note to self
i had the misfortune of needing to attend a funeral this weekend. a beloved uncle whom i used to play batman with when i was a kid, tying towels on like capes, passed away after being riddled with cancer. i don’t have a great memory but i remember these batman episodes because there are pictures. we looked happy the two of us. later, when i was old enough to be a possession coveting little swine, i would slip small stacks of comics, chris claremont’s x-men, Sienkiewicz covered new mutants, miller’s daredevil, and of course g.i. joe, into some cheap magazine and essentially steal from him at his corner store. i remember this because i was later told he knew about it all along. my mother and brother and i stayed at pete’s for a stretch after the couple who lived above us in our apartment building set the place on fire while freebasing in their bed. they tried to put the fire out with glasses of water rather than call the fire department. my uncle and aunt kindly put us up, gave me a soft bed and secure environment to have my resulting nightmares in. that’s another story i guess.
this piece was not meant to be an obituary, but i wish pete guarino sr. well wherever he is now, wherever his atoms disperse to. he was a kind, quiet, hard working man who looked after my little family in scores of ways, big and small. i’m forever grateful for that. he was a catholic so perhaps a lifetime of belief has indeed ushered him past a winking st. peter into the heaven he hoped for. perhaps he even got a pat on the back on the way in, a “good job pete,” like a ballplayer returning to the bench after a grueling game. i certainly hope so. in any case, indirectly, it’s pete’s faith which spurred me on to post this. you see, as per his wishes, we attended a funeral mass before moving on to the internment. that’s really what this post is meant to be about.
first let me say that the particular church we attended for this funeral mass has a good deal of personal significance. it was not just some conveniently located, appropriately grand and weighty seeming space- as it often feels to me when attending a wedding or funeral. you know: “oh, pretty, a church” then: forgotten before your even past the stationary fonts of holy water and down the steps. this just happened to be the church i attended for 6 years, from second to eighth grade, right across the street from my tiny catholic school. this is the place i went as part of a mumbling fidgeting herd, the place my young endurance was tested periodically for “stations of the cross,” the place my fear of public speaking first showed itself. this was the place where i confessed an endless string of youthful indiscretions and undoubtedly edited for priestly consumption “sins.” this was the place where my creative handiwork was first put before the masses on public display. this was the always full, looming large, satellite to the lonely planet that was grammar school.
the last time i had been there must have been for some consultations or classes for the confirmation i failed to attend. walking back into the place after roughly 15 years was somewhat astonishing. not for the reasons you might expect- that strange tide of memory washing over; the smell of the incense, the feeling of the kneeling stool’s padding against my knees, the acoustics of the sanctus bell or pipe organ reverberating under the vaulted ceiling, the odd modulations of the sung phrase “let-us-proclaim-the-mystery-of-faith.” none of that resonated with me in a way that induced time travel. what struck me was much simpler and much more obvious. the giant tiled mural, 20 feet high at least, depicting a haloed jesus with outstretched arms, sunbursts of light emanating outward, thorn wrapped / flaming heart visible, flanked by two kneeling saints, hovering huge above a crowd of monks and priests who themselves receded in two point perspective toward some impressive marble, domed, and columned buildings in the background. it was quite a shock because though i had utterly forgotten this mural’s existence i found that i remembered every single tile perfectly. i had stared at this huge image for 6 years, pouring over it’s every detail through all manner of obtuse, droning, ceremony. seeing it again, even in this context, as a pallbearer, a mourner, was somehow gratifying.
perhaps it was the pleasant surprise of this mural, perhaps it was strictly the context of my visit, but as the priest and alter boys made their way into the church from their hidden mysterious chambers in back, i found that i was, perhaps uncharacteristically, open to hearing what he’d have to say. i didn’t want to just sit there passively, staring at that mural, letting the words blur together into a single warbling but meaningless tone as i’d done a thousand times before (thinking maybe of the x-men, or daredevil.) i wanted rather to be as open and attentive as possible, to tune out the creaks and coughs and tears, and listen closely to this earthly representative of “the one true god.” i wanted to know, on this sad occasion, what wisdom a man of the cloth might be able to impart to his flock; what solace he might be able to offer to the grieving…
he was a young priest. had that humble, kindly manner which can be so attractive in a catholic priest for it’s comparative rarity in contrast to his flock. he performed the ceremonial aspects of the mass with grace. the blessings, the oil, the swinging incense censer, his recitation of scripture, all comforting in there familiarity. his eulogy, the moment i’d been most interested to hear, however… now that’s a different matter entirely. in front of a grieving family, on this, the day that faith is most relevant, perhaps most tested, when people need reassurance, when people are seeking answers to the greatest of all questions, the priest gave what amounted to a bald sales pitch for the catholic church and it’s c.e.o. jesus christ. i was astounded.
in the 20 or so minutes he spoke, what i heard was a short summation to the question “what is the catholic church, and why am i member?” and that’s it. every word was self referential in a way i could not fathom. the entire thing, from top to bottom, was about the ceremonial aspects of a church service and how they help to celebrate jesus. every point made might have been an answer to the question “why catholicism is right for you?” it was as if he were addressing a small group of hindu children at an indian grade school’s career day. the things i’d hoped to hear, a theologian’s wisdom on life, it’s passage in relation to a lifetime of faith, it’s trials, it’s triumphs and rewards, death, it’s implications, it’s impact on the living, grief, mourning, life after death, heaven, perhaps even some sort of historical context, and at very least some of
jesus’ actual ideas on the subject, his teachings, were conspicuously absent. all we got was a lazy sales or public relations pitch seeded with two mentions of the deceased name in order to personalize it.
it was disappointing, and it left me wondering what passes for a life of catholic faith today. in an odd way it seemed to me to parallel the film “the passion.” it was all about jesus, the man, but totally avoided any attempt to convey even a single one of his actual ideas or teachings. weren’t his teachings what gained jesus disciples in the first place? isn’t that what separated him from the pharisees? isn’t that why a religion solidified in his wake? isn’t that what a religion is supposed to be about? ideas? it just left me wondering wether this kind of ingrown-hair mentality is what commonly passes for a religious ceremony today? for sermons and instruction? does every priest simply rehash endlessly the churches own doctrine, it’s own symbolisms, it’s own ceremonial practice? does the fact that catholicism is a religion of answers, of faith in what is passed down as absolute truth, preclude any further investigation or iteration of the ideals which that faith is put in?
