Conversations with Art

"You may want to consider new uniforms for your Ultimate Frisbee team.  Just a suggestion."

"Well, f*ck you too."

Artsy Fartsy

Here's an easy, contention-free question: what is art?  A few months ago I did a post on street art around LA.  I have thought a lot about public art in general and in particular, the Urban Light installation by Chris Burden at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA)...

...and "Bubble Gum Alley" in San Luis Obispo, CA.

The former is high art world approved; the latter may not be considered art at all.  Both installations consist of multiple every day, functional items: lamp posts and bubble gum (okay, and condoms). 

The light installation is beautiful - especially at night; however, I have often thought it a bit boring and safe when looked at as a piece of art.  This is why I thought it would be a good choice to juxtapose against Bubble Gum Alley.  My choice ended up being a bit ironic because it turns out that in his younger years, Chris Burden created some intense and controversial works.  In the 1970s he did a series focused on personal danger in which he was shot in the arm, nailed to a Volkswagen, and shimmied through broken glass with his hands held behind his back.

(Burden's next installation at LACMA is titled Metropolis ii.  It is a sculpture of a city with miniature cars racing through it at 240 miles an hour.   I got a peek at it a few weeks ago, but the last I heard it is still being installed.)

Bubble Gum Alley is not beautiful - I'm betting especially not so at night.  There is a lot of DNA on those walls.  Of course, one can't discuss DNA in art without bringing up photographer Andres Serrano, a controversial, but established artist that uses blood, urine, and semen in his work.  If he can do it, so can all the teenagers in San Louis Obispo.

Bubble Gum Alley is gross, but it's a collective work that has impact.

Urban Light is pretty.  And what's wrong with pretty?

One is made for the public; the other by the public.

I Heart Street Art

Welcome to the third edition of I Y Fridays! I thought about titling this post "I Heart Graffiti."  I didn't because I don't.  Well, I don't Y all graffiti.  The gang tag on a couch that someone left on the curb outside my apartment - I don't Y that.  However, there are a lot of talented graffiti artists out there that really do produce some great public art.

Dan and I drove around the city yesterday to take some photos of our favorite street art.    Or rather, Dan drove me around and waited in our illegally parked car while I jumped out to snap some shots.  We didn't start until 4pm, so the traffic and the setting sun were not in our favor.

Two disclaimers: 1) The photos below represent only a small fraction of the beautiful and thought-provoking street art throughout LA.  2) Although I love street art, I am hardly an authority, so I don't have artist information for all of the photos.  Sorry.

This is the Skee.TV headquarters building which is about a half block from my apartment.



{ by Aaron Axelrod }

 I saw the work below for the first time today.  It made me think of my Inspiration vs. Imitation post.  Here again is the Campbell's soup can.  I like the treatment, though.  It's fun!


{ by Mr. Brainwash }



Apparently the work below resulted from Perez Hilton posting a photo on his gossip blog of a piece by Common Cent$, but attributing it to Bansky. Of course, this is just a rumor, but any rumor that implies Perez Hilton doesn't know what he's talking about is a rumor I am inclined to believe.


{ by Common Cent$... not Bansky. }

 I actually have a Bansky piece in my bathroom.  Well, not an original.  Obviously.  I bought it at Melrose Trading Post from a guy who takes photographs of street art, prints the photos on canvas, then applies the canvas to pieces of wood.  I think Bansky made a great addition to my growing "Potty Art" collection.  Get it?

I'm not sure who did the piece below, but it is around the corner from the Common Cent$ wall.

This is my favorite (at the moment):


{ by CYRCLE }


Although that is my favorite individual piece - largely because of the message - my favorite collection of work is by the creator of the this:

{ by JR }

There are several gripping works like these around the city right now.  Unfortunately, I didn't have enough daylight yesterday to capture all of them.  According to LA Weekly they are part of a series titled "The Wrinkles of the City."  I am in love.

This is from the ever-changing wall of the American Hotel in the LA Arts District.  I think he wants a tummy rub.

Speaking of ever-changing, one of my favorite pieces in the LA Arts district is now gone.  This...
 

{ taken in May }

 is now this...

{ taken yesterday }

 I was sad when I saw that Mr. Mona was gone, but I suppose the revolving door of street art is what makes it so special.  I will stop there.  I could pontificate about how nothing lasts forever, beauty is fleeting, and so on, but I will stop there.  You're welcome.

