Vol. 0, Issue 15 | 1st Thurs - November 2004

[originally written 04 November 2004, 11:11pm]

FIRST THURSDAY: 04 NOVEMBER 2004

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It's getting past my bedtime, and the effects of that quad-shot mocha I had around 6pm is wearing off. However, I am compelled by a couple different reasons to post my monthly art rantings before I lose my nerve to do so. Further explanation may or may not be forthcoming.

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BACKSPACE

As I'd mentioned, I started off the evening with coffee. Backspace is a coffeehouse/internet cafe/gallery hybrid in the Old Town area (Backspace), serving my caffine addiction 'til the wee hours of the morning. My friend Aimee (also know as J. Germany's better half) tagged along this evening, much to my chagrin later. After purchasing our beverages, we checked out the four different artists showing at BS: paintings by Giuseppe Lipari & Eric Robison, and photographs by Joshua Dommermuth & Eden Swartz. All and sundry were quite good. My favorites included: Lipari's painting of a woman standing outside, a rifle in her hand, and a darkening sky above (can't remember the title for the life of me); Dommermuth's "Brynn" (I think), which had both a haunting and classic feel to the composition; Dommermuth's series of portraits were very warm, very human. Swartz's photos were the oddest and most endearing. The composition consisted of candid/posed shots of a young woman (perhaps Swartz herself?) in a mouse costume. Why? Who knows. But they held a charm I can't quite put into words.

Since the Backspace website doesn't have photos of the current show up, I may scan and post the artcard tomorrow. We'll see.

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Coffees in hand, we toddled off to the Everett Station Lofts, where we met up with Teressa, Daniel, Sara and Indio.

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ANGRY FAIRY

This month, the Fairy features illustrator Juli Adams, whose pieces seem to be fractured fairytales themselves. My first thought walking into the gallery was "What twisted children's books are these from?" ...Waitaminute. That was my second thought. My first thought was "[Insert Deity]! That's a BIG cat!" I digress. Each of the pieces are beautifully rendered, full of color and detail, and look as though they are waiting earnestly for someone to write the stories to accompany each piece.

I'm also happy to report that Miss Adams is web-saavy, and even those of you who can't make it to Stumptown for a viewing can check out all of her pieces at her website: JuliAdams.com Personally, I want a whole book containing every one of these pieces.

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PAUSE GALLERY

I'd like to briefly compliment gallery curator Jessica Small on her ability to pick amazing artists for her shows. This is the gallery that hosted Harvest Henderson's work in September (more on Harvest later in the program), and comic artists Drew Johnson & Matthew Clark in August.

Added to this growing list is Barbara Jean Whitbeck, with her series of paintings entitled "Double Lucky." Again, I really get to share my experience with you, as Barbara has her body of work available for viewing on her website: BarbaraJeanArt.com

Barbara's work is very vibrant, full of iconic imagery and evokes a feeling of playfulness. It certainly adds a warmth to an otherwise chilly November day. This playful nature comes through in pieces like "She Rides", "Ladies Three" and "Girls Are Monkeys Too." All but the last can be seen on her site. I employ my standard high compliment to Barbara's work: I'd rob a convenience store to buy her art.

Inadvertently, I found myself in pleasant conversation with Barbara. While I was looking at the art, a very striking woman made a remark about the anime image on my shirt. A few minutes of conversation later, I realized that I was talking with the artist. (I've mentioned how my brain just shuts right off when talking with amazing women, right? Right.) Anyway, Barbara took the time to talk to me about her work, pointing out a painting that had the same subject matter but a different style. She plans to complete additional paintings in this style. She also mentioned that there would be a closing event at the end of the month, and that she'd be bringing a few additional pieces with her.

I have since marked the date on my calendar.

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PEPPER

As promised, I present the new show by Harvest Henderson: Pepper A series of mixed media prints, such as a photo of koi swimming in a blue sky over a meadow, printed on a fragment of a Texas roadmap. Decidedly different than her "Gasoline" show at Pause, but nonetheless artistic and inventive. This particular show caught the attention of Aimee, who is a graphic artist/designer in her own right. I am just impressed when I can see different facets of other artist's skill and craft. I predicted that I'd look forward to seeing more of Harvest's work, and I was right.

Of course, I may be a trifle biased now. Maybe. Remember the painting "Kestrel" that I went on and on about? One-third of it is sitting right behind me as I speak. About five feet away. The other two-thirds will follow as I continue to pay for it. Last week, via email, Harvest and I came to an arrangement which satisfies her need for the painting to go to someone that loves it (and frees up space she needs for new art), and allows me to purchase my very first piece of art.

