It's really been a long time now, blog. Probz the longest I've ever gone without, you know, touching my keys. I mean, I was sharing a bunk at camp that one time, but somehow I still found the time to nudge a spacebar once or twice.
Anyway, I don't know, I have weird blisters on my feet today, it's finally summer here in Berlin, I'm re-reading Siddhartha in order to claw my way back onto the path of the buddha (clawing is not very zen, but is totally effective against weak, self-flagellating monk types). Also, I have been smoke-free for 48 hours and because my brain is drying up like a menopausal woman and giving me headaches, I have been replaying several murderous scenarios in my head:
One: Knifing the stupid fucking kids who harass me in the subway.
Two: Knifing the stupid fucking adults who harass me in the subway.
I met some interesting people and saw some interesting showzen lately. Mike Smith had a great screening at The Building and a subsequent show at Homie, which is run by Dan Seiple.
I saw a whole bunch of shit last weekend including a group show at September, which looked shitty until someone explained it was curated around a bauhaus collaborative idea. And then it somehow it seemed less shitty---as these things tend to do after clever exposition.
Carson Chan curated a good show at COMA gallery, called Back to the Future, which dealt with the passage of time etc. There was a nice video piece that spliced different time-travel scenes from movies I believe.
Earlier, new friend and sometimes artcrush Lisi Raskin had a show at Tanas, which was a precursor for the Istanbul Biennial and was really interesting.
Marie Lorenz and Jeff Williams visited from Rome and I took them to the gay parade where we enjoyed a beautiful drag queen vista from the idyllic location of a sticky bar stool.
New bestie Jesper Nordahl was in town for a few weeks and we ate cheeseburgers every day.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Things I have eaten while in Germany: lamb heart, lamb liver, liver cheese, blood sausage, sliced fat, pig tongue (a slice of barely cooked pig tongue on bread, mind you....the first time I have been truly, and not just melodramatically, horrified by food).
I wonder how anyone gets laid in this land of cool demeanors. I bought skinny jeans at some point. And they make my stomach hurt from the soul compromise and the unnecessary tightness around my beerholdingplace.
It rained as I explored old city Leipzig, so I saw "Terminator: die erlosung," to get out of the wetness. I understood 90%, but mostly because it was just explosions and the overwhelming sound of no Sarah Connor.
My future is a pastiche of possible nightmarish scenarios like a David Lynch movie. And I am a misogynist like Lars Von Trier. And the movie "Up" is awesome. And the movie "Drag Me to Hell," is awesome and Bob would have liked it.
I saw Lucia play at the Kinski Bar last weekend, which was amazing; she strangled herself with her microphone cord and married herself onstage. Soon I will post her myspace page, and also the flyer I made for her performance.
I went out for Nicky's birthday and smothered my depression with a joint, which made me happy, and make-out-happy and I think I'll do that more often, partly because I was born in Oakland at 4:20 a.m. which means my destiny as a stonerbaby is probably written in sanskrit on an ocean wall somewhere.
I wonder how anyone gets laid in this land of cool demeanors. I bought skinny jeans at some point. And they make my stomach hurt from the soul compromise and the unnecessary tightness around my beerholdingplace.
It rained as I explored old city Leipzig, so I saw "Terminator: die erlosung," to get out of the wetness. I understood 90%, but mostly because it was just explosions and the overwhelming sound of no Sarah Connor.
My future is a pastiche of possible nightmarish scenarios like a David Lynch movie. And I am a misogynist like Lars Von Trier. And the movie "Up" is awesome. And the movie "Drag Me to Hell," is awesome and Bob would have liked it.
I saw Lucia play at the Kinski Bar last weekend, which was amazing; she strangled herself with her microphone cord and married herself onstage. Soon I will post her myspace page, and also the flyer I made for her performance.
I went out for Nicky's birthday and smothered my depression with a joint, which made me happy, and make-out-happy and I think I'll do that more often, partly because I was born in Oakland at 4:20 a.m. which means my destiny as a stonerbaby is probably written in sanskrit on an ocean wall somewhere.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
For my blogfan, mentor and friend, Bob Anderson.
Bob died. He was a good friend I like to think, and a great, absurd man. I am sad. He read this blog just about every day, and used to quote me to myself when I was his teaching assistant. I quoted him too, because he had a blog as well. We both knew too many of the mundane details that comprise a person's life and in the end, our conversations went like this;
A: I ate the best Ethiopan last night at....
B: Yeah, I know, I read it on your blog. I went there 2...
A: Weeks ago, yeah I know.
(We both drum our fingers on the table)
B: Have you read this Chris Ware?
A: No, can I see it?