i tell myself “can’t be.” their are so many churches and so many priests, monsignors, cardinals, bishops, theologians, that the actual content of any given parish’s services must vary widely. like anything else the entire spectrum must surely be represented. but, then again, can this small church in a poor, unremarkable community really be that peculiar, that unusual? if you look at it from a statistical standpoint, even a small percentage of churches offering such a self referential and shallow version of catholic ideals would, in a religion with a following so huge, result in literally millions of spiritually under serviced individuals. as stated, i attended many services in my time, at this church as well as many others, and it was my experience that a huge swath of those in attendance were bored, disinterested, put-upon, and in general simply not mentally present. this strikes me as real shame.
granted, i don’t believe in the personified god as put forth in any faith i’m aware of. but a church? a church can be such a very impressive place, the grandiosity, the quiet, the focus, the community. while sitting there it struck me what an opportunity a priest has each and every time he addresses his parishioners. to make people think, to challenge them, to teach them. i guess having returned to the very place where i had been introduced to catholicism, under such sad circumstances, when people are in the most need of guidance, when a religion can really make good on it’s promise of strength, answers, and deeper meaning to all that seems horrifying and senseless in life, i felt compelled to listen. if the short service i just attended reflects in any way the average experience of a church goer in 2004 then i feel sorry for the faithful. perhaps this kind of content is the reason why so many catholics groan at the prospect of church, because they are obliged to yet again go over the details of the catholicism’s own navel rather than to be taught and compelled to think? and perhaps this closed circuit, self congratulating, repetitious rehashing of accepted doctrine also contributes to the rigid and boundless moral arrogance of so many catholics? after all “amen” is the ultimate expression of agreement, and when you are obliged to do nothing but agree with what you already “know,” it truly does seem like a case of preaching to the choir.
in any case i did not mean for this to all come off as so acerbic. not at all. in point of fact i have to say i was very touched by the role of the priest in general. to be there, constantly, for strangers in need is truly a noble thing. i could never in a thousand years manage it. to try and console people, however ineptly, deserves appreciation. it’s the thought that counts after all isn’t it? as mechanical and somewhat parasitic the funeral home employee’s presence feels at a funeral, the priest’s presence, in his disheveled inspector gadget raincoat, at the grave site on an overcast morning, well… it was touching. so, if by some “miracle” you happen to be reading this, please understand father, this is no indictment of you personally, i appreciate your efforts. i’m sure uncle pete would have been pleased overall. truly. it’s more of a note to myself, a reminder of how empty a church, even one full of personal history, family, and friends can feel when there is nothing in it but a gathering of confused, scared, sad, mortals.
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every god-damned night!? on the telephone?
was sorting through some papers and came across this short, quasi-fictional, piece about telemarketers and their evil genius, entitled you ridiculous people, by the one and only matthew monteleone. thought i’d share it. enjoy.
“i don’t read the paper. i have a glaucoma and i can’t even see anymore…”
“well, the thing with life is, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. take care.”
you ridiculous people: on the whole you despise telemarketers. despite your complaints of being bothered there are so many of you who are so damned lonely and are really just looking for someone to listen to you. your children no longer care. of course, there are a good number of you who consider yourselves to be prudent and undeceivable and who will just hang up on me abruptly, unaware that i’m only going to put your name on the heavy rotation call back list to spite you. curse at me, tell me “how you don’t deal with telephone solicitation,” bitterly demand to know how i’ve acquired your telephone number… reject me all you like: you have no impact on my self-esteem, my emotional stability, nor on my identity. i know exactly who you are; you have no idea who i am. you don’t need to know who i am anyway, all you need to know is that i’m exactly like you. and i’ve heard all your excuses, each of your remotely witty telemarketer comebacks, each of your rejections. you feel satisfied when you hang up telephone… “they’re not gonna get me this time.”
my computer makes five hundred calls a day. you were forgotten before i even spoke with you. you are of absolutely no consequence to myself or my corporation unless you purchase a newspaper subscription.
“hi, do you get the newspaper delivered there?”
“i don’t have time to read anything other than my bible.”
“the bible is a great book, but does it come with a daily crossword or television listings? i’m not sure that it does.”
if you believe that you are in control of the conversation it’s only because i’ve let you feel that way. i’ve recognized that without a sense of control, you will not continue the conversation in any way. i’ve determined this within the first ten seconds of our conversation, and, consequently, i’ve adapted my intonation, my speed, and my word choice to create the illusion of your empowerment. our entire phone relationship is fabricated, based solely on the first ten seconds i speak with you. i patronize , i mislead, i purposefully emphasize words such as “just” or “only,” i buy time with irrelevant questions, i do whatever i need to do to develop some vague form of bond. my identity wanders from call to call, from the bourgeois husband and father, to the enlightened aristocrat, to the blue collar hero who’s working two jobs, to the southern neighbor, the concerned environmentalist, the highly verbose cosmopolitan… and all the way back to the original college student if necessary. i am trained to reflect your image, relate to everything, and match your vocal tones, eliminating any suspicion that i am not exactly like you in everything i do.
“hi, is this the head of the household?”
“no.”
“oh… can i speak with your mom or dad please?”
“my mom died in a car crash.”
“well, then let me have a word with your dad i guess…”
no matter how much we seem to be genuinely interested in your problem, i am always thinking several steps in advance about how to relate your dilemma back to the newspaper and why you should subscribe. “oh your wife died? sure, mine too, what i found helpful was to get the newspaper, flip to the obituaries, and put her on the fridge right next to that picture the whole family took over at the local wal-mart. you know, the paper’s filled with school information, so you might want to get to know who your kid’s kindergarten teacher is before she calls you about your kid drawing fucked-up pictures about death, car crashes and emotional pain…”
i have empathized with you before you have answered the phone, i have solved your problems before you’ve even realized them. i have even gone so far as to calculate how much money you are losing per week by not subscribing to the paper. i have taken care of absolutely everything… all you have to do is buy the paper.