Look at me. I'm officially a patron of the arts. Talk about motivation. Buying art really makes me want to sell art. Mainly so that I can buy more art. I sense a vicious cycle coming on...

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And that is that, campers. Good thing too, since I'm about out of juice. I may have a sibling article tomorrow; Kimmie "Angry Fairy" Hutchins is in a group show opening tomorrow night for SE Portland's still-fledgling First Friday. For now, good night.

Vol. 0, Issue 13 | 1st Thurs - October 2004

[originally written 30 October 2004, 2:24pm]

My recollection being rather fuzzy this far removed from the first part of the month, this entry will be rather truncated in comparison to my other FtCRG posts.

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First Thursday: 07 October 2004

Epitome
Don't think I've ever written about this gallery before. Usually, the curator has exhibits by artists that are too... artistic for my tastes. Not bad art, just not my cuppa tea. The installation pieces by sculptor/artist David Herbold didn't fall into that category. Hanging on the walls were painting/sculptural pieces, fusing canvas and clay. A sense of longing, of loneliness, emanating from almost every piece. Then there was the hard-to-miss "Searching II": a sequential sculpture series of a man in a small boat, in obvious despair, watching fish swim by, all suspended from the ceiling. Very raw.

Angry Fairy
Another installation piece, one where the format was more interesting to me than the subject matter, but still worth the mention. Entitled "Dirty Laundry," photographer Michael Rubenstein takes us behind the scenes of the sex industry. I've been there kids, and Mr. Rubenstein's photographs are still a tad too glamourous to really be "behind-the-scenes." But, as I said, it was the installation format that interested me more than the subject matter. The photos were hung from laundry lines on old clothespins, and the combination of photos & lines made for a rather forced path for the viewer to follow. Sure, you could just duck under any of the photos and look at the images willy-nilly, but to walk the path that had been mapped out seemed more interesting.

Freedom Box
The honorable mention of the evening goes to Poliat, an artist who works in felt. Yes, I said Felt. Inlaid Felt Art. Laser-cut and fitted together like a puzzle. Just the sheer novelty and precision of the pieces warranted an entry.

Compound
Looking at the postcard flyer for this last artist, I'm still at a loss to adequately describe the artist known as Rockin' Jelly Bean. Dressed in a vintage tuxedo w/ a ruffled shirt, and wearing a luchadora mask, Mr. Jelly Bean (or RJB) mingled with the crowd. Kind of a performance art piece himself. His art is very PoMo, with influences ranging from Rat Fink, Barbarella, Mexican masked wrestlers, R. Crumb, and the like. All over the map and very well executed. Still not so sure about the artist, but I did like the art.

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The only other thing that happened worth mentioning is that I ran into Harvest Henderson again. Not surprising since she lives there. We made small talk for a moment before she said, "Oh. You're the blogger guy." I just smiled and nodded, while desperately attempting to remember what I had written, to determine how much of it was incriminating/embarassing. I vaguely recalled writing something about her being stunning, and then made a mental note to kick myself later. She said she'd almost sold the painting that I liked, "Kestrel" to a guy from Kansas, but he backed out at the last minute. So she said if anyone lends me the $600 to let her know.

As it happens, I've just made a deal with her to buy the painting. Which will make this the very first piece of artwork I've ever purchased. She has another show starting this upcoming Thursday at Pepper Gallery. With any luck, my entry for next First Thursday isn't as late as this one.

Vol. 0, Issue 10 | 1st Thurs - August 2004

[introduction drafted in Hung Far Low's Restaurant & Lounge, 05 Aug 2004]

The Pre-Game Show...

It occurs to me that if I continue to part from my normal 1st Thursday patterns, then said "normal" patterns will cease to be.

It also occurs to me that this is a Good Thing.

Today, I'm hungry and feel the urge to drink before hitting the galleries. I'm a cheap date. Should only take a couple shots to close the deal. My original Beer & Pizza plan has gone awry, so my new dinner venue is the infamous Hung Far Low's. My choices end up as Crab Puffs, Pan-Fried Noodles, and Tequila. Mmm... Tequila... *drools*

Since I'm in quasi-costume today (I'm dressed as gonzo-journalist Spider Jerusalem from the comic book "Transmetropolitan"... my apologies to Big Ethel), I'm thinking the liquor will encourage me to really play the part. Heh...

Coincidentally, my attire seems appropriate given one of the shows is two artists working in the comic book field. I'm sure they'll be less than amused.

Unwittingly fulfilling the roles of my Filthy Assistants are friends Teressa and Ilima. Unwitting since I didn't really tell them what I was up to. So, they'll be looking AT art, while I'm looking to BE art. Performance art, on the move. Powered by TEQUILA! Which, since I've started drinking on an empty stomach is already kicking my ass... RE: Cheap Date = Kaebel. Whee!

