Showing posts with label ojibway art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ojibway art. Show all posts

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Spinnerbait and "The Mob Mentality"

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Photos click for larger size detail.

Will be updating with Facebook comment extension shortly, please check back in half an hour.
19:45pm CST

Now updated with Facebook commentary.

21:47 pm, CST. 

21:52 pm , CST. Edited to get rid of spammy-looking art sale, sorry. 
20:23 pm CST, May 13, 2012 Blogpost abstract, edited from FB comment thread:

     This is the summary of an essay that arose from FB commentary thread re: a proposed ten year jail term for wearing "masks" at Canadian protests, posted at the end of this blogpost. Please check out the pics and vid below and Pls tweet, stumble, FB, etc. Thanks
        Puppet and mask street theatre is a court-recognised and historically significant artform and way of having a public voice, outside of socially-mandated "channels of communication". The proposed "ban on masks" can and will be abused to interfere-with and legitimise the abuse of puppet and mask troupes. I know it's not part of your daily reality, but these are great people and great artists working for you. In order to preserve it, it is necessary to acknowledge that public art is legitimate way to lobby our shared society, our shared mindspace as well as our  political system. To agree that we are engaged in real conversation, to try to find areas of agreement. I am lobbying the room to agree that masks and/or the wearing of masks at our protests should NOT BE BANNED in Canada AND AFFIRM that public mask/mask-type/puppet theatre is a legitimate means of public expression. Considered responses only, please.
PS: They want to put people in jail for ten years (10), for "wearing a mask" at a protest.
You are not endorsing a spanking, with your unthinking assent.

04:01 am, CST. May 14, 2012. Sent my MP an open letter.
 Mr. John Rafferty, MP;

     I don't know if you have heard this argument against the proposed mask ban and imprisonment legislation: It would begin to exclude or at least punish the puppet and mask street theatre techniques which are successful tool s to attract attention to the message of a protest. The proposed 10 year ban on "wearing of masks" could be abused as the blunt instrument and threat of official suppression of free speech. A "grey area" with exceptions to the rule would only leave wiggle room for prosecutors and riot police to arrest and prosecute first, then sort later.

Thank you, for your consideration.

Sincerely,
:Eric C. Keast

:Eric




This is a new painting, on an old canvas.
It's called SpinnerBait;
A "Colorado spinner"-type lure , permanently attached to a single-hooked
jighead, with rubber skirt.

It is designed to provide plenty of action at slow retrieve,
allowing the caster to plumb holes and structure.

The wire, swivel, rings and spinner-blade of this lure -without a lure, but with a snap- can be obtained at your local tackle shop. I've always called them colorado spinners, they come in a variety of colours but I like the metallic flavours and they can be attached to a wide variety of lures, other than "jigs".

There are some robust, heavy-gauge wire varieties of the spinnerbait, produced for freshwater musky and saltwater use, with large, heavy, multiple spinner-blades and interchangeable large-body rubber baits.

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Here is a recent clip from the Zzorhn And BingoRage episode, "The Privacy Apocalypse"

BingoRage Filthy Puppet Theatre

presents:

"1984 - deleted scenes (as reenacted by sock puppets {live})"
[The action starts about 03:12, but give the start a whirl.]

written by Eric C. Keast
produced by : Zzorhn



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The latest Zzorhn And BingoRage show (Season 02, Episode 17),
“The Mob Mentality Apocalypse” (link to Ustream.tv)
is in the metaphorical can. Episode notes, are as follows:
We are late. Our bandwidth problems. Video quality gets better two minutes in.

Intros. Penguins and polar bears do not fight. Feed back. (Eric has first breakdown at 8:00; does not want new show member, will consider a “hot intern”.) Zzorhn pimps his FB chatroom page. Eric warns against inviting the internet into your back yard.
Stealing blues songs is bad. Eric is angry. This is a comedy podcast.

Skit, re: Montreal taxi driver hit and run. Eric wears a suit, get corporated by Zzorhn. (18:20) I object. Horse puckey. Hello DanniPants 24:51. Watch Montreal taxi driver hit and run after Zzorhn vamps in blue. Eric says the tax driver abused an imbalance of power and is therefore in the wrong. Eric then tries to make the point that our government and corporations are increasingly abusing the imbalance of powers in society?
We want to see the missing video of previous time; how much is missing? Eric drops knowledge about Canadian news and P.Q. Student riots as backdrop to this story.

Art review: Papier-mache rattle and puppet. 50:25. Describe papier-mache process with foam and clay model, transfer to handle for "functional sculpture"; war club theme.
The internet is built for cats, 52:04. What a good JohnnyCat.

