Showing posts with label street art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label street art. Show all posts

Friday, December 2, 2011

Wiki-Geeking out: These streets have stories.


I just procured, with a number of friends, a 2nd story apartment on Marcus Garvey Boulevard and Greene Street in Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York. I'm currently undereducated about the history of the neighborhood, but the street names stood out to me. As the child of a nameless grid, walking down streets descended from specific characters or sites in our national history is a pleasant change of pace. Greene is a bit of an incidental, named I believe after Nathanael Greene, a boringly noteworthy Revolutionary war General who probably partied hard but whose exploits have been dulled by the heavy hand of history.

Next up is Marcus Garvey, whom I'm also woefully undereducated about, but who is a total badass. Not only was Garvey from Jamaica, the coolest of islands to originate from, but by the time he was my age he was editing two newspapers. Not to be content with island living, he hoofed it to New York, and got a job as a lowly printer, earning his public speaking chops by lecturing anyone who would stop and listen on street corners. Oh but can I ever relate! That didn't last long, because Garvey was a hustler, he soon was representing and running black community and political interest groups and touring the US as a speaker, garnering support and striking fear into the hearts of white folk everywhere. He struck so much fear into the status quo that the assistant DA, Edward Kilroe, investigated Garvey's group for terroristic activities. When that resulted in an editorial harranguing by Garvey, Kilroe sued for libel, and then some assassin dude showed up and shot at Garvey 4 times, failing to kill him. The assassin killed him self a bit later, and Garvey kept on trucking. Garvey is known for being the father of Black Nationalism and Zionism, seeking a homeland for African Americans. He also ruffled the feathers of W.E.B. Debois and pretty much everybody by consorting with the KKK, with the attitude that, while they were hateful racists, at least they were honest about it.

Our final candiate for wiki-study is Charles Sumner. Marcus Garvey Blvd has an identity crisis: Though it runs through Bed-Stuy and only through Bed-Stuy, it pretends to have another name, like it's the continuation of some other street. Maybe it was renamed, recently, maybe the street just enjoys being deceptive. Whatever the case, Sumner is an appropriate predecessor to Garvey, as an abolitionist and as the receptor of angry anti-black violence. Sumner was a Congressman preceding the Civil War, but a rad one, lyrical and idealistic, his writing style both fluid and biblical. It comes as no surprise, then, when arguing against the Southern opposition to slave freedom he exercised a little literary licence, likening his opponents to Pimps and Lechers, he derided them for supporting an immoral practice, orating: "Of course he has chosen a mistress to whom he has made his vows, and who, though ugly to others, is always lovely to him; though polluted in the sight of the world, is chaste in his sight. I mean the harlot Slavery."


This sat none too well with southern Congressman Preston Brooks, who decided to take matters into his own hands and beat Sumner within an inch of death with his cane. On the Senate Floor. In front of dozens of clerks and witnesses. That didn't do a lot for the reputation of southern intellectual prowess. So Sumner got whacked, Garvey got shot, and both had streets named after them. History wasn't as kind to Kilroe and Brooks, though I hear Preston and his brother Elisha did rather well with a line of mens suits...(n't).

Which brings me back to Bed-Stuy. Bed-Stuy, the place of legend. Bed-Stuy, the gap in the subway maps. The vanguard of gentrification (oh, hey folks, sorry about that...). The place, according to rap songs, where people get beat up and shot. How fitting, then, that ol' Garvey and Sumner hang out around here.
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Monday, May 30, 2011

Break for nostalgias


Life is good. Beautiful yellow light this morning. Dreaming of homecoming, but so happy here. More soon. Read More......

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Peaceful Uprising and performance that matters

I haven't been that into art of late. I've spent a lot of time being underwhelmed, not feeling that lifting feeling of inspiration that got me into this world of expression in the first place. When I think of communicating the importance of expression I get disdainful, failing to see how expression for expression's sake can do anything more than provide a consumptive market with MORE. NEW. STUFF.

This perspective forgets, of course, the huge power that comes with expression. The power to awaken people, to make things clear, to teach and spread truths in the hope of a better world.

And what a better way than to be reminded of that by Peaceful Uprising.

If you aren't familiar, Peaceful Uprising is a group "committed to defending a livable future through empowering nonviolent action." They're Utah based, and (quite effectively) sprang up around the case of Tim DeChristopher, who used direct action as an attempt to block illegal land auctions in southern Utah, an action which in part led to the government realizing its mistake and dissolving the agreements Tim was disputing. Tim is still being held on federal trial, however.