Speaking of which, how can I, with any justice, describe the amusement I get drinking in an establishment where Buddhist and Shinto icons keep watch over a fully stocked bar. I don't think I... OOO! FOOD!

(Later...)

Oh. My. [Insert Deity]. Am I full or what? Right then. On to the ART!

PEPPER

After playing phone tag with both Ilima and Teressa, we agree to meet at Pepper Gallery to start with. Tonight, Danyel is featuring an experimental film by artist Barry Winfield, entitled "The Puzzle." An unusual piece, the underlying theme being our interconnectivity to others and a cautionary reminder that we should be looking out for one another. Lots of symbollic imagery: filmed in B&W, the lead actors were female & male/white & black (respectively), the titular puzzle being reflective, like a mirror, etc. Not exactly a piece that allows itself to be summarized in written form, and especially not by me. But I did like it, and the message. Idealistic as it may have been. But then, that's what we need isn't it? People with idealistic visions that also truly believe that we are capable of achieving them as a whole. I know I need such people in the world. They counterbalance those who see the world as so much shit, and add to it through apathy and indifference.

Ilima and her friend/art model Steven met me just as the film was about to start, so we got to watch that together. Teressa was running late, so I stuck around while they checked out the rest of the galleries. By the time they'd returned, T was still a no-show, and Ilima had to run off to network at another gallery interested in her work. I made conversation with Danyel and Barry for awhile before moving on to my next stop.

PAUSE

I knew that before I continued on, I had to stop at Pause for the comic art show. Comic geeks will recognize the names I bandy about. Non-geeks... I apologize. Skip ahead if you want.

Drew Johnson and Matthew Clark were the artists on display. Drew is currently working on DC's "Wonder Woman" title, and Matthew does "The Adventures of Superman." Both work with writer Greg Rucka (also on hand); Greg writes both titles, as well as a Batman title.

Now, while I enjoy superheroes, and have grown up on a steady diet of comics, I am not the avid reader that I used to be. Mostly because I suffer from the same nostalgia sickness that many other older comic fans do, and therefore I bitch and moan when people fuck with my childhood heroes. However, I also play the Devil's Advocate here, in that I preach that Change is the only constant in the Universe, and to impede change or to dwell in the past is to go against the nature of existance. Which means that after I'm done bitching and moaning, I have to adapt.

That said, I must state that change, while inevitable, doesn't necessarily mean that it will be something I like. Which is kinda how I feel about Rucka's writing. He's a capable, prolific writer. He likes to play around with real world concepts within the realm of comic book unreality. But I don't like it. There is an arrogance in his writing that just puts me off. I've met him once before, and he seems to be like his writing. I don't dislike him, but I just don't like how he writes my heroes.

Sorry. I know that's off-topic. Sort of. Just needed to get that bias out in the open.

Most of the work presented are inked pages from both Drew and Matthew's career. Which I find unfortunate. Pencillers and Inkers are usually two different artists. A good Inker can occasionally save (or at least hide) a poor Penciller. Conversely, a bad Inker can completely bury quality pencils. Most of the time, you end up somewhere in the middle. Based on the few pencils-only pieces, I can see that both pencillers are highly stylized yet quite good. Personally, I like Drew's work better. I don't think either of them is better than the other, I just happen to like styles that Drew's pencils are similar to. The one thing I can say about both of them is that I'm not fond of there inkers. At best, they seem average. It's a personal bias, being a penciller myself.

While at Pause, I run into Rachel, an acquiantance, and we catch up for a bit. She introduces me to Jessie, the curator of Pause. Afterwards, Teressa finally catches up to me, so we head out. My plan is to come back and talk to the artists before the galleries close. Normally, not a problem. Tonight though, I might not make it. It's already quarter to eight, and because of my chatting with people, I discover that I'm not making it around like I usually do. WTF? When did I become the social butterfly?

DIETERLE

The next gallery over, I find my friend Chris Herring (the one who invited me to the Flying Dream show). He's friends of the artist, Dan Cohen (of Burning Bush Studio). Unfortunately for all of you reading this, Dan's site doesn't have any photos of his Dieterle show. Unfortunate because his shit was amazing! What I keyed into immediately was his blending of world mythology, the ancient and the modern: The Eye of Ra, Thoth, DNA strands, processing chips, silicon wafers, skin, Kabbalah, electrical wiring and yoga stances. I Ching symbology, fractal patterns, kitsunes, snakes and microprocessors. Way cool stuff. Pieces went beyond paint-on-canvas, becoming more sculptural, layered. There was meaning in the form of the piece, rather than just in the content.

