I'll come up with something in a minute.

missed one

Didn’t post all the pics.



July 29, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Shown To Scale

You remember the Dinosaur book? I decided to show you just how huge it is. I got a sword and Hol’s biggest bowie knife for scale.



July 29, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Art is where you find it

So we were at the DIA this weekend right?

And I was in the Modern Art Wing with Matt, because there was a wedding and they’d blocked off access to pretty much ALL the good stuff that I like. So I’m sneering at the modern art and trying not to spit bile at the Andy Warhol paintings. Spewing stomach fluids is the only reasonable reaction when presented with a something by Warhol, who wasn’t so much making art as he was trying to convince everyone he was clever, but as I was in public it’s not considered polite.

Anyway, we’re walking around and Matt is valiantly trying to figure out why some of the presentations come with little barriers and others don’t. Just so you can picture them, they’re made up of foot tall metal polls and the polls are strung together with a plastic covered metal cord. So we’re looking at some of the few good things in the gallery (they have exactly ONE Rothko) and Matt was becoming sarcastic about what does and doesn’t constitute art. He began to wonder aloud if perhaps he could get some of the stands and cord and maybe put them around random objects he could get people to admire them as part of the exhibit.

“These chairs for example.” He said pointing to the metal benches I was standing next to. “I bet if I put those around this chair, people would think it was on display instead of being a chair.”

“Matt?” I said, pointing to a plaque on the wall that announced that the chairs had a name, they were made by an artist and had all the normal information. “They are part of the exhibit.”

I believe I saw a crack for in his personality at that point. If he’s found bombing a bank in ten years claiming his name is Trevor Durkin, I will fully and completely blame that plaque for the shattering of his mind into tiny violent fragments. We finally admitted defeat upon being presented with three soup pots placed next to three medicine balls on a laminated shelf in an attempt to say something about commercialism. The chief problem with that piece being that it’s more than 20 years old and anything it had to say was either ignored or misinterpreted. I prefer the idea that people saw that and thought “Yeah! I can have more than one soup pot. No! I NEED more than one! I need three of everything! WOOOO! Commercialism here I come!” Teach the artist for being so clever. Frankly I only go in to the modern section to look at the Rothko (sadly, not one of his better ones) and a couple other things, so I was glad to leave.

And before you ask, yes I do understand modern art. I studied it for a while, and I know all about it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Even though I do have a strange affection for Rothko, Dali, Van Doesburg and Ernst. Besides, I’m a writer, even if I did like something, I couldn’t admit it. All writers are required to think artists are a bunch of wanks because while they were out taking drugs, having sex, and getting paid for putting stuffing into an ugly potato sack, we were stuck sitting in dark rooms learning to write. That sort of thing breeds resentment after a while.

NOW! That is not the funny bit.

Wait for a moment and I’ll tell you the funny bit.

We went to see Public Enemies after the museum and dinner. While leaving the theater I happen to see something that caught my considerable interest and intellect. There was a bench, that someone had put four of those crowd control towers with yellow caution tape around them to make sure no one would go into the box they’d made. And what was inside this box of caution? I had to run to get Matt before he got to his car so I could point at the concrete bench and shout “THEY DID IT! THEY ACTUALLY DID IT!”

And we all stood around the bench, which had been closed off for our safety and convince, to discuss what it meant. There was no plaque, no paragraph of intended meanings, we each had to make up our own minds. There also was no Stone Line giving me a headache by being allowed to exist just one room over. So really, I don’t know why I bother going to museums, art is everywhere, so long as you know to look for it.

Except, you can’t just go anywhere to look at a Rembrandt and then declare loudly and with aforethought of malice. “He is sooo over rated now. I remember when he was just working on the streets and was struggling. He had passion then, now he’s just gone cold.” Or staring at any random Madonna and Child for fifteen seconds and then turn to my companion and say “I don’t get it. What are they trying to say?”

Because A) Fuck people for thinking I should make life easy for them and B) I love the looks they give me when I say things like that.

July 29, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment