One of my recent dribbles, this one had me rolling on the floor:
The Cold Light of Dawn
My art is not “cutting-edge” or avant-garde; it does not push the limits of what is acceptable. My subject matter is neither exciting, nor to most people particularly interesting, except perhaps as a passing fancy. Inasmuch as I am self-taught, my work is not technically dazzling or in any way groundbreaking. I strive to make my art the best I possibly can, but that is merely part and parcel of being an artist; it goes with the territory.
I create because I must, inspired not by a muse,* but driven by a demon; a demon that softly encourages me to follow my heart and, with malevolent logic cloaked in sweet-sounding words, so easily instills in me feelings of hope—hope that my work will have value, hope that my work will sustain me, hope that my work will live on when I die, hope that my work will touch others, hope that for once I’m not running headlong into a brick wall. A malignant Orpheus, the demon plays me like a lyre.
As the years pass by, my hopes and dreams withal unrealized, I become discouraged and grow tired of striving, but sometimes Fate will then conspire to toss me a bone—an exhibit here, an article there—just enough to raise my flagging spirits for a time. After awhile, when at last I realize that I’ve once again allowed myself to be duped (or duped myself—it’s all the same), all I hear is the sound of my own voice, reminding me of what I’ve known for a long, long time: I must be the stupidest asshole ever born.
*I once had a muse, but that was many years ago, in a different lifetime.
Ukrainian artist Kseniya Simonova tells the story of the German invasion of the Ukraine by drawing pictures in sand on a light table. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Prepare to be amazed. This young woman possesses a rare talent that will take your breath away.
. . . that is, if anything on Fox can be called “news.” In a piece headlined Perverts Put Out, Fox talking heads get their panties in a twist over San Francisco Frameline’s screening of a thirty-five-year-old film. It’s priceless. I would like to personally thank Rupert Murdoch and his minions for giving national publicity to Thundercrack! I know that George (Kuchar) also thanks you, as would Curt (McDowell) if he were still with us.
Disclaimer: I developed the original story concept for Thundercrack! with friend and director Curt McDowell and also wrote and performed the film’s score.
Brad Templeton, board chair of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, created the following parody, which perfectly and hilariously delineates the corporate greed that is responsible for DRM, DMCAs, and punitive, financially devastating lawsuits against ordinary citizens for “copyright infringement.”
One of the best things about the building in which I live is an accessible rooftop, where I have a fairly unobstructed view of the sky. Last night, I was fortunate to see a spectacular sunset made even more luscious by the appearance of lenticular clouds in the northeastern sky. Altocumulus lenticularis are stationary lens-shaped clouds that form at high altitudes over mountainous regions, normally aligned perpendicular to the wind direction. When stable moist air flows over mountains, enormous standing waves sometimes form in the mountains’ lee. If the temperature at the crest of a wave is at or below the dew point, moisture in the air can condense to form a lenticular cloud. When multiple lenticular clouds are generated by the crests of successive waves, the resulting formation is known as a wave cloud.
When I first saw one of Count Arthur Strong’s videos a few months ago, I couldn’t stop laughing. Searching for more, I found his channel on YouTube, where there are several video clips, as well as a couple of excerpts from his show on BBC Radio 4.
Count Arthur Strong is a blundering and delusional show business nobody, an aging thespian out of Doncaster who gives lecture tours on ancient Egypt and the Bible in the British Museum of Natural History (Doncaster branch), and on the radio reads excerpts from his daft and prosy memoirs. Desiring recognition as “a doyenne of light entertainment,” he strives to present himself as a cultured and worldly raconteur, but his Doncaster roots, advancing senility, and a predilection to tipple entirely undermine his efforts. The harder he tries to be witty and urbane, the more he mangles his discourse with malapropisms, harebrained syntax, and Tourettes-like outbursts of peevishness.
Portrayed with extraordinary physical and verbal adroitness, Count Arthur Strong is the brilliant comedy creation of British character actor Steve Delaney. His performances are an amazing synthesis of the agonizing, the bizarre, and the hilarious; plus, he never, ever breaks character, making Count Arthur Strong very much a real person, as well as a work of genius. I hope you find him as funny as I do.
Consider this a side note if you will, but I can’t help bragging a little. The Tenderloin (now officially the Uptown Tenderloin Historic District) has been listed in the National Register of Historic Places! Bounce over to the latest post on my other blog to learn more.
Mark, Speaking for Heritage, we are delighted with this anticipated news.
We very much look forward to working with stakeholders in the Tenderloin to advocate and educate on preservation of our city’s great architectural and cultural identity, and how, with good planning and neighborhood participation, we can improve the quality of life in this great neighborhood.
