Generation X and Anything that Falls between the Cracks..

So I keep getting these e-mails on articles about how the past 50 years have been the pinnicle of invention and innovation, thanks to the kids of the 60s, 70s and 80s. Apparently we deal with failure better and are more resilient to change because we grew up without the technology to make things easier. And how do we contribute to this precious society? We invent technology that breeds social anxiety, self-ostracization and plain laziness. Yay for us, the ones who made it on our own - to the future: here's some technology to mess you up so you will not have to play with sticks and stones.

Honestly, we really do not have much to be proud of. The commodified world of technology parallels the Keynesian model of economics. If there wasn't a demand for technology that feeds instant gratification, there wouldn't be the unending race of doing it faster, smaller and better. So before we sit down and pat ourselves on the back for being the original space cowboy, my generation, at least should think about how many of us really played with sticks and stones (masak-masak does not count) and how many of us played with pac-man and donkey kong. We are not the generation that made it without technology - we are the generation that started it all.We were the generation whose impatience demanded instant results at the push of a button.

I am not a technophobe, but I am slightly homeostatic when it comes to superfluous technology. I don't think every kid needs a Playstation (Hell, I got mine when I was 21!), let alone a personal portable one. The irony of a kid in a playground tap-tapping away on his P2P is one we can do without. Forget plug and play, my kids will be the ones running on the beach butt ass naked knowing they can because they are kids.

Currently listening to: I AM - L'Ecole du Micro D'argent

Hah.

To those of you who used to disagree with me incessantly on the irrelevance of some of Damien Hirst's work. Can I gloat now? Straight from the horse's mouth. Back, back to the catacombs of conceptual art, I say!

Currently listening to: Miles Davis - The Complete Birth of Cool

A New Meaning to Sacrificing for Your Art.

Okay. So there were once these group of people, right, that lived in Italy in 1909. They decide to hell with the bourgeoisie, let's turn our little poetic movement into a revolution. So they write 'Le Figaro', (nothing to do with Mozart's Marriage of Figaro...) THIS manifesto called for the violent overthrow of bourgeois culture, championed for revolutionary change through the adulation of the machine and called for the annihilation of conventional culture. To say they were true anarchists would be an understatement. Now, this group had a name . And within the art and architectural world they were known as the Italian Futurists. If you've seen a work by an Italian futurist, boy, would you know it. They worshipped energy, vitality, modernity and dynamism - forces, they believed, that were propelling them into the future. And they encapsulated it in their art. This, in my opinion was the birth of cartoons - and the movement lines so essential when illustrating the coming, the going, the bouncing, the shaking.....etc. you get my point. I'm sure Marinetti is turning in his grave as I compare his life's work to cartoons, but I honestly believe that without the Italian Futurists fervour to illustrate movement, we would have probably have cartoons in a very different format. Essentially what changes each frame of the storyboard is movement. If the futurists didn't do what they did, wouldn't there be a tiny possibility that storyboarding and cartoons would just be a series of tableaux? *snore*

Anyway, the futurists, so excited about World War 1, joined the Italian bicycle brigade, and rode out to war, high on their love of machinery that would win the war ---- and blew themselves to bits. Now, if only they had BMXs......

Currently listening to : The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium.

Bliss..

Clearing the backlog - So, rewind to Thursday night. It's the night of the opening of my Seminar show, and also a day that was filled with good, solid music. Can I just say that the importance of good music in your life is definitely underrated, especially the old classics that were so often inundated with the foresight of what we are today. I mean Janis Joplin was asking Lord to buy her a Mercedes Benz 40 years before Mormons and Jews were hawking DVDs on the Life of Christ and the Holy Oil of Israel, (respectively, of course) on MTV. Essentially Ms. Joplin's aesthetic allusion to the relationship between religon and commodity preceded the abuse of mass media as ways to commodify religon. I am a harsh critic, simply because I feel that slotting an ad on how Jesus can save all your problems along with ads plying comsumers to spend, spend, spend on things that will make your life *so* much better, is extremely problematic. Spirituality does not come in a bottle or a DVD, and watching it suggested on TV makes me ashamed to be part of this generation of degenerate spirituality and instant gratification.

