☼ Bike Racing
Ben Godward‘s madness of an art studio is the exact antithesis of Jason Andrew’s spotless apartment gallery, Norte Maar. When visiting him in September of 2012, he told me about being a kid in the midwest and going to all-night coffee shops. There, he and his friends would get hopped up on coffee and buy jelly doughnuts. They’d take the doughnuts to Kinko’s and smear them across the copy machine’s glass to match the speed of the machine’s light. Upon paying for the copies the late night clerk would give them a sly smile – aware of the hijinks they’d wrought and the clean up ahead of him.
Wandering into English Kills off of a snow-dusted Forrest Street is a moment demanding to be experienced right now. Having grown accustomed to bright lights, white walls and winter doldrums I was initially taken aback by the somber back room of the gallery. Through the doorway, one can see only a fraction of three fantastic floating sculptures created by artist and costume designer Tescia Seufferlein.
I’ve driven hundreds of miles with my brothers, father and best friend in search of Cuban Sandwiches that are more than just passable. They have to be made with heart and have a spark that belies the simplicity of the ingredients. It’s an easy thing to phone in and miss. But when done right, the bliss is effervescent. One sign of a place with potential is the quality of their café con leche. It was by this mark that I first judged Cafeteria La Mejor on Suydam and Wilson. My first time was splendid.
If it’s Fuji Film, then It’s Not A F#%king Polaroid and it’s certainly not a motherf#%king Instagram either. Worm Carnevale’s solo show bearing the ubiquitous name will open this Friday (Oct. 19 6-9PM) in Fuchs Projects.
The show will consist of 300 instant photos from his archive. I’ve looked through roughly 527 individual shots from his instant film body of work. There are shots of drag queens, art exhibitions, moments of exhaustion, art direction, burns, smudges, Gilbert & George, masks, violence and things that are so unrecognizable that I didn’t ask for an explanation; content to let the mystery simmer.
While walking down Forrest Street during this past summer, I’d often see an open garage door. Inside was a man in bright shorts with a large, black beard with many paintbrushes. He’d usually be standing near a wall working on a tapestry filled with fantastical nude creatures.
On occasion I’d stop by to see how they were coming along. Sometimes he’d be meticulously working in the borders. Once, while repeating a floral pattern he turned to me and said, “I can’t believe I started doing this to myself. These borders take a lot.” (more…)
You know how you’re so cool and shit? How you’re the cutting-edge, bohemian-paradiso that the second-best-living-president comes to for fine pizza dining?
Well, you’re so cool that our favorite mayor’s office issued a permit for a wireless-bluetooth-speaker commercial to be filmed on Bogart and Grattan. The title: “Spread The Jam!” Oh boy!
I’ve had the pleasure of sleeping with two of the three art exhibitions I’m about to write about. I’m coming around to the opinion that art should be experienced with a lucid detachment. The kind that comes with waking up next to it as the sun begins to shine in the large loft windows of an old garment factory.
No coffee. No cigarettes. Just a good deal of blinking and possibly a stretch. Things come to you in waves. The realization that a day has begun sinks in and the only consolation is your surroundings.