53:45 Pack mentality. Safety in numbers, power in numbers. Our fractal metaphors don't surprise me. We like to think we have free will. Everybody likes dogs; even if they have sexual needs and Eric's bestiality fear. Eric realises that Zzorhn is full of pooh. Again. Zzorhn implies that we are all in danger of succumbing to our animal nature, our pack nature; when exposed to a “mob”. Sathyrhana "Satyagraha" 1:03:00; Zzorhn is happy that I made a certain distinction. Eric says that the Internet is the veil drawn over your eyes and police risk dehumanising themselves by “alienisation”. The black bloc are agents provocateurs and a danger to peaceful protest.

1960's psychological experiments regarding imbalance of power, social behaviours beyond our control and the appeal of creeping fascism. Stanley Milgram, the Stanford Prison Experiment, The Third Wave . The" third wave" experiment is not well-documented, but seems to suggest that their is a leaning towards fascism, in our deeper pack mentality.

BingoRage Filthy Puppet Theatre (1: 17:00). Excuse me. 1:19:30 The Milgram experiment (as enacted by sock puppets). 1:23:50


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This canvas has a divot, created by long storage against a pointy thing. The fabric may rebound a little, but the dimensionality has been set in an acrylic matrix.





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Facebook comment update from May 12, 2012. 
21:15 'ish pm, CST.

- (Okay; just had to interrupt the update to check out ruckus, at the window. My big old round cat, the brave Johnnycat, is sitting in the window and two ravens are sitting in the branch immediately outside the big panes, discussing how to dissect and share him. Johnny seems to love the attention. What a brave Johnny.)

Fellow forum members; please do not mistake my previous points as an endorsement of violence.

I am a staunch believer in the rights of "free speech" for all, "freedom from violence and threat of violence" for all and "freedom to have a voice in the affairs of my society" for all, which -for myself, yourself and others- is mostly limited to our shared pool of armchair political speech, by reasons of health, calendars and/or location. Other people who have access to city populations and seats of government can lobby the actual physical persons whom represent us, or wish to "manufacture our consent" (Noam Chomsky), in person. Their bodies , their rights and their privacy are being broken and battered for us, a significant portion of the population (Perhaps for you at times and in the interests of my intellectual foes, occasionally.). They represent me, because they are brave for me, for us and even for you, occasionally.

What, then does this have to do with the wearing of a mask? Why would a person wear a mask? There are only two polar answers, you cannot deny one or the other:
a) Because they are a criminal, or have “done something wrong” and wish to escape punishment.
OR
b) There actions were legitimate and they wish to preserve their privacy for legitimate reasons, and wish to escape punishment.

If you say there are no legitimate reasons to preserve your privacy and the wearing of masks at protest is a criminal act, then you are endorsing punishment for what you consider “immoral beliefs and/or actions”, not a crime against person or property. These are fear-based reactions accessed by your consciousness when you perceive someone else as an “other”, not an intellectual judgement. This is the animal response system that propaganda, advertising, political media messages, canned news, press releases and the emerging “arena-politics” play with.
 Zzorhn speaks to the pack mentality in our most recent show ("Mob Mentality" link above).

I can prove that there is at least one legitimate reason to wear a mask to a protest. Without a doubt and beyond contravention. (Unless, of course, you are just a mindless troll for your set beliefs{ERIC; Cite particular meaning “reactionary, provoking online behaviour”}, hijacked by some malevolent, reactionary memeplex that you are not aware of, yet.)

If the protestors are using theatre and artistic tools to tell their story and voice their position, such as puppet and mask presentations, then these are legitimate, timeless means of public media, public voice. Please, let us not get into the game of creating exceptions to an atrocious rule (that only gives police and prosecutors a "grey area" to arrest people in); please just admit that there is a legitimate reason to wear a mask to a protest.

If it is your contention that this is not a legitimate means of public expression, then you really may be irrelevent and have to reevaluate what it means to be human, for yourself. You are without art, or in denial extremis: going insane with the contradictions that you are allowing to fire around the inside of your head.



When you see a gathering of people labeled as a “violent protest” -regardless of your political stance, economic stance, religious stance, urban vs. Rural stance, right/left position, etc.- You, I and everyone else should be held accountable to recognise there are many social systems in place to label and shape how you perceive that event. That doesn't mean that everything is a lie; don't live in fear, live in ongoing evaluation. Look at different sources and actually read the arguments.

You have to acknowledge, not that you are wrong, but that you may not be correct, this time.

No one person is ever right all the time and you should be suspicious, when the media and social sources you choose to believe, echo what you think is right.

