent.

Thanks to the master technicians and artisans at UMass Theater Department, everything worked out pretty good.

I thought the show was excellent and it was very well received. It's something the entire cast and crew can be proud of.
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One final beer with Shop Master Mike and Director Gilbert and I was soon gone. I was really missing Alabama and looking forward to getting back. But, first, a few stops on the way down.

The Beautiful Peoples Republic of Brooklyn where I saw two of my favorite citizens, Willow and Sonia.

One of the glories of glorious Queens,NY is sister Samita. She's one of the higher kilowatts of my life.
And we eat.

A walk through Gettysburg, Pennsylvania with Professor Steve Stern of Gettysburg College.

I been knowing this man for over 30 years. We started as arch enemies in high school but that lasted only a day or two. We eventually formed a creative alliance and raised a bit of heck together.

Of course the Underground Railroad ran through Pennsylvania. I found a real "Slave Hideout" with runaway slaves still hiding out in there.

These crude mannequins were creepy and just plain wrong. They gave me a queasy feeling. I wished they weren't there. I'd prefer to take in the space without the cheesy fabricated props. What if they installed cheap mannequins at every historical attraction in the world? The Horror...The...Horror.

Getting back to Alabama, I realized how very enchanting this place can be.
I can also breathe easier and relax.

MAKE ART

2008-12-21T08:30:00.000-08:00

I went to the big Birmingham gun show with my friends, Sons of the Confederacy, Jake, John Jacob, Pat Ezell, and his kid. I was in town for a different event during the gun show last year and saw a lot of potbellied men with shotguns and rifles walking the streets. It was weird and it made me nervous. I hurriedly drove back to York.

I suppose a year in Dixie has greatly diminished any reservations I may have had about fervent Red-Staters with weapons. I was super eager to attend and by the time Jake extended an invitation I was already there.
Aside from the camouflage survivalists with their crude anti-Obama posters and the rough-looking gangbangers packing pistols and glocks in every pocket, the gun show was magnificent. Inventions beyond belief and, dare I say, some truly beautiful instruments of destruction. I wish I coulda taken photos of this stuff along with some of the characters in attendance but armed security guards confiscated my camera at the door.

Jake's been trying to convince me that I need a flintlock in my life. He suggested a British Enfield, or as he describes it," The gun that killed everyone on whom the sun set." As a history buff I can dig the Enfield but I kinda fell in love with the Russian Nagant. It's got nice curves and snipers love it.

Anyway, the guy was right - I do like the flintlock. I like all of them. I like the look and feel of old metal on polished wood. The weight of it all in the hands is sublime. I'm gonna get me a Nagant AND an Enfield and probably add a German Mauser to round out my little antique arsenal. Then I'm gonna join the boys down at the farm and shoot cans and bottles and other junk. I can't wait.

Afterwards, we visited Dr. Neely, an old friend of Utsey's and a very cool man. Dr. Neely has a sweet collection of military paraphernalia. I was especially taken with his Civil War era Union rifle. I couldn't put it down, literally holding on to history. I was too in awe to even get a photo of it. So here's the Doctor inspecting some German crosses the guys had just bought at the gun show. He's a very knowledgeable fellow, especially when it comes to the finer details of things.
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Then there's the other side of my new Southern identity.
Sister Shoral and Sister Jackie of White Chapel Baptist Church of Silas asked me to create an altar for their little rural house of worship. The only detail they requested was a black Jesus. Everything else was up to me...

...with the exception of this dedication to Jackie's brother-in-law who was recently deceased. Tony's buried right out back behind the church along with about 25 other of Jackie's family (The whole church is one extended family). Walking among the graves with Jackie, I stated the obvious, "I suppose you intend to be buried here too". "There's no place else I'd rather be", she replied, with typical Southern grace and aplomb in the face of the ultimate existential head trip. There's lots I can learn from these people. I wish I had the temerity and lightness to walk on the very ground where I'll one day disappear.

'Create in me a clean heart, oh God. Renew a right spirit within my heart'. I found this quote on one of the altars I researched. It's just the perfect plea. So personal yet selfless. Beyond denomination or even religion.

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Working in collaboration with the Coleman Center and the Sumter County Board of Education, I started an afterschool arts program for the high school students of Sumter County. Classes are held at the Coleman Center 4 days a week.

Art is not available in the schools anymore so hopefully this will give more students a more rounded education. I know it's already given a few young artists an outlet to explore ideas and materials enough to work on their own. That's the most gratifying thing.

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I spent fifteen weeks, several days a week, in residency again at my favorite school, Demopolis High. This time I worked with Jody White's drama classes creating the set and props for their production of Murder in the House of Mystery.

It is an audience interactive murder mystery set in an Egyptian exhibit. The Props and set had to look as authentic as possible. I worked closely with the students to create a decent collection of urns, statues, furniture, and a functional sarcophagus.

A little wood, chicken wire, and paper mache can go a long way but patience is key.

The students not only had to build the show but also learn technique, art terminology, and cultural history.
We spent several sessions studying hieroglyphs and how to use them. Students learned to write their names and simple phrases.
The set incorporated these writings but only an expert would know that our hieroglyphs spelled out Betty Sue, Billy Bob and other innocuous things.

Director, Jody White (seated) and the cast and crew.

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There were 8 weeks with the Youthbuild program at Hale county's HERO center. Young adults in their late teens and early 20's are working hard to earn their GED's and learn some practical skills to move on with their lives. I was happy to do a public art project with them. We decided to try a kind of self-portrait using freestanding cut-out plywood silhouettes.

One side of the figure, inspired by traditional and tribal body painting, involved color, form, symbols, and whimsy. The main challenge was to create a new heart - a heart unique to the individual.

The other side consisted of freestyle, freeform, stream of conscious writing. I wanted them to spill their guts, let people know exactly who they are.

The work produced with Youthbuild, Demopolis High, and the Art Afterschool program culminated in a big group show here at Coleman Center. It's ongoing until late January.
The Youthbuild folks stopped by the Gallery earlier in the day. I was able to get some photos of them but by night my camera was unexpectedly petered out. All I could shoot were these folks gathering around for Christmas Carols. It was a great night anyway.

I'll have to include photos of the exhibit in my next post. I promise it won't be another 6 months.

24 HOUR DRAW

2008-07-31T17:58:00.000-07:00

A month or so ago I got the idea to host a 24 hour draw-a-thon. I was stuck at an education conference in Montgomery. During a particularly dull stretch I started doodling on the butcher paper covering the table. Artist, Richard Curtis, sitting across from me, was doing the same thing. This simultaneity gave our scribbling momentum. The act of drawing, in groups or teams, in an open space, transmogrifies the experience. There's an extra charge of spontaneity. Competition and collaboration enter the fray. Drawing becomes spectacle. New things come out. In Montgomery, our random markings eventually coalesced into something grand. People gathered to see what we were doing and talked about it afterwards. With the Draw-A-Thon, I wanted to explore this dynamic and, perhaps, open new doors in my own work and in my relationship to the work.

Southwest Paper over in Livingston generously donated a ton of all kinds of paper. Literally a ton. Rolls and rolls of paper. It weighed my truck down. I wanted to invite a good number of artists to participate but time and space didn't allow that just yet. So the goal was to have a decent go with the few folks we had, document it well and make a case for doing it next year on a larger scale.

We launched the 24Hour Draw with a bit of silliness to get ourselves psyched for the challenge ahead. Fashioning ourselves as a kind of Superhero Confederation, Richard and I arrived at the studio ready for an epic battle. The only enemy is Sleep.

Saturday, 10:am -
We created a list of drawing challenges and prompts the night before; themes to help give us a focus at any given time. Choosing a new challenge roughly every hour, we began with a free drawing warm-up. We scattered free drawing periods throughout the 24 Hours. I'd use free draw time to investigate ideas I've been percolating for some time.

11:am -
Still Life Drawing.

Trains scream through York several times an hour. You can hear the whistle far and wide. We decided to treat the train whistle as a signal to invert the drawing - turn it upside down and continue. This made for some interesting results.

