FUNKY!

Brick House -- The Commodores

[Chorus:]
She's a brick... house
She's Mighty might just lettin' it all hang out
She's a brick... house
The lady's stacked and that's a fact,
ain't holding nothing back.

She's a brick... house
She's the one, the only one,
who's built like a amazon
We're together everybody knows,
and here's how the story goes.
She knows she got everything a woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she lose with what she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!

[Chorus]

The clothes she wears, the sexy ways,
make an old man wish for younger days
She knows she's built and knows how to please
Sure enough to knock a man to his knees

[Chorus]

Shake it down, shake it down now (repeat)

Ah.... Glorious.

National Teapot Show VII

On an otherwise mundane Saturday, I found myself driving steadily into an ever thickening horizon of green-- Middle of Nowhere, N.C.  This was not a peaceful weekend drive reminiscent of the old days when people went for a drive solely for the joy of it; I was on a mission.  A strange mission perhaps, but it was my intention to see as many teapots as is humanly possible.

Yes, I was heading out to the 7th National Teapot Show, a triennial celebration of teapots held at Cedar Creek Gallery  in Creedmoor.  I went to the show in the hopes of seeing some teapots, but what I found were TEAPOTS!  which are entirely different animals.

Some were as small as my little finger, and others could have, with little difficultly, been mistaken for mid-sized mountains.  There were teapots made out of stone, wood, metal, glass, porcelain, and anything else these artists could get their hands on.  

Styles ranged from whimsical to disturbing to elegant and back to whimsical again.  As brilliant as it is to see them in person, you can still see this year's teapots here.  

So many gorgeous teapots...  I am filled with teapot lust.  

Oh!  On another note: I've started a class at Artspace in sculpting the human form in terracotta!  It is taught by Paris Alexander who also taught a fantastic figure drawing class.  He is absolutely fantastic, and lots of his work is on display in his studio area in artspace (on the first floor and to the right).  Soooo good!  

Festival for the Eno!

I finally got out the Eno River Festival, and it was fantastic!  I haven't gone since about '99 or '00, and I can't believe I've stayed away for so long!  The first time I went was with my Uncle who is a hard-core environmentalist.  He had an impressive garden filled with all-native species, and he had a section of the Eno that he routinely maintained.  He'd go out there and fight kudzu and other invasive plants.  It was a magical experience wandering from booth to booth making things out of clay, observing amphibians, and watching the river.  

Although going back this year I was interested in different things, it had that same magical feel. It's a huge festival with a lot going on, but most can be classed in two broad categories: Environmental & Political and, Arts & Music.   There were several stages with a mixture of folk, rock, blues, bluegrass, and gospel music playing, and around these were little clumps of vendors with their wares: pottery, paintings, and knit/crochet/cloth goods.  So much pretty!!!  There were some gorgeous bags... **drool**  I started to feel like a bit of hippie when I started noticing the preponderance of tie dye and hacky-sacks.  Although there was a big emphasis on green technologies (composting, solar energy, rain barrels) the event was pretty politically broad-- the Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians were all well represented at their booths.  I stopped by the Libertarians to say hi.  They were very nice, and gave me a copy of 'Discover Liberty'.  They tried to convince me to register to vote as a libertarian...  

They were not the only ones who got my age wrong.  One fellow that I was talking to about solar heating asked what I do for a living now that I'm out of school.  At another booth I was a given a survey for people 18+.  Ah well.  I'm nearly there!  Only about 4 months left!  

Back to the music:  The rock was mediocre at best, but the bluegrass, gospel etc were fantastic!  There was a group of cloggers (above) who danced while a small country trio played fiddle  for them, and I LOVED THEM!  

On top of the myoozak and all the cool art in the individual booths, there were some incredible large sculptures floating around:

There were three guys hard at work on this sand sculpture.

This llama is made of recycled plastic bags!

Even more striking than the sculptures all over the place, in my opinion, were the trash facilities.  Yes.  You heard me: the trash.  Instead of just having trash bins, they had paper recycling, glass recycling, plastic recycling, and compost bins!  It was incredible!  They made sure that all the food vendors used packaging and utensils that were biodegradable-- no guilt!!

It's amazing how much technology for sustainable living is already available; maybe the world won't come crashing to end!

The 'Senior Portrait' from HELL!!

I hate having photos taken of me. I particularly hate the yearly misery that is school photos. Somehow, they're significantly worse than the norm; they inspire a sort of mindless, rebellious rage in me, which, as you may imagine, does not result in attractive pictures. This year, our senior year, we don't file into the room one by one-- instead, we must make our own appointments with the photographers. 'Senior portraits', I'm told, must be taken by a particular photographer (don't try to tell me there aren't any kick-backs in that deal), and I've dutifully made my appointment. This year though, is going to be different for another reason: I'm going to wear a mask! sort of...

I went through some old magazines and cut out the faces that were roughly the same size as my face, then trimmed sections to put on my face! I've photographed the preliminary results:



I'm leaning toward #1. Thoughts?

...merde...

Perhaps it was arrogant, but yes: I thought I was getting the hang of french. That illusion has been cruelly torn from my grasping fingers. Yes, I have been thoroughly disabused of the foolish notion. "But how?", you ask, and I fear not, for I shall tell you.

