Table of Contents: > Transmissions
Reader! May your weekend be as light, refreshing, and effervescent as the sensation of Djer Kiss talcum powder, which, if you can trust the depiction above, feels like the condensed essence of an idyllic verdant garden at the foot of a towering magic castle from which issue 38 faeries, attended by 3 mischievous cherubs, all luxuriating in a river of flowers…. ‘Till next week then…
I know, Hallmark® holiday, yes, yes… still, love’s rad. Happy Valentines Day, all…
‘Aight… once more with feeling. And, as always, with an eye for something fetching. Well fortified over the holiday break. Visits to two crackerjack museums: first to the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, where I was blown away by Birth of the Cool, the Barkley L. Hendricks retrospective; then to the Brandywine River Museum, for the Wyeths of course, but also for a little jewel of a show – a survey of illustrations for Alice in Wonderland.
Books too; finally scored Eve’s Hollywood by Eve Babitz – the single best LA writer writing about LA ever, also Flash Gordon creator Alex Raymond’s Rip Kirby a pioneering black & white strip comic, Nell Brinkley’s effervescent flappers, and Exposed, a survey of the Victorian nude published a few years back. Other radness: The paintings of William Merrit Chase, some spellbinding and uncannily modern illustrations for the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam , Godard’s pop headcratcher flick Made in USA…
Also, a big new gouache completed at long last. Scores galore while visiting family HQ… old slide rule manuals (see above), a passel of old scientific tracing templates, a collection of precision tweezers, and the germ of giant new project of moon shot proportions. More soon, like tomorrow, with covers from the 70’s toddler edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Or maybe the gouache. We’ll see.
(Jessie Wilcox Smith, Alice in Wonderland, 1923)
There are few sensations as vivid and satisfying as applying tincture of iodine to a cut, scrape or nick. The dark amber apothecary bottle stands in welcome contrast to most remedies today. There has been no attempt to make its presentation friendly and welcoming, instead it remains a clear and sober statement of purpose.
Its application suggests equal parts magic and science – you extract a thin glass wand, clinking as you draw it past the inside rim of the bottle. Surface tension binds a shimmering, clinging slick of the stuff to the wand. It feels nearly alive (a bit like the black oil in the X-Files, actually) as it sloughs off onto your skin. Immediately its penetrating sting blooms in successive waves – it’s palpable efficacy in stark contrast to the crude harsh burn of rubbing alcohol or the clammy glop of Neosporin. The job done, it sets fast its translucent red ochre stain – a signature and endorsement of work done, and done well.
Hi. Happy & huzzah to you and yours. Back around the 4th. Help yourselves to a cocktail.
(Ed Ruscha, Not a Bad World, Is It?, 1984)
Dim and muddled the day after the office holiday party. In that spirit, allow me, reader, to record here on the internets something obvious, yet necessary: I miss Gillian Anderson and we are poorer for her absence. There. Till next week then….
Gone advertising, back Wednesday. Help yourselves to anything.
Stephen Shore, Room 34, Timberline Motel, Banff, Alberta, 1974
In the late 70’s, when I was 9 or so, I staged these UFO photographs. They were taken on the front lawn of our house in Liverpool NY, a suburb of Syracuse. They turn up every few years or so – a welcome wormhole to kidhood.
Like the photos themselves, though, my affinity for them has mellowed and deepened over the years. Thinking about them now, I’m as taken with the idea of staging UFO pictures as the idea of UFOs themselves. They capture a profound human dynamic – the craftiness of inventing our own stories as well as the longing that they actually be true. Dwelling amid that tension is much more satisfying, I think, than being either a gimlet eyed sceptic or a wide eyed true believer.
Away, advertising, etc… back Thursday. Make yourself at home. Till then, then.
Advertising and upstate-ing, until next Wednesday….
Claes Oldenburg, Colossal Boots at the End of Navy Pier, Chicago, 1967, Sketch
An old collage from years and years ago, recently found in a neglected folder of old art mementos… Given that the transmitter is down again due to advertising gales, it will have to do as a placeholder until posts resume. Which will be soon, perhaps tomorrow, maybe Thursday, and will certainly feature Trip to Tulum, the gobsmacking graphic novel by Federico Fellini & Milo Manara. Till, then, then.
Okey doke. Back. Glad you are too. Not surprisingly, we’re picking up where we left off – you know, in no particular order – art, vintage illustration, glamour, technology, pop, punk, psychedelia, cats, the idea of squirrels, etc….
New stuff? Let’s see, what’s new?. Well, I swear bringing my own Ziploc bag of Fleur De Sel De Camargue Sea Salt to work may be the smartest thing I’ve done since July. I don’t care if it reminds you of Claire’s sushi lunch in the Breakfast Club – it’s magic. Unfortunately, though, it seems Project Donald Sutherland – the goal of which is to slim down to the point that I could flatteringly wear a turtleneck in the style of Donald Sutherland circa Klute, or, for that matter, James Coburn – is not really happening. Now, Eve Babitz, who’s in that famous photograph, obscured, nude and fetching, playing chess with Marcel Duchamp. She’s happening. Arundel, an off kilter little town in Maryland, a David Lynch by way of Robert Rauschenberg town – happening. Sketches of Jane Birkin. “The Wait” by Killing Joke. Valentina Terashkova. Edwige Fenech. Barbara Tfank. All happening. Estes Rockets have been on my mind a lot lately. And the fact that I used to play badminton with my dad when I was a kid. And finding a vintage shuttlecock made of a thick rubber and real tail feathers – lingering over contrast between the fluffy yet sturdy feathers and the powdery, matte, solid ball. Anyway, more very soon. A sketch of Jane Birkin, very probably.
(Ed Ruscha, Oxydol, Rubbing Compound, Was Seal Car Polish, Turpentine, Gelatin silver print, 1961)
My daughter and I are both over the moon for Tiny Titans, DC Comics’ toddler takedown of their side-kick league. The graphic style is a note perfect blend of Jack Kirby’s blocky Biff! Bang! Pow! style and the emotive power and cuteness of Peanuts. The storytelling is a savvy remix of the source material – all the villains are reconfigured as hapless authority figures, all the adult superheroes as parents and guardians. The stories themselves are frothy little capers that squeakers will dig, with an additional level of meta commentary on the main DC universe for the nerds.
Bethany Beach, DE, digital, 2009
Shore bound. Back Tuesday. (Pier, Wildwood, New Jersey, 2006 35mm C-print)
Door to door in Baltimore. Back Monday. If you’re here for a bit, could you please spend a little time with the cat. She’s shy and hangs out under the Categories menu a lot. Thanks.
(Alexis Smith, Lonesome Traveler, multimedia collage, 1989)
