Category Archives: hub

Cali Asi NIsi Masa

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Finally doing the telling of the taling of asi in cali that blake whitman shot for me at the Disposable film festival

 

Sometimes it takes me four years to sit on a thing

may take a year to finish the egg now that it’s hatching.

Artist's Wanted

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I am the son of an abstract painter and graphic designer from Basel, Switzerland and an actress/fiber artist teacher from Long Island. I have always felt that I have one foot in the old world and one in the new. In some very real way my work and life have been an attempt to make a synthesis of the dialectic that is my parents both as people and artists.

I made my first film in the fifth grade and won several national festival awards by high school. I had planned on going to NYU film school, or something when I accidentally discovered writing (a perverse combination of screenplays, Paris, and Hemmingway by way of High School English).. Writing seemed so much cheaper than film and you didn’t have to get all messed up with actors. I spent the better part of five years trying to finish my first novel, “Heroes.” Those characters still live on in some of my projects (though the novel never did get published).

At Brown U., I started to feel that writing was removing my brain from my body and when I started to paint, I fell in love with it, .even though it was a thing my father had quit quite dramatically in my youth. For me, Painting seemed to live between the act of writing and the act of filmmaking and maybe even the act of acting, or at least dancing. It seemed like neutral territory… like Switzerland.

I have spent the better part of the new century trying to make these phases of my life into something of a coherent artistic practice… a new sort of multimedia authorship. I mean to say I want to tell stories. I have managed to get several great platforms in which to experiment: It In Space So Ho, IT IN place (A.I.R at the Institute for the Future of the Book), A.I.R. 17 Frost Street Space. But after spring I am homeless. My dog died, my woman threw me out. It sounds like a joke, or a country song, but

Penser

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I have my manuscripts ready for Hub and Zipper and I’ll have plenty of time to think of you, me, and everyone and everything we know… which ain’t much, but it will simply have to do. The festival is in the middle of Les Halles, the famous market area of Paris that is now a mall, or something. Anyway a place I never spent any time and right near the Louvre. I still can’t believe I’m going to Paris. Lucky fucking me. I’m bringing two copies of Le Petit Prince.

Humpty Dumpty

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Fridge Doors going up to form The Endless Last Supper… two left to finish in the puzzle… Something like Stone Hendge and I hung a large crowd and lost my balance on the irregular floor and had a great fall. It was like something out of a silent movie, or a cartoon. It felt like I hung in the air for a minute… disbelieving in gravity. Video Coming

Frost Bite That Chicken

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Here is the updates from Friday’s Frost Space time lapses mixed with a Mingus song by way of Dylan’s old satellite radio show. Eat that chicken yes! Also some motion graphics made by a student of Golan Levin. The Eater is eating all sorts of heads I made over the years that they got off Flickr. I find this one thematically appropriate to the the first course of Frost Street… Food from the fridge… or whatever it is: Revenge Served Cold? Also a dead white pigeon I saw under the BQE on the way to the studio. Looked like an angel, or a Nationalist Seal….

Frost Bite Bit

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Second day at Frost Street was mostly about moving some of my older work from home and storage… it was fairly comical and thanks be to Major Tom for his hatch back and strong back and so a lot of things I haven’t seen for a couple of years came out of cold storage… like all my old fridge doors. I can’t resist showing the fridges in a place called frost… and the frigid air, etc. They look good and match perfectly with the new ones. When I went outside, the sky was full of “chemtrails”, or contrails, or whatever. It looked positively surreal.