“hi, do you speak english?”
“no.”
“is there a person there who does speak english?”
“no.”
“ok, then, adios amigo…”
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workers of the world, relax.
i have a secret. i don’t share it often. not out of shame exactly but more a simple lack of satisfactory coherence. it is a messy, disorganized, half understood secret, composed mostly of vague romantic notions and retroactive suppositions. essentially i’m jealous of the people who lived in the far past. yes that’s right, i am jealous of the people who i’ve been taught i ought to pity. those without the miracles of modern medicine, those without the comforts and high standard of living the industrial revolution afforded. those people with shorter life expectancies. those people who’s lives were dangerous and difficult. it sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? well maybe it is. as i’ve said, i tend not to express these vague feelings. but the fact remains, they surface.
an example i have often found myself using is of the “if i were in some wilderness” variety. the context is always that of power relationships. the idea that people who i’ve never spoken to, perhaps never even met, not only hold power over me, but by deign of social, corporate, or governmental position, are also by default owed my respect and my submission. the example goes like this: “if i were in the wilderness i’d smash his head in with a rock and dump him in a ravine.” sounds crazy, i know, but what it boils down to is this, i can’t help but feel no one is automatically my superior, and that no one who has not earned it directly, or at very least indirectly, deserves my respect. this is a demand of modern life that always gets under my skin… sticks in my craw. i can’t help it.
so what does this have to do with our diseased, toothless, non-indoor plumbing having forbearers? well, it’s just this, i can’t help but suspect that in some important ways, these poor folks from the distant past were not only more free than we modern, educated, civilized folk are, but lead more meaningful lives. i know, i know. it’s ridiculous. how could a past full of emperors, czars, kings, peasants, surfs, caste systems, papal control, slavery, bonded labor, landed gentry, feudalism, witch hunts, writs of salvation, etc ad infinitum, be considered in any meaningful way more “free?” well. as i said right from the beginning, i don’t know exactly, but i still have such suspicions. i’ve said more than i care to admit that i’d trade much of our comfort, our long life, our ease of motion, our luxuries for something… well, something else. like most such fantasies though, no-matter what plan might be hatched to try and recapture something lost, (i’ll get a job hosing off the statues on easter island! i’ll move to alaska! i’ll…) the bottom line is, there is no going back. we can’t unlearn what we’ve learned or forget what we know.
anyhow, this has all been a needlessly long, meandering lead-in to a piece of internet lit which at first and even second glance seems to be of the utopian crank variety. it’s a piece called simply, abolish work. it’s long, and its premise seems silly in that it’s really hard to even imagine. no more work? silly or not much the same way i feel there is some grain of truth in my own irrational romancing of humanities difficult past i feel like within this screed there is a grain of value. the one is related to the other. this paragraph touches on it:
Usually work is employment, i.e., wage-labor, which means selling yourself on the installment plan (and this is even more true in “communist” than capitalist countries, where the state is nearly the only employer and everyone is an employee). Thus 95 percent of Americans who work, work for somebody else. In the USSR or Cuba or Yugoslavia or Nicaragua or any other socialist country, the corresponding figure approaches 100 percent. Only the embattled Third World nations—Mexico, India, Brazil, Turkey—still have significant concentrations of peasants who live under the arrangement of most laborers of the last thousand years: payment of taxes (ransom) to the state or rent to parasitic landlords in return for being otherwise left alone. Even this raw deal begins to look good to many of us in the industrial world.
i guess that last sentence is really what precipitated the long intro. in any case i’m curious what you all think about this. utopian piffle, pointless rant, just plain silly though it may be as an actual “plan”, (it was published at one point by loompanics after all) i’d like to know how this issue strikes the rest of you? do you ever think about it? does it bother you? do you romanticize some past age? do you get pissed off when your expected to tremble before some person you’ve never even met? do you feel like your job enriches you? do you feel satisfied with the arrangement as it stands? slog through this piece and tell me what you think. i’m curious.
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thinking machine
came across this fun art/tech thingamabob today. play chess against this java applet and “see it’s thoughts” as it reasons out each move. from the site: “the artwork is an artificial intelligence program, ready to play chess with the viewer. If the viewer confronts the program, the computer’s thought process is sketched on screen as it plays. A map is created from the traces of literally thousands of possible futures as the program tries to decide its best move. Those traces become a key to the invisible lines of force in the game as well as a window into the spirit of a thinking machine.” pretty cool.
rewrite the science books, revisit the fairy tales
well, the discovery of a incredibly odd tableaux in some indonesian limestone caves have lead to what i, for one, would consider a bombshell almost as full of bombshelly goodness as the recent lip synching flap on saturday night live (talentless, manufactured, pop stars lip synching?! that’s crazy talk!) what researchers found amounts to nothing less than a separate lineage of intelligent hominid who lived not only somewhere in the far reaches of prehistory, but as recently as 12,000 years ago. which is to say, along side of us. since the initial find, which those on site unfortunately dubbed “the hobbit”, the researchers have found the remains of six other individuals from the same species.
the tableaux i mentioned is so odd as to almost seem made up. get this “not only did anthropologists find the skeletal remains of a 3ft tall, 30-year-old adult female, but they also uncovered in the same limestone cave the remains of a Komodo dragon, stone tools, and a pony-sized dwarf elephant.” add to that a couple of the other inhabitants these “hobbits” shared the island with, namely the giant tortoises and golden retriever-sized rat’s, and what have we got? why we’ve got wacky topsy-turvy world! the location of these remains suggests that our little cousins did not just wake up there one day having evolved from homo erectus, but that they “emigrated” there, by boat. if i weren’t a nonist i might be surprised. as it is i’m just thrilled at this further blow to humanities boundless self-importance. all in all pretty amazing stuff.
there are all kinds of interesting details which themselves point to all kinds of interesting possibilities, not the least of which is a basis in fact for the “little people” legends in many cultures… anyhow, rather than continuing to paraphrase i recommend reading one of the many news items about it if you haven’t already. some of the better pieces include mystery hobbit man from times online uk, hobbit joins family tree from the bbc, yet another story with “hobbit” in the title from abc news, and finally national geographic’s hobbit discovered. now you can see why i said it was unfortunate those on the scene decided to call it a hobbit rather than the more natural “flo” from Homo floresiensis. ah well, if they had gone with flo i suppose we’d be inundated with “kiss my grits” related headlines.