Most people in the past chose not to dig too deeply into the “official story” of events in our society because it was a hard thing to do, and dangerous, as the bodies of murdered journalists around the world and the beating and imprisonment of media in our own countries would attest to. However, nowadays, we have access to more information, as an increasingly participatory audience, that was supposed to be hidden from us by distance and official silences and denials. Or sources are augmented by the spread of cameras, phones and connectivity; the evolving “participatory panopticon” (Jamis Cascio) that we are embedded-in and growing. It is becoming a powerful tool to criticise the behemoth of government with accessible, proveable numbers, photos, video, scientific research... real evidence that is increasingly sourced and produced in a non-university, non-corporate, non-governmental, non-NGO fashion. It is open-sourced, crowd-sourced grassroots that is in increasing danger of suppression.

I speak about the erosion of free speech so much, because it really is on the rise. When I was growing up, my generation X and the previous generation of Baby Boomers (now in power, a huge segment of the population) grew up in fear of the official enemy of North America (Yes, Canada, too, was frightened). They were the bad guys, because they were a torturing, totalitarian state and closed market, where free speech, free movement and economic innovation was not allowed. We, were the champions of life, liberty, freedom from torture and “cruel and unusual punishment”, good governance and free markets. Well, we beat the Soviet Union and now we are embracing and endorsing an emerging, creeping totalitarianism, that is already endorsing the tactics of oppression and suppression that once were accusations leveled at the “thuggish KGB”.

When we allow the nonstop, persistent erosion of civil rights on the ground and in the evolving online fora, we are endorsing the punishment of legitimate criticism. Sure, that means that bad actions will still occur, but that is what our legal system and prison system is for..

the punishment of bad actions,
not the punishment of the desire to preserve our rights, our privacy.

A mask is speech; it says that "you frighten me and I do not want you to find me", for good reason or ill.

Saying that a person is not allowed to protect themselves from official violence means that you endorse the official punishment of people you disagree with. Therein lies the road to fascism. It is subtle and seductive to say: "violence is wrong, unless it is used against someone with whom I do not agree, even if they are right".

There is an Indian word, "Satyagraha", which means "insistence on truth". It has spiritual interpretations, of course, but I like the real world insistence on the truth, a "reality-based" world, where evidence has primacy over "gut reactions". It means that humanity should base its decisions on the realities of the world, not the "just-so" stories about the environment, the afterlife, evolutionary science and "dirty, violent protestors" that we share with people that think like us.

I do not fear the increasing surveillance that we are all subject to, as long as it is evenly distributed. When all politicians, corporate executives, policemen and bureaucrats -you and I, as well- are subject to the same level of scrutiny as everyone else and our free speech is truly protected, then all corruption, unnecessary violence and stealing would disappear, theoretically.

But, if the people in charge use the surveillance state only on "us, the population" (yes, you too),  if the elite/aristocracy/police/oligarchs/politicians/whomever can “switch it off"  ala 1984 (G. Orwell) and operate criminally without fear of legitimate consequence, then the corruption and insanity of contradictions above us is insulated from change. Allowing the erosion of rights for some, endorses the erosion of all your rights.

This comment started out as a response to a previous posting, but I would now like to announce an initiative for the forum: Could we as a loose, rather random group of folks with widely varying views actually work together to create shared public documents, manifestos that are sets of shared agreement on how to fix the world, or at least little parts of it, a little at a time. I propose the hashtag #ZBGmanifesto to tag future proposal/discusion on the Bar and Grill page.

If you have stayed with me, so far, then "Bravo."

Have I spoken to the rationale within you and convinced you that the wearing of masks to a protest should not be illegal?


The short version of my blogpost: Puppet and mask street theatre is a court-recognised and historically significant artform and way of having a public voice, outside of socially-mandated "channels of communication". The "ban on masks" will be abused to interfere with and legitimise the abuse of puppet and mask troupes. I know it's not part of your daily reality, but these are great people and great artists working for you. In order to preserve it, it is necessary to acknowledge that public art is legitimate way to lobby our shared society, our shared mindspace as welll as our political system. To agree that we are engaged in real conversation, to try to find areas of agreement. I am lobbying the room to agree that masks and/or the wearing of masks at our protests should NOT BE BANNED in Canada AND AFFIRM that public mask/mask-type/puppet theatre is a legitimate means of public expression. Considered responses only, please.


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Eric, in front of the "Northwestern Ontario Warrior Walleye, Not A Fucking Zander" canvas.


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Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Recent art videos of recent painting [and embedded audio inspirations].

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"Interdimensional Mallard and the Mystical Piranha-Crappie-Halibut Hybrid"
Acrylic on canvas. Video from Jan.6, 2011. Picture is from April 2011, when the painting is clearcoated and considered finished.