I can't believe he's gone, partly because he was and remains a kind of emblem of Austin for me. I mean, he was everywhere, all the time, supporting his students, his colleagues---I'm pretty sure most of UT enjoyed a bit of drink with Mr. Anderson at one time or another.
His visage is just so burnt into my brain, his long hair and consistently mischievious smile; a soundtrack of truly spooky noise music playing in the background. He loved that stuff. He was a big part of my life at UT, and he really supported me and his other students in their art-making and basic life stuff. He listened to me complain about so much stupid shit over the years, and I acted all the more dramatic and ridiculous because he was so calm and understanding about it all. I really felt I could tell him anything and he would remain amused yet without judgement. He was equally non-judgemental towards his students' art, and he was a great teacher, and he loved it, and he loved his students.
Here's some amazing stuff about Bob, I wish I could remember more, because I really enjoyed some of the weirdly wise things he said over the course of our 4 year friendship:
Every year on Halloween he stayed at home dressed like some kind of ghost and scared neighbor children when they came to ask for candy.
At Nohegan he wore a balloon hat and made intricate little pen drawings on rocks. They were totally fucking beautiful and bizarre.
He made drawings for all the grad students during their oral exams. He made one for me just months after I purchased a drawing of his at Arthouse's 5x7. I think I was kind of pissed that I spent 75 dollars on a drawing, only to have a similar one given to me a short time later. He told me afterwards that he made it with a blue ballpoint pen bought in Berlin, where I am now living. Somehow this seems important.
His three drawings were the only things adorning the walls of my room while I lived in Austin, and I'm pretty sure they are the only pieces of art I didn't lose or mistakenly put gum on over the years.
He swam every day, and was a fellow Pisces and sometimes we would talk about how fucked up we were because of our sign. We both had a lot of nightmares about sinking ships. And if I remember correctly, he was a glider in his flying dreams, while I was a flapper. And I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure he chose invisibility as his preferred superpower.
He came to every party I ever threw. I remember having a robot party with Erin Curtis and he wore a Mexican Wrestler's mask. I've never been sure how he misinterpreted our robot theme, and frankly I don't remember him giving much of an explanation but he was never really the most orthodox thinker (or costumer apparently).
He introduced me to some of the most perverse comics ever. S. Clay Wilson I remember in particular. Man, it was so disgusting and so good. I remember really vividly his excited and naughty expression as we poured over some of those lurid pages. I mean there were others too, Charles Burns and company---that was kind of our daily ritual. Sometimes he would copy stuff he thought I would like and put it in my box at school. Really grotesque woodcuts of birthscenes and the like. In return I would lend him some of my favorites like Dick Tracy and Flannery O'Connor. He loved Flannery and Evil Dead II and The Exorcist and all of those other things that are dark and ridiculous and poignant.
When he met my mom he told her some really sweet things about me, giving her a false picture of me as a better adjusted human being than I was at the time. As a consequence, she always asks about him.
In the fall of 2007, I TA'd his shared class with Michael Mogavero and it is that time that I'm trying to hold on to the most. When he came back from Italy to resume teaching he was like a changed man. I mean, he was fucking ecstatic. Definitely the happiest I ever saw him. He talked about his trip all the time; the wine, the students, the swimming, the conversation, the beautiful Tuscan landscape. Right now actually, I am drinking red wine and remembering him talking about those Italian days of wine and ping-pong. He loved friends, and I think he made some good ones in Italy.
Thinking about him so much today, I realize how many friends the man had. Every one involved in any facet of the arts in Austin knew Bob. That's lovely, I am not trying to eulogize him really (although I think Bob would find something inherently funny in that) but it is really beautiful how many lives and currents he was connected to. Bob was a sweet, sweet, sensitive man and even though I'm so far from Texas I can feel how acutely painful his absence will be. God Bob, I really will miss you. I'm trying to download Evil Dead II right now but it's not working.
http://conduitgallery.com/artist_pgs/anderson.html
A: I ate the best Ethiopan last night at....
B: Yeah, I know, I read it on your blog. I went there 2...
A: Weeks ago, yeah I know.
(We both drum our fingers on the table)
B: Have you read this Chris Ware?
A: No, can I see it?
I can't believe he's gone, partly because he was and remains a kind of emblem of Austin for me. I mean, he was everywhere, all the time, supporting his students, his colleagues---I'm pretty sure most of UT enjoyed a bit of drink with Mr. Anderson at one time or another.