12:pm -
10,000 Lines

I was excited to draw only lines for a full hour. Kind of a mini endurance test.

Alice Tuan came out of her cocoon to join this Ultimate Drawing Experience. I can't do anything anymore without Alice. She is the Contextualizer!

2:pm -
Fencing
With marker tip swords and poster board armor, we attempted to tag one another with bravado. This fencing was dangerous. I bloodied Rich's lip and I coulda put his eye out if I'd taken better aim.

The guy with the most marks on his armor loses but everybody wins because we made art while maiming each other.

3pm -
Copy the Masters from Memory.
I never much cared for Mondrian. But gazing at his paintings at MOMA a few months ago, I suddenly got it. I think the guy's a perfect painter actually - sublime and emotional.

4pm -
X's & O's

5pm -
Draw-by.
Replace guns and bullets with markers and paper.

7pm -
Free Draw

I'm really getting into these sequential drawings. It's theme and variation. Feels like improvisational music.

The repetition of form bears an uncanny resemblance to the making of traditional Chinese dumplings - Consistent ingredients. Individually rendered units. Pattern and rhythm.

Alice makes a huge batch of dumplings every July 26th. We just lucked out that she happened to be in Alabama this day.

9pm-
Portraiture.

We wanted to pay homage to the court Dumpling Maker by creating her portrait in an iconic manner that reflected our affection and respect.

10pm -
Community Drawing

A group of neighborhood kids saw the door open and the strange goings on inside. We invited them to join in the fun. Richard first coached them in landscape drawing.

They saw me attempting to copy one of the fencing drawings. I told them all about the process and the boys wanted to try it.

The Lake brothers here were all around better at fencing than Richard and I. Definitely more athletic and energetic but their drawings were more exciting as well. I forgot to photograph the drawings before they took them home. I thought they were just excellent.

After another dumpling break, I spread out a huge piece of paper for a group drawing. In a variation on the body tracing idea, we layered and criss-crossed our outlines to create an abstract design.

We then applied color, careful to maintain balance and contrast.

The kids stayed over 2 hours. We had a ball. But we had to cut the party short when their mother came looking for them.

12am -
Chess

After preparing the pieces and the board we commenced playing. The object was not only to win but also to record each move with colored chalk.

My computer space robots dominated the board for most of the match, which continued on and off through the night. But my robot queen was captured in a snafu and I found it hard to recover. I don't think we ever really finished the game.

1am -
More Free Drawing. Desperate measures to stay awake.

4am -
Superhero Challenge. Design an original superhero.

5am -
Phone A Friend.
We were to dial a friend to tell us what to draw.

6am -
Gesture Drawing

Alice the writer stepped up her drawing game. This piece consisted of abstract birds and movable flaps. Kind of a kinetic drawing.

7am -
Collage

Create collages using scraps and discarded drawings from the previous 21 hours.

8am -
Sidewalk Art

9am -
Alice reads sketches for a manifesto. We concluded our 24 Hours with drawings of doors.

"Living this particular day, every moment awake, is
singular and ascendent. After passing the test of
endurance, there is no encumberance—everything is
possible."
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We bid farewell to comrade Tuan.

Long live the TILT alliance.

JULY

2008-07-24T05:54:00.000-07:00

Cardarius is one of my favorite students of all time and a unique boy with a unique vision. He responds to art and the art-making process in a way that any artist would envy - forthright, bold, and with a very clever sense of humor. The guy just couldn't get enough of the Summer class and he was dismayed to see it come to an end.

Cardarius was the last kid left on the last day. I invited he and his little sister to hang out for as long as they wanted. I had plenty of other things they could get in to. I showed them how to trace one another on large paper then color in the outline with markers, crayons, and colored pencils. Then I remembered I had boxes of sidewalk chalk so we grabbed them and dashed outside. Within minutes, portals to other dimensions opened up in this Alabama sidewalk.

Little sister drew the loveliest flowers, whimsical and rich.

But that Cardarius is the brother from another planet.

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Carlos is my main man in York. He scares the bejesus out of everyone with his look and his glare. But Carlos is the king of cool. He's a self-made man of barely 30 who owns several properties, a media distribution company, a clothing line, and the only gym in town. I spend several hours a week there in Carlos' torture chamber. It's cool. He has me boxing again. Also shows me some jujitsu and kung fu moves. The guy is quick but I will knock him out one day.
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Andrea Lomanto and I won a seed grant from the Jim Henson Foundation. I'm putting together a team to develop a multi-media theater work based on the theme of Avatars; the Avatar in mythology and the avatar in computer gaming. The funds have been used largely for materials but they also facilitated the gathering of the key collaborators here in Alabama, namely Andrea from New York and playwright, Alice Tuan from Los Angeles.

We spent well over a week hammering out the idea, trying to give it reason and form. Alice played a huge role in helping us structure it, introducing important considerations in the theater making process, working up dialogue and notes to work from as we go forward. Our goal was not to create a finished product in the time we had but to begin a working process to carry us forward.

Exploring our relationship as visual collaborators, Andrea and I decided to try to create an image from scratch together. With music as a guiding force, we imagined a rolling river, a flood, flotsam, a sky full of buzzards, and a man.

We didn't expect to finish this image in the week we had. The goal was to get something started that can continue to evolve after we've parted.

We fought and bit and scratched each other the whole time but I think we finally came to a decent symbiosis. Andrea left for New York on Thursday. Alice is sticking around another week to do her own retreat and check out Alabama life, which, I think, is rubbing off on her.

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YES WE CAN...

I don't smoke and Alice only rarely but you can still smoke cigarettes in restaurants in Mississippi. So we had a cigarette at Red Lobster in Meridian because, Yes, We Can.
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Marion Rodeo

2008-07-11T16:57:00.000-07:00

MaryJane invited us to the Rodeo at Marion. I'd never been to the Rodeo, but now, all I want to do is go to Rodeos.

MaryJane's son, and his girlfriend too, are real live rodeo performers. He does the calf wrestling. She does the barrel race. MaryJane doesn't know where her boy got this interest because she didn't raise him on a cattle ranch or travel the circuit or anything like that. MaryJane is a basketweaver and horticulturalist and her husband is a businessman. But the Rodeo is huge in the South. I always thought it was a Western thing -Texas and Wyoming and all that. In fact, most colleges down here have a Rodeo team and the kids start doing it at a very young age- like Little League Baseball. MaryJane's son is a product of this environment. I wish I was a product of this environment.

The little girl on that horse is 9 or 10. She rode that beast with unbelievable confidence, control, speed and agility. She was kinda the star of the show, outriding most of the older gals. Here, she's kicking off the opening ceremonies.

This went on for about 15 minutes. I think the guy described every state. Then there was the 10 minute Honor the Troops segment followed by something else I can't remember, then the Pledge of Allegiance and the Star Spangled Banner sung real slow. The procession of Cowboys and Girls followed that. Felt like about 30/35 minutes in all but it was probably less. There's a strong sentimental tone to it all but I found it harmless and kinda charming. As a Pinko Commie Left-Wing
America-Bashing Cynic I did not feel threatened in the least.

Barrel Racing is my favorite event. It's about speed speed speed, baby! Less about chasing down and tackling frightened little calfs, although that didn't freak me out as much as I expected it to because the calfs don't seem to be all that freaked out. They're strong creatures. So it was more like," What the hey!? There's a little monkey on my back trying to trip me up!"

Barrel Racing is the women's event. To watch these dames swing them horses around the course, zipping and zooming through the arena, is a sight to behold. My mother was a Sheriff's deputy. She carried a big gun and she was a crazy fast driver. She wanted to be a fighter pilot. I think I like a woman in control of things; dangerous things like guns, muscular horses, jet planes, and the family car.

