MARIA CARLO

BRING ME THE HANDS OF JUAN PERRONE

In the wake of the recent discovery of the cardboard cut-out Obama having white hands, I recall one of my very first supermodel interactions. It was at the beginning of that turbulent decade- the Funkies. I was working for PAPER MAGAZINE as their religion editor. And one day, while in the office, above Blimpies on Spring and Broadway, I spied a rather fetching young woman, typing away on her IBM Selectric. PAPER always had pretty young girls coming and going, interns and such. So I wasn't that surprised. "Nice new intern." I commented to Charles in Charge McC. "She's a fucking supermodel." he said, in distain of my ignorance. "That's Veronica Webb." I had no idea who Veronica Webb was, but I made it my mission to write my column with a view of her desk from then on.
Turned out she was smart, and cool and basically just another one of the oddball columnists. So happened she was incredibly beautiful, and had a high paying job to boot. I had recently written a piece on "FASHION", so I felt qualified to chat her up. I knew who the players were- Isabel and Rueben Toledo, Izac Mizrahi, Todd Oldham, (household names now, but then just PAPER darlings). It wasn't my scene, but that came with the territory, writing on religion for a scenester mag like PAPER. When I started concentrating on the hunting in my columns, we parted company. But back to Veronica.
How ever long she wrote for PAPER, it was during this period that she blew up big in the modeling world. She was in PAGE SIX and then she got a Revlon contract and if I'm not mistaken, she was the first Black girl to do this. Of course PAPER had to have a big party to celebrate this historic event. So Charles in Charge McC and I go to this party to congratulate Veronica on this supermodeling coup. On the way to the party I pick up a NY POST in the back seat of the cab we're riding in. And on PAGE SIX is the news, complete with photo. VERONICA WEBB SCORES REVLON CONTRACT! The only problem was they had printed a shot of some white model. Charles looked at it and assured me it was Veronica. "They make 'em up. You can't tell who they are, let alone Black or White."
When we got to the party the first thing out of Chuck's mouth was " Wow! Congratulations. etc. etc., ect, .....oh was that you in the POST?" I thought the girl would shit. And in lieu of the situation, she was gracious of the POST'S utter fuck up. "Yeah, they put a White girl in there. Nice." was all she said. And now Obama's hands are white. Dangling from all those life size cut-outs, people are having their pictures taken along side, could be the hands of Juan Perrone. Or even George Bush. When will it ever end?

MARIE CLAIRE

FUTURE WOMAN

mODEL:mARIANNA rOTHEN

'BAMA BUCKS

The morning news informed us that political prisoner Leonard Peltier was beaten severely in his new digs in a Penn. prison. So much for the Red man getting ahead- man. 33 years of confinement and 33 years of declaring his innocence in the killing of 2 FBI agents has gotten him to this point in his history. The day we inaugurate an African American President he's beaten within an inch of his life by fellow prisoners. Hope and change does not trickle down so easily to the US prison system. Please, Mr. President, pardon this man before it's too late.

Now for my solution to the economic crisis. Yesterday the Dow dropped 4%- THE WORSE DAY ON WALL STREET FOR AN INAUGURATION! As the country celebrated, brokers dumped paper. This was an obvious no confidence vote on the street towards the new administration. So, instead of printing more of the same, let's put George W. (Washington-that is) up on the shelf and start fresh. We have made history. We have put a Black family in the White House. What better way to commemorate this than to put Obama on a bill? My proposal would be to take one of Shepard Ferry's fly images of Barack and create a new currency for a new day. And give this 'Bama buck a new value. $2 never worked. $3 has a bad connotation. But how about $1.50? A buck fitty has a nice ring to it.
This infusion of cash into the global economy could be just what the doctor ordered. Make this legal tender world wide. Hell, if the European Union can do it, why can't we? Pull out those Obama "Change" purses and stuff them with folding money. In the words of the great poet John Lennon- "Imagine".