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earthbound
today the cassini spacecraft made it’s first fly by of saturn’s largest moon, titan. “long hidden behind a thick veil of haze, titan, the only known moon with an atmosphere, is ready for its close-up. this visit may settle intense speculation about whether this moon of saturn harbors oceans of liquid methane and ethane beneath its coat of clouds.” in january cassini will drop Huygens onto titan’s surface for an even closer view, and evidently a listen. the spacecraft is fitted with a special microphone for just this purpose. “the sound of alien thunder, the patter of methane rain and the crunch (or splash) of a landing, all might be heard as Huygens descends to the surface of Titan.” you know…
imagining these project managers, astrophysicists, engineers, number crunchers, all sitting behind their various read outs and screens, helping to make possible man’s first exploration of untouched celestial bodies halfway across the solar system… well it makes me feel silly to be honest. it makes me wish that maybe i had taken the time to learn my multiplication tables in 5th grade, and not set into motion that chain reaction which lead to a lifetime of mathematical ineptitude. these people are (by proxy, granted) exploring the surface of other fucking planets, and moons. they are flying through the tails of comets and shit. whatever it is i happen to do all day can not possibly be as fascinating or important as that. (it does not help that what i am
actually doing all day is not even as fascinating as what nasa’s janitorial staff scrape off of the cape canaveral cafeteria floor.) i imagine them listening intently as huygens crashes through the titian atmosphere, listening for thunder and rain on a moon around another planet! analyzing data to help get a clearer picture of the moon’s surface… meanwhile all i’m qualified to do is hit the refresh button on my browser while i impatiently wait for the nasa site to post pictures and audio of their findings.
you know, art can be fun. being able to create things, perceiving the world in a certain way, being able to find beauty in unexpected places, these are nice abilities. a life preoccupied with aesthetics can occasionally feel interesting, fun, beautiful. their is a high that goes along with the act of creation which i have to assume is unlike any other. sure, like most any high it’s followed by a crash and a self hatred also unlike any other. overall a life dedicated to making pretty things is not so bad. but in the scheme of things? there seem to be two paths a creative person can take. you can be a navel gazer, creating art for art’s sake, offering nothing to the world in the end but evidence of your own way of seeing, and the arrogant assumption that it was needed. or you can be a wretched corporate shill, renting out whatever paltry “skill” you might have in order to help package, brand, and push more useless shit to other imbeciles, filling the world with just “that” much more cheap, gussied up ugliness. i am lucky enough to be able to do both. what could be better than that?
seeing as how neither of my flaccid mathless pursuits statistically tend to bring vast riches, i will likely not be able to experience the true wonders of the universe in the only other way available, as a tourist. at best i can read it second hand, as with this interview cnn conducted with one of the few lucky ones. as for me, i’m gonna go do what comes naturally now and watch hours of pointless time destroying television in my exorbitantly expensive urban hovel, secure in the fact my life has been a long string of fantastic choices, that art is noble, and that my life has been well spent. good luck all ye bustling spacecraft and good night sweet world.
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mike combs. one part familiar, one part unknowable.
from a long line of long island baymen and decoy carvers, the sculptor mike combs has been bringing his distinctive view of man and nature to us for a little over a decade now. known for his intricate hand carved pieces, statements on hunting, fetishism, evolution, and man’s effect on the environment, mike has exhibited with some of the biggest names in contemporary art, and yet i’m willing to bet some of you are still not familiar with his work. with that in mind i decided to sit down and talk with mike for a while about his family, his work, and what lies ahead. the results of that conversation are as follows-
jm: so let’s start at the beginning. I’ve read that your family can be traced straight back to the mayflower. is that true or is it just a bit of combs family legend?
mc: allow me explain. richard Combs married Sarah Priest. Sarah was the daughter of Degreory Priest, who was one of the organizers of the voyage, and was on board. Deregory was a furrier and first went to Holland. evidently they weren’t treated too well which resulted in there journey to the new world. the men arrived first and women and children came a year later.
jm: is this early settler status meaningful to you somehow or it just an interesting factoid you can throw in to add spice to the mike combs “mythology?”
mc: my family’s history and their trades are an integral part of my fine art. I enjoy tracing back the my lineage. these people were water people who persevered, eked out livelihoods on the water for 300 years. as a young boy it was inevitable i’d be struck by this, influenced by it. I would go down to the bay with my pop. I recall him often saying “It’s not what it used to be.” witnessing him breaking his ass for a day wage while it was coming to an end as a viable lifestyle; there was a sadness to that. I happen to be the first generation to abandon this lifestyle to pursue a career in the arts. I do enjoy tracing back the my lineage. It’s a reservoir for the work I do today, can you trace back when you started becoming a wise-ass?
jm: the wise-ass gene goes way back in my ancestry. my people were expelled from their homelands in the old world for just that reason i think. anyway, carving is something of a family trademark for the combs clan isn’t it?
mc: yes it is. when we first arrived on long island we did what most did and found occupations that were based off the natural resources. so the bay, and boat building, fishing, and hunting supported many families. along with hunting, of course, came decoy carving. it was originally an occupational neccessity.
jm: this all creates an image of a still diapered mike combs whittling with a bouey knife. when did you start carving?
mc: I started to carve when I was 10 years old. the first thing that I carved was a wooden knife. I realized that I could carve a knife which could hold an extremely sharp edge of it’s own. I do believe I accidentally cut myself with that wooden knife. It seemed to happen quite often. That’s when familial concern started to set in….
jm: did decoy carving get you interested in other arts or did your interest in art lead you inevitably back to the “family business?”
mc: carving waterfowl gave me some of my first brushes with form, mass… volume. i found myself engaging the process and enjoyed it a hell of a lot. all of this was uncharted water for me. I could see that I had a sense for volume and form. i was comfortable with it, which was the segway to pursuing an art education.