Congrats to you for your keen eye and careful documentation, Randy Shaw for his vision and leadership, to the superb architectural historian and author, Michael Corbett, who continues to document and write on places important to all San Franciscans, and to the many other important people who made this happen.
Jack A. Gold
Executive Director
San Francisco Architectural Heritage www.sfheritage.org
A couple of years ago, I stumbled onto a place to which I sometimes return for an infusion of mirth and wonderment. Behold! monsters drawn by children, then redrawn by talented and sympathetic adults on the Kid Creatures page at the delightful DrawerGeeks.com.
by Mark Behm and Chase
by ? and Deanna Molinaro (for nursemyra –tobymarx)
The rain and pain continue unabated,* so all I’m doing today is putting up a previously unpublished photograph of some of my favorite San Francisco architecture, taken just before a downpour.
*I’m not in Spain; and here, there are no plains (if you don’t get it, by George, try Googling “songs by Lerner and Loewe”).
I am fairly adamant about keeping certain aspects of my life out of my blogs (references to my past heroin addiction notwithstanding), but must now confess that I’ve had degenerative disc disease for nine or ten years. There are days when the pain is bad enough that I’m unable to do much of anything; when sitting at my computer for any length of time, much less thinking clearly, is completely impossible. Yesterday was one of those days. Today is better, but I’m only making this brief post; tomorrow, who knows?
Ironically, a major factor is the weather; the rainy weather and stormy skies that I dearly love are now also harbingers of intense physical pain. Ah, well . . . what would life be without turbulence, atmospheric or otherwise?
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!
I doubt that the writer had in mind anything other than the fictional crime fighter when he penned those now-famous words, but around the time radio listeners began to hear them, Carl Jung wrote
Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is.¹
This shadow, or shadow self, is part of the unconscious mind comprised of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings, instincts; everything that is undeveloped and denied. One of the psychological mechanisms of the unconscious is projection: whatever we disown or deny is projected onto other people; whatever we feel is too negative to express—anything that runs counter to our highest ideals—is projected onto the outside world. Jung also wrote that if we don’t recognize and take ownership of these projections,
The projection-making factor (the Shadow archetype) then has a free hand and can realize its object—if it has one—or bring about some other situation characteristic of its power.²
In other words, consciously or unconsciously, we create our own realities.
In the introduction to Up from the Deep, I list the events that completely and forever changed my life: the losses and betrayals that led to six years of homelessness and heroin addiction that almost killed me, resulting in a lengthy hospitalization and my recovery in a Sixth Street hotel. The title Up from the Deep refers to the deep psychological transformation that was catalyzed by these experiences. The breakthrough that changed everything came with the stark realization that I, and I alone, had always been the architect of my life.
1. Jung, C.G. (1938), Psychology and Religion
2. Jung, C.G. (1951), Phenomenology of the Self
My inner life, fueled by my imagination, is so real and engaging that were it not for my fascination with the world around me, I could easily live out my life as a hermit, immersed in the pages of old books and manuscripts. Sketches of Japanese Manners and Customs is one such book. Written by J.M.W. Silver, Lieutenant Royal Marines, Light Infantry, and published in 1867 by Day and Son, Limited, Lithographers and Publishers, London, Sketches is a finely written first-hand account of Japan in the days of the Mikado as seen through the eyes of an English officer; a skilled observer whose military objectivity was tempered by his obvious fascination with what he saw. The book is filled with exquisite chromo-lithographs that are “fac-similes of native drawings” reminiscent of the wood-block prints of Hiroshige. It is, for me, mental aphrodisia.
Below are a few of the plates, along with excerpts from the text to explain them.
(CLICK TO ENLARGE)
Some of the tea houses in the vicinity of large towns are much frequented in the spring-time by large parties, on account of the beauty of their gardens. The chromo-lithograph opposite represents one of these parties, some of whom appear to have been indulging too freely in saki.* The fellow dancing and waving a fan about is apparently addressing a love-song to the lady opposite, whose husband is evidently desirous of putting a stop to the flirtation.
*sic
The baker’s shop opposite affords a good specimen of the wayside scenes, and conveys a fair idea of an ordinary Japanese house. It will be noticed that the puppies in the foreground, as well as the cat in the girl’s arms, are very differently delineated; but such animals are the especial stumbling-blocks of the native artists, although they faithfully represent birds, fishes, and reptiles.
Some bath-houses have the women’s lavatory separate; and one of these is the subject of the illustration. This arrangement, however, is more for convenience than in compliance with the demands of modesty as is evidenced by the fact that a male attendant is supplying water; and that his presence is plainly a matter of perfect indifference to the women bathing, with their children, in his immediate vicinity.