MOTHER OF INVENTION

As the sun peeks over the horizon in the east, I toss another log on the fire, light the pilot light on my ancient PC and in patriotic fashion, I sit down to write my blog. It's zero in the Catskills and maybe 30 degrees warmer in DC. NPR is positively giddy, gushing over the swearing in of the 44th President. If I hear one more commentator ask another Black person "Did you think you'd ever see this in your lifetime?" I'm gonna puke. I thought we'd be flying around Future Town in our personal jetpacks by now. I figured time travel and orgasmatrons would be common place and they would have perfected the candy cane tree, gay bomb (it makes you gay with one wiff) and whiskey spring by now. Did I think an Afro-American would be president? Sure, why not? Christ, wasn't Kennedy Irish? My only surprise was it took so long.
Instead of gathering on the mall, I've decided to do my bit by going to work, after I stoke the woodstove, warm up my '86 Ford pick up and wrap my feet in plastic bags to keep from freezing. So much for Future Town. And all the time I'm thinking. I'm thinking about how to make this country a better place...and make a buck in the process. Just like my brother in law Sojka, I have a knack for coming up with things that beg for an infomercial. The micro-wave water heater, the Vac-Sac and the cell phone toilet are a few of my favorites. Because of today's impending disaster concerning cell signals and port-a-johns on the mall, let's concentrate on the later item.
What do people HAVE to do every day? They have to vacate their systems and keep in touch with everyone they know by cell phone. Why not combine the two? With a few minor adjustments, some super-sizing and the addition of my soon to be patented green chemical/electro-micobe system any cell phone can become a crapper. Flip. Then flip again. Stretch. Press #2. Squat and let 'er rip. I have three old cell phones that I've combined as a prototype. There's still a few bugs to be ironed out, but I'm confident. Sometimes I take a picture instead of flushing. Sorry if I've accidently speed dialed any of you during my test runs. Today is a day which will go down in history. In Obama's honor lets all try to come up with something that will make our live's better. That's the spirit of America. SHAM-WOW, BABY!