jm: we both attended the the school of visual arts in Manhattan. you studied illustration didn’t you? why not sculpture?
mc: I had never had any formal training in the arts. what I was familiar with was self taught or influenced by family. my carving was what got me accepted into art school. I quickly gained a reputation for it, but personally… my mind was elsewhere. I wanted to find my own voice. one of my earliest memories is of children’s book illustrations. painting is a love for me. although I’m a sculptor I was formally trained in illustration.
jm: was illustration a concession to practicality? I know in my case I didn’t even have a clear conception of what “graphic design” was before art school. I just knew everyone kept pushing it as a happy medium between being an artist and actually earning a paycheck. they said “hey, you like to paint, but you use text in your images! you’ll love graphic design! plus you can make some money.” those bastards… a curse on all their houses!
mc: I was very much interested in painting and drawing. during my Master’s studies in Illustration I hit a serious crossroads though. a major change of course came when Thomas Woodruff, who I’m forever indebted, convinced me that I already possessed a portfolio that could yield work in the professional market. He asked me why not set aside some of these preconceived notions and pay a bit respect to this gift that I had for sculpture. This far in, I thought he was insane, but at that point personally things were feeling pretty stale and I was plateauing hard.
jm: so, did you actually learn anything in art school?
mc: for me art school was vital, though I’m certain I wouldn’t have continued If I hadn’t faced those risks of changing course. for me Art school wasn’t about learning line quality or tonal value, but more the entire experience of living in a city, immersed in the arts, and working with professional artist. It was all vital.
jm: you’re one of the few artists I know who has managed to stubbornly fend off any prolonged “day job” to subsidize your work. I know it’s been hard.
mc: it can be a strain but I’m learning the gymnastics to that aspect of things. too much focus on that age old reality can really fuck things up though. I’m doing my best to bridge the gap.
jm: do you feel like it strengthens you’re resolve, knowing it’s not the easy road? do you buy into the idea that struggle somehow makes for better, “purer” work?
mc: well I will say this much, It’s quite gratifying to conceive and execute an idea while under fire. cutting through those obstacles simply allows you to focus on what you do best.
jm: has it influenced the way you look at other peoples work?
mc: in some cases yes. often I can see when someone’s work was painless. It’s evident in the final product and it usually continues that way for the artist.
jm: early in your career you worked closely with the painter frank moore. I know you created the frames for a group of his works. it always struck me as a sort of unspoken apprenticeship; a glimpse into strata of the art world that still lay ahead. was it an important experience for you?
mc: very much so. during my last year at SVA, i became Frank Moores frame maker and assistant. It was an exciting time. we were working on some amazing projects. I did a total of about 25 frames, some at his studio upstate or on crosby st, and some of them at my studio on 28th street. although they were Frank’s frames he would give me a lot of creative jurisdiction on them. he was wonderful that way. Frank called them collaborations. he loved my ability to carve and he certainly utilized that. I recall one project where I constructed five gold-leafed adirondack style frames with at least a dozen and half beautifully carved insects, dragon flies, praying mantises, millipedes… all gold leafed. They were commissioned by the late gianni vercece, we had a blast.
jm: I’ve noticed that his work often dealt with twisting the natural world much as yours does, though in different media and in different ways. with your upbringing, and having grown out of an art form with as literal and utilitarian a take on nature as decoy carving, did working with frank help open up your thought process?
mc: Of course. the work I create is about my experience and influences, good, bad, etc. relative to previously asked questions all of this was new territory for me and working with Frank, in the simplest of terms, was so different than what I had done throughout my journey… unarguably it influenced my own process. I have a lot of gratitude for having had that experience.
jm: your work thus far can be seen as a sort of running commentary on nature and man’s place in it. contrary to what artists like to project, I know from experience, that often times the impetus for a series of artworks comes from an unknown place, and only later are the dots connected. did you explicitly set out to tackle man and nature or did you just do what came naturally, and realize the significance of the works as they appeared?
mc: perhaps it’s safest to say, for me, the work came “naturally” after attempts in many mediums. the work seems to be an extension of who I am, so my subjects are based on familiar territory as well as the unknown, both in medium and concept. that’s who we all are, one part familiar, one part unknowable. what feels natural to me is taking both of those aspects and watching them collide. that’s what feels natural to me…
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jm: though nature has remained the dominant theme in your work it seems to me that as time has gone on your method of exploration had evolved considerably. initially the “twist” on nature was a perversion of form. long, forlorn necks emphasizing the limp lifelessness of each bird. then came the perversion of context. a heart on a dainty, crisply folded piece of cloth. heads and wings on soft pillows to emphasize the root cause of these deaths, namely trophyism. since then you have started exploring the nature of that trophyism itself, the fetishistic aspects, the sexuality, and most recently with “apparel” you have abandoned the animal all together, in favor of the hunter. in a sense it seems as if your voice has gotten louder and louder with each piece. does that feel accurate and where might this progression be leading?
mc: yeah the work does explore some of man’s fears and perversities. why not? at an extremely young age it was apparent to me that we live in a beautiful but twisted world. what’s the attraction to fear? I’m not to sure. I try to put my finger on it often… It’s about security or the lack there of. the more I continue to peel it back the more evident it is to me. that’s what fuels my work, human nature.
jm: i seem to remember that when your piece ages three and up was first exhibited it had two heads! what happened? haha.
mc: this was a piece in a group show called Canalogy. the show was put together by a group of young artists in an attempt to stimulate environmental awareness about the guwaness canal, (which by the way is noted to be the most highly polluted canal in north america.) My piece was a large carved swan which survived post apocalyptic life. It originally had two mutated heads. it floated in the canal. the viewer would put a quarter in a slot and soot ten rounds at the bird, you know, carnival-esque. it was a play on man’s continuous consumption and natures adaptation. at the show, as time went on, some three thousand rounds were fired into this poor swan decoy. eventually I ran out of ammo so the crowd started to get rambunctious, and this primal out-break was building, the onlooker’s started throwing stones. it started out with tiny little pebbles… then larger ones… a bit bigger… then bean sized… It was kind of funny…. but then some overzealous participant (who I later found out to be under the influence of L.S.D.) threw a brick sized piece of concrete at the swan snapping its poor little head right off! talk about adaptation. the piece had evolved into something else right in front of my own two eyes. I often wonder what that little prick is up to today?