If I can find a link to Dieterle's website (if they have one...), I'll be sure to share it.

...More to come...

Vol. 0, Issue 8 | False Memory Kiss

[originally written 01 July 2004, 11:02pm]

Straight from the event to the Internet. No neolithic scrawling with pen and paper while oogling naked women. Much to my dismay. Real Life, as it happens to intrude on my Ideal Life, sucks. Fucking errands. Huh? Oh, sorry. Rambling.

PEPPER GALLERY & STUDIO

As previously mentioned, I received via email a notice about Pepper's First Thursday show, which I found intriguing. Anyway, I decided to save this one for last, which in retrospect was a great decision. Most of the other galleries were filled with the same old, same old. It was all very nice, and very arty, and well worth my time (except for Zeitgeist, which had art comprised of file folder labels on paper. Being clever is NOT a suitable replacement for being artistic, damnit), but overall... Eh.

Then I get to Pepper. I pass by the young woman and young man w/ a Polaroid Land Camera standing outside the front window. One of them, I assume, is the performance artist in question: Ilima Considine. And again, I'm not sure which one is Ilima. Instead, I enter the gallery to see the artwork that accompanies this show. Surprise Kaebel: No Art. On the walls, either on paper (note paper, drawing paper, Post-It notes, letterhead, napkins, etc) or directly on the wall are words. Lots and lots of words. Covering the interior of the gallery are the unsent letters to ex-boyfriends. Again, no clear indicators of the artist's gend... Oh. Wait. She's a SHE. Mystery solved.

Cogratulations! It's a Girl!

This makes me more interested in participating. Granted, I have kissed boys, and might again for the sake of art, but honestly, they're just not my preference. Kissing girls, well... Where do I sign up?

Oh, and the me kissing boys: Another story, another day. Back to the letters.

I continue to read, and am aching by the time I'm through. Emotionally. These words, these letters... this, for me, qualifies as art. It evokes emotional response. More important, it makes me FEEL. By choice, I run around like a heartless automaton, but these letters... While not my exact experiences, still speak to me, of Loneliness, Longing, Agony, Lust, and of course Love. Here. Try this on for size:

"Every song on the radio is still about YOU.
Now. Tell me that you cannot, in the whole history of your romantic entanglements, relate to that statement at all. If you can, I don't know whether I'll congratulate you, or pity you.

So, I am moved. I am impressed. I decide, now that I've climbed around in the artist's head, that it's time for me to participate. I pop an Altoid (a Rat Bastard I may be, but I am a considerate one) and step out the door.

Now then. We are, I presume, familiar with the awkwardness that is the First Kiss. If not, bully for you. And go Fuck yourself. (Don't worry. I still love you anyway.) When said kiss is for posterity, that awkwardness is multiplied tenfold. I am asked politely by the young woman (who is actually SHORTER than me. I didn't think that such a creature still existed.) if I wish to "participate." Being the smooth operator I am, I barely manage to fumble out a Yes. The cameraman is poised, the artist steps close and tells me to "...pretend like you know me." My eyes close, lips touch, and a flash goes off. Done.

And now, affixed to the window, along with a dozen other like photos, is a picture of me and this stranger commiting an intimate act that is intentionally & completely fabricated. My friend Evil has been right all along: Pictures Lie. Afterward, I introduce myself and make small talk with Ilima, mentioning that I'd heard about the show from the mailing list. Which surprises her, pleasantly. She talks about how revealing those letters are, and how none of the people they are addressed to have ever read them, and I listen, simultaneously admiring her freckles and red eyeliner. (Shut up. I know.) I inquire as to what happens to the Polaroids, how does she plan on integrating them into the exihibit, to which she has no answer. Sort of. She's offered each one, for $5/ea, to every participant. And you didn't even have to choose yours. The idea was to allow the photo into your life, and see if it had any future impact. I opted not to take a photo, not because I'm a cheap bastard (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, thankyouverymuch) but because I'm more interested in seeing what Ilima will do with them.

Oh. Note to Self: Self, email Ilima and ask for updates. From Self.

I'm left with the impression that I have just learned an unusual, or at least unorthodox, way of meeting people. Kiss, then tell. I'm not sure yet if this is better, worse, or just as good as the tried-and-true method. Field testing may be in order.

Judas Priest. I also occurs to me that it has been... EIGHT MONTHS since I last kissed a girl. I think I'm much too tired to wander down that particular path of cognitive thought.

