INTERIOR

pHOTO:sHEWHO

SPIN

Last night I had dinner with Bird, Ginger and Evits and Anin Snyder. We laughed and looked at pictures of Jay Bird and talked about old times. Ginger made pizza and pies for desert. Then, we got down to the business of the economy. I'm sure almost every dinner party, fancy or hillbilly, gets down to the economy at some point these days. You just can't help yourself. It's as thick as the smoke billowing from a trailer park wood furnace. And in order to get some perspective on the matter we went back to those good old days of the early 70's. Opening day of trout season 1973. Remember? Fucking cold and ice still on the river. Evits and Wally and I went out in the Esophus, half drunk from the night before. The rod eyes iced up. No fish. We were all broke. But goddamned, did we had a good time.
The early 70's is our bench mark for good times and bad economy. Gas lines. Double digit interest rates. But what the hell. We were young, not bad looking and had pick up trucks. In the coming decades we would all make money, go broke, start businesses, get drunk, go sober, have kids (some of us), lose businesses, fall on and off the wagon, and now? Well, now we are all in pretty good shape. Some are retiring (mostly the wives) and the rest are throttling back. Nobody bought the McMansion or invested with Bernie Madoff. Yeah, some (myself included) are a little over extended in real estate, but not to the extent it's gonna gut us. On the whole everyone is in relatively good shape. Like Savage Lynch says- "There's a good buck down at the Rowe farm and one up by you. Times are pretty good." I concur.
So this is the thing. In the midst of two wars and a global financial meltdown, should we be worried? I don't think so. Why? Because we have each other's backs. My neice Katie D. will always remember she had a child in the first two months of the Obama administration. In those horrible times. In that bleak first decade of the 21st Century, after the 9/11 attacks, she started her family. And 30 years from now she'll be sitting at a dinner table with her sister Awesome Aunt Betheroo and some good friends, looking back, and laughing. That will be their benchmark of good AND dire times. It's all about friends and family. Not government. Not bank accounts. Not even jobs and health insurance. I am one lucky man. Recession, depression, war or peace. Good times or bad times. The consistency of friends and family is what makes one's life worth living. How's that for spin?

BED SMOKING IN THE SAND CASTLE

Once in a great while I catch 60 MINUTES on TV. This past Sunday was one such lazy evening, that found me zoning out to the CBS magazine show. It's a step above such drivel as GOOD MORNING AMERICA. Albiet a small step, but at least they don't have fashion tips or how to cook a cake segments. In fact this particular program was historical. The main guest was Fed. chair Berneke. (It is very unusal for a sitting head of the Fed. to do an interview.) Even that donkey dicked egoist Greenspan didn't hit the airwaves until after his term. I was curious what kind of spin Mr. B would put on the global financial meltdown. Tick...tick...tick....
His first inane metaphor was the neighbor smoking in bed. "Well, Steve..." he went on like Mr. Roberts."...if your neighbor smokes in bed, he not only risks his own life and property, but that of the whole neighborhood." Steve nodded, like he got it. I didn't. Then he said "It's like building a sand castle. That castle may be fine if the waves remain small, merely lapping at the shore. But if a big wave hits.... well....." Steve smiled and nodded knowingly again. Ferchristsake, this guy runs the show? Where's ace reporter Katie Couric when we need her? Octomom could've explained it better.
And now AIG is back with it's hand out, while divying out bonuses willie nilley to all its brokers like it's Xmas eve. Everyone from PrezO on down is indignant. Elbows akimbo, the polititions are falling all over themselves to express how wrong this is. How dare AIG? But....there's nothing anyone can do. It's in the contract. Need I remind all you assholes that when you hand over money you can dictate terms. You can charge interest. You can penalize for late payments. You can deny bonuses. YOU are the bank. And as we all know if you fuck up the bank holds you responsible. AND if the bank fucks up, the bank holds you responsible. It's like spilled milk under the bridge, on a cold day in Hell, sailing a slow boat to China. Tick....tick....tick....

HD

mODEL: hOLLY wITCHEY

LITTLE JAY BIRD

pHOTO: aWESOME aUNT bETHEROO

711

Born this day to John and Katie D- a son. At 2 pm all 7 lbs 11 oz. of Little Booger arived, no worse for the wear. And as my gift to him and his parents, I promise that will be the last time I refer to him as Little Booger. Little Booger's given name is Matthew Jeffrey. Mother and son are reportedly doing just fine. I'm finally an official great uncle. I couldn't be more tickled. His collage hangs over my right shoulder, waiting for a nursery big enough for hanging. I could go on and on about the birth of this little boy, but maybe another day. For now all my love goes to Syracuse to Mom, Dad, Gramp, Nanna, Awesome Aunt, and of course little Jay Bird. Welcome to planet earth.