Interdimensional Mallard and the Mystical Piranha-Crappie-Halibut Hybrid. Acrylic on canvas; Broken Vulture Art, BingoRage Studio.



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"Yellow Cliffs" Acrylic on canvas. Video from March 2011
In this piece, extinct beasts chase humanity into the present and are left behind. The cliffs echo the land that has been ripped away by continental glaciers.

Yellow Cliffs. Acrylic on canvas; Broken Vulture Art, BingoRage Studio.



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"Miss LoonTrout Got a Crappy Boobjob. Mr and Mrs. Crack-Penguin Pull Their Tired, Old William Tell Routine. Nanabush is Alive, and In The World."
Acrylic, ink, beadwork, papier-mache and antler on Canvas.
Video from March 2011.





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"Loon Family" Spring, 2011. Acrylic,ink on canvas.
A fave motif of Norval Morrisseau.

Loon Family. Acrylic on canvas; Broken Vulture Art, BingoRage Studio.



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A "Tell 'Em Steve-Dave" (TESD) podcast animation.
TESD brought to yous by www.SMODCAST.com



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Monday, August 03, 2009

BingoRage midsummer '09 studio update

sasquatch sign

Heyo, BingoRagers!
I know, I know...
It has been a while. But, rejoice; there are many pics, below.

There is also a little bonus: A short story by "yours, truly".
It is, however, a bit naughty. Bad language, "wild men" and adult situations, so to speak. So, don't read it to your kids at bedtime.
Kids don't read much, nowadays, so we shouldn't worry about them burning out their hippocampus on this posting.

I can't remember where I found the Sasquatch sign; will post if I can find source.

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Here is an important lecture. Canadian author and essayist, John Ralston Saul, makes the case that Canada is based not on the "European model", but on a "conversation with Aboriginal Peoples". I am not sure how long this CBC audio link will last, so listen, or download, immediately and listen at your leisure. CBC "Ideas" radio show.



Direct download

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(Pics click to enlarge.)

TBird Finally Catches Sturgeon. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Sorry, folks. The giant "space-tick" on the side of the T-Bird's head had to go. See first set of "T-Bird/Sturgeon" painting, here.

TBird Finally Catches Sturgeon. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Oh Christ. Not another "sky-snake". Can't we go five minutes around here without a dragon?

TBird Finally Catches Sturgeon. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Wings?... That's original.

TBird Finally Catches Sturgeon. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Aha! Pinkeye!
It's the leechy conjunctivitis, dicussed below.

TBird Finally Catches Sturgeon. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

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This "Old Man" mask has been around the block, never finding its right hue. Maybe I have finally found it.

Old-Man mask, reboot. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Old-Man mask, reboot. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Old-Man mask, reboot. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Old-Man mask, reboot. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

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Rainbow and god-hammer, over Ranier, MN.

Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

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Minus 3 000m.
Chalk, on black paint background, with acrylic paint additions and highlights.
Painted on masonite board. Clearcoated, for install.

Minus 3 000m. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Minus 3 000m. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Minus 3 000m. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

"Dumbo Squid"; google it, if you don't believe me.

Minus 3 000m. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

Installed, at SpiritFire Park.

Minus 3 000m. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

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JohnnyCat

text

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"Yellow Face" thing. New canvas. Will undergo change.

painting canvas. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

painting canvas. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

painting canvas. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

painting canvas. Eric C. Keast. Broken Vulture Art. BingoRage Studio.

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Rushing River; West of the highway.

Rushing River Park, NorthWestern Ontario. Broken Vulture Art.

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Leech Water

Something loud disrupted my nap. It had to be loud, to cut through a light, rye hangover and the gyrating dream shadows of a recent ex, on the back of my eyes. She was in the middle of performing an act that I had never been able to persuade her of, before.

"Oh fuck."; I was made suddenly aware that I was sleeping, dreaming and fantasising, facedown, on a filthy carpet in the middle of a room. My eyes felt like they were flailing in a sack. A greasy, sticky sack. Sideways.
Thankfully, it was my own living room.

It was nearly midnight, according to the watch under the couch. A watch that I had been looking for, the last three months. The entire afternoon and evening had been spent drinking, smoking and sculpting. Mission accomplished on the drinking and smoking, but the small mountain of modeling clay in the garage still looked like a pile of rainbow turds that a baboon had been playing with, on a brown boulder, for only about three minutes.

Somebody was pounding at the door, demanding entry. After battling my way to a standing position, I freshened my drink with whiskey and orange pop. After the first tasty swig, I wandered towards the door, but stopped, to check out the visitor in a side window. I was momentarily repelled by the awful visage in the glass, I nearly gagged, before realising that it was a reflection. I lit a cigarette to quell the butterflies and flipped on the outside light.

