Painting in the Philippines--er, not

I started my artistic journey in one of the most gorgeous islands in the Philippines--Boracay.

I brought all of my canvass and oil paint with me. In fact, it was so heavy that I had to pay over the weight limit on the domestic flight.

Boracay, I thought was the best place to start painting. It was so gorgeous.

I began looking for wood to set up into panels so I can start making painting surface. (There are no driftwood surface worth painting on unless I paint on a coconut shell and I certainly didn't want to take coconut shells home with me). The hardware store only sold huge lumber and panels for construction of a home and there isn't a Lowe's Hardware that would cut wood according to customer specification. Since there were so many activities to choose from, including 13 kiteboarding schools, diving, sailing, I lost my desire to pursue cutting wood for the purpose of painting.

However, I kept a lookout for other painters and galleries.

For an island so rich in natural resources, so full of life and activities, I only met a few painters and no galleries. These local painters were very talented, making hand-painted T-shirts that said Boracay for next to nothing prices.

So, having only one week in Boracay and plenty of days in my grandmother's mangrove beach and house surrounded by rice farms, I decided to wait to paint when I get to Panay Island.

When I got to Panay, I was bombarded with thousands of mosquitos and heat and rain and heat and rain. So seeing that oil painting al fresco was out of the question, I explored the possibility of making a movie--a horror movie of all things. The stories of incanto, witches, aswang, shapeshifters, ghosts began. My cousins, all 30 of them were excited at the thought of being part of a movie. Everyone told me about their own personal experience with the supernatural. Being of a skeptical/scientific nature, I laughed the stories off.

We were excitedly talking about the horror movie, and I took a break from the discussion to get more anti-mosquito cream from my parents room. When I went into the room, I noticed my mom shivering. I was a little surprised, since we were in tropical heat. I covered her and immediately realized she was burning up with fever. Oh dear god, did the mosquitos ravaged my mother and brought her malaria and dengue? Or did the local ghosts come to exact a prize for our lack of respect to the stories of old.

I wasn't sure what happened, but my grandmother took the situation into her hands. She comes in the room takes one of my mother's dresses and took it to the local quack doctor.

They smoked her dress with garlic and ginger and chanted spells over fire. I didn't see the ritual, just the scent of herbs on the dress. Over the next few days, my mother was sickly and bedridden, and everyone whispered a haunting.

Despite her condition and somnolence, during her waking hours, she insisted on leaving Panay. I went with her to Manila where she slowly recovered and saw her off as she flew back to USA.

When I returned to Panay, there was no more talk of making a horror movie.

I settled myself to enjoying Christmas festivities and determined to paint when I return to America.

Currently a 5' x 3' foot canvass ready for painting is resting on the wall in front of me.

The Old Acacia

A month before my journey to my land of birth, I'm assailed with my childhood senses and fears.

I have had a longing to go frequently to Chinatown to smell the fish, to touch the writhing crabs, and sniff the random assortment of spices, ginger, gingko, curry, to step outside of the daily life in NYC.

The other night, while half awake, I remembered the old Acacia tree.

I felt the sense of another world, the fear and awe I had for that tree.

It was said that ghosts lived in the tree.

I used to play cautiously under the tree, never peeling it's bark and gently touching the

hundreds of vines wrapped around its trunk.

The grass was soft around the tree and it was a perfect spot for picnics.

But when the dusk sets in, the darkness as thick and tangible as the black paint,

consumes my senses and that darkness never fails to make me run back home safe under the

yellow light.

It was easy to believe that ghosts lived in that tree because at least once a month

a vehicle accident, mostly fatal, would occur a couple of yards away from the tree.

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Beyond the Artist--safe space for the business side of art

The process of creating art is often consuming, and self-absorbing that many artists forget the business side of art. As the sale lags, the number of works unsold pile up, the artist morale spirals down.

This is one thing I love about New York City. You think about it, and voila! Here comes the tow truck with the mechanic experts if your art car has stalled. Art SpeakMaster is a group that caters to helping the artist figure out exactly what is going wrong, or enhance areas that are necessary to be a successful artist, because let's face it, art is a creative entrepreneurial business and if you are honest with your taxes, you know exactly what I mean.

First thing first, one must open the gates of the castle and the self-made walls, invite friends in, and really be open to seeing a different perspective, then we're talking.