Links:
http://www.aaronaxelrod.com/
http://www.mrbrainwash.com/home.html
http://www.cyrclebrand.com/
http://www.banksy.co.uk/
http://badartinc.com/index.html
http://jr-art.net/

Inspiration Vs. Imitation

While at the Huntington Library recently I came across these two paintings in the American gallery.

{ Still Life by Luigi Lucioni }

{ Small Crushed Campbell's Soup Can (Beef Noodle) by Andy Warhol }

They got me to thinking about inspiration and its ugly step-cousin imitation.  Now, let me say right away that I am not an expert on Andy Warhol and do not claim to know where he found his inspiration – aside from popular culture, of course.  However, as I looked at Lucioni’s still life I couldn’t help but wonder if Warhol if he had seen Lucioni's work and had been inspired by the modern take on a classic still life painting; specifically, the Campbell’s soup can. Although Warhol was born two years after Lucioni painted this piece, they both lived in New York City at the same time and died one year apart.  It is very likely that Warhol could have seen this piece.

Let’s say he did.  Although I am not necessarily a fan of Warhol, I think that if he did see this piece and was inspired by it, he did a great job of keeping imitation, the ugly and unwanted step-cousin of inspiration, out in the cold.  The same subject - a Campbell’s soup can - is treated very differently in each piece, but both pieces are successful in portraying a mundane part of everyday life.  Well done, boys.

So, all this thinking got me to keep on thinking about my songwriting.  There is consistently before me the challenge of letting the music of others inspire me without imitating them.

One of my biggest fears during the songwriting process is that I will end up writing a song that someone else has already written.  It’s unlikely that it would be word-for-word, but discovering that you accidentally copied a hook or melody line is the absolute worst feeling a songwriter can experience.  Having been raised "under a rock" as I affectionately say and not exposed to mainstream music until my early 20s, this challenge is especially intimidating.  However, I continue to face the challenge with a couple fingers on my keyboard and a couple fingers crossed.

This, on the other hand, I would NOT mind imitating.

If you need me, I'll be on the treadmill.

Hurtin' for Burton

My friend Stephanie texted me on Tuesday to see if I wanted to go with her to the Tim Burton exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA).  I had been spending way too much time on my computer, so I jumped at the chance.  I am so glad I did.

I had never before thought of Tim Burton as an individual artist, working independently.  This exhibit showed me a whole new, yet familiar, side to Burton.  He is a surprisingly prolific artist - the exhibit is huge!  He certainly does not have cable, I can tell you that.  No one with cable could be so impressively productive. 

The exhibit starts with works from his teenage years in Burbank, including art class projects with teachers’ notes (I love that he saved things like that) and continues into his movie-making years. Most of the pieces are from Burton’s private collection.  One would think that images from under Burton’s bed would be grim and gruesome, but he treats everything with such humor and whimsy that nothing was disturbing to me at all.

I spend a lot of time in museums and art galleries, viewing all kinds of art. What I appreciated most about this exhibit was the utter uniqueness of each piece displayed.  There is virtually nothing in Burton’s work, save the eyeball, that actually exists. His works are pure creation.  Pure imagination.    

I would highly recommend this to anyone in the LA area.  It runs until October 31^st (appropriately), so you have plenty of time.

Although I would have loved to show you photos from the exhibit, no photography was allowed inside.  So, before I head over to Netflix to add all of Burton’s movies to my queue, I will leave you with a poem by the man himself:

Robot Boy

Mr. and Mrs. Smith had a wonderful life.
They were a normal, happy husband and wife.
One day they got news that made Mr. Smith glad.
Mrs. Smith would be a mom
which would make him the dad!
But something was wrong with their bundle of joy.
It wasn't human at all,
it was a robot boy!
He wasn't warm and cuddly
and he didn't have skin.
Instead there was a cold, thin layer of tin.
There were wires and tubes sticking out of his head.
He just lay there and stared,
not living or dead.

The only time he seemed alive at all
was with a long extension cord
plugged into the wall.

Mr. Smith yelled at the doctor,
"What have you done to my boy?
He's not flesh and blood,
he's aluminum alloy!"

The doctor said gently,
"What I'm going to say
will sound pretty wild.
But you're not the father
of this strange looking child.
You see, there still is some question
about the child's gender,
but we think that its father
is a microwave blender."

The Smith's lives were now filled
with misery and strife.
Mrs. Smith hated her husband,
and he hated his wife.
He never forgave her unholy alliance:
a sexual encounter
with a kitchen appliance.

And Robot Boy
grew to be a young man.

Though he was often mistaken

for a garbage can.