Wow. That was an awful lot for one show. That wasn't the bulk of my evening though. Afterward, I did stop by Ko Do Ku to see Frank. While there, I also ran into Kirk, who is showing his new works next month. And Frank showed off his massive head wound. Staples in someone's scalp is both fascinating and disturbing to observe. And I also got to talk briefly with Ezra Claytan Daniels. The who and how of Ezra will be a different post. In short, he's a local graphic novel writer/illustrator. Go to his website for the skinny: Dream Chocolate.com Frank once again reiterated that if I bring him art, he will show it. I need to get my ass in gear.

Alright. I'm burnt. Tomorrow is another day. It's Today, actually. Fuck. Off to bed. Thanks for reading.

Vol. 0, Issue 6 | 1st Thurs - June 2004

[originally written at the Magic Gardens, 03 June 2004, 9:30pm]

Jeezum crow. I feel as though I've written more than I've seen. I attempted to write my thoughts as I went along, from gallery to gallery, in the hopes that my summarization process wouldn't take as long. No fucking luck there. Ah well...

Carcinoma Angels? Check.
Greyhound? Check.
Nubile strippers? Check.

Here we go.

FIRST THURSDAY - JUNE 2004

LAWRENCE GALLERY

A departure from where I normally start my gallery crawl. The Lawrence Gallery is located in the actual Pearl District, which is the birthplace of the First Thursday gatherings. Between Park and about 15th, and Couch and Lovejoy, is Portland's Pearl District. Once a warehouse district, the area was gentrified, bringing in artists and providing them with work/gallery space. You wouldn't guess it to see it now. The Lawrence exemplifies what has happened to the art in this area. And it's not pleasant.

I am immediately aware that I'm in a vastly different breed of gallery. The $5000 & up price-tags on the paintings here are my first clue. Why then am I here? For a friend. Barry Mack (painter) and I were in a course together at the university. He had mentioned via email earlier this week that he was showing at the Lawrence, and I could hardly pass up an opportunity to support his latest endeavors.

The Lawrence, now that I think about it, is laid out like a furniture showroom. The showcase pieces in the front, brand-names, broadest appeal. There's a young (attractive) woman playing classical piano on a baby grand in the middle of the first room. Judas Priest... there's even a CD rack, so that you might purchase music to look at art by. Then there's the licensed, No Minors, fully staffed wine bar in the back. This place isn't about art. It's about money. I actively search out Barry's work, so that I can get the Hell out of here.

In the secondary, smaller room, about four of Barry's pieces are hung. Plus I managed to find a few others in the overstock area. Barry's work is, to me, very abstract and wildly impressionistic. Rich in color, combining both form and intangible elements. Barry is one of the more esoteric thinkers I know, as well as one of the more accomplished artists. It's great that he's being shown, but his work seems out of place here. His pieces are such deep, soulful expressions of who he is and how he sees the world. To have such dramatic pieces hanging among such commercial pieces is a stark representation of what happens when Money becomes the driving force behind your Art.

Other than Barry's art, the best thing about the gallery is the pianist they've hired for the evening: Brittany St. Clair. Lovely pianist. Lovely woman. (www.brittanystclair.com)

To hammer the point home about this being a commercial art mall, I pass a section of the gallery devoted to paintings by cats. CATS. Fuck and This. Time to move on.

An interjection: This has got to be one of the few cities where it's just as difficult to find parking for your BICYCLE as it is your car. Judas Priest...

FREEDOM BOX

I'll be damned. The Kilted Man is showing at the Box. Kirk Woods, whom I met on the street last fall and who renewed my interest in First Thursday, is sitting out side the gallery being... well, being Kirk. (For more on Kirk, see "Follow the Kilted Man" from August '03.) The pieces inside are nothing I've not seen before. Functional shadowbox sculptures. Disassembled working radios reworked into collaged/mixed media shadowboxes. Which he's practically giving away. His top price on one of these pieces is $150. He explained to me that he's embarking on a new series of pieces involving large canvases and sculptural forms. His older pieces therefore need to go. All items priced to sell. Because he MUST satisfy his muse. We make a bit of small talk before I move on. He tells me to bring a portfolio by so that he can get me a show. The Universe, it seems, is telling me to move from my comfortable role of Observer to that of Do-er. Yay.

ANGRY FAIRY

Oh good. The Fairy is back to 'edgy' art. Thank [insert deity of choice].

WOW. Now THIS is the SHIT. Chanwut Hothai, from Thailand, is Fairy's featured painter. I'm amazed and enamored. His work is like classical Asian art with modernistic edge. Chan's work is truly brilliant. Of note is "Girl in the Looking Glass", which is dedicated to his wife. While the description doesn't indicate whether or not his wife is living or dead, the haunting sadness within the painting certainly gives credence to the latter. I make a note to email the gallery owner... Stephanie? Kimberly? Fuck. I know it ends in "ee"... to find out 1) more about Chan; and 2) when she'll be showing again.