jm: he’s probably in art jail getting violated by pointillists… talk a little about your most recent piece, apparel. it seems like a jump into new territory in some ways.
mc: up until apparel the work was about the objects, the trophies, etc. apparel happened to be the piece which is about the person, the hunter, the man behind the object. it’s a jacket for the guy who’s a general in his own mind so to speak. It was a lot of fun coming at it from that perspective. I’m not through with that aspect of things.
jm: those patches! wow. where’d you get those things anyway?
mc: (no comment)
jm: I can imagine the decoy carving community which nurtured you starting out as very proud but becoming more and more flustered with each more explicit piece. what was the reaction to trophy or the leda and the swan back patch on apparel, or your untitled double headed dildo piece? what did your father think?
mc: my father was the person who originally encouraged me to go to N.Y.C. and pursue a career in the arts. he figured I had as much of a chance making it as an artist as I did as a bayman. that required open mindedness on his part. he is a great influence on my work today. he is a true gentleman. he’s worked very hard. he understands what I do today and excepts it. my fine art is purely mine, worrying myself in regards to what someone else may think, letting that govern what I want to say… it’s totally damaging to the work. i’ve been at this for some time and allowing fear to dictate what I create destroys me. for me carving is a spiritual connection. i love to create, and It’s seems love and fear cannot occupy the space. It’s taken me a while to say this but, today, I carve first for god, second for me, and the rest can go fuck themselves!
jm: hey! god doesn’t like swearing, alright? so what do you think about explicit artwork in general? for instance andrea fraser’s piece this summer where she fucked a collector on tape for 20 grand. at what point does sex in art become a beer commercial gimmick?
mc: explicit work? Well, I avoid… I don’t enjoy being spoon fed let’s say. most pornographic work is bit of a yawner. gender bending work’s not my bag. how lasting is it? is it important? you know when work moves you and when it doesn’t. next.
jm: we’ve talked a lot in the past about the element of craft in art. the sense of accomplishment and reward a viewer can take away from a beautiful painting or sculpture. that feeling of “wow, how did they do that?” it’s obviously a factor with carving. is craft loosing it’s ground in favor of bare concept as a criteria for “great art?”
mc: in the beginning, for me, it seemed craft was everything, a must. today I find myself defining craft as i go. I wouldn’t say its being lost to bare concept. I find charged work, the work which carries real electricity, to be the work in which both elements support one another equally.
jm: as i’ve stated here many times i get tired of reading about art: artist statements, explanations, concepts, criticism, etc. when you read all that then look at a totally underwhelming piece… it’s a crutch. i for one just want to be moved by the work without any accompanying required reading. how do you feel about it?
mc: i agree to an extent. i enjoy work which supports itself. i do often find myself following up on an artist who grabs me though. I enjoy process, learning how that artist evolved, how he or she was influenced, what makes their work important to themselves or to the art world in general. that sometimes requires research.
jm: how do you feel about guys like jeff koons and damien hirst whose art at this point is largely manufactured? do you have any thoughts on the artist as art director? is it a racket or just the natural progression once you’ve gained the resources?
mc: well I recall jeff koons saying something that today really strikes me. he mentioned that if he were to do his work totally on his own that he would only be able to finish one piece a year. why would he want to do that? i agree. if i had my choice i would have four assistants. remember you are talking to someone who was an assistant. i believe in it. my work is laborious, parts of my process could be executed with guide hands. also these two cats are both serious “showmen” their shows are like huge productions. and lets not forget they are both also serious businessmen. i don’t like everything hirst does but I did like is last show.
jm: i’m gonna throw out some names, any thoughts? ron muek. richard serra. robert smithson. duchamp. mathew barney. joseph cornell. jake and dinos chapman. tom friedman. roxy paine…
mc: serra’s torqued ellipses blew me over I wanted to live in them. the chapman’s installations are borderline for me, perhaps shtick, perhaps not.
jm: now that i think of it, you hardly ever mention sculptors when we talk art! do you even like sculpture?
mc: your being a dick… you know that I enjoy sculpture. i have a broad mix of what works for me. now, to me, duchamp is one who hats should be off to. I have always had love for joseph cornell as well. barneys films and props I enjoy, etc…
jm: o.k. how about these names? any thoughts? cy twombly. walton ford. john currin. bill violla. lucien freud. matthew ritchie. neo rauch. inka essenhigh. fred tomaselli.
mc: violla changed the way I saw things. i left his retrospective feeling as if I had taken drugs. It was extremely exciting, the show was charged, and i happened to be strait.
jm: is there anyone whose work you’re really into right now?
mc: I get a kick out of tim hawkensens, toland grinnel, and jamie morrison.
jm: yup, geniuses, all three. anyone you want to pick a fight with or call out as a hack? haha, now’s your chance!
mc: no, that’s not my bag… oh, actually walter and poloma munoz and kevin o’callihan kiss my ass!
jm: seeing as how you’ve exhibited with a bunch of the people I’ve named in previous questions I think it’s safe to say you are “part of the art world.” what are your general feelings about it’s inner workings? do you ever feel like a hustler? do you feel like having to sell yourself detracts from the experience on the whole? most importantly who did you have to fuck?
mc: hey, If you can’t handle the heat get outta the kitchen.
jm: kitchen huh? pretty kinky. do you ever catch yourself tailoring work to your audience? asking is this sellable? etc.
mc: nah, we’ve talked about this before, It doesn’t work.
jm: how have your brushes with criticism been?
mc: i don’t know. my job is not worrying about that. they have their job and I have mine, which is making work that continues to haunt me. I can’t care what the critics think. the idea for me and my work is to liberate my thoughts not to lock them up.
jm: so you have a one man show in the works for summer 2005. what’s the concept?