COURTESY MARIANNA LOUISE

TRISTAN

HOW TO BE AN ARTIST 101

First let me say that this has been the subject of rather long, diffuse, alcohol fueled conversations with my buddy Slick. He feels that, not only art, but being an artist can be taught. I disagree. I feel that being artist is somewhere between a calling and a curse. It's like having an extraneous nipple. It does you absolutely no good, but you either have one or don't. Nonetheless, for the sake of argument (and it being 5 below zero and way too cold to do paid work) I'll take on the premise that one can teach another how to be an artist. Here goes.
First, put away any notion that the ability to draw is somehow connected to art and your "art career". Even though every art school- k-phD still looks at drawing as an indicator of your "talent", it's completely wrong headed. I can draw a little, but I know plenty of very good artists that can't draw a lick. Because artists are so difficult to spot, institutions rely upon this simplistic, antiquated barometer. Who knows how many real artists are dissuaded and rejected every year because of a weak showing with the #2 pencil. Conversely many people who have a knack rendering that apple, but are void of what it takes in the long run to be an artist, get in Yale and are now selling carpet in their father's store.
Still want to be an artist? OK. Get a job. I suggest a really shitty job involving manual labor or as a Walmart greeter during the holidays. If you enjoy your job you must quit and find another one. Got alot of money and don't have to work? No matter. You still must get a job. I had some of my best ideas when I was around 25 years old, making pizzas for a 16 year old (son of the owner) boss. My mind was working faster than you could say "large pie, extra cheese, hold the anchovies." I hated that job and my kiddie boss so much, the only way I could deal was to lose myself in various art schemes that involved murder and sausage making. When you can't stand it any longer, quit your job. This is crucial in the artist making process. See how good you feel? Stock up on tuna and top raumen and note where all the pawn shops and blood banks are. You'll need these later.
Traditional art education is way over rated but not without value. If you already are starting to think of yourself as an artist and can come up with a way to pay for it, art schools can be a useful place to make connects and bide your time, avoiding the real world. In the process you may even make some art. But lets not get ahead of ourselves. I can see you are lacking in confidence. How do you know that what you are doing is art? You don't. Doubt is good. In fact if your peers tell you that you are not a very good artist and never will be, be assured you are on the right path. Do more of it. If, on the other hand, you are embraced by the community, sell your work, get shows and reviews early on in the process....WATCH OUT! This is the worse possible thing that can happen. Pick up a 20 year old ARTFORUM and see if you recognise 99% of the hot artists of the time. Failure and self-doubt are crucial components to this quest. Toughen up that ego.
Lets review. You've worked. You've quit. You've made art and nobody responds positively. You have been rejected, discouraged, ridiculed. You can't go back to school and that pizza job is now not looking so bad. You feel like a complete failure. This is the most crucial time in the artist making process. An artist will redefine failure. You aren't failing. Quite the contrary. You are succeeding through obstinance and perseverance. Notice I have not mentioned talent. You do not need any talent to be an artist. That's one of the best things about it. But....and this is a big but...you DO need talent to work. You must find a job that you can do to a degree throughout your life and not kill yourself. This will sustain you financially when none of your art sells. I chose carpentry, but it could be anything. Bukowski worked for the post office.
Obviously, I have a rather old school, romantic view of what an artist is. An artist, to me, continues against all odds. He (or she) is a bur under the saddle of conformity, constantly irritating societie's ass. And in the end only faith in art will save the individual. Every day an artist faces the beast with it's rancid breath, whispering "Give it up. You're getting nowhere." No one is saying do some more work, yet the work gets done. Once in a while someone will look at the work and approve or disapprove. It really doesn't matter. Rewards? Sure you get the self satisfaction of completion. But simultaneously you realize nothing is ever complete. In fact, that's another good thing about this "career". You never have to retire. Want to be a successful artist, traveling the world and making the big bucks? I can't help you there. But let me know when someone teaches that course. I'll be the first to sign up.

"GET ME A SAW."

Having a blog about hunting and supermodels can sometimes be a difficult thing to keep current. For one thing my interaction with supermodels has dwindled to the degree that I may have to change the title to NOHUNTINGWITHSUPERMODELS. Add to that the fact that the only animal in season is the coyote, and I'm just not up to it anymore. It's too cold and they're way too wiley. So what does that leave? Work, art, beer, pot and TV. Shewho's off to Spain. Did I mention it's cold? So work is cold. WSSP is not yet insulated or heated. Still, every day I get up and go out there, wrap my belly with barbed wire, sprinkle gravel in my boots, put on the carhart hair shirt, turn on the radio, insulate and frame. Art? My songs are boring, as is the new collage. Just a bad spot before I change into something else. Beer? That's going well. Harps is my favorite. I have a good pot connection. And no, I won't give it to you. TV? Now, that I can talk about.
Last year, when I was geting my neck worked on I got into a 2pm routine. After going to the Dr. in the morning, I would chill in the afternoon and watch old episodes of 24. I saw the whole show. I was hooked. Every afternoon I was a little further into Jack's twisted day. Jack is basically our last line of defense. And, as of Sunday night, Jack is back.
I know the real government spooks watch the show, and I think that's a bad thing. These guys take it seriously and look at Jack as Hollywood's green light for torture. I do not approve. I can see these guys sitting around a laptop in Islamabad, watching 24 and then going out and getting some. I pity the poor cadriver on those nights. These guys have no sense of satire. On the other hand, I watch 24 with a big dose of irony and I'm no threat to the Moslem world. To me it's right up there with the first season of THE SIMPLE LIFE - purely of it's time.
In this new season, Jack's gone off the grid. Bill and Chloe have a new pad with a fireplace, cool lighting and Old Navy turtlenecks. They are running the show with Tony being deep undercover. These post-modern puppet masters are now the only ones we can trust. Tony's beat up, mean and sexy as hell. The government is compromised and corrupt (surprise). Only the hipster agents know to what degree. Jack, is of course drawn in. Couldn't keep him away from this scene. And there's a new babe. You could literally see all the actors look sympathically at Jack's new budding love interest.(Don't worry she'll get hotter). They all know she'll be killed. All Jack's women are killed. That actress shouldn't take out a big mortgage.
My favorite 24 scene in the entire show is the time Jack had to get back undercover with a bunch badasses. He needed the cooperation of a scumbag/pedophile. When the guy was not forthcoming, Jack pulled out his gun and killed him. As the other agents gasped in horror, Jack calm knelt and grabbed the guy's hair. Holding up the dead sumbag/pedophile's lifeless head, he whispered to the camera, between clenched teeth. "Get me a saw." Now that's a man I can trust.