The trial has been posponed multiple times, it becomes clearer and clearer that the prosecution is unwilling to allow Tim to make a case for himself while he holds a media spotlight. So he and Peaceful Uprising decided to hold the trial themselves. In public. With puppets. And excellent, directly political dialoge that provides specific ideas and actions to take in its commentary.

I went to the Exchange Place Plaza last Friday to film the performance. Here're some highlights:


You can see the entire half-hour long performance here. I'd suggest checking it out, there's a ton of informative stuff about how we got into the current state of affairs. The performance outlines how corporate power came to weigh so heavily in the civic domain, and what we can do about it.

So what we have here is art. Street theater. It may not be as polished and perfected as the majority of gallery shows out there right now, but it has something most of them do not: Direct, actionable content. I'm sick of vague dithering, and very happy this group is working hard to awaken people to their options in the face of vast environmental injustice. Read More......

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Trespass


Yoinked from the soon-released Trespass: A History of Uncommissioned Street Art. I'm very excited about this. It looks like an excellently curated compendium of permissionless work with some very good text too. I'll be getting it post-haste as it book-ends with my current writing project quite nicely. Read More......

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Goin' to Oakland

An' This is What I'll See...:


I could make dance movies like that for forever. Read More......

Friday, June 18, 2010

Art this weekend an' beyond!

I got a chance to check out the 337 Project's Mini-Golf Course at the Art Center last night, everyone has to give it a play, some really impressive stuff! I wrote a little preview of things to come this weekend over on the 337 Project Blog, including the arrival of Banksy's film at the Broadway. Sweet! Read More......

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Banksy Exits the Scene, Groucho Marx Caught Red-Handed: Exit Through the Gift Shop's review



I hate art, the art world, and everything that comes of it.

Wait, no. I love it. I couldn't live without it. Images, and their subsequent appreciation, are what give my life color.

This is going to be rough.

Knee-deep in the final throes of my own film project, I decided I should go to one Sundance film. The Festival Spotlight Surprise. Banksy's "Exit Through the Gift Shop" is an incredibly relevant, coherent epilogue to the recent street-art explosion. it is inspiring and cringe-worthy in all the right places.

The story's about Banksy, really it is. He pops in at the beginning, and while disguised his mannerisms and modes of speech are spot-on with the images he's become so famous for. I began to think how nice it'd be to have Banksy narrate any documentary, wry and subversive and witty the whole time. But the bulk of the film hinges around and introduces the life-story of an insane man, Thierry Guetta. Somehow, in a boggling implausibility, this goofy Frenchman transplanted to LA falls squarely in the center of the birth of street art as we know it. Even more implausibly, he is allowed to film, ad-nausem and with no real focus or direction, the lives of the artists. People who have operated anonymously under fear of self-destruction for years. Luckily for everyone involved, Thierry films compulsively, like an addict, and never touches his tapes. By and large, before this film, they never saw the light of day.

What unfolds is a beautiful, playful origin story. The biggest names of a movement that inspired me and everyone else are shown young and in action, simply mobbing the streets with their art before anyone cared about it. A short list of the top billers includes Space Invader, Shepard Fairey, Buffmonster, and Neckface. Everyone, even Banksy, show their roots in nonchalant brazen tactics that awe and inspire. Footage from Banky's incredible feats on the Israeli-Palestine Wall and in the Tate gallery are preceded by lucky/adventuresome clips of Space Invader's first trip to LA. The art and the actions people took to create it are fresh, and you're boggled by the quantity and caliber of the artists recorded. Guetta as a filmmaker, however, is astonishingly silly, essentially an insane tourist/dad/inspector clueseau amalgamation who would never be suspected as the holder of vaults of uncensored graff images. He just.... Keeps. Rolling. Endless pans, snap zooms, wandering focuses, it's total home movie stuff, but the subject happens to be the holiest of holies for anyone who grew up stenciling, wheat pasting, and crouching down to look at whimsical images in the street. By being unprofessional and more than a little crazy, Guetta was there for it all.

What Banksy undertook to make it happen is possibly the most ambitious logging and capturing process of all time. He selected the best from a lifetime of footage, crates upon crates, ROOMS of DV tapes, and edited them into a killer story. I loved the gaudy, reverential unfolding of Banksy as a mystery creature, the film's narrator and music trumping him up, the rarest form of celebrity. In an early climatic scene, Guetta finally gets to film Banksy at work, and if you care about this stuff it actually was astonishing. Banksy preparing to go out bombing in LA has the feel of a sacred rite, seeing the cut negatives of his all-too-iconic images early on is... remarkable.

