I don’t know if either of these are up for anything tonight, but these are two movies – both with brilliant soundtracks BTW – that I can’t wait to watch again someday with BG!
The fantastic (in all senses) Fantastic Mr. Fox. Another warm, awkward tale of a quirky family from Wes Anderson. A gorgeous, thoughtful, fun and funny experience.
A partial accounting of the origins of my (nearly) life-long screen print fixation.
A by no means comprehensive and in no way definitive list (though aspiring to an accurate chronology) with some vague recollections of the circumstances under which I may have become aware of and/or acquired an affinity/appreciation for the work. With sh*tty, poorly-lit, hastily taken iPhone photos!
Note: All dimensions are the approximate dimensions of the art – not the frame – in inches. As always, click images for larger view.
Chris, Ralph Maradiaga, 1974Chris – Ralph Maradiaga, 1974, 7.5x10.25. This is the piece that started it all. A family friend, Ralph was one of the early pioneers of Chicano Art and a masterful and prolific screen printer. I’ve got other pieces of his, but this is the one that exposed me to screen printing and Ralph the person who gave me my early appreciation for the process and the medium. While I don’t recall the circumstances under which the piece was produced I’m very much aware of the effect this piece – and another of me on my grandfather’s shoulders – has had on me not simply as a screen print enthusiast, but as an artist and a person.
Mardi Gras, Artist Unknown, 1985Mardi Gras/New Orleans/1985 – Artist Unknown [Signature illegible], 1985, 12.75x22.5. I’m fairly certain that my Mom and step-father brought this back to me (in Berkeley) after their visit to Mardi Gras in ’85. I remember at the time not being drawn to it so much stylistically as executionally. I think it may have been my next real exposure to screen printing after over a decade of living with Ralph’s work (we had a least four pieces hanging around the house when I was growing up). This piece gave me a bit more context – a greater sense of the possibilities. While Ralph’s work got me excited about screen prints as an observer (though, if I’m not mistaken, he taught my 8-year-old self how), this is the piece that got me interested as an artist. Sadly (or not) my early attempts at screen printing (on the homemade screen my mom and I made in the early 80s) are lost to a box in a basement somewhere.
Sissy™, Designers Republic, 1994Sissy™ – The Designers Republic[Link is to old site with older work], 1994, 11.5x16. My first purchase. I think it was ’96. I was already a well-established tDR fanatic by the time I had the wherewithal to take the leap and acquire this piece. A piece that I felt took screen printing and mutated it – with its “techno” style and dayglo and metallic inks – in to something altogether new and fresh. Though unsure of the year I actually began my collection, I do recall the overwhelming covetous urge to begin it with this piece.
Coop in Switzerland, Coop, ca. 1995Coop in Switzerland – Coop, Undated [And no date provided on the site.], 22x34. I’m thinking this was sometime in the mid-90s but I don’t think I got it until ‘00-’02. I can’t remember. I had admired Coop’s work for a number of years – for a period in the mid to late 90s it was practically impossible to avoid his DevilGirls (Possibly NSFW. Depending on where you W.) – and I absolutely loved this big, bold, iconic image that again awed me with the power of “the print”. Still I spent weeks, maybe months, going through his prints online – just to be sure this was the one. But it probably goes without saying that it was his illustrated self’s likeness to my real self that really piqued my interest. There was never really any question which print I’d get. When I acquired this piece I surreptitiously adopted the Coop Devil as my own unofficial mascot.
Joe Strummer Hero Stamp, Shepard Fairey, 2004Joe Strummer Hero Stamp – Shepard Fairey, 2004, 35x45. Maybe it’s just my myopic view of the “scene”, but I’d argue that Shep is undeniably the most visible contemporary promulgator of screen printing and screen prints. He is an icon – and champion – of the medium. Love him or hate him, he’s talented and prolific and – with this piece – he pulled me through my dabbling dilettante phase and turned me in to a collector. One of the four pieces in the oversized Hero Stamp set, this stunning, exquisitely crafted print – at once refined and riotous – provided another paradigm shift in my appreciation for screen printing’s power and possibility.
With only a couple of exceptions, I commited early on (around the time of the Coop piece) to buy only a single piece from a given artist – a challenge to be sure – and since turning the “collector corner” with the acquisiton of the Shep piece, I’ve continued to cautiously currate a collection that includes pieces by Jasper Goodall[In my excitement I included a giclée – which I also love and collect. Just not like I love screen prints.], Bawidamann, Evan Hecox, and Faile. Just a few of a diverse group of exceptional artists all producing stunning screen print works and pushing the medium forward.
Another note: With the exception of the first piece, I can’t attest to the involvement of the artists in the actual screen printing of their work.
This transcendent reinterpretation by the Flaming Lips (and friends) of a 1984 Madonna song has a distinctly perceptible and, frankly, slightly euphoric effect on me. There are particular sensory experiences – of music, art, design or writing (or in cases like this video, a combination) – that provide what can be a sometimes elusive and somewhat perplexing – though not entirely inexplicable – high for me.
These little bits of euphoria have been a high (I’d put that in quotes but I’m fairly certain it’s a legitimate chemical high) that I’ve chased since I was able to intellectualize the notion. I can find it standing rapt before a grandiose (or subtle) work of art, made breathless by a transcendent piece of music (as above) or reveling in a particularly virtuoso piece of prose. However, while there is undeniably a conscious respect for the process, an admiration for technique, intellectual appreciation for and emotional response to a given piece of work, there seems to be something else going on as well.