His visage is just so burnt into my brain, his long hair and consistently mischievious smile; a soundtrack of truly spooky noise music playing in the background. He loved that stuff. He was a big part of my life at UT, and he really supported me and his other students in their art-making and basic life stuff. He listened to me complain about so much stupid shit over the years, and I acted all the more dramatic and ridiculous because he was so calm and understanding about it all. I really felt I could tell him anything and he would remain amused yet without judgement. He was equally non-judgemental towards his students' art, and he was a great teacher, and he loved it, and he loved his students.
Here's some amazing stuff about Bob, I wish I could remember more, because I really enjoyed some of the weirdly wise things he said over the course of our 4 year friendship:
Every year on Halloween he stayed at home dressed like some kind of ghost and scared neighbor children when they came to ask for candy.
At Nohegan he wore a balloon hat and made intricate little pen drawings on rocks. They were totally fucking beautiful and bizarre.
He made drawings for all the grad students during their oral exams. He made one for me just months after I purchased a drawing of his at Arthouse's 5x7. I think I was kind of pissed that I spent 75 dollars on a drawing, only to have a similar one given to me a short time later. He told me afterwards that he made it with a blue ballpoint pen bought in Berlin, where I am now living. Somehow this seems important.
His three drawings were the only things adorning the walls of my room while I lived in Austin, and I'm pretty sure they are the only pieces of art I didn't lose or mistakenly put gum on over the years.
He swam every day, and was a fellow Pisces and sometimes we would talk about how fucked up we were because of our sign. We both had a lot of nightmares about sinking ships. And if I remember correctly, he was a glider in his flying dreams, while I was a flapper. And I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure he chose invisibility as his preferred superpower.
He came to every party I ever threw. I remember having a robot party with Erin Curtis and he wore a Mexican Wrestler's mask. I've never been sure how he misinterpreted our robot theme, and frankly I don't remember him giving much of an explanation but he was never really the most orthodox thinker (or costumer apparently).
He introduced me to some of the most perverse comics ever. S. Clay Wilson I remember in particular. Man, it was so disgusting and so good. I remember really vividly his excited and naughty expression as we poured over some of those lurid pages. I mean there were others too, Charles Burns and company---that was kind of our daily ritual. Sometimes he would copy stuff he thought I would like and put it in my box at school. Really grotesque woodcuts of birthscenes and the like. In return I would lend him some of my favorites like Dick Tracy and Flannery O'Connor. He loved Flannery and Evil Dead II and The Exorcist and all of those other things that are dark and ridiculous and poignant.
When he met my mom he told her some really sweet things about me, giving her a false picture of me as a better adjusted human being than I was at the time. As a consequence, she always asks about him.
In the fall of 2007, I TA'd his shared class with Michael Mogavero and it is that time that I'm trying to hold on to the most. When he came back from Italy to resume teaching he was like a changed man. I mean, he was fucking ecstatic. Definitely the happiest I ever saw him. He talked about his trip all the time; the wine, the students, the swimming, the conversation, the beautiful Tuscan landscape. Right now actually, I am drinking red wine and remembering him talking about those Italian days of wine and ping-pong. He loved friends, and I think he made some good ones in Italy.
Thinking about him so much today, I realize how many friends the man had. Every one involved in any facet of the arts in Austin knew Bob. That's lovely, I am not trying to eulogize him really (although I think Bob would find something inherently funny in that) but it is really beautiful how many lives and currents he was connected to. Bob was a sweet, sweet, sensitive man and even though I'm so far from Texas I can feel how acutely painful his absence will be. God Bob, I really will miss you. I'm trying to download Evil Dead II right now but it's not working.
http://conduitgallery.com/artist_pgs/anderson.html
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Newsies:
Not much is actually happening in my life besides my monthly ovarian revolution. Little bolshevik bastards, pounding outside the doors of my beautiful palace and makin' my palace look all bloated and shit. So bloated that I can't wear any of my palace pants, and have to resort to the only pants that will accommodate such rancor for the monarchy and abdomen beating...they happen to be plaid.
Nor can I wear my normal palace shirts because they make me look like a big bratwurst with ill-measured casing....or Star Jones-Reynolds. Zing! So, instead I have to wear my special palace shirts, which are large, were purchased in the 90's and also happen to be plaid; but of a different variety than the aforementioned pants.
Lessee, I'm working on a installation for Leipzig, but the wardrobe I'm making is frustrating me. To find the line between deliberately crappy and accidentally crappy is hard. Like finding the appropriate tone of jibing with your close friends.
statement: "Nice shirt Ali, you look like a pirate."
rebuttal: "I despise your outlook on life and have slept with both your siblings."
Berlin is good and alive, yesterday I slipped on a half-eaten apple and some youths called me a "schlampe."
