There Can Be Only One

The recent Bad at Sports podcast mentions the Highlander briefly, which reminded me of my total mini-obsession with the TV show when I was in high school. Every day my brother and I would come home, make a couple of hot dogs and watch the Highlander on USA. We'd get so ANNOYED if this ritual was in any way fucked with: chores, homework, Mom wanting to discuss the day. Mom!

Highlander in mind, the BAS crew has a good discussion of Robert Storr's warpath through Artforum I mentioned a while back. Also, Ivan gives a brief but accurate analysis of why Austin falls short of being a potential national/international arts destination (in reference to a similar BAS discussion about why Chicago is perpetually ignored by the international art scene). One major point he makes, and one I agree with, is that the University of Texas art school is too stodgy. Here's my prescription: less painting, more video, more installation and more cross-disciplinary practice in the undergraduate world. But that's wishful thinking for a University that crushed a Herzog and de Meuron designed Blanton Museum.

In the Spirit of Giving

I don't make paintings with traditional oil paint anymore, but for those of you out there who do (and are using crappy Windsor Newton paint), please do yourself a favor and order from RGH. They're a small company based in Albany, New York and HOT DAMN if they don't make the best oil paint I ever used.

It comes in jars, not tubes and if you order enough they throw in some random color for free. 

(Also, totally not an RGH employee despite the above shill)

LA Sux

I'm traveling right now with my golden girl up and down California. We flew into San Francisco and drove down the 101 to check out Santa Barbara together to see if she will approve of the living conditions. Despite its bouge-tastic-ness, I think we'll survive.

We also checked out LA, where I was blown away by the sheer magnitude of its douchebaggery. For background, I've spent years defending LA to those who haven't lived there (I grew up in Rowland Heights). I've always contended that it's a city whose complexities are often missed in the glare of the Hollywood lights. But in retrospect they totally have a point. I've never seen so many people dressed like assholes, dropping TV and movie credits from their blacked-out Mercedes, all while exuding the overwhelming odor of arrogance. And these people are dictating the direction of American media and culture. It's fucking frightening. Oh, and there's an enormous Scientology compound on Sunset that creeped me out. I had a nightmare my first night in town that I was trapped inside, had to perform rituals naked, and that I could never escape and that that's how Tom Cruise got suckered in too.

I loved Silverlake and Echo Park, though. Super nice people there. Wouldn't mind hiding away in a little modernist bungalow above the reservoir, but fuck Hollywood. For real. San Francisco kicks the shit out of Hollywood. Right in the nutz. Everything said, though I still love LA as a whole because it feels like home in a lot of ways (old roots). Even despite the areas of wretchedness. I love you LA, but I hate your boyfriend. He's a dick.

I saw some art, too. More on that when I can erase the image of Scientologists and over-screenprinted clothing from the back of my retinas.

Thanks to Lacy for putting us up. She's not a douchebag. She's a sweetheart.

Volunteering is cool

...and apparently, not a big draw for the local Houston art community. BBAP was lacking in volunteers for the event. So fellow artists, you owe them, big time.

But I got the chance to make a profound observation: volunteering for this project made me realize what jerks older white professional men are. Rarely (meaning like less than 10% of the demographic mentioned) did they stop to participate, blatantly ignoring me and sometimes using me as an opportunity to impress their colleagues with their wit and proceed to make fun of me, which was always lacking in actual humor. But whatever. Assholes.

Weirdly people also thought we wanted money, which I thought was also a very sad reflection on the Houston population in general. When I would say "Would you like to participate in this public art project for Houston," most people thought we were asking for money. Even when we would say, "All you have to do is blow up a balloon and draw a self portrait!" Still, they thought $.

Anyway, the collection was brutal and you had to suffer a lot of rejection and back handed ridicule, which is always nice. Artists need to be more downtrodden in this community since they get so much respect as is (notice laden sarcasm)!

But go ahead and treat yourself and go downtown and check out the wacky portraits on the balloons. Better hurry though, before they're all shriveled. And, yes, they are supposed to deteriorate, it's part of the art.