I was a little hesitant at first about going. However, a friend, who is a gifted speaker, negotiator and entertainment lawyer, Joanna Kirby, suggested that I visit.

Coincidentally, I've been meaning to go to one of those Toastmaster style meetings, so I thought, "Hey, why not? I could always improve on impromptu speeches."

So I went to a workshop called "The Art of Negotiating".

What I found there was a vast array of friendly, talented artists in the group, and some light snacks (can't forget to mention the snacks, it's a nice touch :))

The workshop was well-planned. After the normal rounds of introduction, we highlighted examples of successful negotiations by famous artists--such as Christo and Jean-Claude. Do you know that this duo are recipients of the Great Negotiator Award, presented by the Harvard Law School Program on Negotiation? The examples were followed by the practice of role-playing involving a complicated scenario--getting into the mindframe of the gallerist, the collector, and the artist. All possible scenarios were played out and some were really creative. Some scenario presented I thought were highly improbable. Derek Bernard Harden, a Chelsea gallerist, suggested a negotiation where the starving artist asks the gallerist for housing in the attic, in exchange for exclusive rights to sell the artist's work. I was skeptical that such a thing occurs, but found months down the road something similar unfold in my life.

I returned a few months later to attend another workshop on presenting the artist statement. I had recently shown my piece, an artvideo painting of the American Sexual Landscape, and was taken back by the reaction of the audience, felt completely unprepared for the Q&A portion. So I admitted that I needed practice in speaking concisely yet descriptively.

So, we the artists, took turns in explaining our recently completed work, or work in progress in an alloted amount of time, with someone counting how many "ums" and "sos" it took to present the work in addition to observing mannerisms. In my case apparently, I have a ridiculous amount of "sos" and the habit to stand in a fencer's pose when presenting my work. I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

Aside from getting a chance to present my work to other artists, I was impressed by the direction that these creative individuals suggested regarding my recently finished artfilm --The Barely Private Show. An artist curator mentioned that what immediately struck him about my piece was its subversion, which entails that no artist statement is necessary and that the delivery of the piece must be guerilla style.

Although he was only stating the obvious, it was extremely helpful advice as I was contemplating the most unrealistic route of showing the piece.

So all, in all, dynamic, creative, and talented people flocking together in an artist safe zone? New York City, what's next?

Art Speakmaster, is an art club workshop that regularly occurs at the New York Academy of Art in Tribeca.

Founding Members:
Lorra Jackson - Program Development, Direction and Liaison
Charis J. Carmichael Braun - Program Coordination and Direction

Elvin Freytes - Program Facilitator and Direction

Andy Warhol's Birthday Bash

I arrived fashionably late to the celebration of Andy Wharhol's Birthday in the Gershwin Hotel, Tuesday night Aug 2.

Assuming that many people are going to play dress up, I wore a cowboy hat, white shirt and jeans.

So who is Andy Warhol?

Well, if you don't know look him up.

Remnants of the artists from The Factory were there last night, still as lively as ever.

There were several performers, paying homage to Andy--

and the 80s glam fashionistas were out in full force.

So I realized the cowboy hat was a possible fashion faux pas, but I was determined

to last the night with it on.

Several famous, infamous characters were there, survivors of the experimental drug and sexual revolution days.

A couple of bizarre musical numbers were played, and one really drunken woman who kept trying to perform. Each time she manages to get the microphone, Neke Carson would get the dj to play on top of her performance or turn the mic off. I was having a good laugh just watching this scene.

I mingled amongst the crowd and met The Duchess of Vinyl, who wore a superheroine vinyl outfit. She invited me to a fetish party after showing me a performer's trick with the cowboy hat.

Later on, I met some other artists veterans and got elbowed in the face by the drunken wanna-be performer. I was tempted to lash back, because the spirit of intoxication and wildness was contagious--but I decided to back down at the last minute.

Good thing, as I found out later on that the drunken woman was Ivy Nicholson, former Wharhol superstar.

The birthday song was sung and I had some cake.

The night ended quite young, and the younger crowd quite displeased complaining about old people tiring out early.

The next day, a friend mentioned that I dressed up as Randy Jones the Cowboy from The Village People.