As Banksy's fame peaks and works begin to sell for staggering figures the story shifts to focus entirely on Guetta, who becomes the doomed mascot of the commercial takeover of street art. It starts simply: Guetta, who is crazy, takes a stab at editing his mountains of footage, at Banksy's behest. The resulting film (if Exit Through the Gift Shop's portrayal of it is to be believed) is not unlike a Nine Inch Nails music video: flashy, adrenaline-filled, and incoherently unwatchable. Banksy watches this movie, and does what most of my friends do when they see something I've made. They take a deep breath, say "It's... Good," and suggest I take a vacation. Banksy takes over the footage, and suggests Guetta tries doing some art.

Herein, story goes incredibly sour. Guetta, like any poor creative soul, has confidence in his ideas and strives to put out some art. But unlike most any other artist, he doesn't give it *any* forethought. He just does it. At around the time that Fairey and Banksy are international art superstars, Guetta gets together some talented people and starts churning out the most derivative, predictable mishmash of images pop-art and graphic art could ever produce.

And don't get me wrong here, I get contemporary art. I understand that most successful artists have people working under them, and I know that most images we see (especially in art that finds its roots in popular culture) are derivative of something. But Guetta's work is worse than that. It's like Warhol, but without any twist. Stuff like this:


Or this:


Or this:

Sensing a trend here?

It's absolute, barefaced, emptiness. It's shameless borrowing. Further, it's made off the backs of people who worked hard at what they do, and the rewards go to the boss. Mr. Brainwash, Guetta's newly minted pseudo-subversive pseudonym, jumps straight into Warhol/Hurst style factory work, employing talented artists and essentially profiting on their work. Not to mention every image he's touched is a copycat, a vapid mockery of the movement that tolerated him. In short, it's the perfect 21st century art world commodity. The beauty of the film is that in the face of this horrible, horrible stuff, the market goes for it. Collectors, gallery-goers, newspapers, everyone raves over the hype Guetta creates, and he cashes out, to the tune of $1 Million, on his first show.

In the wake of it I feel sick. Banksy steps back onto stage, a bit sheepishly, with a "sorry about that," and the film closes. But Banksy couldn't have made a better 'exit.' Right as his fame and value rises to a peak, he shows us what a sham that value system is. If the next big thing after Banksy is a bumbling LA jerk who is rewarded for not paying his dues and making crap, what's the big deal with being a 'big thing?' As Banksy sneaks out a side door, we're left mocking the serious Groucho Marx mask that he leaves in his place: Thierry Guetta, the unfortunate doppelganger to Banksy's success and career as an artist. Ultimately the film serves as Banksy's cautionary tale: Love art, love street art, enjoy it for what it is and be inspired by it. But beware putting extraordinary cultural and monetary value on something that wasn't made to sell. There is an end result to that path, and it's Mr. Brainwash. "They say Art is dead, but here it is!" Says a diva-esque LA girl at Guetta's opening, all facsimile with her base make-up and movie-star glasses. Damn right sweetheart, that's art, right there in front of you. Try to get out before it starts to stink.

Later published by 15 Bytes.
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Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Some arty things on my mind


This is really great. A Banksy popped up in Park City. Clever bugger. Speculation is that one of the suprise Film Festival films will be about him, more over here.



Also locally, definitely check out the show up in the Gittins gallery right now, the art gallery connected to the Art and Art History building up at the U. The exhibit, Invisible Logic, is one of the best student art shows I've seen at the U. It contains the work of 9 students from both the Art and Engineering departments, who collaborated on some really impressive kinetic objects and living art pieces incorporating circuits, drawing robots, lasers, and multimedia of all kinds. Overall the aesthetic and presentation style is very rough and low key, which plays off the technically advanced objects rather well. There is a clever whimsy to the show that I really appreciate.

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Saturday, February 21, 2009

Point, counterpoint, counter-counterpoint: graffiti bureaucracy and graffiti.



Shepard Fairy
was arrested in Boston a week or so back during his largest show to date, which Wooster Collective provided a good account of. This is on top of the copyright kerfuffle his Obama poster has generated, which has provided food for thought.

This latest development is amazing to me. Faced with all the depressing, bureaucratic bullshit that our media/justice apparatus is composed of, what does Fairey do? Keeps right at it, right at the heart.





These billboards were installed around the Boston area. They are an exquisite reminder to me that all that matters is passion, and that you can refute politics with poetics. People will be listening.

This century, by no fault of its own, is gonna try and squash you down in the tension between the enormity of the world and the fragility of its human structures. Keep yo' head up.

via, via, via, photos by Hargo, who took this little jem as well:
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Bye