Black folks have always, ALWAYS been a big part of this Rodeo business and there were plenty black fans here in Marion. Racist historians, if you can call them historians, tend to cut blacks out of history, ignoring or crediting others with the invention, ingenuity, and innovation brought by them. And the Rodeo is no exception. Wild Bill Picket invented Bulldogging a coupla centuries ago and some of the top-ranked riders through time have been black men and women. But nobody knows this. Here's the kicker though: Why do we call them cowboys? Historically, black males were called Boy no matter their age. If they had a specific job you'd just attach Boy to it. The earliest cattle drivers were largely black men. Hence, the Cow-BOY was born.
There's all-black Rodeo shows going on all over the country. Be great to check them out. But I'll take any color Rodeo.

Going back even further, the American Rodeo is a direct descendant of the Roman Coliseum. The Spanish brought such spectacles over to the New World in the 16th century. Rodeo is also a first cousin to Bullfighting. To think that these cowboys and wranglers, in the dusty hinterlands of the USA, are a direct link to ancient Roman gladiators is just the most mind-flipping thing
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I wanted to offer a Foundation Drawing and 2-Dimensional Design class for the teenagers of Sumter County who may have an interest in pursuing careers in the Art and Design fields. I wanted to introduce the rigorous training and critical approach associated with higher learning and to help the students develop a stronger, more competitive portfolio.

I especially wanted to introduce some basic tools for seeing - concepts they should acclimate themselves to in order to go forward as visual communicators.

Partnering with The Coleman Center, we raised money for supplies and fees through education grants. We convinced the University to donate easels. We recruited at all the local schools, black, white, and desegregated, as well as direct calls to area families and friends, rounding up a solid group of nine devoted kids. Our target was 12 so I think we did okay.

I had a phenomenal time and so did the students. There's now a drive to make this a permanent feature. We're working with Dr. Primm, the School Superintendent, to create a year-round High School Arts Society - a place budding artists and designers can go to strengthen their skills and pursue the creative impulse with discipline and guidance.
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I was wrapping up class one day and in walks this Rastaman I'd never seen before. Never seen any Rastas in Sumter County as long as I've been here. Robert wanted to know what I was doing down here and he had all kinds of dire warnings about me staying. I simply could not relate to his point-of-view about Alabama but I liked Robert and enjoyed talking with him about things.

That afternoon, I went with Robert up to Panola to check out his land, meet his kids, hang out for a little while. He grows peaches and herbs and sells them by the bag and bushel. He also creates jewelry and other metal works. You get him talking about the soil and what a man must know about soil and Robert sounds no different from my pal, Jake, down in Choctaw County. To know your dirt is to have a highly valued key, it seems. And I never imagined I'd be so interested in hearing men talk about dirt. It's like a kind of poetry, I tell you.

Robert had nine children with his late wife. Two of them, a 20-something boy and girl, were with him in Alabama along with a toddler grandchild. They were all leaving for Washington State the next day. Going back to the reservation. His wife was Northwest Indian. A small, obscure tribe way up near the Canadian coast. He doesn't know when they'll return here. Robert even offered me the keys to his home, to come here occasionally if I wanted, maybe take care of it. I passed on that but I'll swing through now and then to make sure the roof doesn't completely cave in.
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I saw this bus on the road to Montgomery from Selma. This is my kinda bus and so very 'Bama.

Round Trip Pt.4 - Calif. to Al.

2008-07-02T18:18:00.000-07:00

Addicted to Road.
Los Angeles to York in 15 shots.

Round Trip Pt.3 - La Califusa

2008-06-25T15:20:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles, California, United States of America

Here's the street where I was raised.
The parents moved away when I went to school. Took me awhile to track them down.

That's the Hollywood sign in the distance. Every street south of Wilshire seems to lead to the Hollywood sign. You can't escape it. It floats around.

My mission: Get to LA. Visit kinfolk. Buy a truck. Drive back to Alabama.
My research had revealed that vehicles in LA are less expensive and in better condition than most other places. The above gentleman, John, of San Marino, gave me a great deal on a Dodge pickup. He took excellent care of it and he was a very friendly fellow. But it needed some minor repairs. My car buff cousin, Steve, hooked me up with a car genious named Leo. Leo works out of his own backyard. Leo happens to be from Alabama so the good vibes around this thing continued.

With the vehicle business out of the way, I spent the remaining few days hanging with family and digging the city. Growing up here, I really hated Los Angeles and couldn't wait to leave. But now I think it's a real fine place and I always enjoy stopping through.

My nephew, Toussaint, likes to cut hair. Doesn't leave home without his shears. Traveled all the way from DC with them.
It was a sunny, breezy day so we did what any normal group of men would do and set up a barbershop in my mother's garden.
He cut my Dad's hair then he cut mine.

I complemented his tonsorial skills by stating that he seemed to have taken ten years off (my appearance). He ungraciously responded, "Nah, I took Ugly off" . Without hesitation, I moved to smite this brash young ruffian but he is agile and fleet footed.

My Mom likes to pose with her grandkids. Toussaint convinced her to throw up what looks like some kind of peace/gang sign. It could also be the universal sign of the hair stylist.
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My day at the beach was interrupted by this display...

It was unexpectedly moving. The Veterans for Peace are effectively bringing the situation home.

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But the coastline still otherwise has it's particular charms,

surfers,

freaks.

(Elvis segues to Alice)

I've got a few good friends in LA but Alice Tuan (aka Megaphone Alice, aka LaTuana, aka, aka) is the only one I'm sure to catch. She writes her plays and lectures, mouthing off about every dang thang, constantly traveling here and there. We manage to bump into one another anyway. Within 20 minutes of getting together, we'll have created 20 characters, outlined 3 plays, 7 performance pieces and written lyrics for an album of songs. We're a 2-man improvisation machine.

I love photographing Alice. She's the image of the art ideal. Taking in every last scrap. Knocking the bits around in the brain. Invention. Remix. Failed Invention. Invention again. Simply put, Alice cuts a dashing figure...And I just click away. But she will not sit still.

Thank God for Google.

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Next day. Me and the truck hit Highway 10 going east.

Roundtrip pt.2 - La. to L.A.

2008-06-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

New Orleans to Los Angeles in 12 shots.

Round Trip Pt.1

2008-06-08T07:44:00.000-07:00

I took a train headed west from Mississippi on my way to Los Angeles to visit my kinfolk. I figured I should check out New Orleans.

New Orleans is a world apart. Always has been. Everything blew my mind- the people, the food, the music, the history, the architecture, the destruction.

My old friend, Katie Mcdonnell, from New York, happened to be in New Orleans with a Yoga project she's developing. Their goal is to help improve the overall health of the citizens and workers rebuilding the city.

I stayed a couple of nights in the huge barracks just outside of town. I think Habitat For Humanity runs it.

Had an awesome brunch with the Irish Mafia of New Orleans.
Katie's been coming down here for many years and might soon make a permanent move. Amanda's a local mademoiselle who's into theater, fine food, and action .

I was very pleased to see, all the way from Brooklyn, the Honorable Stacy Mohammed, a hardy old soul and a fine painter.

They gave me the grand tour. Starting at the dark patch of wall where the water came through, fanning out in all directions, there's desolation for miles and ghostlike spaces.

You can't comprehend the magnitude of the catastrophe until you see this place in the flesh. People go on and on about 911. Twice as many people died on that day for sure, But I'm afraid this Katrina thing is way way bigger. You gotta factor in the thousands displaced and the sick and elderly. Seems it's all fading from view.

Not to despair. People have held to their sense of humor. And organizations are springing up everywhere to promote rejuvenation and renaissance. It's a relief not to see the endless sentimentalizing that goes on around 911 culture. Folks here are getting to work. There's enthusiasm and good old-fashioned hope.

The media would have you believe New Orleans has recovered and it's "back". Nothing could be further from reality but when you meet an individual like Mack McClendon here, a real live New Orleans Saint, you can start to believe that Katrina has pushed New Orleans into the vanguard of American renewal.

Mack founded The Lower Ninth Ward Village. It's a massive effort to reboot this almost totally decimated area. Mack's charisma and passion have drawn people from all points of the globe. Hang out with Mack for half an hour and you'll be figuring a way to somehow pitch in.

New Orleans remains a jewel; a rare gem in America. It's like no other city. There's no comparison. Everybody should come to New Orleans.

I found a pile of Mardi Gras beads in some rubble. They were shiny and nice. I grabbed a few and went on my way.