Cool

Burningman Artists vs. The Artists

From my vantage, I will try to explain the difference between the Burningman artists vs. the artist.
I was working Scope Art fair a few months ago when I encountered this line artists draw to differentiate themselves from each other.
There was a piece called "Walk-In Cooler". The creation process of the piece was, how should I put it, not particularly noteworthy. The cooler, looks like your regular old warehouse cooler, with no special or enhanced modifications.
The presence of this large glob in the artfair presented a problem to other serious "high brow" gallerist who wanted to give an impression of wealth to their wares. They made it obvious how much they disliked being surrounded by the general public who continually flocked to the cooler to get free iced cold beverages. The casual, free-for-all, installation had the unintended effect of turning serious collectors away from the neighboring exhibit and installations.
So I took a smoke break and had an opportunity to speak to the artist about his work inside the cooler. I avoided the topic that the serious gallerist were complaining non-stop about his installation. Amongst many questions, I asked him what the point of his piece was. He explained that he wanted wealthy collectors to experience the typical cooler outside of the drugstore environment. He also wanted viewers to consider whether they should be taking from an exhibit. Normally exhibits are hands-off. Well, obviously, most of the viewers, me included, when faced with free beer, didn't pause to consider that the cooler was an artpiece--so here was a classic case of an art experiment gone wrong.
I also asked him how he was making money from this particular piece. Well, he was a little evasive on this--something about the drinks were sponsored which really didn't answer my question.
Finally, I suggested that his installation would be perfect for Burningman, where in the desert, a "Walk-In Cooler" installation would be greeted with cheers and open arms.
In the manner of the other dealers and artists at Scope, he responds, "No way. Burningman artists are a different breed of artists". Then he continues to say he's a serious philosophically thinking artist whereas Burningman artists are not really so.
Being a non-Burningman artist myself, I found this statement quite curious. I am familiar with Burningman art and I have to say some pieces on the desert are fantastically thought out.
Last night, I had the opportunity to hang out with Burningman artists--from the Overkill camp. They were having a fundraiser, to take not one, not two, but three art cars into the desert. If you're curious what an art car is, well, to describe the process simply--these team of artists/artisans/mechanics demobilize a vehicle, such as a Hummer, and transform it into i.e., a moving owl. Slightly intoxicating if you ask me! And why an owl? And why a Hummer? For what reason?
Philosophically simple really. NO, I doubt it has anything to do with some reference to an obscure literary piece.
I suspect, that aside from the party madness, it's a simple display of skills and opulence. Burner artists, in general, hope that the effect of displaying their prowess with machinery, lighting, and design, will allow them to gain sponsorships, commission, and ability to fund their large appetite for travel. Money begets money. I have to admit, the strategy seems effective.
So in general the bottomline is, the main difference between the "non-philosophically thinking" Burningman artists and the artists, is, Burningman artists have a no-nonsense know-how on making Mulah, loot, dinero, dollar dollar bills ya'll--
leaving it at, "If it looks good and it's hip, then it's a good piece of artwork".

Daniel Reich Gallery "Beach Spa"

(photo credit by Steven Speliotis)

Interesting artshow--the concept is "Beach Spa"

Tanning booth is set up in a corner and the room is heated with half-naked models walking all around and one fifty year old model who likes take off his clothes fully.

Feels like a party. Except no booze or I was a little too late for the booze.

I was wearing a bathing suit under my shirt for no reason at all.

Since I like to participate fully in what the artist has created, I went into the spa with my shorts and bathing suit top on. For some reason, the naked 50 year old man felt compelled to join me in there. Um. yeah, don't ask.

While wilting in tight cramped hot space with a naked man seated across me, some people dressed like a quasi-clown outside of the "spa" fluffs my nails and shoulders through slits with soft furry like brush, and then randomly sprayed flourescent goo on my fingers. I didn't know what gooey stuff were being sprayed so I yelled out in protest!

Did I feel relaxed like I was in a spa?

No.

What was the point?

The gallery director told me, "Isn't it interesting to encapsulate an ordinary common salon experience into art?"

And he left it at that.

Neke Carson's--HOW TO CHANGE THE COURSE OF THIS OR ANY OTHER PLANET

(Writing contributions from artist friends.....Enjoy!)

By Neke Carson

Now it can be revealed that an Evangelical Christian militia has recently activated a sleeper cell within the compound housing the world famous, hand signing, conversation making, Koko, the gorilla. And, unknown to Koko’s keepers, started a strict regimen of late night bible classes with Koko in sign language. Confused at first, Koko was intrigued with the concept of “forbidden” fruit.

