"DEAR LEADER"

Couldn’t quite get the dong in there, as I had to do this myself. Next time, I’ll use a wide angle and get it all in there. Tomorrow, I’ll tell a funny story about Halloween, Fins, Helsinki, vomit, urine, windsheer, minus 35 degrees and long haired dirty hippies. So please drink responsibly.

Please visit and hep if you can. Lets do something nice, for once. And think of it this way, it’s a tax deduction.

Yesterday, I made my way to the San Francisco MOMA to see the Jeff Wall’s retrospectiva. Despite there being beautiful sunshine, I chose to go downtown and see what all the fuss-zzz-is about. I tend to go and see art when the sun’s a shina; it’s makes for better vibes when stepping back out if there ain’t none shining on the insides.

I had earlier panned him but I am always ready and willing to change my mind, especially when I have based my opinion on less than adequate internet digitals or the artist’s monograph (there’s a fucking ridiculous name for what most of us call ” a book ” ! Who comes up with this shit anyhow, Lexus of America ???. Is everybody still gunning for petit bourgeois, didn’t they read Zola? ).

As an aside and for future reference, just think of me as Tourrette’s blogging equivalent to rye, spouting expletives, unable to control my grinds. For the record, I have always been quite fond of that syndrome, even-thought I presume those afflicted with this terrible affliction would beg to differ and do so without actually sounding inappropriately and shockingly crass, for once……As for myself, I’m still looking for a therapist saddled with this less then pleasurable condition: Childhood introspection, bitch, ass ?

As was saying, I made my way downtown and checked out Jeff Wall’s oversized trans-whatever whats? and to my surprise, I still did not like his art. I can’t really put/point my finger on it but I just can’t trust him as far as I can throw it, and considering how big the fucking things are, that wouldn’t be too far. As for the curatorial blurbs introducing his craft, I wasn’t sure how to react, which depending on my mood, makes me want to streak through the galleries dousing museum guards and screaming: ” You ain’t no Condoleezza Rice “…. or, hang my head and cry.

So much for Jeff Wall and onward to Olafur “Son of Elias”. I had a few more minutes to devote to art before rejoining the sunshine outside so I decided to check out what was going on upstairs; there seems to be a generally giddy hum coming from the fifth floor veranda, which as we all know, isn’t exactly the sort of thing museums sound like; unless of course you happen across the after hour Cisco System team building drinking contest, corporate bedlam, run to the W and shit where you eat, sort of flap !

I decided that investigation would the best exploration to these inner introspections and off I went, three by three steps until there he was: ” Olaf-ur Elias-son”, Iceland’s answer to conceptual art. Dem is great art and to put on my best critical thong, I shall broadcast: “That was fucking awesome….“.

If you are in San Francisco or plan on visiting go to the SFMOMA and check it out. The only thing I will add to my less than researched and well thought out curatorial blurb-out is that the difference in mood between the “appreciation of art crowd” haunting Jeff Wall’s great halls of Canada and Olafur Eliasson’s second and fifth floor extravaganza was…….. Here is a metaphor to exemplify: “Jeff Wall’s galleries was to zombiarts what Olafur Eliasson was to a pole dancing Cinderella “, which would you rather watch?

In other news: I also saw Alec Soth’s fashion Magazine in da ” Olde Museum gift shoppe“. Nicely done but I just can’t help myself, I keep seeing Joel Sternfeld’s American prospects when I flip through this latest (Brent, how you like me now?).

Nice article in the October 8th issue of the New York Observer. I think we could replace the words “Ad Biz” with any number of other creative businesses and there you have it. Can I lick your middle ground, please?  Yawnnnnn….: “Insert priapus here*”

“There aren’t enough personalities in the business anymore,” said adman Richard Kirshenbaum, who founded Kirshenbaum Bond + Partners with his former J. Walter Thompson co-worker Jonathan Bond in 1987, when he was 26. He was speaking as part of a panel on how to start your own ad agency, in the Time-Life Building, as part of Advertising Week 2007. The assembled hopefuls twittered.: Continued here:

Robyn Color, in San Francisco, will be closing their doors at the end of October. As far as I was concerned they provided an invaluable service to photographers with their museum quality on demand Digital C41 prints, for a price which made you feel like you were not being fleeced. If you have 300Ks to invest in buying the business, a profitable and viable one I hear, contact them.
The building was bought out from under them and they will be tearing it down to put up condos facing magnificent highway overpasses. Hopefully someone in SF will have the presence of mind to either buy them out or start a similarly successful business based on the same concept.

This 2 bit town has done it again. I should move to LA when my kids graduate high school, and get out of this second rate city and county. Nice place to work and live if you like coding for a living, but not much good for anything else. Personally, I don’t feel like moving to London, New York or Paris. That leaves LA as a possibility. See you there someday…..