Southern Choctaw High

2008-06-05T20:11:00.000-07:00

The great Jody White at Demopolis High has been graciously recommending me to everyone she encounters in the Alabama arts and education community. Now, thanks to her, there'll be no shortage of gigs for me in this most glorious state.

Ms. Betty McBride and Cecilia Bonner, Principal and Activities Coordinator, respectively, at Southern Choctaw High invited me down for a 3 week stay. Without any visual arts programs whatsoever, they were eager for something to happen before the end of the school year wherein at least a small percentage of the students will have had some exposure.
I usually don't choose projects and programs until I visit the school and talk to the teachers but in the case of Southern Choctaw High, the second I walked in the doors I knew what had to be done.
It's a clean school, a quiet school, and the kids are well-behaved. But the cinderblock walls were completely bare and barren. The place could use a little life...visually. Something that says this is a great place to learn.
It was a two-pronged thing:
I wanted to introduce the basics of drawing and visual thinking - "Learning to Draw is Learning to See" - including duplication exercises, negative space, mirroring, and contour drawing.
Then I wanted to coordinate specific themes with the classroom teachers based on their course of study.

Ms. Wigley's class was studying ancient Rome so we chose to reproduce a Roman mosaic.
Using the grid technique, each student was responsible for 3 or 4 random squares, drawing and painting them to scale. Created separately on heavy board, the squares were applied to the cinderblock upon completion. The outcome was somewhat unpredictable considering how each piece was created individually without too much consideration for perfect alignment. But this was intentional. I like the effect. It kinda shimmers.

The students enjoyed locating and pointing out their pieces.

Ms. Miller's class attempted an Egyptian tomb painting. In this case it's the female diety, Isis.

Coach Tew's class reproduced a Chinese tapestry - The Blue Dragon.

I wish we coulda done more. There's still a lot of blank wall.
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Ms. Jackie Frost manages the school's maintenance. She and I talked just about everyday and I consider her a friend. But Jackie talks to everybody. She's just a classic Alabama Friendly-Down-To-Earth Person. Folks like Jackie keep me here.

She drove me down to check out her little church.

They're looking for an altarpiece - something visual to greet the congregation when they arrive on Sunday morning - and they asked me to create it.
This may be the best gig of my life.

Water Valley Lodge

2008-05-16T20:28:00.001-07:00

Southern Choctaw High School hired me as Artist-in-Residence for three weeks. Choctaw County is a really far out, very rural community with a relatively high poverty rate. But, as is the norm in Alabama, the people are sweeter than honey. I couldn't ask for a more comfortable, accomodating, graceful, and grateful place to work. I had a wonderful time in Choctaw County and I pray to the good lord above they invite me back some day. I'll show the excellent murals we created in my next post but right here and now I'd like to introduce Mr. Jake Utsey.

Jake looks like the kind of southern guy who will gladly rip your head off and...well...Jake IS the kind of southern guy who will gladly rip your head off, but only with good reason. Jake is a whole lot more than meets the eye, however. Although he describes himself as a "typical white southern redneck" Jake ain't some cookie cutter stereotype. He's more like a Redneck Renaissance Man; a wellspring of Dixie knowledge. Hanging out with this dude is the best schoolin' an AfroYank like myself can get when it comes to learning a few things about Red state life and culture.

Coming from very different, almost oppositional backgrounds, Jake and I hit it off damn well regardless. I think this is because I sort of fancy myself an intellectual and Jake is indeed an Intellectual. We also share a bit of the, dare I say, 'bunker mentality' when it comes to the world outside and its awful proclivities. This educator, horticulturalist, weapons expert, political operative, local folklorist, and hardcore collector of everything from indian pottery to African-American military history has a library of books I'd be happy to spend a large portion of my life perusing.

With his wife, Pia, Jake owns and operates Water Valley Lodge, a top tier hunting establishment in the south. Deer, wild boars, quail, wild turkey, and other forest dwellers meet their fate under the guns of Water Valley Lodge. But an arrangement was made between the school and the Lodge wherein I had the good fortune to be housed there during my stay in Choctaw County. They put me up in Camp House, a little 4 room cabin on the edge of woods. Camp House was well-kept, clean and quiet. Off season, there were no guests other than I and a good bunch of mosquitos.

Just about every evening after work, Jake, who also farms hay and assorted other grains, comes in from the fields , dusty with an aching back but still full of energy. The man loves his work. Work is a cornerstone of his life and his philosophy. But it's after work when an even greater part takes over.

There's no vegging out in front of the TV or constant video games . No sir. It's all about family life and its adventures, building character, creating memories. Jake and Pia have two young kids, Gaddy and John Jacob. I think they're the luckiest little kids in the world. I tend to think all rural children - black,white,rich, or poor - are lucky, but the Utsey's gave me my first up-close and personal view of all there is to envy about being raised in the country, or closer to the earth, so to speak.

I got to tag along on some of Jake and John Jacob's outings. The properties they own or lease for farming and hunting are vast. There's a different territory to explore for every day of the week. I'd be kicking back in the lounge after toiling away at the school, exhausted in my own way, but anticipating that knock on the door and the charged, "Let's Go!"

We might 4-wheel it through a hidden creek or over freshly cut fields on a new road they've recently laid. Jake will break down for me the process of growing, cutting, and sustaining crops, the science of soil, and the effects of subtle changes in the terrain. I saw machines I could never imagine. I had no idea of the technology and invention, not to mention hard labor, that goes into getting bread to the table and I think I speak for most city dwellers in this regard.

In the distance stands dozens of posts planted that very day, the foundation of a giant shed to house hay bales and equipment.

We live in what's called The Black Belt. It stretches across the lower portion of Alabama and parts of neighboring states. The Black Belt is named not for the majority Black people but for the black soil, a soil considered rich and able to grow just about anything. But Jake pointed out the abundant white and red soil along side the black soil and the different functions and usages of each (such an irony considering the historical human demographics of the region). He described the glacier flows that caused this tumultuous blend and the fact that millions of years ago all or most of Alabama was part of a vast ancient sea, revealing evidence of its oceanic past every day.

Jake and John Jacob spend many evenings hunting fossils - giant oyster shells, whale bones, and shark's teeth - long extinct species now lying hundreds of miles from the nearest sea. It's hard to distinguish one thing from another in the natural debris of swamp and woodland but that John Jacob is an expert little paleantologist. He can literally spot a needle in a haystack. While I did nothing but grab at useless bark and dried leaves, John Jacob found several impressive shells and a few of the elusive but prized shark's teeth.

The Utsey's store many of their fossil finds on shelves in the Orientation Room. The hunters gather here for rules and regulations before going out. Along the wall below the mounted deer heads are snapshots of many hunters with their kills.
One evening, we actually spotted a female whitetail darting back into the bush. She was absolutely stunning but I can understand wanting to shoot a deer to eat. I had my first wild venison in Ireland and it was delicious, I'm sorry.
Jake says he's butchered probably over 3,000 creatures but his own hunting days are over. John Jacob is the hunter in the family now and at 6 years old, this kid already knows tons about weaponry. He can name calibur, year, make, and style. He's a good shot too. Your average urban liberal would be horrified but I think it's great. This is a real live American country boy here. Kids like this destroyed the Nazis darnit!

Jake has a vault full of unbelievable things. He's collected stuff over the years both in his travels and through internet trading. I can't begin to run down the extensive catalogue but most of it is World Wars 1 and 2 related - photos, rare books, guns, knives, uniforms, and helmets with bullet holes through them, which Jake himself scooped up from the steppes of Russia amongst the dried bones of German soldiers still lying there after all these years.

I'm a bit of a WW2 buff myself. Been into that conflagration since I was a kid, burying myself in Time/Life's History of World War Two, a giant photo book my parents owned. I've read a lot of the major literature on the subject as well and, of course, I can give a passable run down of WW2 movies. But this here Jake has humbled me. I realize how much I DON'T know. It's just a blast discussing that history and others.
We gab into the night, covering all points, linking everything in time, coming nearly to blows now and then, two fiery hard-heads name-calling over dusty old unchangeable events.