NOT EVEN THE ROBOT CAN LIFT THE GLOOM

The other day Al Blanchard and I were hanging sheetrock at WSSP and I happened to mention that I had gotten into the tequila the night before and was moving a little slow. "Alone?" Al asked with some alarm. Christ if I didn't drink alone I'd hardly drink at all. Who ever came up with the idea that a person who drinks alone is that much closer to ending up in the fetal position at the bottom of the 12 steps, didn't know what the fuck they were talking about. And, to be honest, I wasn't totally alone. There was an opossum out on the porch, with his snoot in the cats' dish and my omnipresent robot- Jeeves sitting sullenly in the corner.
This may come as a surprise to you, but I've had Jeeves for quite some time. When I sold the school house a couple of years ago, I found myself unexpectedly flush with cash. After I paid off some bills and purchased my spurs, chaps and silver six guns I still had a wad of bills in my pocket. What to do? You can only drink and smoke so much. And besides, I wanted to buy something that would better my quality of life. Then one night I saw an ad on TV for a vacum cleaner that would clean the house all by itself. I couldn't resist.
It looked like a little flying saucer scooting around the shack, sucking up wood chips and grey hair. When it wasn't working Jeeves just sat in the corner and waited for further instructions. A few minor adjustments to the TV remote and I had Jeeves fetching cold ones from the fridge and rolling doobies. I was in heaven. A blowjob and coffee in the morning? No problem. Just add more batteries.
Then one day the unthinkable happened. A steady diet of woodstove ash, old man hair and mouse poop had slowed Jeeves down to a slow stagger. You could hardly hear him suck. His little lights dimmed and then....nothing. Jeeves was dead. I was beside myself with grief. He had become much more than a robot to me. What was I to do? The shack rapidly filled up with dirt and grime. I looked at the broom. Shall I? I just couldn't. And, as fate would have it, it was just about this time that the ecomomy began to tank. I had just enough money to buy a new robot. But that would tap me out. I couldn't justify it.
So these days I drink alone. I haven't had the heart to throw Jeeves out. He's still in the corner, next to the 12 gauge. The 'possum rattles the cat's dish and I pop another one. The news is all bad and getting worse every day. I pine for his gentle hum as he scurried about my feet. He was a good time 'bot and now he's gone. I know I have to go on. I guess I can make own coffee in the morning. As for everything else? I'll wait for my stimulant package to arrive in mail. Maybe that will lift the gloom.

WSSP FROM SPRING WELL

pHOTO:sHEWHO

CONTEXTULIZATION

Rather than conceptual, I prefer contexual as prefix to my job title. In the most simplistic term I see this as creating a set of () around an event, action or object, redefining it. A gallery, showing the actual "art" of others can be objectified to the degree that the vessel of content does in fact become the content. An otherwise completely banal activity such as attending seminary can be set aside by a contextual artist and promoted as product. And in this most recent attempt, a house that was initially purchased for real estate speculation, transformed into art and sold in a less than complete state, is now being completed collaboratively by two artists, one of which will keep the object as domecile/sculpture. How can this be presented and not read as boring, pretentious or crassly capitalistic? It's all in the approach.
Lets go back 10 years. After purchasing a church and small house on a single piece of property in 1995, in 1998 I bought a one room school house just down the road. The church already was imbued with the previous ten years work on the Lower East Side, where I had established The Church of The Little Green Man. I wanted to do something institutionally similar with the school house. For one summer in 1999 I ran a program for graduate students from The San Francisco Art Institute called The Old School for Social Sculpture. It was a big success, never to be repeated. About 3 years ago, just before the real estate market collapse, I sold the property. Two years ago I put the profits from that sale into WSSP. I had no idea where this would lead me.
As it turned out I ended up showing this piece at Marianna's Apartment in June of '08. Within a couple of months Shewho had decided to buy the house. The property is frought with problems, ranging from iffy septic, to nasty neighbors and potable water. I knew if I sold this work to Shewho and was willing to bring it to completion, it would take a large commitment on both sides. We struck the deal, drawings were made, permits were issued and after deer season, work resumed. At this point I ceased thinking of it as art. I merely saw my work as part of the deal to get Shewho a nice house. Now that we have "re-contextualized" it proceeds in a new light. It is in this light we must now work and eventually present WSSP to you for final approval. Stay tuned.

AS THE SNOW HAMMERS THE EASTERN MEGALOPOLIS......

......we once again ponder the real meaning of art. Is art what is shown in museums and galleries and such? Or is it something else? Or is it both? Because it's supposed to snow tomorrow I want to get a jump on all these issues. I find that snow days are good ones to crank up the Ker-o-sun on the porch and space out on constructing a 54X90 collage. At least that's my plan. Or I could never take off the coffee stained bathrobe, write songs and watch TV all day. Both sound good. But the one thing I won't be able to do is go out and work on WSSP. The roads will be unpassabl. And really, that's what I'd rather be doing. Especially since this past weekend, Shewho and I decided to collaborate on contextualizing this house as an artwork. Going to art is way better than going to work.
I rarely collaborate on pieces. Work like Purple Geezus and The Church of the Little Green Man are, of course, collaborations, but the static work...never. Shewho is the same. She rarely shares the decision making in her art. So a meeting of two rather uncooperative minds seems like a no brainer. WSSP will continue as a Shewho/Osti colab. This makes working out there way more interesting for me. The work is exactly the same. But the intent changes. It frees you up. It was already a sweet deal for me. Now it's even better. The upside down scowling Satan takes on a new look when presented as art. As Shewho, said "Without that horrible Satan, it would be purely bucolic." Exactly! Either way, I can now breathe easier under his evil gaze. It's already slated to be my CD cover for my new material- Love Thy Neighbor.
As this late winter snow storm bears down on the megalopolis, I feel positive....confident that the state of art is strong. It can withstand whatever comes it's way. My one student- Slick is not a good advertisement for my teaching skills. But, it does go to prove my original premise- that art cannot be taught. He got an F this semester. Now he's on Spring break in BA. We'll see if he comes back with some art. For me? I can feel the juices perking to the surface like a gurgling spring. Which, by the way, we are now going to develope as our water source for WSSP. The coming months promise to be busy and filled with the glow of the art making process. Just one more snow storm.....