Anyway, coming back on track. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed the blue grass band playing at the opening, and it reiterated how much I love the sound of a double bass. The night took a turn for the even better when Pooty-Tang informed me that she was taking to me to see (for my birthday) Orchestra Baobab! I was introduced to Orchestra Baobab about 2 years ago and had been a fan since. To watch them live was great, plus the Noho hippies were out in full free-loving force, which made for excellent people watching. :) I retired for the day excited that THE James Brown is performing at the Calvin on May 9th and I'll be damned before I miss a performance by the godfather of soul before he croaks. After singing 'Sex machine' all the way home, I just had to sit down and buy some of my favourite Janis and Wild Cherry songs on iTunes. At least I didn't have to worry about waking up in the morning with some insipid pop song stuck in my head.

Currently listening to : Leftfield - Rhythm and Stealth

And On The 4th Day, God created..

...more frickin' snow. For all you friends of the environment non-believers : When the weather goes from 50 degree sunshine to a full-fledged blizzard in less than 12 hours - you know that there's a screw loose in the environment. What are you going to do about it before greenhouse gases choke you in your sleep, rendering you a slow and painful death as you gasp for fresh air, after your sores from acid rain have festered and left you permanently disfigured. What will you do then? Tch.

Yes.

I just thought that I should ask: Who else is excited about Sin City? The trailer looks great, so does Clive Owen....my favourite part is when they go..

*OpensatatheatreseverywhereonApril1stthisfilmisnotyetrated*

..I love TV trailers. They couldn't speak any faster.

Also, I've decided that everyone must see :

Napolean Dynamite - because how often, really, do we celebrate mediocrity? Well I say, it's about dang-ed time.

Did I Ever Tell You About...

how a New York State Policeman threatened to throw me in jail for 30 days?

Scene: It is 11.30 in the morning on South Interstate-87 when Pooty-Tang, Spicy-Toad and Weifer Reefer drive into a routine border patrol road block. Pooty-Tang is driving, Spicy Toad is in the front passenger seat and Weifer Reefer is in the backseat with the rest of the bags.

Machismo Cop (MC) : Hi ma'am (!) Where are you coming from?
Pooty-Tang (PT) : Lake Placid
MC : Where are you from?
PT : Massachussetts
(Scratches his chin, trying to figure out in both his tiny heads how someone from Massachusetts can be yellow...)
MC : Where were you born?
PT : China
(MC looks at Spicy Toad)
Spicy Toad : Massachusetts
(MC looks at Weifer Reefer in the back seat)
Weifer Reefer : Malaysia.
(MC is still trying to use both his heads with even more puzzled look on his face)
WR : Oh, I'm an international student.
MC : I see, can you roll down your window ma'am
(MC makes his way to the left back seat window)
MC : Can I see your documentation ma'am
WR : I don't have my documentation on me, we came from Massachusetts to New York. I have my student ID....
MC : Well ma'am, you're supposed to have your documentation on with you at ALL times..
WR : I was only told I needed it to enter and leave the U.S. so I don't carry it with me for domestic travel because I don't want to lose it..
MC : Well if I were to enforce the law, it would be $100 fine and 30 days in jail..
WR : for not having my documentation on me?
MC : Yes ma'am..(puts both hands on belt, like they do on COPS)
WR : (realizing at that moment that there's something in the car that shouldn't be there) Ok, I'm really sorry, I'll carry it from now on..really, I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't know, I wasn't told. *Please god please don't search the car*
MC : Alright ma'am...carry on. Don't do it again.
WR : Thank you, officer. *PHEW*
zooooooooooooom...and we drive off.

Anyway, the morals of the story are:
1) Most cops are pricks with even smaller pricks and a bad case of Napolean complex, especially those stuck with the less exciting tasks of border patrol
2) Next time, just say you were born in New Yawk City.
3) Carry your I-20 and passport with you at all times, even though there is no mention of it on the document itself. Assholes.
4) Don't carry dubious *stuff* with you when you're going interstate. I should have learned from watching COPS religiously. Oops
5) Brunettes may have more fun, but Blondes gat away with everything.