Speak of the Devil. I've just bumped into Barry Mack. I let him know I've seen his work, will be posting about on line. I'll make sure to call him next week.

Real quick entry for Zeitgeist: Art on Vinyl is this month's show. Paintings on records, from all over the globe. Something to be said for art-by-mail. Clever pop culture art. Favorite piece featured Kermit the Frog as Che Guevarra in the piece "Che Frog." Heh.

COMPOUND

Don't think I've mentioned Compound before. Compound is the upper floor gallery-space of a Japanese toy/movie/clothing/media store called Just Be Toys in Chinatown. Tonight's show features three artists: Aya Kakeda (Brooklyn NY), Daniel Lim and Erik Sandberg (Los Angeles CA). Admittedly, I need to revisit this show. The art, in short, was awesome, but I didn't get to really take it in like I like to. While I'm looking at one of Lim's pieces and taking notes, a young Asian couple ask me what I'm doing. I explain myself as best I can, without sounding like a loon (no such luck). They say that I should write about this show, be it good or bad. Then they introduce themselves as Aya and Daniel. Oops, I think. I'm busted.

Aya excuses herself and talks with one of the show organizers. I sit and talk with Daniel about the show, where he's from and what inspires him to create the art that he does. Then we just chat about whatever for few minutes. He gives me a little background on the other artist, not in attendance.

Like I said, I'm going to go back to get a better look at their work. But I can at least give you a little glimpse.

Aya's pieces are reminiscent of Peter Bagge and Jon K., stylistically. More bizarre, more fantastical. The notion that comes to mind is Children's Illustrations Gone Horribly Wrong. Some of the more amusing/demented pieces involve Santas, whose torsos are cages full of children.

Daniel's work blend both Asian and American pop culture themes.(When I mentioned that to him, he responded with "Yeah. That's exactly what I was thinking about." Right. Artists... I swear.) His skill is very strong, very tight. His style inventive. Some of his pieces were large cutout forms of Japanese Giant Robots, with Americana murals painted on them. Very cool.

Erik's work... well, I'll have to get back to you on that.

That's all for now folks. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening admiring these lovely ladies up-close. Besides, these dollars are burning holes in my pockets.

Good night from PDX Proper.

Vol. 0, Issue 3 | 1st Thurs - May 2004

[originally written 06 May 2004, ‘tween 8 & 9pm, from a barstool at the Magic Gardens…]

FIRST THURSDAY - MAY 2004

Back again for my monthly dose of Portland’s version of “art” at the Everett Station Lofts. As usual, there are pearls to be found amongst the filth.

(Hmm… is “Filth” too strong a word for bland art? No, wait… one gallery actually had ART that incorporated DIRT. Artistic Dirt, I’m sure. I digress…)

DIETERLE

First off, I must BUY this woman’s art. I’m thinking about robbing a bank if necessary. At least I’ll have exquisite art to look at when I get out.

Sarah Cosman, whose pieces I’ve come to admire merely for the consistency of her work, her craft, has outdone herself with this new show. I was stunned. Painted pieces on wood (approximately 2ft wide x 3ft tall), chronicling her life as an adolescent and youth, and the environment that shaped it. My favorite piece of the show (the one that will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine…), entitled “MELODY’, is a painted collage piece depicting a young, smiling girl. Layered into the painting are scraps of sheet music. Ultimately, it’s the girl’s face that captivates me. The smile, the exuberance and innocence of her age shines out from across the room. The artist’s statement talks of how the subject was confined to her room by her imposed, early bedtime. In the dark, she could hear the children playing, the siren call of “Ollie, Ollie, Oxen-Free!” and laughter igniting her imagination. She may have eventually drifted off to sleep, but her mind remained awake. And still does.

Don’t remember the title of my other favorite, but it was as melancholy as “MELODY” was cheerful. Another girl, eyes sideways with an almost sullen look, with her robe flowing in the wind. The girl and her robe are clothes-pinned to a laundry line, belying her static existence while yearning to be set loose in the wind.

Again, I must secure the means to bring home one of these pieces.

PAUSE

Mike Newman’s “ICONS”, born from the belief of… some orthodox Judeo-Christian order, that visual iconography (read: religious art) translates into prayer. Bollocks. Now I’m going to have to go back and reread the artist’s statement so that I get my fucking facts straight. Feh… amateur move on my part. Anywho, Newman’s pieces, mixed media on wood, attempt to create modern interpretations of these visual prayers, from the standpoint of a non-believer. Individually the pieces are intriguing. Taken as a whole, they do convey a message of beliefs clouded by doubt and insecurity. Worth my time, but I’d want the whole damn collection rather than a single piece.