The gentleman caller at the front door is known to me. He's called 'Dirty Jesus'. He's twitchy-lookin', tonight. More so, than usual. He was clutching something... dingy, off-white, in his grubby paws. The sickly yellow of the porch's bug light does nothing for his complexion, either. The doorbell rang again, followed by a pounding fist.

"What the fuck do you want?... Do you know what time it is?" I walked over and pounded on the door twice as loud as he had, to punctuate my voice.

"Hey man, I gotta show you this... This thing. Lemme in!"

"Fuck off. I'm busy."

"Busy?
Busy, what!? Jerkin' off and making ugly lumps uh shit that nobody wants?"

I took that bait without hesitation. I whacked at the chains and locks and ripped the door open with the full intention of stomping Dirty Jesus... With all the artsy love that I could muster.

I lunged out and jerked to a clumsy stop.
I was staring at the wrong end of a can of pepper foam. It was right at face level. That can had gone missing my from apartment a few weeks before, but I hadn't reallyreckoned Jesus as one of the primary suspects.
I had used that shit on guys before and I knew what it could do.


"You... fuck."
It came out as a hushed hiss.

I stumbled back, yanking on the door, but he stuck both of his scabby hands, my stolen mace and a dingey styrofoam tub, through the opening. The door smashed his leather-sleeved forearms, but he held to the can of pepper foam.

I might have disarmed him at that moment and avoided the rest of that wretched evening, but something, wet and warm, splashed in my eyes. I reeled back in anticipation of pain and stumbled over my rubber boots. I fell against and then through the broom-closet door. My vision wobbled as I blinked. I could see.

My eyes stung a bit, but not pepper-foam sting.

His head came through the door, eyes rolling around, searching for something. His trailing arm popped through the opening, waving around a small, poorly-sealed styrofoam tub. More drops of liquid splashed on the carpet.

"What the fuck!!", I yelled. The liquid in my eyes had begun to sting. Enough to make me squint, but not badly enough to keep me down. I had to roll over a pile of boots, squinting and consciously abandoning all remnants of dignity, in order to get up.

By then, Dirty Jesus had closed the door behind him and messily locked it. Also, he had trotted into the living room and homed-in on my whiskey-orange pop cocktail.

I call the recipe "Musty Prairie Tangerine". Pour, in order: 1) 2 Gills of Rye, 2) 1 Gill cheap orange pop, 3) Handful of fresh, clean ice cubes, 4) 6 dashes Worcestershire sauce 5) 1 Gill Soda Water (Bottled mineral soda water, preferable to soda gun).

I was rubbing my eyes, madly, yet took notice of my unwelcome guest's tweaking, hangdog demeanour. He was a mass of microscopic, marionette-like movements. His eyes had the unceasingly jerky blank stare of several days' missed sleep. He was using every last scrap of concentration to maintain. Wisely, I granted him the depressant and headed to the kitchen to make, us both, another one. My right eye is beginning to water and burn, however.

"What the fuck did you splash in my eye?!!!", I yell, over my shoulder.
Dirty Jesus stood up and walked into the kitchen hallway. He stood there, vibrating. A slow mask of comprehension bloomed on his grubby, sunburnt face; then, a nervous half-grin. He doesn't say a damned thing.

"What... the fuck... is in that fuck-ing bowl?... In my e-y-e?"

He was standing in front of me, with his eyes and mouth open, but was someplace else. I waited and he came back in a minute. His face moved again. He breathed in, licked his lips and says... "Leeches.".




"Leeches?"

"Yeah..." He smiled, nodded, shrugged his shoulders, twitched his eyes and let out a short laugh, kinda all at once. "... leeches".

"Fuck!!!"

I bowed, roughly, into the sink, ramming my diaphragm on the counter-ledge. I run the cold water, opened my eyes and shake my face under the stream. It's a real bitch to open the eyes, but I forced them with my fingers and let the amazingly good tap water blur my vision. Canadian municipalities, of a certain size, love to rip up the streets and constantly upgrade the pipes. The water's great, but the air quality sucks.

I know leeches; I use them alot.

For fishing. They're scrappy live bait; hardy and effective. You can keep them in your fridge for months without feeding them, if you change the water and flush the leech shit out of it. The tepid nature of the liquid and burning effect of it in my eye convinces me that it was full of various leech excretions and may never have been refrigerated, since it left the bait shop.

Dirty Jesus is exactly the kind of fuck that wouldn't change his leech water. Too ignorant of the ways of live bait; no fisherman, by any stretch.