Up, up and away

So Spring Break is officially over and I'm back to what will be the last 6 weeks of my college career...ever. At the beginning of the sprint to the end I am filled with an impatient melancholy that has been so pervasive in my college career. The bottom line is this - I haven't stopped studying since I was 3, when my mummy left me, kicking and screaming, on Ms. Liew's kindergarten steps. Since then I have gone from my ABCs to Plato's theories on art and, (channeling Michael Kors), frankly, I'm underwhelmed, overworked and exhausted. College has been a fun challenge, and I leave with a fitting paper trail of accolades that I'm sure will have no further purpose beyond the resumes. 6 weeks to the end I find myself perhaps a little bit smarter, no less worldly and armed with enough tit bits of nutty information to be a somewhat engaging conversationist. I sold my first painting yesterday and bought myself my first vintage Ramones t-shirt. Both of which I was equally excited about. I remain a devout realist tinted with a slight hint of romanticism (and a big fan of the -isms), a bigger fan of the arts and in love with a man who complements my eccentricities with that of his own. I don't have, from my 4 years of institutionalised tertiery education, all the knowledge I need for the years to come, but I do have friends I can whine to when I fall short.

In six days I will be 23, and my life is a transit lounge. 6 weeks to the end my flight has arrived at one gate and I'm waiting to get on the next flight out.

Signage? White board-age.

I should really be in bed - but I thought I'd post a list of message's on people's white boards on the floor I live on...

"Out. Studying Russian"

"Medusa's bum is smelly. It smells like catfish"

"Horse on a farm"

" Are you playing scrabble?" (written reply) "no I think monopoly"

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

"You are heinous"

I live in a nut house and I love it.

*cough cough* *hic*

Aaah..I'm as sick as a dog. Woke up this morning and big bird was nesting in my throat...just got back from my Psych and Tap mid-terms - climbing into bed now to rest my weary bones. Damn you, Georgia and Pooty-Tang, damn you and your nasty ass germs.

It's Not That...

....i hate Andy Warhol - I just dislike how people ooh and aah over him. Call me traditional, but I like to think that art commerce should function as an elitist system to weed out the bad and worship the good, and Warhol sleeps his way to the top. The basis of my distaste for the works of Warhol (..and not the man) stems in the fact that his supposedly revolutionary mass-production of images of the ready-made and found objects was an idea already conceived and excuted, a lot more brilliantly, might I say, by Duchamps in the early 20th century. Duchamps was the maverick of the ready-made, hey wouldn't you choose a urinal over a Campbell soup can?

Perhaps the problem is I'm still naïvely waiting and hoping for the new wave of the avant-garde. If Henri St-Simon could see what we deem "avant-garde" these days, he would probably rise from his grave, smear human waste on a canvas and declare "Voila! Zees ees contrroversiale and unexceptabale, zerefore eet ess avant-garde.." Upon which someone can inform him that it's already been done. So,the million dollar question..,is concept art edging out the visual arts when it comes to orginality? Looking at the history of visual arts, it becomes more apparent that the nature of the evolution of art is one that is primarily innovative and secondarily (is that a word?) inventive. Robert Rosenblum's latest findings suggest that even Picasso resurrected the old masters of portraiture. I mean, if Pablo was doing it, and a slew of mistresses, 100 years ago, what about us mortals? :P

The only thing I can say is (after all that spiel), it really is unimportant. Who cares about who did it first, second or last - art is a medium of provocation and as long as it still keeps us on our toes, I'm happy.


* This blog was inspired by a dear friend, Mr. Gwailo - who constantly threatens to gift me a Warhol coffee table book so big that I can never hide it. He also likes to drink good coffee and make good music.

It just doesn't end...

Gaia hates me....I step out of the studio and there's a blizzard with about 4 inches of snow and no plough in sight. I hate to whine BUT my feet are saturated, I can't feel my cheeks and I look like the abominable fucking snowman. If I empty my pockets and pleats..I'd probably have enough snow to build an abominable snowman in my room. I've decided I prefer the unbearable heat of home, because the air-con remedy is so simple. With the cold, there's no getting any warmer once it chills you to the bone. I really hope it stops snowing - Pooty-Tang, Medusa, Joysey, Spicy Toad, Marlboro 100 and myself are heading north to Lake Placid for Spring Break. Let us pray for clear skies....ohmmm

Staying true to the toe-fuu..

Okay, so i have succumbed to peer pressure. Everyone meet shubunkins. Stay tuned for anecdotes on life in my fishbowl. Ciao.