5YRAASI

pHOTO:dAVID bELLEMERE

WILL HISTORY ABSOLVE US?

Years ago, a young, unsuccessful artist sat in a German prison cell penning his autobiography. Things had not gone well for him. In his youth he wanted nothing more than to be admitted to the Kunst Academie in Vienna for painting. But his drawings were stilted and lacking in inspiration. The professors thought he would be much better suited for the School of Architecture. But he would have none of that. He grew bitter and fell in with the wrong crowd. In 1918 he decided that he would show them all. Maybe he didn't have the talent to be a painter, but he would never stop thinking of himself as an artist. In MEIN KAMPF he writes, "My fate became known to me. I decided to go into politics." and later in the book- "History will absolve me." We all know how that worked out.

Another politician who used that phrase in a very long and eloquent statement as he stood before his accusors in a pre-revolutionary Cuban court room was the young lawyer Fidel Castro. Who knows whether he lifted it from MEIN KAMPF. The judges were not impressed. Off to prison went Fidel. But he did not stay there long. Once out he traveled to Mexico, where along with Che, brother Raul and Camillo Cienfuegos, they plotted and carried out the 1959 New Year's Eve overthrow of the Batista government. For the past 50 years "El Comandante" and his brother have brought the revolution into the 21st century. Has history absolved them? The jury's still out.
In 2002 and again in 2003 I visited Cuba. On my first visit I lectured at ISA (the country club where Che and Fidel played golf and vowed to establish a world class art school). They did. And on my second visit I had my world product launch of Holy LGM water, cigars and honey under the big top on the outskirts of Havana. A burly, plain clothes Cuban security officer was so appalled that a capitalista gringo would attempt to sell products in Cuba he was speechless. After pleading ignorance of the Socialista system and handing him a box of fresh Cohiba cigars, with my Holy lgm band, he agreed to let me pass out all the swag for free. The circus could proceed. I was a hero to the kids sucking down the bottled honey and cocking their new baseball caps.
I love Cuba and all it's contradictions. One night I sat in the back seat of a 1959 Chevy that had had it's aging motor replaced with a Russian tractor engine. The cabby was proud of the rumbling beast. It was geared so low it barely went faster than 20 mph. We stopped at an intersection and a cop waved us over. I asked the cabby what was going on? He just pointed as a long line of Mercedes limos (all with their lights out) passed in front of us. "Fidel." he grumbled. Then he went on to tell me how he was arrested in the early 90's for having US dollars. At the time it was illegal for Cubans to have US money in their posession. He spent 5 years in prison. When they changed the law he was released. "Who will give me back those 5 years?" he asked. I gave him a $10 tip for a $5 ride. He cursed Fidel and thanked me for the generous tip. So much for the revolution in his eyes.
In less than a month the 44th president of the United States will be sworn into office. He inherits such a shit storm from his predecessors it's had to know where to begin to shovel it out. He better make a revolution or we're all doomed. Last night my Cuban friends lit cigars, ate grapes and tossed buckets of water out their doors. It's a new beginning. Shewho and I went to Slick's to party in the new year. Our lives are good. But at what price to the rest of the world? In the words of Homer Simpson "I resolve to be more fun." That can't hurt. HAPPY NEW YEAR!