PEPPER

I don’t often spend much time here. The gallery is very “hip” and I can only take so much “hip” in an evening. I am glad that I opted to stop in tonight. The featured artist was Claudia Porter, a painter. Her paintings were amazing. The first pieces to catch my eye were three portraits, made of gesture lines. To which I am rather partial. Then I noticed the TEXTURE of the pieces. Layer upon layer upon layer upon layer upon… you get the picture… of paint. I marveled at the added depth achieved by what I presume to be dozens of tubes of paint. Perhaps five-gallon buckets, even. Really stunning stuff. Then there were her landscapes, which I mostly found interesting because of their size. They were big. REALLY big. Huge, even. Two of the three were moderately interesting, but the third, an impressionist rendering of Times Square, was the best. Through her use of line and color, she was able to convey the essence of Times Square completely: vibrant, noisy, ALIVE. Brilliant piece. It would look loverly on my wall… er, that is when I have one.

ANGRY FAIRY

Another “hip” gallery, but a “hip” I can deal with. Tonight, rather than their usual turning-an-artistically critical eye-back-on-society fare, the Fairy featured the photographs of Kimba Kuzas. For the most part, the photos were artistic but not particularly stellar. Only one piece (used on the show card) amused me: an elderly couple sits on a seaside bench, enjoying the view. Overhead, the descending vapor trail (from what I presume is really a jet) suggests an impending doom in the form of a missile. Very funny.

KO DO KU

I end my jaunt with a stop at Frank Miller’s gallery, Ko Do Ku. Frank’s a photographer from Iowa originally. Over the past few months, I’ve been cultivating a familiarity with Frank, originally just because I enjoyed his photographs. I continue to go back because, unlike many of the other gallery owners, Frank chooses to engage his patrons in conversation. Yes, many of his quips and stories are well rehearsed, but at least he is entertaining. Tonight he presented a series of photos under the theme “Silent City”, all taken three years ago in Buffalo, NY. His compositions always seem to strike a chord with me. Haunting is the best way I can describe his work. I should mention that I am the son of a photographer, and as a result I am a picky sonuvabitch when it comes to photography. It takes a lot for me to be impressed by photography. Frank impresses me.

Well, that should about cover it, as there isn’t much more worth mention. Save that a fellow Garden patron at the bar mentions another show I may check out. Oil paintings on steel. Groovy. For now though, I’m going to put away my pen and paper, drink my drink, light up another Carcinoma Angel, and give my undivided attention to the lovely redhead dancing on-stage, working hard to separate me from my dollar bills.

What else is a Rat Bastard to do.

Vol. 0, Issue 1 | Follow that Kilted Man

Parte the Firste [originally written 08 August 2003, 3:48pm]

Downtown PDX: I'm coming out of... a Portland landmark, having reconnected with an old friend (this will be a later story, I'm sure), when I notice this guy walking along the street, wearing a Utilikilt (www.utilikilts.com). Now, I just happen to be in the market for the Utilikilt, so I stop and chat with him. I realize that he happened to be with another birthday party at the Alibi, the night I went out with my friend Lee for his birthday. He asks if I do First Thursday. I replied that I was going to do First Thursday tonight.

*From your Virtual Portland Tour Guide: “First Thursday”: On the 1st Thursday of each month, the galleries in the downtown area (specifically the Pearl District, in NW) host opening for their new exhibits and Portlanders do a walking tour of the galleries. A similar event, called “Last Thursday” occurs in the recently trendy (read: gentrified) NE Alberta Neighborhood, on (go figure) the last Thursday of each month. The second and third Thursdays remain culturally virginal.

Anyway, Kilt Man gives me an address and a time to show up at, mentioning something about a jet boat. I’m intrigued. I’ll go, though it is funny to me that I have no idea who this guy is (other than he shares a fashion interest) nor do I know where I’m going. But, what the hell. Could be interesting... We’ll see.

Parte the Seconde

Time finally limps its way to the 5'O'Clock; I close up the office and make my way to the Pearl District.

After a brief stop at Todai (gathering info for my upcoming dinner), I headed through downtown towards the galleries of the Pearl. My original plan was to visit Zeitgeist, a gallery that fancies itself being on the raw side of the art world. I just like it ‘cause I am enamored of the word “zeitgeist”, so what do I know. Zeitgeist is one of the many gallery/lofts of the Everett St. Lofts, designed with the independent artist in mind. When I arrived at Everett St, Zeitgeist was the only gallery NOT open. Heh. So I meandered around some of the other galleries. Most were fairly pedestrian, possessing pieces that would really only garner the phrase “Gee, that’s... Interesting” from me. Which is, for those unaccustomed to attending gallery opening with me, my way of politely saying that I think it’s crap. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard that phrase from others when viewing my art, mostly from those who didn’t understand it or didn’t like it and were being polite. Perhaps, I’d be serving my fellow artists better if I just told them there art was pedestrian at best. Though they are a temperamental and moody lot, so perhaps not. I may not be the world’s best artist, but I do know when I’m looking at good and bad art, and when the artist is being sincere and when they’re just being pretentious. Damn it. I’m rambling again. Onward...