At the end of my stay, the good man, Jake Utsey, generously gifted me with a novel about Black soldiers in WW1, an Iwo Jima documentary, a "Whites Only" sign from Jim Crow, and THIS!...

...This, my Most Precious Southern Possession.

Thank you Jake Utsey. Thank you for making me the coolest Negro in America.

Now I just had to include this cute video of Jake, Pia, and John Jacob trying to subdue Tip, a very powerful dog. They needed to spray him with a flea repellant and the mutt just wasn't havin' it.

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Tierney Malone has almost nearly completed that mural in York. He's been going back and forth to Houston since the fall. The Coleman Center hosted a hotdog and soda reception for it.

John from Mobile is the guy in the hat on the right. He's Tierney's uncle. John has a slew of vintage cars and he's a car genious. We talked shop for quite awhile and he turned me on to facts and figures about the Queen Esther.

The colorful fellow on the left is holding a naked dog.

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Timber is a huge industry in Sumter and Choctaw counties. They just rip them trees down. It's awesome to behold. Kinda like Jurassic Park.

2008-04-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

I love Alabama like no other place I've been before and I've been plenty enough places to be sure of that. It's strange to me still this total 180 degree turn away from Newark, Brooklyn, loud subways and the faceless hordes... to Choctaw, Sumter, and Marengo counties, yard dogs, pasture horses, and the friendliest most personable people you'll ever encounter. I still long for travel and far-out places but a big part of me would be content to stay in Alabama forever and eventually get tucked away in Alabama dirt.
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One week there's powdery snow and Alabama looks all sugarcoated. But it's good and cold. The next week warms up then the Pine trees explode with pollen, covering absolutely everything with a suspicious yellow film.

I initially thought it was toxic dust from the long-disputed chemical waste dump 20 miles north of these parts but the locals set me straight. The pollen invasion lasted about two weeks. To wash the car and clean windows was futile because the stuff quickly returns. It also finds it's way indoors, on to the dishes and all over the furniture.
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This is Jody White and a couple of her kids. She's the English and Drama teacher at Demopolis High School in Marengo County. Jody's also on the board of the Coleman Center. Together we're developing a rather layered theater work which will probably keep us busy for the next year or so.
Jody's great aunt was Ruby Pickens Tartt, an early southern folklorist based in Livingston where Jody still lives. Throughout her life, Pickens Tartt was particularly close to the African American community and enjoyed their folk tales and songs. Working for the WPA in the 30's, she began recording these treasures for posterity. Pickens Tartt introduced her very good friend, Dock Reed, a legendary singer and basketmaker, to John and Alan Lomax. The rest is history as they say. Dock Reed and many Sumter County citizens can be heard on the famous Smithsonian Folkways recordings singing religious and secular songs as well as sharing folk tales and rhymes.
This collaboration with Jody and her students involves not only telling the story of Ruby and Dock but also bringing some of those stories and songs to the stage. It's a venture I'm privileged to be a part of.

We're taking baby steps. I did a residency at Demopolis High for 8 weeks starting in March. In this time we decided to put together a short piece based on one of the stories, The Meeting of the Animals to Reform. It's about all the animals of the jungles, forests, and farms attempting to call a truce but failing to achieve peace because none are willing to compromise or sacrifice anything. There's a pertinent moral in there somewhere. I'm intrigued by the tale because it's clearly right out of Africa.
I introduced mask-making styles from many parts of Africa of course, but also Native American, Caribbean, and Modern European like DADA and Peter Schumann.
We constructed ours from laminated chipboard. Not too thick but strong enough to sculpt in a larger scale without flimsiness. Sculpted paper can become quite solid and durable depending on how you bend, fold, staple, and glue it. The students discovered some great stuff I think.

The American History class worked on the script and the drama class performed it. I stole students from both sections and a few other places to help build the masks.

We all attended a most fascinating lecture/presentation by Dr. Brown of West Alabama University. He's a Language expert specializing in Southern Black Dialects. It was a real trip to hear this midwestern white guy from, I think Minnesota, speaking in a perfect antebellum black accent. Not some cartoony Al Jolson impersonation but the real deal. He talked mostly about how tongues change over time and eventually get lost. Even here in deep south Alabama where natives may find it hard to understand local people of just a few generations ago.

The dilemma with our little show is how far do we go in presenting these stories as they were told before it becomes inauthentic, forced, or even offensive? I say these kids should just speak as they are. To my Yankee ears they're accented plenty enough . A huge part of my delight in Dixie is the language and the sound of the voices. I get a kick everyday out of something I hear. Everybody's still close enough to the source to bring the past forward in a convincing way.

They took the stage at the Sucarnoochie Folk Festival. The kids performed really really well and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Unfortunately, being that it was outdoors and they aren't seasoned Shakespeare actors with huge trained voices, most of the audience couldn't really hear a thing. I didn't even bother to record it. It was a great first step anyway.
We'll invest in cordless mikes and a sound system if we get that grant we're applying for.

I think the masks turned out excellent but it's time to make a drastic change in direction visually. Get as far away from that hard-to-avoid Lion Kingy thing as possible. We'll continue to follow Mose Tolliver and other self-made folk visionaries. Try to dig up more of that scary-but-true-southern-gothic-mind-bending-rational-art.
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JESUSLAND

2008-03-02T18:53:00.000-08:00

I got back to York on a chilly Friday night. The train carried me to Meridian, Miss. a half hour away. Nathan and Shana picked me up at the station. It was good to see them. They wanted bagels from New York. I brought a couple dozen with me, still fresh from the overnight ride and filling my bag with that particular aroma.
I'd been sorta languishing in New York ever since a big project fell through. So I was eager to return here for a change. But as I traveled south I started wondering what the hell am I doing. I got jobs and friends and a great big loft in the great big City. There's food, conveniences, and rarefied women. What was I thinking leaving it all like this?

Took a couple of quiet days in York to get over the culture shock. Wasn't too hard. I took my walks and greeted people here and there. Turns out folks were wondering when I'd return. Some even came by the Coleman Center while I was away, inquiring about my absence.
I was footing it down a deserted backroad early yesterday morning. A big muddy SUV creeps up from behind and slowly trails me for awhile, arousing all kinds of Deep South nightmares. I stopped and turned to meet my tragic fate. It was Bell, an SUV-sized brother with an SUV-sized heart. We talked for half an hour right there in the middle of the road. He wanted to know how the car was doing, showed me polaroids of his own antique cars and polaroids of his sons and grandkids. You gotta stop and catch up on things. Time meanders by but you get where you're going.
It's been a heartening welcome back. I travel to Demopolis and Choctaw County too. Same thing. All the teachers and Principals are very excited about what I might have in store for them this time around.

When it comes to religion in this here Bible Belt, it's easy to feel superior, frustrated, and disgusted. But like Paul Bowles in Tangier, I'm in Alabama as a devoted traveler - to take it all in without judgement and preconceptions - to appreciate this world for what it is and just groove with it. I do love it here. Church/God/Jesus, so ubiquitous , such a huge part of this cultural fabric I totally adore. I'll just let the religious thing do its thing. Heck, you might even see me in the pews one day. For now, I'm always looking out for the next clever phrase on the church marquee. And I love Sunday morning radio. Every other station broadcasts a worship service and each has a whole different approach. There's tacky church stuff, mean Conservative church stuff, fine fine musical church stuff, friendly hippie church stuff, and insane church stuff.

That's Rev. A.J. Jordon. He terrified me at first. This kind of service has a lot of baggage and you feel a little embarrassed and suspicious and you want to run away and hide if not mock and laugh - which is fine. dude is OUT THERE. But I tried to let all that go and just listen to the man. Why not?
Well I actually think the Rev is alright. An OG rock n roller and a pillar of American culture. There'd be no Mick Jagger, Aerosmith or even James Brown without people like Rev. Jordon. He's holding it down for sure. Then on the Non-secular side Rev Jordon was only asking people to love and respect each other. He talked about the big diverse world and how you can hold to your faith and still be a part of it. Sounds good to me.