mc: come see yourself: the trophy room the parrish museum, april to may, southampton new york.
jm: any new work to be added or is it more of a “career so far” kind of thing?
mc: It’s a bit of both. I’m really looking forward to this Installation.
jm: seeing as how this is the nonist and all, I ought to ask something about your personal philosophy… do you have one or are you a strict “seat of your pants” type?
mc: i’d have to say i’m a nonist myself. i truly don’t have any thoughts of note, haha. I will say my son has given me serious direction, he has shown me to put one foot in front of the other.
jm: are you religious?
mc: no.
jm: do you think there is such a thing as “truth” or is reality just totally subjective?
mc: my pop always has a way of saying things, one profound thing I recall him saying was “mike, It all means shit in the end”... we will leave it at that.
jm: what in your opinion might a nonist be?
mc: a nonist, in my opinion… well what qualifies me to be one is the fact that what i believe is based on what I hear and learn. I have no proof! i take no stand- If there is a god how the fuck am I to know who it is? I like the concept of the nonist because its a disclaimer of sorts admitting “i don’t have any correct answers.” i don’t know… live and let live?
jm: anything you’d like to say to our readership out there that I haven’t covered?
mc: not really… spread the wealth?
jm: alright one last question, your a father now, are you planning to make it 6 generations of wood carvers? or are you gonna let the poor kid make some money! be a dentist or a plastic surgeon or something?
mc: i’m not planning anything like that for him. I never had to go through any of that shit myself. Isn’t the Idea just to provide a life better than mine? I have no real complaints with mine, i’m sure he will figure his out, with any luck he’s gonna tell me what to do!
jm: thanks for talking with us mike, best of luck on the next show.
for more info on the history of decoy carving in mike’s family check out the combs decoy museum online, soon to have a brick and mortar counterpart. for more about mike’s work and his path thus far check out his personal page as well. further information can be found at the hamptons.com, the parrish art museum, and through the james cohan gallery.
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neo-cons, get your rocks off
we all knew neo-cons had a tainted view of reality, but the fantasy life of bushites is filthy indeed. check out the quicktime movie. “you forgot poland!” hahahahaha. other video formats as well as images, etc, can be found at the home page. li(v)e girls.com.
simulated brain flies simulated plane
“a university of florida scientist has grown a living brain that can fly a simulated plane” why, you may very well ask? why do swaths of puny humans continually try to climb mount everest? because life is long and boring and there’s not all that much to do really once you’ve rented the whole run of futurama on dvd. in any case this guy’s a scientist and doing frankenshit like this, probing and unlocking the mysteries of the brain, well, it’s his job.
of course all that “understanding the brain for the betterment of humanity” stuff does not secure any decent funding i’m sure, so as a nod to the fiercely practical pocketbooks we get: living computers may someday be used to fly small unmanned airplanes or handle tasks that are dangerous for humans, such as search-and-rescue missions or bomb damage assessments.” hahaha. yeah. why does every scientific inquiry need to pay off with better bomb management and/or faster computers!? ever noticed that? in any case even though it is pretty cool i can’t help but be mystified by the whole thing. what is their motivation? how does he make it clear to the little dish dwelling brain cells what their goal is? from the article: “to control the simulated aircraft, the neurons first receive information from the computer about flight conditions.” huh? wtf is going on in there man?
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strandbeesten
dutch artist theo jansen makes some really fascinating work. begining with a functional ufo that he flew over the dutch town of delft in the 80’s he’s moved on to what he calls strandbeesten, translated as beach animals. they are pretty amazing. modled in the computer and adhering to an evolutionary design principle (namely whatever works is reproduced in the next generation) these large scale sculptures utilize wind power to “roam” the beaches. you have to watch the video’s to get a sense of them. not much out there to be read about him (in english at least), but i did find this one bit of artspeak on the subject. thanks to rich for the link.
neal stephenson speaks (and speaks, and speaks)
i know for certain there are a few neal stephenson fans counted among the readership here, so if you happened to miss it here is the interview he did over at slashdot. of particular interest to some of you may be the question posed about the standard high/low culture dichotomy science fiction writers (among many
others) have to continually contend with. it’s obvious this is a question he’s given thought to before because his answer is only a few hundred pages shorter than his last baroque cycle book. yikes! didn’t help that the questioner said jackie collins gets more respect as a writer. other interesting tid bits there as well. check it out.
8 billion miles and a long way to go
launched in 1972 and 1973 respectively the pioneer 10 and 11 missions were two of the most fruitful missions ever carried out by the united states space program. they hold many firsts among their impressive list of accomplishments. first spacecraft to jupiter. first spacecraft to saturn. between them they carried out a long list of never before possible experiments, collecting literally piles of new data on the two planets, as well as some of jupiter’s moons. they went on to capture two more important distinctions. first man made objects to leave our solar system, and for a long while, they were the earth made objects furthest away from earth. with that eventual distinction in mind the designers attached a sort of post card to the pioneer spacecraft. namely the now famous “pioneer plaque” (which you can see in full by clicking the thumbnail). now over 30 years after their launch, having finally lost both signals, both spacecraft continue to contribute to humanities understanding. in particular the understanding that we don’t know shit.
essentially what scientist have found, as time has passed, is that the pioneer spacecraft are not where they ought to be, that they have in fact slowed down significantly. this has been called the pioneer anomaly, and it may turn out the be the most pronounced case of 1 step forward 2 steps back ever recorded. from a
space.com article on the subject:
scientists are quick to suggest the pioneer anomaly, as they call it, is probably caused by the space probes themselves, perhaps emitting heat or gas. but the possibilities have been tested and modeled and penciled out, and so far they don’t add up. which leaves open staggering possibilities that would force wholesale reprinting of all physics books (namely)
1- invisible dark matter is tugging at the probes
2- other dimensions create small forces we don’t understand
3- gravity works differently than we think
did you catch that last one? “gravity works differently than we think.” i love that one. that’s what prompted me to post about the pioneer spacecraft in the first place. the idea that our conception of gravity, something every single one of us takes for granted, something so ingrained as to seem utterly unquestionable at this point, might in fact be, well, wrong… hahahaha. love it. if you notice the first two options on that list deal with things the existence of which we can not really prove. looking at it that way, this list really says:
1- uh, maybe some invisible, impossible to measure stuff we can’t possibly understand? or
2- we don’t understand gravity.