The cold, hard tap water makes my eyeballs feel raw, but better than burning. Both eyes are open, under the stream. Now, they are cool, no... cold. I had flushed them as well as possible, but would have to watch the mirror for a few days to scout for signs of some exotic, leechy conjunctivitis.

After the water stops, I squeeze the water from my long hair and wipe my face with the dirty dish towel. No paper towels. I felt waterlogged and greasy at the same time, but cleaner. My eyes no longer burn.

Dirty Jesus is no longer in the hallway. When I enter the living room with two new drinks, he is sitting in my chair, drinking the last two fingers of his Musty Prairie Tangerine.

"This is pretty tasty... Like one of those fancy salad dressings."

I place another in front of Dirty Jesus. He smiled and offers a pack of obscure American cigarettes. I took one of the smokes that he offered and sat down, across the table. He got comfortable on the couch. He knew me well enough to know that I wasn't going to toss him out... yet. I reached down with a napkin and picked up the pepper foam spraycan, without taking my eyes off him. It was about half empty.




"You dirty fuck."

"I had to borrow it, at your rent party, last month. Someone was gonna beat the shit outta me!"

"You borrowed it off my desk, without asking me or telling me about it." I managed not to snap at him, but had to remind myself to breathe, after saying this. I paused, leant back and closed my eyes while counting to ten. The little scared part of us that we all share, the monkey mind, wanted to scream at him. To punish him.
I regained my calm.

"Who was going to beat... 'the shit' out of you?"

I couldn't keep the hint of a sneer out of my voice, but I did not yell, or raise my tone, or volume.

"Your old lady."

This time, it was I that went silent and motionless for a minute. I chewed the information and its implications.

"You stole a can of extremely dangerous chemical eye, lung and skin irritant from me, because my 'old lady' was going to beat 'the shit', out of you?"

"Yeah..."

"Presumably... then... You were planing to spray my 'old lady's' eyes, face and mouth with this extremely dangerous eye, lung and skin irritant?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Now you are here... and you have brought my can of pepper foam back...
and it is half empty.

"Yeah."

"Right.
We've got a problem, you and I."

"Really?... What?"

I clenched my fist around the can and growled out "Where the fuck, is the rest of this can
-and- did you fucking use it on someone I care about, you fucking fuck?"

Dirty Jesus hesitated a moment, glancing up to check his memories, then says... "No."

I smile, warily, and then ask "Whom, or what, did you spray with this pepper foam?"

"I think it was a cop?... She may have been a cop."

I have, so got to, lose this can soon, tonight. Permanently disappear it.

"... Dirty Jesus?..."

"Yes, Aaron?..."

"Why are you carrying around a tub of leeches?"

"Well, Aaron... You ever get off while playing with jello?"

Now there was a question. "This has got to be good.", I thought to myself.

There may be a 'payoff', after all, for this evening's disgraces. There come rare moments, in our lives, when we can sit back and enjoy the cosmic joke. Precious clarity often found on those crazed, toxic shittrains that were our productive nights. If I could just chill, for a little while, I was going to hear a great story. Dirty Jesus was crazed and delusional, but he was a street-poet of the first water and a charmed adventurer. If you could create the right space in your head for him, he would fly you to the stars, drag you through the sewage and make you laugh through bloodied lips. Most people took a look at him and tried to put something else between them. Something wide and tall.

I lay back in the chair with my drink and cigarette. "No.", I said, " Tell me about it."

"Well ya see, there was this really creepy chick following me around the fishing tackle section at SportsWorld. I caught her looking at me, while I was feeling the plastic grubs. I love the way they feel between the fingers when you squish them. The dry ones squish real good, but the new, wet ones that come in their own pickle juice can make me come when I stick my hand in a big jar of these wet, fake worms in dayglo colours, floatin' in a big jar of stinking nectar that makes me, even me, wash my hands. There's no way that I can afford to buy one of these jars, ya dig; they're 20 bucks a pop. I imagine the day when I can bring one home; but, instead, I go to these big, fancy sports shops at odd hours, so that there are few customers or clerks around so I can wander to the tackle section, find the plastic grubs aisles and find a jar of my favourite grub colours... open it carefully, take a look around... make sure no one's lookin'. Then, carefully so's it don't spill on your clothes, puts my hand in. Just one hand, ya dig?
That japanese bug juice comesaspillin', overflowing, slowlydrippin', everstinkin'.
Don't get any on your shoes, your pants or your other hand.