I am also addicted to the broke down houses. They are simply everywhere. I gotta stop and investigate every single one. So dramatic and expressive and downright beautiful these things. A different story everytime.

They converted this railroad car into some kind of dwelling...

...Nice.

Thicket Magazine

How To Build A Graffiti Bed

2007-12-21T14:45:00.000-08:00

I haven't done Graffiti in over 20 years. Not since 1986 when I tagged this garage wall in Providence.

An odd, blocky style, I guess I had a concept somewhere in my young mind. I was doing it all over town for a coupla years. Ran into the cops once or twice. Then ran out of ideas. I tagged the Berlin wall but I didn't take any photos. Just wanted to be able to say I tagged the Berlin wall.

Now I'm old and hobbled. Can't climb walls anymore or run from cops, teetering on a cane to get around. Actually, I slipped on a patch of ice. Sprained the hell out of my ankle. I went down hard. Leg was twisted up so bad i thought it broke. But I remembered a thing or two from my otherwise miserable Boy Scouting days. I know how to distinguish sprain from fracture - check tenderness and movement. Basically, if it hurts to the touch and you can't move it, it's probably broken. If a sharp bone is sticking out through skin, dripping flesh, blood, and marrow all over the sidewalk and you pass out from shock then it's likely broken. I didn't have any of that but it felt pretty awful. Kept it wrapped and iced for days. Stayed off of it best I could. Felt plenty sorry for myself. Now it's much better and I'm finally off the cane but I wear a brace to keep it supported.

Despite my wretched condition, I still had to build the Graffiti Bed for Full Circle's show, INNAVIEWS, at Dance Theater Workshop. This isn't the Graffiti Bed. This is the Brooklyn Bridge.

Roc is the better half of a dynamic duo with her hubby, Kwik . You gotta love Rocafella and Kwistep. They're seriously beautiful people. I'm humbled by their knowledge, commitment, and sincerity. The soul of HipHop lives in them. Roc says break dancing is sacred to her. It's clear when you watch her move that she's taking it some place else. She's really something to see. A major turbo girl. Compact and powerful.

As for Kwik; he is the Whirling Dervish Inverted. Spinning on his head, he seems to defy certain physical laws. He spins and spins faster. Then he keeps spinning. He somehow utilizes gravity as propellant and accelerator, like a ship around the moon, achieving what looks like perpetual motion. The speed optically distorts and stretches him. He could be hot taffy or a secret weapon. Either way, he becomes more motor and gears than human. Marinetti, the first Futurist, sitting in Italy in 1908, described the dance of the future as something derived from the "Negro" that will mirror the machine. With Pop Locking and Break Dancing, it's clear the future is here.

The bed was a real collaborative thing. Mario Lobo, a member of the Full Circle crew, did this design in photoshop. It was my job to convert it to 3-dimensional form - to build it. I like being the builder guy, cutting things up and whacking them back together again. The hardware store is my toy store and candy shop. My hardware vocabulary is improving. Less thingy this and thingy that. More carraige bolt, flange, grommet, and casters.

Starting with the bed frame, I used the circular saw to cut all the 2x4s to size. I did a quick sketch but the plan was solid in my brain. Had to design it lightweight and portable, easily assembled and disassembled.

Constructed the sides first, adding docks for the crossbeams. Had to use this old drill cuz I left my newer one in Alabama. Damn thing doesn't have reverse but its very powerful.

Attached crossbeams, setting them in the docks. They fit snuggly and they're removable. The 2x4s will hold a lot of weight in this sideways position.

Printed out drawing of the headboard and added grid with pencil and ruler although I could have put a grid on it in Photoshop. I wasn't thinking about newfangled technology at the moment. Anyway, the scale will be 1 1/4" to 1 foot.

Drew grid on 4'x8'x1/2' plywood sheets. Two will be required to fit this design. The grid helps you reproduce a more accurate image. I usually use an image projector but I left that in Alabama too. Gosh. I can't wait to get back to all my tools and equipment in Alabama.

Then you take a jigsaw and go to town on the large drawing, cutting out all details until the design is liberated from the square. Took a long time to do all that cutting and it's loud.

I set up the first piece to see how it'll fare with the bed. Looks okay. Kept cutting through the day - headboard, footboard, and bedposts.

Neither I nor Mario have spray painting skills anymore. Mine were never that good to begin with. Some kid with a funky hiphop nickname was set to do the painting. He kept bugging out and not showing up. Then, with only a day to go, he decided that he wasn't gonna do it at all. Angry as Kwikstep was, he kept his cool and called the HipHop Hotline, working his network until, within a few hours, he managed to corral this Russian kid, Ivan. Kwikstep didn't know Ivan but a friend of a friend of a friend did. Ivan was literally on the subway heading home to Jersey City when he got the call. Ivan didn't have his special spray paints or anything with him but he came right over. The hardware store didn't carry good spray paint either so I kinda freaked out.

Ivan said,"No Problem". He could use my acrylic paints to create a spray paint effect. He did a great job and I learned how to do Faux Spray Painting!

We transported the bed parts to the theater in Manhattan and had the crew assemble it.

Kwik pitched in on the drill he was so excited to see it come together.

He tried a few moves to test it's durability.

They rehearsed on it (without the mattress and blankets).

I saw the show last night and it was phenomenal. They're pushing themselves in new directions, using language and autobiography, adding a highly personal quality to this iconic dance form. They'd be on the board of the HipHop Preservation Committee if there ever was one. Mainstream HipHop today is so loathsome and ugly. What Full Circle is doing is just a whole other thing. Old Skool? New Skool? I don't know. Grad Skool?
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After setting up the bed and checking out the rehearsal, I headed over to Abistro in Brooklyn to have dinner with Queen Esther and her "Friend" whom I've never met.

He is a large Scottish-looking fellow. He apparently proposed to her the next day. Queeny is over the moon. They will have a big wedding down south and big alien-like Celto-Yorubic offspring.

Chef Abdul is a genious. His food is a celebration of life itself. He married my high school buddy, Cassandra. Their daughter, Sonia, is in second grade and already 6'1", a big healthy beautiful girl. I love them all to death but Cassandra and I sometimes get on each other's nerves.

Strangers and Other Angels

2007-12-03T06:00:00.000-08:00

Compagnia De' Colombari's STRANGERS AND OTHER ANGELS is a far out multicultural Passion Play based on the Nativity. It is performed annually in New York and Italy. The Italian version is well-funded and much grander. In New York it's a little more low-key but I thought it was great. It took place in the auditorium of The Museum of the City of New York. Karin and the company are actually trying to raise the money to do the full scale outdoor version here next year.

They brought me on board to help add some visual umph, demonstrating what this thing can be if provided with more resources. I did what I could in the week I've been back from Alabama, creating 20 sets of these Fra Angelico-inspired angel wings with a graffitti-esque or "Street Art" twist.

I stretched cotton fabric and muslin over large cardboard cutout wings. Added Gesso as a primer and sealant. Painted wings individually in full color expressionistic style including splashes and drips. Cut stencil motifs from common paper plates (paper plates are great for stenciling because they're cheap and resistant to moisture, allowing you to use them over and over). Created random and organized patterns with stencil motifs. Built wing harnesses in wood, strap, and wire. Bolted wings to harnesses.

It was extremely satisfying to see the performers getting into these things. Tap dancers, Steppers, Actors, Jazz Singers and Opera Singers all came together to give the wings full expression. I worked pretty much alone, hours and days in isolation. It just blows the mind when the work suddenly finds a place among so many.

I wanted the back of the angel wings to really contrast with the colorful fronts, going for a more spare, gritty effect. I think it makes them altogether a little more contemplative.

This theater piece very much reminded me of GOSPEL at COLONUS, Director Lee Brewer's retelling of the Oedipus myth using African American Gospel music and vernacular as the conduit. Karin's just kinda blending modern urban culture with medieval Italian.

IRONBOUND

Ironbound is what they call my neighborhood in the eastern ward of Newark. It got its name from the many foundries and forges starting in the late 19th century as well as the train tracks, bridges, and highways that surround it.