which actually, if you distill it further really reads:
1- we don’t understand any of it.
the article at space.com says new missions are being proposed to figure out whether, in fact, it’s a case of “wow! something new we can try and figure out” or “crap! we thought we had that figured out. guess not.”
scientists have been aware of the anomaly for a decade or so, and are still trying to wrap their heads around it. in the meantime we can all just wait for some other civilization out there to scoop up one of the pioneer’s plaques and set about trying to figure out:
1- what the fuck does this mean?! or
2- hahahaha! who are these extremely silly creatures?
you may think that i’m being needlessly hard on humanity for our intellectual shortcomings. you may say, “hey man! of course we don’t understand everything! but we’re getting there! 100 years ago we didn’t even have weird, hard to decipher plaques floating through space, let alone data from outside our solar system to show us things need further inquiry!!!!” i’d have to say, “chill out. i agree totally. i just wanted to point out an interesting article i’d read. sheesh.” in any case check out this diagram of pioneer 10 i dug up and tell me, was this created by a race that ought to be so smug as to think they understand much of anything, let alone physics on a cosmic scale?
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world beard and moustache championships
“grown men were reduced to hairy jelly, some rising long before dawn in their desperation to wax, tweak and blow-dry massive whiskers into the stuff of legend. ‘I’m very nervous - i didn’t sleep last night,” said one contestant, bristling with nerves.” listen up nonists! the next championship is less than a year off so get growing! (wink wink) check out the beard and moustache categories to see where your fuz might best fit. then check out the gallery of contestants and champions to see what your up against. stiff competition but it reamins a dream of mine to one day see a nonist capture a championship in the fu-manchu category.
chuck palahniuk’s guts
a while back i read a story at the telegraph about how people, lots of people, were passing out at chuck palahniuk readings. you know, the guy who wrote fight club. sounded silly to me. i’ve been to readings; many, many readings. that’s not intended as some kind of misguided badge of intellectual accomplishment. quite the opposite. i worked at a bookstore and so had the misfortune of attending a whole slew of extremely awkward literary assemblies. they are like a small scale shared hallucination where in the midst of every kind of banal distraction insisting the opposite (screaming children, cheap folding chairs, plastic cups, scornful employees, beeping security doors, stuttering p.a. systems, tilted cardboard podiums, and quite often utterly uncharismatic readers, alternately mumbling, rushing, or laughably self important) all in attendance sit in hushed revery stubbornly attempting to summon from the ether a meaningful / hilarious / intriguing, and life enriching experience. perhaps i had the misfortune of a long string of shitty readings, but from my experience i had to suspect any and all fainting spells were due to cheap wine, recirculated air, and boredom. yesterday i came across the chuck palahniuk short story which illicited these visceral reactions. it’s called guts and it’s both silly and filthy. it’s a story of experimental childhood masterbations gone awry with a topping of, well… guts. after reading it i can imagine listeners walking out, getting turned off or bored and wandering away, but fainting? did he use visual aids?
reading the november entrails
i came across this article at buzzflash which i found entertaining. ostensibly about the “born-again” rapture seeking aspect of george w’s presidency (from the article, “superstitious hogwash was entertaining at first, but by the time we figured out that members of congress and the bush white house had actually powwowed with end times zealots, even comedians found it decidedly unfunny. thomas jefferson said the book of revelations was the ravings of a lunatic. george bush organizes his foreign policy around it”), it offers alternate means by which to read the entrails for prophetic insights.
granted, the hubbub seems a bit silly. sure maybe bush is a superstitious boob, but facilitating the apocalypse? why would he and his administration be so bent in guiding the flow of worldly wealth into specific pockets if he were just interested in heavenly rewards? as for all those in power there is one god above all others, and it ain’t jesus. it’s extremely easy for rational people to laugh off all the evangelical fire and brimstone bullshit with a shrug and a “come on who believes this crap?!” but unfortunately the answer is a whole lot of people. more than i think any of us would care to admit. and what does it portend for us as sensible people if our leader is one of them? if nothing else, in my opinion, a predilection for bad judgment. i’m not convinced all this re-born stuff concerning bush is anything more than a tactic to please the arrogant, closed minded, self righteous bible thumpers which are his base. i mean he plays the “regular guy” role as well which anyone with two firing synapses knows utter crap. regular means average, not privileged and powerful. so as we laugh off all the religious nuttiness, let us remember good nonists, “the devil’s deepest wile is to persuade us that he does not exist.” (btw, the jesus/bush image is possibly from fark, not sure.)
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i want my sci-tv
well, not really “want” with an exclamation point or anything. after all the creators of the science network do hold up c-span as their inspirational beacon. a station that though important and very useful in theory, i’ve never watched more than ten minutes of at a stretch. the down and dirty of government ought to visible but filibustering can make for some pretty uninspired television, on par, lets say, with a yule-log. in any case wired has a story about this fledgling network’s first bit of programming, a simposium on stem cell research which “hopes to elucidate the complicated matter of embryonic stem cells for regular folks.” unfortunately as of now TSN is not really a television station as such, just a group of scientists with good intentions. all of the programs listed in their programs section are only “proposed” at this point. the stem cell symposium was aired though if you don’t get the university of california television network, you won’t be seeing it on your television screen. if you have any interest in it you can see it in it’s entirety via web cast. i for one have faith that the dullest and most obtuse scientific programming would still have more to teach us, than the most exciting political rhetoric. i wish them luck.
pirates and emporers
possibly the best school house rock homage ever created. from the creator, ” while critics decry the united states’ current brand of military and economic imperialism as dangerously unprecedented, great powers have been throwing their weight around like schoolyard bullies since st. augustine’s time. this playful but pointed cartoon shows that while uncle sam has been an especially bad apple of late, he’s following a pattern of bad behavior which goes back decades”. no excuse of course, but very well done. i esspecially appreciate the bit about “freedom fighters.” check it out.