Now; close your eyes and get to squishin'. Not too fast at first, loosen up, jes' swirl your fingers 'round, feel them gathering on your fingers. Now, gather as much, into a ball, as you can and slowly make a fist. Don't let any out! Slowly squeeze, feel it getting tighter, smaller, harder. Suddenly, pieces come squirtin' out your fingers, wriggling like they're alive.

If you do it right, it's a surprise and makes me cream my shotes."

"Dirty Jesus...", I interject, "You, are a profoundly disturbed human being.

"Yeeeaaahhh... I know."

"Why don't you just steal a jar?"

"That would be wrong!"

"Of course... Continue."

"I never got to cream my shotes, 'cause I heard a noise, opened my eyes and saw this really ugly woman staring at me from the end of the aisle.

I'm fucked and I knows it, so I pull a Heyoka routine: "I'm Okay! I'm Okay.", I shout at her. "I fell in, but I'm okay. I'll get a napkin." I pulled my hand out and make like I'm catching the drippings, but make sure not to get any more on me and started walking towards the bathroom. Well, I guess that I hadn't fooled her, 'cause she starts following me, but always a couple aisles over, not even pretending to look at the prices of coats, trail mix, or rifle brass. I don't see a walkie talkie, but she's talking to someone I can't see and what's my luck that there's a crazy lady following me from the tackle section of SportsWorld at 7 A,M, in the fucking morning? None, that's what. I looks down the store and see a couple monkeys in blue vests hanging around the bathroom door and trying not to look at me and 'oh fuck, I'm so busted'. There's no way to get out of this yuppie shit-hole aaannnd wash my hand of the damn sushi-juice..."

[Say "sushi-juice", three times fast.]

"and I'm gonna get it all over my clothes before this is over.

I know that you've covered yourself in fox-piss and sat on a rock, waiting for a stupid deer to come by, so you know what I'm talking about, you fuck, so don't you dare laugh.

So, I fucking ran. Cut left and headed straight to the closest emergency exit, but that pimply butt-faced lady cut me off and I ran towards the live bait kiosk, hoping that there was a back door to the 'employees only' section, where government law mandates an external egress, but was dead end. So I did the only thing I could; took out the pepper foam that you lent me and stuck my hand and a tupperware pitcher inna big leech tank to throw water at 'em."

"I did not lend you the pepper foam... Leech tank?"

"I didn't know it was the leech tank. Jest grabbed a handy container and stuck my hand in. I swirled my hand around... and it was just like the world's biggest jar of synthetic, salty, juicy, whale-flavoured flesh-bait that I had ever put my hand in, but without the dayglo colours or the stink.

It got too cold, actually. As the three employees entered the little room, I lost the feeling in my hand. My good hand.

I was jugglin' the can of mace you gave me, in my wrong hand, trying to get it to point right. The woman stares at my arm in the leech tank and she says 'My God, he's doing it again.' I figured that keeping my hand in the tank was giving me some sort of advantage in the situation, so I left it there... couldn't feel it no more, anyways.

'Don't come near', I says, "my hand's in there!'.

One of the monkeys said 'Maybe it's a suicide attempt... we should call someone.'
Then the girl starts to cross the room, sticking to the wall. 'Stay back!', I yells, but she keeps on comin' and says 'Let us call someone and help you', so I gave her a taste of the foam on her neck and mouth. She stops walking and blinks and wipes at the gunk on her face, then she drops to the floor, squealing and rolling like the tail you rip off a lizard...
If it could squeal.

The two monkeys stare at her, then they they stare at me, then they take a step into the room.

'I warned you!' I screams at them and rip my soggy, frozen hand out of the water...
and then things got weird.

I couldn't feel a damn thing, but the pale, firm appendage in front of me was covered in black globs that lay flat and weaved from side to side, dark boogers that hung and stretched and little tentacles that waved hello at us. Well, I nearly fainted. One of the monkeys ran screaming and the other just stood still as a rock and stared. The big girl still rolled on the floor but wasn't yellin' any more. 'I am leavin this shit-hole!', I yelled at blue monkey #2 walking towards the doorway of the live bait kiosk and monkey #2 backs into a corner of the little room, never turning his back to me. Then I run.

There are a couple more blue vests between me and the main door, but I shake leeches on them when they get close and I maced a big, tall customer in the doorway to keep 'em busy. Then I came here."

"... Oh my." I stood up and went to refresh my drink, fudging the measures. I took a slug and threw in an ice cube, for balance. I did not offer to top off his drink. I did begin to plot how to get him out of my place and stash him far away, for a couple days. I returned to my seat.