I am going to quickly take advantage of this unique opportunity. Timothy has me on his blog and I know I’m gonna get some hits so I figured I’d say something nasty about Martin Parr, quick!
Martin Parr was first brought to my attention after I did a story on “Windows of the World”, back in 1995, just before my son Raphael was born. I thought to myself, “I got it, I am going shoot a body of work on global tourists. They are so fucking funny, how can I miss”? I like shooting social conflicts and all that shit but I really like a good bit of ridicule in between bludgeonings.

Mind you, this was back in the days when if you were not a “concerned photojournalist” it was hard to be taken seriously. You know you had to be concerned and care deeply. Care about your subjects while you trampled them underfeet.Anyway, my friend Ed Kashi, I think it was him, mentioned: “you should look at Martin Parr’s work, you’ll like him”. I did and I was pissed, that motherfucker had stolen my ideas back in the early nineties. I had to give up on it and go back to being a concerned photojournalist. My one and only chance to be funny, and I blew it….. no, “HE” blew it.

As I was saying Martin Parr is one of my all time favorite photographers but lately his work has severely diminished in quality. His Mexico work sucks and so does most of his recent work. Check out his other work, from let’s say 1990 to 2000 and you’ll see what I mean. May be he is just going thru a shallow period or the lecture circuit has got him thinking he’s the shit. Eyes on the prize baby.

See what I mean go to his site and click on recent work and if you happen to disagree, tough shit. More weight to my bullshitt.

And BTW, I really don’t like Radio Head either, so be it!

It seems that, as of late, many bloggers have decided to do so anonymously. This prompted me to think about anonymity as the act of expressing ones thoughts and ideas without revealing ones identity seems rather cowardly. At the end of the day, there are very few reasons for anonymity, unless your life or those of your friends of family are imminently threatened by the powers that be.
If your clients or your boss look at you sideways because you have opinions and would like the world to know how you feel but need to do so secretly, you’d better be running for your life on a daily basis. Otherwise, don’t bother, we are not interested, especially since for all we know, suspending disbelief, in your case, would only be worth it if you are exceedingly talented, comedic or excentric. Photographers, editors, art directors and all other trumpeting prophets of the creative classes shouldn’t have to hide behind super secret cloaks to speak their piece.

If you fear that your job or your reputation might be compromised by what you have to say, I would rather you remain silent instead of rambling on about the mundane. Unfortunately, that’s often what it amounts to: Opinions devoid of any information which for purely economic reasons need be protected by a vail of secrecy. Do I really need to anonymously know what photographer turns you on or wether digital is better than film? If you are going to wear a magical mantle of clandestinity, you’d better have something earth shattering to say, or shut it. Are you really, who you seem to say you is, or aunt Wilma masquerading for kicks. If it’s adrenaline you seek, try freelancing……

In the meantime, I did a little research on Anonymity and came up with a few links which I found worth mentioning. Anonymous Photo Editor. Anonymous Photographer. And why often times a lawyer’s brief turns out be more interesting than those less than stimulating anonymous bloggies.

I had originally posted this poem last June about my friend Steve, who I assure you, is nothing but an entirely fictionally character and in no way bares any resemblance to himself or anyone else. I had appropriate his name and relative likeness to allow me to post the original poem below, which had been crafted to reflect my uninformed and entirely fictional views and opinions of the Art World; of which I am not a bona fide, plenipotentiary and recognizably known member.
Nevertheless, since it was one of my best poems “ever”, it really needed to be re-posted in its original form, devoid of potentially and offensively injurious references meant to humiliate, denigrate or disparage Steve’s character, honor or person.

I shall post it first, before the perniciously ironic rant directly following this short, yet lyrical narrative epic sonnet(!). Furthermore, should you decamp and choose to browse greener, less obscure pastures, I shan’t blame it entirely on you, but rather on the interminably long vituperations which follows this decidedly and purposely rank poetic odyssey. It is, I admit, long and tortuous even to those of you who might have by now become better accustomed to my professional and personal sense for self-ridicule. Those of you who may not have taken the time to ease into these mindful peregrinations might find it pretentious, offensive and bitterly pompous :

The Poem:

The Art World ; it’s like….

It’s like snatch; but sweeter
It’s got swatch; but sooner
It’s got stash; but bigger

It’s like smack but stronger
It’s like you; but better
It’s like Yak; but butter

It’s like; nice but later….
It’s got racks; like “Hooters”
It’s got back; like looters

It’s like grass and fiddlers…
It’s like ass, and fingers
It’s like mass but longer….

Next:

I decide to remove the second part of this entry and will probably not be reposting it. I am a big fan of my own ramblings but finally decided against it.

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As promised, I will now attempt to dissect the killer formula behind these starlets’ photographic replicas. The power, the éminence grise, behind these two pixies, I so generously posted in today’s and last Tuesday’s entries. BTW, I have no idea who Josie Maran is, but I am familiar with Jessica Alba and of the ongoing struggle for cultural hegemony, between hers truly, and Miss Jessica Biel. If I am not mistaken, these two young women are being currently toted as America’s hottest shakespians, or rather, “best in show”, in a supporting role as a bathing beauty.

