Art Fags

Attention all humans of Planet Earth: this is the official "Art Fag" hairstyle. Please note that it hasn't changed much through the years: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louise_Brooks.

People in genuinely creative industries like mine suffer from all manner of indignities and degradation, not least of which are the groupies and hangers-on that we call "Art Fags". They are: that chick who likes art, dabbled a little bit in oil painting during college, and then went on to the much easier Art History degree to work a vaguely arty job. Or, he's that overly-opinionated gay guy at the cocktail party; you know, the loud drunk one who thinks shopping is design, as he makes his way through his circle of friends, family, acquaintances, and fellow barflies to redecorate rich people apartments all over New York City. 

She's also that rich housewife "decorator" who wrongly assumes that design is searching for "rare" stuff that's sold in catalogs. To justify her time (and billable hours), she spends a lot of time finding old chairs in quaint little towns upstate, which she has reupholstered ridiculously in bright showy patterns, thus making the whole point behind this personality: it's an annoyingly immature "Look at me!" posture towards the world that marks the amateur every single time. Ditto with the "photographer" wife (with the rich husband who buys all of her over-priced camera equipment), who takes inane head-shots for other arty types with dreams of the theater and "trodding the boards" of Broadway, pretentiously wearing a showily bright and a pronouncedly jaunty ascot that may or may not be included in the onstage act. 

Same with the emaciated "Fashionista" who mistakes magazine work and extreme dieting for thousands of hours worth of pinning, sewing, cutting, and fabrication. Instant "art" career? Move to New York City, "pretty" girl! I've seen many an Art Fag go down that way. How do I know? These are all the types I encounter(ed) first-hand out there in the world, where the amateur mixes with the highly-trained professional every day, sometimes even getting away with it, especially if there's Nepotism* involved. How can you speak out against it, when your paycheck dangles in the balance? You can't, which is why the company's owner is such a fucking bitch to you and every other person in the office; she's not talented and she knows it, and it's all your fault because you're in the same room as her twisted ass. 

Luckily for me, the best art and design school on Planet Earth prepares us for mixing it up with the provincial locals by schooling us rigorously in techniques that do not come undone with time, money, or any type of rigged network connections. It just doesn't work that way for a Maestro. We do not come undone under stress or with distractions, nor with any other kinds of abuse that mark the amateurs' envious attempts at sabotage, which must be extremely irritating for all of you who try so hard each and every day to rock my boat.

I saw my very first pair of openly-sported assless chaps (worn by the slightly less leather-clad partner of a young "out" gay couple), at my first (and last) RISD Artist's Ball, so unless you plan on turning your office boardroom into the gayest drag show ever ("No T, no shade!"), with lots of rainbow feathers, weirdo angel wings and garish makeup, set to spinning strobe lights and people with really bad attitudes wearing brilliantly homemade costumes constructed by the fiercest creative minds in the world, drop the fucking act. Now. Because it will never work. It never has, and it never will.  Le Fin.

https://www.tumblr.com/search/risd%20artist%20ball

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nepotism

Reel Life: A Sensei's Vampire Senses

In order to become a master of the arts, one must succumb to it wholly and completely. Where there is great love, there can be no half way. Once an art has chosen you, you must follow where it takes you, dedicated to the end. That's the price of great passion; utter devotion, and the sublimation of the self in search of the attainment of mastery. Many a sensei has often said that "in the pursuit of perfection, we attain excellence", and so it goes for the artist in their search. We hone our senses to their human heights, hoping to achieve greatness, and in doing so, we may attain immortality, or what passes for it in our human world, limited as that is by our perceptions.


 
I submit to you for your perusal two such examples of artistry and devotion in cinema, "Jiro Dreams of Sushi" and "Frostbitten": one, the story of a lifelong chef in his noble quest for mastery with his chosen elements through the Art of Sushi, and the other a perfect show about the joys of a well-done horror movie; there's camp, humor, fun, gore, suspense, and irony. Sometimes, there isn't an obvious harmony between the movies I select, but the cognitive dissonance of what appears to be a random selection, that then stitches itself into a matched set before my very eyes, forming connections by what feels to be of its' own will, but is indeed of my making. Everyday magic is the ability of the best human minds to stretch out to reach the edge of it's vast limits through the daily discipline of practice. In doing so, the master vaults way past the average person in abilities, attaining powers of craft that allude the individual incapable of such acts of constancy.  Look, and see.

Street Games: Whiskey and Sidewalk Chalk

A bottle of Fireball whiskey....

It's amazing the things you find when you're walking around, paying attention to the details. I regularly take street photos, and afterwards, I'm surprised at what at get, because it's usually more beautiful than I think it is, though occasionally it's the reverse. There's only so many sunset photos one can absorb with fresh eyes. I shoot regularly because I'm trained to, so the compositions and the juxtapositions happen automatically for me, but sometimes associations reveal themselves to me much later, after that quick, five-second pic.

...now turn this way!

In that sense, photography hasn't changed for me at all. Part of the excitement was seeing an image slowly ghost itself onto paper, floating in its' chemical bath, and watching that happen, only truly knowing then what you caught previously on film. Technology doesn't replace what I do, it just prevents me from breathing in the sulfur and selenium of the old, traditional, black and white chemical photography process, and for that, I'm grateful.  

What do you see around you today?