I live on a street of industrial and artist lofts along the western edge of Ironbound. Whether I'm sitting in York, Alabama or Ironbound, New Jersey, I can always hear the low steady whistle of The Crescent Line train from New Orleans. It rolls by my house in York and it rolls by my loft in Jersey. Whereas I use to be indifferent to it and maybe somewhat annoyed, I now get a warm feeling inside whenever I hear that train coming through as it links the places I adore most.

One thing I'm unlikely to get in Alabama is snow. That big midwestern storm dropped some remnants yesterday morning. Say what you will about the weather "back east", there's nothing sweeter than the first snow - even in a beat down, bent over little town like Newark.

Ironbound has been a Portuguese enclave for many years and immigrants still arrive from Portugal but the Brazilians have a strong and growing presence as well. Add Spaniards and South Americans and you get a real latin cocktail.

They all bring a sophisticated world-class flavor to Newark. There's cafes, bars and bistros everywhere - not stupid trendy attitudinal dumps like in New York - just simple quiet places to down your espresso and have some conversation or a wholesome old country meal. There's also some pretty high end restaurants serving the finest of Brazilian and Iberian cuisine

They've also brought their native products and goods. I love browsing the grocery stores for weird foreign stuff - cheeses and medicines and such.

Portuguese Barbeque is super popular. There's literally a BBQ joint on every block and it's gooood. The aroma gets all up in your nose and brain and you start craving it even if you ain't hungry. The Black people come all the way over here from across the tracks for their Barbeque so you KNOW it's good.

I just think their storefront advertising is a tad gruesome. These poor (but probably tasty) little piglets almost look like people skewered like that, or some kid's beloved missing pet.

Many say that IRONBOUND sounds like a superhero hideout and in many ways it is because...well...because I live here.
But the IRON theme is ubiquitous in Ironbound...

Here's the IRON Lady...

IRON gears and junked IRON parts...

And a special contraption, fueled by snake oil, to IRON cellulite and flab from your behind.

WORK

2007-11-25T17:13:00.001-08:00

Well I'm back in Newark. Beautiful Newark, New Jersey.
I'm here but my heart's in Alabama so the blog shall remain Garland Farwell In Alabama. The rest of my body will join the heart come the New Year.

My camera disappeared just before I left and it's too bad. I wish I could share what I saw in those waning days. The whole landscape took a stunning turn. The leaves exploded with colors I didn't know could exist in the South and the sky shifted into vivid and weird configurations. I wanted to film a train hollering through York and sweet smoke rising snake-like from a crooked chimney. That and more. But it wasn't meant to be. i think I got absent-minded in my busyness and forgot where I laid the camera. Oh well.

Going back and forward I've got other stuff to show.

I hit the ground running because there's only a few days left to present Compagnia De' Colombari's STRANGERS AND OTHER ANGELS. Headed by Director Karin Coonrod, Colombari is an international theater company that creates epic passion plays in the streets of Orvieto, Italy and Harlem, USA using professional actors, singers, and dancers along with local people. My task is to create a flock of 20 angel wings for performers large and small. But the idea is to flip the wings out; make them edgy and new somehow. We looked to early renaissance painter Fra Angelo for inspiration. Everything old is new anyway. And his angel wings were always far out and surprisingly original; pretty much unmatched in their trippyness.

I met Karin last spring when we began developing an Operetta, THE BLACKAMOOR ANGEL. Carl Hancock Rux wrote the libretto, Dierdre Murrey composed the music, Karin directed, and I did the visuals. We all spent the summer together at The Fisher Center for the Performing Arts upstate at BARD college. We created the first act and the whole thing remains a work-in-progress but it was great being up there surrounded by all this major talent, under a major director, major musicians, and real live opera singers.

THE BLACKAMOOR ANGEL tells the story of Angelo Soliman, an African in 18th-century Vienna and a friend of Mozart, via the performance of a Weimar-era traveling circus. The opera probes the secrets of the Moor’s relationship to Mozart, his involvement in Mozart’s final operas (Monostatos, in The Magic Flute, was based on Soliman), his mysterious death, and the reason for the heinous postmortem display of his body in the imperial Naturalienkabinett.

Because the opera takes place in the 30's, I wanted to create the objects and props as if designed by someone like Jean Arp, a DADA pioneer and influential Modernist. Many of the avant-garde plays in the early 20th Century were co-created by painters and sculptors rather than "set designers" so this approach felt pretty good.

Karin and I vibed splendidly. I share a lot of her ideas about art - where to do it, who to do it with, how to present it. This Community Art aspect of her work is right up my alley as well. I think we'll be working together for awhile. There's already much planned for the coming year and I'm hoping she'll really bring me over to Italy.

Soon as i get these angels flying I have just a week or so to help out my favorite HIP HOP geniuses, FULL CIRCLE, a dance theater group that keeps it very real.

I've known Kwikstep (far left) and Rokafella (center) since our summers up in Amherst years ago working with Project 2050. Man, we had some TIMES, I tell you. Anyway they have a big show in December at Dance Theater Workshop. Kwik and Roc are legends in the HipHop community and people have a lot of preconceptions about them. So this coming performance will be somewhat autobiographical but they're casting themselves as a kind of HipHop Ricky Ricardo and Lucy. This is interesting and great because, though the dance defies the laws of gravity and always lifts you higher, their work is usually quite serious.

Mario, a member of their crew, designed this graffitti bed. It's my job to make it 3-dimensional and functional - a real bed.
Whoa. Look at this thing. i have a lot to figure out here. But it's a fun thing.

I've been collaborating with Julio Leitau and his dance troupe, Batoto Yetu, on and off for almost 15 years and in that time I've built about a zillion masks, puppets, and set pieces for him and his fabulous kids.

Julio has established satellite companies in New York, Portugal, and Brazil but this summer he finally got back to his native Angola and did the same. He said it was the best, most inspiring experience of his career. He also brought with him to Angola almost everything I ever created for him. Now they want him to return in the spring but he has to have a new show so he asked me to produce all this new stuff by April and several things in the coming month. I'll definitely be building for Batoto Yetu down in Alabama but I gotta brush up on my Portuguese cuz I'm going to Angola.

Exhibit

2007-11-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

I usually can't stand openings. They're always anti-climactic and way too formal. The excitement is in the making of the art, the process of putting it together. Of course it's good to show the art and to get the reactions and maybe even sell but the opening is not the time for any of that. No one's looking at the art or feeling it. You sometimes get the buyers buying but that usually happens sometime before or after the opening. I really don't see the point of art openings and I think everybody actually hates them. They're the secular equivalent of a Catholic mass; a draggy ritual with wine and crackers.

I insisted that we call this night a PARTY. Grill some dogs and burgers, have some music, punch, and hot chocolate...

...and, most of all, let the "Art" be interactive. Let the people grab the objects. The fact that most of this art is made by and with kids kinda forces us to switch up the format anyway but I'll continue to follow this paradigm in all my presentations, kids or no kids.

Like May here, folks were a little timid about handling the work even though many of them helped create it. May did the Saturday program at the Coleman Center. I cut the bird shapes with some older kids as the younger kids did all the painting. Then I mounted them on a pole with a clever contraption to make the wings flap.

We made 7 Mose Tolliver birds which Nathan and I hung in the middle of the gallery on hooks for easy removal.

It took a couple of adults to break the ice and it was great to see these old folks go at it with these things.

The idea is to create a kind of Happening - To bring a bit of action, interaction and spontaneity to the gallery-going experience. Not such a new idea but one not practiced often enough. The Art Gallery is an alien, inaccessible place for most people and will continue to be so. But why bring that energy to a place like York? I wanted to tap into the warm flow particular to this community - to complement it and maybe add to it - not be a carpetbagger.

As the party continued, I grabbed some of the fathers and some Demopolis High-schoolers to come out to the wood shop with me to help move the Freedom Buses out, across the Coleman Center grounds and into the gallery in a kind of impromptu procession.

People weren’t expecting any more big things to arrive. They made quite an entrance. It was a fun challenge maneuvering through the crowd.