She wanted to try it. So in just two months Koko asked to be baptized and became the first “born again” gorilla in captivity. At first no one at the facility noticed any difference in Koko’s behavior. But when Koko started demanding snakes “to handle”, strychnine to drink and began signing in thumbs (the hand signer’s version of speaking in tongues) officials were very alarmed.

Now, instead of playing in her inner tube swing, Koko preferred to follow the Stations of the Cross, spent time kneeling and laying prostate for long periods. Eventually Koko let it be known that she wished to be set free in order to perform missionary work in Africa.
“The Young Lions with Lambs” a radical Christian sect claimed responsibility for Koko’s conversion in yet another tiresome ploy to hasten the Second Coming.

This group takes the quote from somewhere about the lion shall lay down with the lamb literally. And when that happens there will be a new beginning and the Second Coming. To make this happen they planned to send Koko back to Africa to convert the animals to Christianity and spread the true meaning Christian of non-violence to all of God's creatures. To that end, one evening, in dark of night, Koko was kidnapped, taken out of the compound and put on a private jet on her way to Africa at last. A few hours later, Koko and a couple of signifying monkeys with PR skills touch down on an unmarked runway deep within the African continent. That was five years ago.

The main reason you have not heard about Koko’s disappearance until now is simple. Koko is big business. No Koko, no business. That is why there are indeed five Kokos, just like there are three Lassies and four Mr. Eds. Actually, it was Koko number three who was baptized and sent to Africa to spread the word of God to the heathen animals thus hastening Bible Prophesy.

Today the animal population of Africa is 55% Christian with 3% of that Episcopalian. Within a matter of months, Africa was declared a “No Kill” zone by the animals. All was well. It took a while to get the tigers to eat berries but Koko made a game out of it. And before you know the Panthers joined in.
Koko also began classes in proper head positions for the Rapture. It seems that the angle of the head is very important while being taken up in the sky. A tilt of the head a little too much to the left and the mighty force exerted on the body could rip your head right off. Add the fact that some animals have longer necks than humans and you have an effect that could be devastating to the animal kingdom. You don’t want a host of God fearing headless Christian horses cluttering up the skies on that fateful day. Needless to say Koko had a lot of nervous giraffes on her hands.

Koko was a tireless teacher and often heard confessions whenever possible. One morning a gazelle asked, “Why did we all get kicked out of paradise just because some humans screwed up? Gazelles have no original sin yet, once we were one hoof out of Paradise, we were hunted down like wild animals and ripped apart by giant tan kitty cats left over from some forgotten ice age.” Koko was at a loss. Then she signed “All that’s going to change. Now go lay down by that leopard and try to get some rest”.

At this point everybody was lying with everybody. Lions were lying down with lambs, wild dogs with gophers and pythons and mongooses were snuggling together under the shade of a eucalyptus tree. That’s when the trouble started. By getting rid of the “survival of the fittest” way of life, and supplanting anti-killing philosophy espoused in both the New and Old Testament, animal population exploded. With migrating birds spreading the word of God to other animals around the world, animal overpopulation became the number one ecological disaster with no end in sight. The planet was now headed for complete and utter chaos. Somehow this tide of animal enlightenment had to be stopped. The Council of Churches was convened.

It was decided that if religious fanaticism got us into this mess then religious fanaticism was going to have to get us out. The council decided to send in an army of radical Islamic faith-based gorillas and a smattering of Rosicrucian orangutans (just for spice) into the fray to convert the animals to their various religious creeds. And then it began…The Great Religious Animal Wars of Latter Day Quadrupeds. With wars raging everywhere, the animal population finally began to dwindle. The upshot of this is that the animals got disillusioned by killing each other for religious reasons and went back to eating each other just for food.

“How do those humans do it?” the polar bear commander tartly signed underneath his frozen breath, “year after year, century after century, and eon after eon. And They have dominion over Us! What nitwit set this up?” Thus in one fell swoop, animals worldwide quietly deposited Christian and other religious paradigms into the dustbin of animal history. The balance of nature was restored. And Koko, well, Koko was last spotted in a Dumbo suit working the afternoon crowds at Disneyworld.

[Copyright © Neke Carson 2005]

Neke Carson is one of America's most important key figures in New York Underground Art and Culture. He has smoothly moved forward with his art, floating years ahead the current trends and hype, not letting anyone Rain on His Parade.

http://nekecarson.com/