A high resolution scan of the entire book is available for download here.
This blog will be about whatever I feel like posting at any given time. Although it will undoubtedly include some of my own writing and photography, it will also be a platform for exploring other people’s ideas and creations. Nearly everything interests me; my penchants are expansive, and I haven’t yet placed any limits on possible subject matter. Not knowing where this will lead is half the fun of doing it.
For the past couple of months, I’ve been keeping tabs on a very talented young man from Berlin. If you’re not already familiar with the work of Peter Fox, allow me to introduce you via two of the most visually and sonically compelling music videos I’ve ever come across. (More videos can be found here.)
I burn my studio, snort the ashes like coke
I beat my goldfish, bury him in the yard
I burn my digs, everything I have I let go
My old life, tastes like weak toast.
Roast me a steak of glory, now Peter cooks the finest meat.
I am the update, Peter Fox 1.1.
I want to turn away, celebrate, but my lake is too small.
I grow new rows of teeth like the great white shark.
Waxed, doped, polished, brand new teeth.
I am euphorized, and have expensive plans.
I buy construction equipment, excavators and rollers and cranes.
I fall upon Berlin, hit the sirens.
I build beautiful speaker towers, bass guitars massage your souls.
I’m the wrecking ball for the G-g-g-german scene.
Hey, it all shines, so wonderfully new.
Hey, if you don’t like it, remake it.
The world bedecked in dust, but I want to see where it’s going.
Climb up the mountain of filth while fresh wind blows above.
Hey, it all shines, so wonderfully new.
I’m sick of my old things, and let them rot in a sack
Mothball my clothes and then I’ll go shopping naked
I am completely renovated, brides have something to eye
In perfect condition, world champion of chess and shadowboxing.
Just speak directly now, give me a yes or no.
Enough with nonsense, I’ll leave all the old grimaces.
If I ever smoke [pot] again, I’ll slam an axe into my leg.
I never want to lie again, I want to mean every sentence.
My head is exploding, I must change everything.
I look for the button, meet the powerful men.
Force the country into happiness, buy banks and broadcasters.
Everything is running riot, quaking sheep and lambs.
I’m better looking than Bono, and I’m a man of the people.
Ready to save the world, even if maybe people want that too much.
Hey, it all shines, so wonderfully new.
Hey, if you don’t like it, remake it.
The air here is used up, it’s getting hard to breathe.
Bye bye, I’ve gotta get out of here, the walls are getting closer.
The world bedecked in dust, but I want to see where it’s going.
Climb up the mountain of filth while fresh wind blows above.
Hey, it all shines, so wonderfully new.
I come out of the club, it was great in there
Reek of drink, blasted, it’s a beautiful life
Step over booze-corpses rotting in my path
I see the rats stuffing themselves full in the shadow of the Döner shops
Trudge through the puke at the Kotti*, the junkies are fogged
Homies drooling around, misbehaving
Scene brats searching desperately for the scene
Pierced girls who want me to read the Straßenfeger**
Half o’ six, my eyes are burnin’
Step on a dude kipped out among dead pigeons
Hysteric chicks flippin’ out in a panic, ’cause on the corner there’s stress between Tarek and Sam
Tarek says “Shut it, or you’ll get it in the face.”
Sam shitless, but can’t just stay quiet
The red soup drips to the asphalt
I feel sick, I zip up my jacket because it’s cold.
Chorus:
Good morning, Berlin
You can be so ugly, so filthy and gray
You can be so wonderfully horrible
Your nights consume me
Yeah, it’s best for me
That I go home to sleep it off
And while I walk through the streets
Black slowly turns to blue
Tired figures in the neon light
with deep wrinkles in their faces
The early shift is silent, each keeps to himself
Frustration builds as the bus doesn’t come…
and everywhere lies shit, you’ve really got to float
Everyone’s got a dog but no one to talk to
I just breath through my mouth, that’s part of my life
I feel unhealthy, need something pure to fight it
I’ve got a hell of a head, I need a juice
I could really use some Bagdads Backwaren***
It’s warm there, there I can lose myself in my dreams
With Fatima, the sweet baker
R ‘n’ B ballads pump from a parked Benz
It’s quitting time for the street gangs
A hooligan lies sobbing in the arms of a woman
Hey, this city just isn’t as tough as you think
Chorus
I am blasted and I rub your dust from my eyes
You aren’t beautiful, and you know it
Your skyline screwed up, you don’t even look good from a distance
But the sun is coming up now
And I know, whether I want to or not
That I need to breathe you
*The Kotti is an area in Berlin.
**The Straßenfeger is a homeless newspaper.
***I think this is a pastry shop.
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