I gave a little talk about the Buses and the Seated Figures – Cultural origins and all that. I pointed out some of the luminaries the students were representing in their sculptures including Frederick Douglas, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Harriet Tubman, Benjamin Davis, Cesar Chavez, Alexander Hamilton, and...Oprah Winfrey. The young girls really like Oprah so I just shut my mouth. And, hey, Oprah’s really okay anyway.

After everything was installed people stayed on and hung out with more meet, greet, and eat. I didn’t quite finish the three big figures but I put them in anyway and they looked fine. I’ll get back to them later.

Kids started clamoring for birds. I pulled them down, handed them out , and directed them outside.

I did a quick demo on how to make the Tolliver birds soar and how to use the pulley system to really get those wings flapping.

They took off from there, improvising movement and rhythmn. Others lined up for their turn on the birds. I sorta wished I’d had more stuff for them to explore and experiment with but I’m satisfied with what we did although it’s just scratching the surface of what I hope to expand on down here in the coming months – bigger objects, stronger themes, more people and public actions.

This continued on into the evening and under the evening lights. The air got real cool and sweet – just like the darn people.

Nathan kept the grill going quite late into the night. The skinniest, smallest kids ate the most but they stayed and helped us clean up. Kids down here are raised right, I tell you.

Morning Walk

2007-11-10T20:38:00.002-08:00

I'm working around the clock to get the project done. Each day is a swift kick in the groin then it's gone. Where are my hours, man?
I catch a little sanity in the wee hours. I walk quick-like around and through York. People wave and some comment. Walking is common here but I look like a maniac.
Anyway, I often bring my little camera and I catch things. This world down here is a real different world sometimes - almost all the time - and I see things I've never seen before. I stop and take it in.

We're conditioned to think a certain way about White People in trailers. Our culture is rife with derogatory terms for these low-income, often extremely poor, marginalized people. A woman and her grown-up son, who I first thought were husband and wife, live in this here run-down dwelling. It's right beside the railroad tracks on an abandoned lot. The trains scream through town and shake the earth with their clacking and the cars seem to stretch for a mile or more. I live a few blocks from these tracks and I'm still having a bit of a hard time with the noise, much as I love trains, so I can't imagine what it's like to live right up under those powerful engines as they pass. But you get used to it, as they say.
Kate and Jed cook outside and gather things to sell. They'll sweep your porch or wash a window for change. She has all kinds of clever ideas on how to make some money.

They're fine neighbors. But Kate has a major potty mouth - really dirty. Jed gets embarrassed when she starts going off. He fidgets and tries to change the subject. Kate waves and smiles at people passing by, then she might say something quite cutting about them under her breath. It's hilarious. Kinda like Bonita Bitrell on that TV show.

Poverty is terrible and poverty will never go away. Some rise. Some don't. I'm comfortable being in a place where it's at least a little easier for the poor to hold to their humanity.
It's not gonna be so easy goofing on Trailer Trash and White Trash and all that anymore. It's class-based bias anyway, and that's uglier than anything.

This is their little dog. Dogs are everywhere. Most dogs are tied to trees and objects. Leashes tend to be short, food scarce and bad. Days are spent wallowing in dirt because the grass has worn away. Chained dogs go berserk when you pass. They are biological, carbon-based alarm systems. Unchained dogs just stare at you. They lie in the yard or out by the road. They chase a squirrel and get killed by a car.

This vulture's been standing at the foot of the water tower for weeks. Maybe more than a month. It can't fly. Too young or too crippled. It is a sight to see. It's quite large and looks like something out of Edward Gorey or some Sci-fi horror. It wears a cape and a bumpy, pointed, black leather mask. I'll never get a good photo of it. Not with this camera. So I found some oil and a stick and a piece of parchment and did this drawing for you!

There's no shortage of food for the dark bird on this quiet stretch of back road. This possum was a full possum the day before. The scavengers did a number on it. Next day it was a meaty cavity. It's expression had gone from peaceful rest to silent scream.

Ah. The beautiful fauna. The Kudzo and the Pine. The Sedges and the Rushes. You just want to dive in or go charging off in some random direction - into the lush green density. But you can't. Not without proper gear. There's things that stick you and poison you. There's holes in the earth to swallow you forever. There's highly offended creatures with sharp teeth, snakes willing to kill, and hunters looking to kill. You'll need boots up to there, heavy clothes that cover all skin, a hat, a gun and maybe a cat.

The elusive wild red fire hydrant also grows there so bring a dog too.

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It was a beautiful day. I had a workshop in Cuba. About 20 minutes down the road. The car, the tree, the house, and the red caboose posed for this shot. They go together well. The whole cartoony antiqueness of it all reminded me of Maakies, Tony Millionaire's insane but beautiful comic strip.

Alabama is literally overflowing with antiques, collectibles, and junk. It's great. You'll find shops jam-packed with attractive old crap in every town, even the smallest, remotest places like Cuba. And cheap.

Uncle Gabby and Drinky Crow would appreciate this stove.

Towns are quiet and no one is around. I think the big bad Summer heat has trained everybody to stay indoors all year, regardless of cooler weather. I like this. I like pulling into these quiet but open places.

Everything's laid out properly. I leave the vehicle and walk about, pretending I'm on the Twilight Zone, feeling a little larger than life.

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The Seated Figure

2007-11-04T09:48:00.000-08:00

I bid so long to my parents and sister Sharon. The week went by fast. There's never enough time. But I think it was a nice relaxing break for them. Apparently everybody's blood pressure went down a bit during their stay. Mom and Pop look good. Hard to believe they have 7 kids, most of whom well into their 50's. I'm 27.
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It's getting crazy up in here with the work. We have ten days to pull some kind of show together. It's mad but it's a great time. I'm scooting all over Sumter county like a country doctor, calling on folks to help me build this thing.
At Demopolis High I have two classes working on the Freedom Bus. Like Mr.Bones, the Freedom Bus is a recurring theme in Mose Tolliver's paintings. I chose to expand on it a little by having each student create a passenger for the bus. The passengers must be freedom fighters through American History. Students had to research diverse people, write biographies, and find quotes and images and other details, all of which will be added to the artwork.

Our sculptures are inspired by the Seated Figures of Africa, a devotional image representing authority and wisdom. The seated figure is common in African cultures from Egypt to the Congo. Approached in many styles, it's a great format to explore theme, symbolism, and form.

The young lady on the right is 15 going on 50. Totally intimidating but far from mean. Just full of character. She has an accent like molasses. It's really wonderful and I love to hear her talk. But I often don't understand her. The other kids translate.

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In North Sumter County and Livingston we have younger kids in afterschool programs creating Tolliver plant life and birds. Before we got to the actual constructing I wanted to introduce Drawing With Scissors, an approach to art making that frees the imagination, reorganizing the thought processes behind visual communication to incorporate improvisation and free association.

The students are shown simple scissor cutting techniques. They are then asked to cut a sheet of paper without preconceived notions or specific intentions - to create an amorphous form with otherwise concise angles, curves and shape. Once the form is freed from the box, so to speak, they then begin to identify it and to give it more specific detail according to it's character. The results are always stunning and the kids get a kick out of it, surprised by their own latent creative potential.

We then combine the many cutouts in a collaborative collage, using scraps and the negatives of our cut-out shapes to complete our composition.

Mary, a talented girl, points to one of her creatures. She said she loved "creating things from nothing".

After the Drawing With Scissors exercise cutting, pasting, and painting the Tolliver shapes is far less intimidating. They know they can do anything now that the brain is a little more free.

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I wanted to make a slew of Tolliver characters on my own but I'll have time only for three. That's okay. There's a lot of work being generated right now. I'll get to more stuff later. I decided to extend my stay in York. Probably through next year if everything works out. I friggin love it here so everything's gonna HAVE to work out.

Haven't finished painting the Waving Woman but I figured out a detachable wooden bird.

The Red Creature will have a Chinese Dragon style body, requiring maybe up to ten people to operate. There's much fabric dyeing, painting, and sewing to be done for all these pieces.

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