Notwithstanding this aside, and in order to properly complete this task, I undertook to partner with a literary companion to search the internet and settled with a symbols dictionary, so as to remain as objective and un-lascivious as might be expected of a male of this specie. One who could infuse this entry with credibility and referential certitude, as oppose to vaguely self referential ineptitude.

Without much thought or premeditation, I briefly transcribed into words what I was seeing on screen. Also, and as previously mentioned, least we forget; I stumbled upon these screen saving beauties, on the same website where as lady luck would have it, I also found a very atonal, Middle Eastern version of Nokia’s iconic ring tune. (Furthermore, and as you may already know, cell phone manufacturers are forced to devote a lot of their precious, and limited global resources, to transcribing their “flagship” ring tones into other languages, and craft multi-culturally appropriate Pavlovian melodies, to win, the hearts and minds of the masses).

Josie Maran(Tuesday the 18th): Image includes three obvious and visible references.

Sunset :

As the orbit of Venus, is closer to the sun than is the earth’s, it is never seen more than 48 degrees from the sun. This means that Venus is visible as the Morning star or Evening star in the immediate vicinity of the Sun. Thus Venus can only be seen from earth just before sunrise in the morning or just after sunset in the evening. As you can see, the use of the sunset, as a background for the Josie Maran image, wether, conscious or unconscious can be easily associated with Venus, the goddess of beauty, love and fertility.

Rocky Seashore (Ocean scape included)*:

As for the rocky seashore behind her, I will have to subjectively interpret its meaning, as a quick search on the internet did not reveal any interesting references, or reasons why the creatives, behind this image, decided to incorporate it in the shot.
Based on my knowledge of classical texts, and secure in the knowledge that water is supposed to represent nature’s passive element and is the ultimate solvent, I may be correct in presuming that the viewer is to feel non-threatened by this beauty but not so much so as to render her bland and unexciting.

The rocky shore line, is, I presume, meant to spice it up so to speak, infuse the scene with a bit of danger and mystery. Josie wants to be remembered as the girl next door, who might also, just as well spank you if you misbehave. She wants to pack enough of a punch so that you’ll keep a close but admiring distance. She’s just out of your reach, someone else’s treat. Unless, that is, you can in turn prove that, you are indeed equal to her needs. A task, not so easily achieved, as the competition for such a beauty is stiff. In order to join her archetype on these rocky shores, you will have to earn it, and prove to this Aphrodite, that you can swim.

And what about that autograph, which also happens to be our third and final peek: After-all, she may seem unapproachable and beyond reach, but still, she is a human being and would not want you to think that she does not appreciate her legions of teenage fans. Think of it as a kiss on the cheek, a smile, a look back and a wink as she steps into the limousine.

As for Ms. Alba, I would venture to think that the image above is meant to have you believe that she’d be a better mother to your kids than Josie, who, if you’re not jealously careful, might run off with Neptune, when you’re not looking. Frankly who would blame her, have you seen how well hung Neptune is? and from the looks of you, all you’ve got going; besides that hair piece, is a few moles and that gun you’re holding.**

* To separate these two, into distinct symbolic representations, seems at this point in time, inappropriate.
**A Corsican Welcome.

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A quick note please: To experience this entry, as it was meant to be, it would be best to click the MP3 above. A pop up will appear, which you will need to forcibly shove aside, so as not to obscure your reading pleasure. Until such a time as I can figure out how to play it automatically, you will need to comply with this directive. Thank you, the management….

Begin:

On a whim, I undertook to search for Arabic ring tones and in the process of expanding my search, as is so often the case, I quickly became mired in a tangled web of baroque web pages, MP3s, MIDIs, pop ups, Dubai mortgages and Arabian real estate.

To my here disbeliefs, the Muezzin’s MIDIs is, if well intoned, not a bad way to shake off some dream sleep and double check, how red delicious, Kabul’s sunsets might look to the Almighty™, after a long day. In the meantime, while browsing afore mentioned website I nearly picked up my pen to sign these dotted lines: “Allah is defined as the ONE who ALONE, without partners or helpers created all that IS created in creation, either known or unknown.” Sounds like an all rights grab to me; and because we should be so lucky, his excellency, rimes with intellectual property…… How’s about 72 attorneys…..?

While desperately trying to extirpate myself from a dozen web pages, I inadvertently followed a link and came upon afore posted, Kafir beauties; which, to my manly delights, featured scantily clad celebrities. Cell phone mementoes, that to many a teenage dream screams: “Call me…!”. Afterall, it does not hurt to dream a little, every time you hear that ring tone and pick up the phone; like snacking between meals, sneaking a peek, or coping a flat screen, when no one’s looking….. If only that damn LCD didn’t fade to black, with such annoying regularity.

As an aside, later today, I shall also explore why we primates find such images so compelling, and how they are, ever so deftly constructed to lure so many fishes with nothing but a hook and no bait. Why is it that images of such enticing and classically trained young ladies, always seem to say: Why isn’t she calling.?
Some day, I promess, I shall reveal, lay bare and peel back, the many layers of this cake. Trust me, nothing but good things awaits us in this future and upcoming journey.