Without getting too deeply in to neurochemistry (I don’t know enough) or self-medication (I know too much) – and hopefully without getting this horribly wrong – any stimulation of the brain’s pleasure system releases some amount of dopamine, the chemical compound responsible for, among other things, feelings of enjoyment and motivation to perform pleasurable activities. (Stop giggling.) That’s the basic neurochemistry behind pleasure: I enjoy something – my brain releases dopamine – I feel good about the experience (and want to experience it again). It happens every time I (or you) are moved – even the slightest bit – by some piece of sensory input.
But what is the makeup of a particular piece of work that determines this chemical effect on me? With my relatively limited knowledge of the formal aspects of music, I can only hazard a guess as to why a certain combination of notes, chords, instrumentation, lyrics, et cetera might allow a particular song to inject itself into my neural pathways with such potency. (And why doesn’t the original have the same effect on me as this recent rendition? And, no, it’s not because it’s Madonna. I do like some of her stuff.) As a designer/artist I might be able to discern what colors, compositions, and content might coalesce into an effective creative stimulant. As a writer, I can attempt to conjure the sensation through some synthesis of syllables or some turn of phrase. But, I don’t know that I’ll ever be capable of precise creative chemistry.
Ultimately, I don’t think I can discern what part of my reaction to a work of art is intellectual, emotional or chemical. What I do know is that while I certainly find these exhilarating experiences in the work of others, I find it particularly intoxicating and rewarding when I find it in my own. And on one level, that’s exactly what I’m doing here, trying to understand how to extract – from myself – the stuff that makes me feel good.
The moment you think you understand a work of art, it’s dead for you. – Oscar Wilde
I had seen Buñuel’s legendary Surrealist silent film, Un Chien Andalou, a couple of years before the Pixies’ seminal “alt-rock” anthem, Debaser, came out in the Spring of 1989. With the somewhat desperate compulsion I had to find meaning in art whether it be painted, filmed, sung, or written, I remember trying to divine the film’s meaning and to construct my own suitably inscrutable reaction to it – to squeeze out my own art-nerd epiphany. And I may have. I don’t remember.
However, when I ripped the cellophane off of the Pixies’ sophmore effort, Doolittle, that Spring and popped it in my CD player and after the bass had been joined by the guitar had been joined by the drums had been joined by… Black Francis (as Frank Black was known at the time) screaming about “slicing up eyeballs”, I knew what he was talking about. It seemed I hadn’t been able to decipher Buñuel’s surreal film the way Black Francis and the Pixies had. I hadn’t distilled it’s meaning to it’s rousing, anthemic essence. But, it sounded like Black Francis knew what Buñuel meant and I thought I knew what Black Francis meant.
I… wanted to grow… up to be… a debaser!
I had no idea what that meant.
I’m sure, I might have thought I knew. I might have thought that while I couldn’t quite put my finger on Buñuel’s meaning, I could certainly grasp the Pixies’. In truth, I probably got all the meaning I needed from Black Francis’ piercing wail. His plaintive cries extolling the esoteric virtues of what it is exactly that he – and by extension I – wanted ultimately to become. It sounded like a f*cking cool calling – something my self-righteous, self-absorbed, self-medicated self could really throw myself into. I’m sure that for a year or two after being inspired to aspire to debase, I periodically checked the meaning of debase in the dictionary (like I am now) to see if I might still be on track to “reduce (something) in quality or value” and/or to “lower the moral character of (someone). To see if I was, in fact, growing up to “degrade, devalue, and discredit”… stuff. It sounded promising. Full of potential. I might have made a game effort. I might, even if inadvertently, have had some small success at it. But, fairly quickly my vigilance and diligence waned and I moved on – never really understanding Black Francis’ song any more than I’d understood Buñuel’s film.
I made my peace with the incompehensibility of Buñuel’s film at some point – there’s really no choice after reading his “explanation”, “Nothing, in the film, symbolizes anything”. But, twenty years later and finding myself again thinking quite a bit about art – and by extension, meaning – I finally decided to do a bit of digging to see if I could find out what Black Francis might have meant when he sang so fervently and compellingly about “want(ing) (me) to know” about him being “un chien Andalusia”. Well, the digging began at Google (as it often does) and ended at Wikipedia (ditto) where I found the following quote, excerpted from an uncredited “Spanish interview” given by Black Francis:
From Wikipedia: Debaser, Lyrics and meaning:
“With my stupid, pseudo-scholar, naïve, enthusiast, avant-garde-ish, amateurish way to watch Un chien andalou (twice), I thought: ‘Yeah, I will make a song about it.’”
And there you have it. With my 22-year-old stupid, pseudo-scholar, naïve, enthusiast, avant-garde-ish, amateurish way to listen to Debaser (many, many times) I had looked for meaning – and thought I’d found it – where there seems to have been almost none.
So, what does this mean? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe this: Everything doesn’t necessarily mean something. And even if it does, you don’t have to look for it. And even if you look, you don’t have to find it. And even if you find it, you don’t have to understand it. And even if you do understand it, you don’t have to like it. Even if you do.
Know what I mean?
SPOILER ALERT:“Got me a movie / I want you to know / Slicing up eyeballs / I want you to know…”
Sunday, March 7, 2010 at 5:33PM ;)
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