I've begun my summer reading for French. 'Pierre et Jean' by Guy de Maupassant didn't seem too difficult based on the description of it-- simple storyline etc. I've had a rude awakening. I've been blown out of the water, the preceding pun being entirely intentional, by the nautical terminology. In the first 3 pages alone I've encountered these terms:

Tribord-- starboard (Nobody can keep these two straight anyway... hmph)
Bâbord-- port
tolet-- oarlock (I'm not rightly sure what that is in English...)
aviron-- oar
matelot-- sailor/seaman
nageoires-- fins
d'écailles-- scales (O.K. this one's a cognate... but still!)
mordre-- to bite/gnaw
mordiller-- to nibble
une barque-- a boat (Isn't one word for boat enough?! Just use 'un bateau'!)

I HAVE 200 PAGES OF THIS TO LOOK FORWARD TO!!!!!!
...well... it probably won't all be nautical know-how... they're just on a fishing trip...but-- all the same, man!!


On the bright side I've learned two (count 'em two!) fantastic french words!

morbleu!-- zounds!

un gredin-- a scoundrel

How brilliant would it be if words like those were reintegrated into modern English?! I'm certainly going to do my part to bring them back!

FRESH ART! COME GET IT WHILE IT'S HOT!

O.K. -- Not all of it is exactly fresh, but it's still damn hot! I've got a lot of my work up on picasa. It isn't well photographed, but it's there. Some of it will probably end up in my portfolio, but I'm in the process of decided what shows off my skills to best advantage. Many of them are still works in progress, so any suggestions/advice = WELCOME.

Check it out:

Latest
Still Pretty Recent
Destined to Get the Family Farm

Here's a little enticing preview:

^--- 'Blue Dancer', a sculpture @ the NCMA in Raleigh

The Fall

When I was little, I watched movies differently. I was entirely removed from the characters and their emotions; the most soul-crushingly sad film had no effect on me, and I derided those who 'got weepy', but I have begun to slide down the slippery slope towards emotional connection with films. I was reminded of the demise of my sarcastic inner child the other day at the Galaxy Cinema where 'The Fall' was showing. It was fantastic. It blended the drug-addled grime of 'Trainspotting', the magical realism of 'Pan's Labyrinth', and the sheer fun of 'The Princess Bride'. It is less focused on the linear, action-driven plot, and more on the style, artistry, and emotion--leaving the theatre, I was less interesting in tearing at plot holes than trying to preserve the beautiful, haunting images and transitions. It had a slightly art-house feel, yet it had a sufficient sense of humor established in the story sequences to avoid taking itself too seriously.

All the reviews of 'The Fall' that I've seen complain about the emphasis on style over plot, which, quite frankly, ticks me off. Why can't a film tell emotional truth rather than factual truth? 'The Fall' absolutely enthralled everyone in the theatre, and we were not merely oohing and aahing over the costumes (which were, by the way, fantastic). We were deeply invested in the interpersonal relationships. We cared about what conclusions they would come to, and what those conclusions would mean for the rest of us. It takes a lot to gain the trust of an audience to the point a which they are willing to listen to what you have to say about life. Anyone can hit viewers over the head with the ultimate meaning of their story, but it requires much more effort to get them to listen and take it seriously.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: films are not all created for the same purposes, and cannot all be judged in the same way.

Anyway...I like it...

Man.... Man Man is awesome, Man...

Have you ever loved something so much that you thought it could not possibly be better (best of all possible worlds, yeah?) and then you realize that it's more brilliant than you had initially been capable of imagining? I finally saw the lyrics to the first two Man Man albums, and it would not be an overstatement to say that I've fallen head over heels heals in love again. The world is a shinier, happier place now that I know all the words to Van Helsing Boom Box:

only time will tell if I'll allow the scenery around to eat me alive i wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet even though i know it won't work out in the long run so i burn down the walls breathe like a shadow those arms i once knew hold me like ghosts i learn how to speak forgotten language i fall in the sea but forget how to swim and when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have and only time will tell if I'll allow the scenery around to eat me alive i wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet even though i know it won't work out in the long run so i burn down Nepal breathe like a shadow those arms i once knew hold me like ghosts i learn how to speak defeated language fall in the street as i howl at the moon and when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have

Man Man songs are simultaneously cheerful, cheeky, tragic, frighteningly true, experimental, wacky, and even more strangely: normal. At the risk of sounding highly pretentious, listening to one of their albums feels like listening to a life or at least a week in somebody's very complex life. They span the range of human emotion and from seemingly nonsense lyrics, they tell stories that, whether we've experienced them or not, we all know.

BLACK MISSION GOGGLES
the sky is falling like a sock of cocaine in the ministry of information subway train's derailing heads decapitating i catch her reflection and it seems to sing to me la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la she's a warm bodega high on Noriega strung out in Brooklyn like it's 1983 she wears her legs around her neck like a piece of ice her smile's a neon marque hipsters eat for free la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la i am falling like a sock of cocaine in the ministry of information I'm a warm bodega high on Noriega strung out in Brooklyn cause i fell in love with her moon cut moon cuts tiny like eyelash lonely cat nap whisper lonely cat nap whisper moon cut moon cuts tiny like eyelash lonely cat nap whisper lonely cat nap whisper and i walk around i whisper in her scalp i whisper on the wind i whisper once again

Man Man combines brilliant lyrics with experimental yet powerful melodies, rhythms, harmonies and an insane energy that is hard to comprehend.



So Good.