We’ve been busy. Very, very busy.
May 25, 2008
Usually when I say I’m busy, I’m just lying. Like, someone will ask why I hadn’t called and I’ll say: “Oh, but I’ve been so busy.”
This time, though, it’s true.
Within the past few weeks, the Green Lantern has put out “Lust and Cashmere,” a sort of surreal choose-your-own-adventure starring you, your love affair with a sweater, a ninja, and a pack of wild boars.
Also, in conjunction with ThreeWalls, the second issue of Paper and Carriage has come to light! It features the works of Dora Ishida, Lilli Carre, Moshe Marvit and a whole host of other folks. And it’s beautiful.
Also, we’ve just had the release party for David Carl’s “Fragments.” There’s been no shortage of debate around here as to how we’re supposed to categorize this book. Part novel, part poem, part philosophy…in the end we decided to not categorize it at all. We’ll leave that up to you. For now, let’s just say that it’s a book, it’s made up of sentences, and we really, really like it.
So, yes. I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been busy. But if you get the chance to look at the books, I think you’ll find it was worth it.
A.B.
What Happened at Stimulus Festivus
May 25, 2008
courtesy of Stevie Greco: musical curator & of course, HEWHOCORRUPTS
Someone put their head through the wall.
Fortunately, we’d moved most of the paintings into the back room, so everything was kept safe.
Fortunately, I was downstairs keeping track of the door with Andy (HeWhoCorrupts), so I missed it. I didn’t see it happen.
“Are you mad?” Stevie texted me from upstairs where she was watching the door.
I figure that if a hole in the wall is the only casualty in a harchore festival, then we did pretty well for ourselves.
The most amazing thing, to me, was watching about five guys carry a man in a wheelchair up the stairs at the beginning of the show. Then carried him down again at the end.
And I took some special pride in getting up around eight a.m. to fix the wall. In the spirit of my father, a five am riser—he used to go swimming in the lake every morning he had the chance, the water 52 degrees or some such nonesense. I woke up bright-eyed and bushy tailed. It wasn’t until the afternoon I got a little bleary.
I did not, however, go for a run.
I was drinking coffee, patching the hole, when the bands came at ten, Sunday, to collect all their gear the next day. Up to my old tom-boy guff, I grinned with the drill, plaster dust on my hands and clothes. Though I didn’t get the chance to fix it perfectly, (I didn’t want to sand with the Kehoe Bros.’ paintings up), I did leave a note over the whole.
http://www.punkplanet.com/node/3978
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=zC6KeBcMSuE
http://www.yelp.com/biz/the-green-lantern-chicago
http://www.hewhocorruptsinc.com/catalog_hwc011.php
As often is the case with spring, it has been busy. The rest of the world is waking up, leaves are springing forth with secret anxiety, life is stretching, nature abounds. The world transforms itself in a rage of color and life; birds flitting all over the place with some kind of vehement joy.
It’s such a contrast from the cloying damp of winter—winter when, walking past the Washington stop of the blue line downtown, past the man in a suit protesting all alone with a sign that says “The CIA killed my wife.” I was walking past the a little torch set into the ground, my hands dug deep into my pockets, shoulders raised in the quintissential Chicago hunch, and rigid with a cold nose, I walked passed a little flame, fenced in, with some thirty pigeons fluffed up— their eyes closed, and standing on one foot to absorb the heat.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized the urban gutter birds had co-opted the heat of its original purpose. Because at dinner, later, I said:
–I think it’s pretty awesome that Chicago has a pigeon heater downtown.
–A pigeon heater? Where is there a pigeon heater?
–Downtown….by the Washington stop of the blue line. There is a little fire in the ground and there is a little fence around it and the pigeones all hang out there.
–You mean the war memorial?
—Is that what that is?
Now, there is no need for any pigeon heater. Now the birds are all looking for baths.