Not much is actually happening in my life besides my monthly ovarian revolution. Little bolshevik bastards, pounding outside the doors of my beautiful palace and makin' my palace look all bloated and shit. So bloated that I can't wear any of my palace pants, and have to resort to the only pants that will accommodate such rancor for the monarchy and abdomen beating...they happen to be plaid.
Nor can I wear my normal palace shirts because they make me look like a big bratwurst with ill-measured casing....or Star Jones-Reynolds. Zing! So, instead I have to wear my special palace shirts, which are large, were purchased in the 90's and also happen to be plaid; but of a different variety than the aforementioned pants.
Lessee, I'm working on a installation for Leipzig, but the wardrobe I'm making is frustrating me. To find the line between deliberately crappy and accidentally crappy is hard. Like finding the appropriate tone of jibing with your close friends.
statement: "Nice shirt Ali, you look like a pirate."
rebuttal: "I despise your outlook on life and have slept with both your siblings."
Berlin is good and alive, yesterday I slipped on a half-eaten apple and some youths called me a "schlampe."
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Subj: Bail me out.
My enchantment with the drooping ornamentation, hilariously undersized doors and naked piping of Cold War housing has ended. It has given way to disgust and anger about my lack of hot water, my flickering electricity and the equally mysterious substances that my studio shower drain emits. Oh shower drain, why do you have to communicate with me in garbled dirtspeak, when we both know your job is just to swallow my junk. Miss Soggynist.
Oh, that big landmass across the sea, where people are fatter, aspirin is cheaper and they have fantastical drying machines that whirl and spin like the palpitations of a young lioness' heart.
*Anyway, I am really frustrated on a number of levels, most of them being shower-related.
In happier news, I spent the weekend enjoying some of Berlin's performing arts action. I attended Nicky's dance performance entitled "cuppachar" http://www.ballhausnaunynstrasse.de/?p=3654 and went to see Lucia's friend Randy Twigg Perform at Lovelight. Both were fun, although the latter ended with my desertion in the rain in Friedrichshain. Ugh. Cold water hearts me.
My enchantment with the drooping ornamentation, hilariously undersized doors and naked piping of Cold War housing has ended. It has given way to disgust and anger about my lack of hot water, my flickering electricity and the equally mysterious substances that my studio shower drain emits. Oh shower drain, why do you have to communicate with me in garbled dirtspeak, when we both know your job is just to swallow my junk. Miss Soggynist.
Oh, that big landmass across the sea, where people are fatter, aspirin is cheaper and they have fantastical drying machines that whirl and spin like the palpitations of a young lioness' heart.
*Anyway, I am really frustrated on a number of levels, most of them being shower-related.
In happier news, I spent the weekend enjoying some of Berlin's performing arts action. I attended Nicky's dance performance entitled "cuppachar" http://www.ballhausnaunynstrasse.de/?p=3654 and went to see Lucia's friend Randy Twigg Perform at Lovelight. Both were fun, although the latter ended with my desertion in the rain in Friedrichshain. Ugh. Cold water hearts me.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Omg, I have been updating my website for like 9 hours straight. I h8 stuff like that.
*Re:"omg" & "h8": I've found that more and more, my writing sounds like that of a misanthropic 16 year old girl. Which, perhaps is what I am inside. So I am going to embrace younger, angstier Ali, who pierced the belly buttons of her friends and threw a rollerblade at her sister's head.
Succint!
*My Swiss studiomate cooked a dinner of lamb heart the other day and I ate it! Oh forlorn lamb of god, how your pulsing little instrument has fortified me in my physical quest to be more like a Anthony Hopkins in his greatest movie role to date. It was, by the way, delicious. Stop judging me....now.
*I saw a lot of art openings over the past couple of weeks, Carsten Holler, Simon Starling, Amy Sillman, Thorsten Brinkman etc, etc. I must, however, comment on the WORST SHOW I HAVE EVER SEEN. Thank you Katharina Grosse, you are so terrible. She constructed (or rather, had fabricated) giant amorphous glory holes and covered them with her signature cliched-tired--borrowed from E. Murray-on-the-rag-barf-paintings. I walked out of her artist talk. What you may have been feeling when I said that I ate a lamb heart; that is how I feel about Ms. Grosse and her work.
*A gallery in Leipzig asked the Extraraum folks and myself to redo our Liste installation there, which should be fun. I also have another exciting show possibility, that I am...um excited about.
*My German still sucks.
*Although only half done, please to check out my website.
*I have a beer belly, but getting rid of it involves drinking less beer, a compromise of catastrophic proportions in the hinterland.
*2 people close to me have had a shoe intervention with me, explaining that functionality does not have to come at the price of aesthetics. I thought I was in the land of non-judgemental sensible shoepeople (hellooooo, birkenstocks?) but apparently I was mistaken.
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