So, after my initial wandering through the galleries, I make my way to Flanders (the next street North), which is where I’m to find Kilt-Man’s loft. I should mention that the directions he gave me consisted of “Broadway and Flanders. Push the bottom button, between 6 and 7. We leave at 7 for the jet boats. Broadway. Flanders. Flanders side. Bottom button. Later.” Turns out that he also lives in the Everett St Lofts, on the Flanders St side. I pushed the bottom button on the call box, not sure what to say when someone answers, since I don’t even know Kilt-Man’s name yet. Fretting over nothing, the door just buzzes open, and up the stairs I go...

Parte the Laste

I get upstairs, to the roof courtyard, where I’m met by a young man (my parents’ rule: anyone younger than you, you may refer to as ‘kid’ or any variant thereof, so Nyah!) named Bryce, who turns out to be Kilt-Man’s son. He leads me past another roof party (and among the guests I see one of my professors... It’s one of those days...) to Kilt-Man’s apartment. At this point, I finally get to introduce myself properly, and learn that my host’s name is Kirk. Kirk gives me a brief tour of his loft, where all but a couple pieces of art are his, meaning he made them. Lots and lots of found object art. He’s currently putting together Plexiglas boxes with functioning transistor radio parts. Wish I had photos; his art is rather nifty. To afford the time/supplies for his art, he works as a production coordinator at Intel.

After the tour, I’m introduced to members of his... crew, I guess. I met Rachel (Kirk’s girlfriend, I think?), whom I discussed fairy tales and mythology with; Julie; Lisa; Todd; Tex; Fernie (short for Fernando); Kevin; Corey & Renee. There were more people there, but I never did catch their names. The plan was to go down to the river front, catch the free jet boat to an island in the Willamette, and visit a gallery out there. We managed to make it to the river front, but far too late to catch the boat. Instead, we wandered through downtown, making mayhem on our way back to Kirk’s place. Mayhem included taking open containers of alcohol onto public transit and climbing around on a statue, which turned out to belong to the federal government and was a big no-no. Heh.

We all made it back to the lofts, and meandered around several more galleries. One gallery was actually an auto repair and body shop. They were displaying works by an artist with a decidedly Rastafarian muse. I wandered off on my own for a bit, venturing into a gallery I’d missed before. The artist was a photographer who’d lived in Japan, Osaka specifically, for four years. I could be totally off, but I believe he said that in that time, he’d shot 800 rolls of B/W film. Could be all the interaction I’ve had lately with other Japanese, but the photos really struck a chord with me. His name is Frank Miller, which is the same as a rather notorious comic book writer/artist, which again gets back to my comment on fractal patterns vs. coincidences. He and I talked for quite a bit, but the discussion was cut short, since he was hosting his opening. I’ve his card, so he told me to email him and talk with him again.

I ended back up at Kirk’s briefly, to check in with him and thank him for his hospitality before I headed home. His response was to make sure I’d be returning for the next First Thursday event, and to tell me that I was one of them now. Thus, my words of wisdom for the evening are: Follow the Man in the Kilt. You never know where you’ll end up, but it’ll be fun.

A postscript: Rather than walk several blocks to my usual bus, I catch the Burnside line, since it’ll drop me near home too. A stop later, a young man and woman board and sit near me. They’re engaged in lively conversation. Scratch that. She’s engaged in lively conversation, he’s entranced. I unintentionally eavesdrop on them; she’s so animated that it’s hard not to, and the guy’s name was “Jason” (my best friend's name) and he had the symbol for “Ohm” tattooed on his forearm. Again, hard not to be intrigued. As he’s getting off the bus, she mentions to him that her band plays at Ohm, a bar downtown. I tap her on the shoulder and ask her the name of her band. She introduces herself, Jen, and tells me her band is Dahlia. A couple weeks ago, my coworker Cleann saw her show and raved about it. Jen encourages me to come out to see the show next Tuesday. My birthday. So, now I know what I’m doing after the sushi feasting. As she gets off the bus, I hand her my ad hoc business card. Which, presently, bears the “Ohm” symbol on the back. Hurm. Patterns converge, and I’m left wondering what the hell the universe is trying to tell me.

So then, the lesson is: If you see a man in a kilt, say hi. You never know where the day will take you.