But more to the point:
Over the last four weeks, The Green Lantern has done something every week—despite the fact that this spring is such a dowdy old fop (while colorful, she’s been cold). I’m convinced, with the weather being what it has been in these parts—a chilly San Francisco, let’s say (meaning 48-62 degrees and often overcast)—that our Spring is like a willowy teenage girl with too-big eyes and hands clasped, she always sits prim, a little depressed with all her obedience; has secret fantasies of victorian lust, garters, and wants to one day work in a library. Will get married in an ivory doily-kind of dress to a fellow with small tweedy eyes.
Despite all Spring’s mute coy, we have been busy.
Shannon’s show, Restless went off without a hitch, and currently there are about 21 different collections belonging to other people, ranging from teeth to postcards, to band-aid collections, six months worth of coffee cards tile the floor, I think there is a scab collection, a tie collection belonging to someone who has passed away, toy chair collections, disposable-used asthma inhalers, wine bags etc., it’s a pretty massive feat and beyond a little path that winds through these objects, there is a recording of Stratton herself singing the blues through a tin can recording.
There have been some really great responses, my favorite belonging to a gentleman who wandered in on a Saturday afternoon, shoulder length hair that looked well brushed if only because it poofed out, shiny surf sunglasses—I couldn’t see his eyes—and a healthy slouch, sneakers and board shorts. He let out a couple of ‘woooaaah’s’ and stood, silently, for another 45 minutes staring at all of the objects, afraid it seemed to stand to close to the installation. He finally slipped out after an ‘awesome,’ which afforded some closure to our inarticulate interaction.
And we got a couple of good write-ups for the show, Michelle Grabner wrote a review about it in TIMEOUT Chicago and it was a critic’s pick on artforum.com-courtesy of Lori Waxman.
http://www.timeout.com/chicago/articles/art-design/29160/restless-a-visual-essay
http://artforum.com/picks/section=us#picks19988
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jt_yoink/2467402075/
The gallery cats—MeiMei and Little Grey have a great time with this show (much to everyone’s occasional frustration: I think Young Joon one day had to replace the standing Pez dispensers about five times: when I came back that Sunday the cats had been banished to the kitchen.) It’s Little Grey who’s the real upstart.
And then we did some ArtChicago-
Thanks to Noah Singer of imperfect articles (http://www.imperfectarticles.com/), we were invited to participate in GOFFO, which was a subsection of NEXT. We set up a little shop of books between Sonnenzimmer and Featherproof, on the 7th floor of the Merchandise Mart- from April 25th-28th, featuring a preview of NY artist Amanda Browder, and her installation piece “Arc de Triumph.” If you happened onto the 7th floor, you could stroll over to the GOFFO neighborhood, stop at Old Country, the wood-panel bar around the corner, and get a drink. You could look out the window where we were-a site for sore eyes in the mart; in our section of the floorplan you could look down and count the little people down below, take a break from flourescents and soak in some sun. I liked to pretend it was California. GOFFO had a swanky set up between the lot of us, an avenue of good times and reading material, sexy prints and project. In addition to Browder’s installation, The Green Lantern also had its inventory of books available, including “God Bless the Squirrel Cage,” the last copy of “Urbesque,” “Sketches,” “Lust & Cashmere,” “Phonebook,” “Paper&Carriage No.1,” 3 vinyl MALE records, an essay about ice-bound englishman who made their own newspaper, zines (free), and a listening area for The Parlor.
Like a dancer. Or a boxer. Or a jockey. Or a dog on a walk. Or a race car driver in the front 5. Or a seductress on the fortieth floor of a resort hotel bar in the off-season. Or a voyeur who has a stalker, and
kind of likes it. Or a homeless man who has engaged you in conversation on the Red Line, and there’s no where to go. Or an interviewer who hasn’t yet read your resume, but is trying to ask you the material questions. Or a landlord who for some reason will show you the bathroom on the apartment tour, but won’t flush the toilet. Or a gas station attendant who sucks his teeth when you ask for directions. Or a sandwich maker who can’t really tell the difference between spring mix and arugula. Or a flight attendant who is trying to determine if you are qualified to sit in an exit row.
PD