"Okay, DJ. This is how it's going to go: I am walking you to the 7-11 and calling my cabbie. He will take you to my cousins place upriver. You'll stay there for a couple nights. The cabbie will not give you the fare money. He will not take you somewhere else. He will not put up with your shit, nor will my cousin. I am giving my cabbie the rest of this pepper foam; he will get rid of it for me, but he will also use on it your crazy ass if you fuck with him.
Do you understand?"

It took a long moment. "Yeah."


My cousin owed me a shitload and didn't have any wife or kids to worry about. He also had a crappy cabin that would be like a fucking castle to Dirty Jesus. I have to remember to tell Brian, 'my cabbie', not to drive there in a straight line.

"Mix it up a bit, so Dirty Jesus can't find his way back there."

Him, I owe, huge. He's got enough juice with his cab company to get a legit car for days at a time, as long as the lease is paid, tank's full and no damage. He's also got a legit driver's license, legit hack license and no record. He looks pretty square, with Buddy Holly glasses and can pass for a banker with long sleeves covering his tats. Normally, he's expensive to hire out for special projects, but I find him things. Things that others cannot find, or would never touch. His wife loves my paintings. She has many.

"Tell me, Jesus... before we go; Where'd you get the tub and why did you keep some of these leeches, here?"

"I went down to the docks and picked up a bait tub that someone threw away. There was alotta them, down there. Tubs, that is. By that time there were only a few left hanging on my hand. I found a lid that fit and came here."

"Okay. But... Whyyy, did you keep the leeches?"

"Ooohhh.
I'm gonna teach them the exotic Ojibway Walleye dance."

"Oh. Good...
Let's get of here."

We left.

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Monday, December 31, 2007

Coral Stitch: "how-to"

[Pics click to enlarge.]

The body of the typical coral-stitch earring is composed of:
- The main "trunks" of the "coral" which dangle from the "head" and connection point for the earwire.
- The "head"; what I usually call the -one or more- larger beads between the trunks and the connection point. I usually choose them for the way their colours and shape complement the "coral".
- The "connection point" is usually a split ring [or soldered split ring if I can find them]; the hardware.
- "Y-branches" off the main trunks.
- "Fringe" on the Y-branches; usually 3 beads, of a separate colour from the main "body". I have used large, single stone chips and shell components as the fringe element, however.

---

Considerations, before starting:
- Size and colours of the main body and fringe beads.
- Shape, size, number and colour of the "head" beads.
- Number and length of main trunks. This is an important decision, determining the length and "bushiness" of the earrings. Also; I like to use numbers that are one or two digits above a multiple of 3 for the trunks. Since I usually space the Y-branches 3 beads apart, this puts Y-branches near the head and keeps the hole in the bottom of the head bead relatively clear.
- I use a fine nylon thread, with the narrowest beading needle that I can find in my tackle box.

---

What I call "Y-branch", is the basic unit of coral-stitch.

In order to create the "Y":
-Thread on 6 beads of the main body colour and the beads (usually 3) of Fringe "B" ["B" comes first in my drawing].
Three of the 6 body beads will be the "stem" of the Y, the next 3 beads make Branch "B" of the Y.
- Pass the needle through the fringe beads, keeping tension on the thread and pass the needle back through the beads of Branch "B", again.
- String on 3 beads of main colour (Branch "A" in drawing) and another set of fringe beads. Before passing the needle back through the Branch "A" beads, make sure that Branch "B" hasn't picked up any slack. If necessary, gently pinch "B" between fingers and pull on the needle end of the thread to regain tension. Use this technique often to maintain thread tension.
- Pass the needle back through the beads of Branch "A", check tension and then pass needle back through the "stem" beads.

You're done the Y-branch!

Y-branch drawing of coral-stitch beadwork. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

N.B. - At the bottom of the trunk, the "first" Y-branch utilizes 6 of the trunk beads in its construction; 3 trunk beads comprise Branch "B" and 3 more, the stem. It's easy to forget that the "first stem" also counts as the 3-bead space in the trunk, before the next Y-branch.

Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

After finishing a Y-branch, pass the needle back inside the trunk and up, a 3-bead space, towards the head. Exit the trunk at that point and start the next Y-branch. Repeat.

Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

Once you reach the "head" beads, pass the needle through the head and the jumpring, then back down through the head beads.
Take care that your needle doesn't pass through the top beads of previous trunk, immediately under the head. String on the beads of the new trunk.

---
Variations:

Add different fringe colours/beads.
Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

"Extend" the length of a Y-branch stem, creating a trunk bifurcation; then add more Y-branches.
Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

Instead of just a two branch split in the Y, add a third and make tetrahedrons.
Coral-stitch beadwork demo. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

Experiment away.

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New coral-stitch earrings:


This is the pair of earrings created by the above demo. Various colours and sizes of glass bead and quartz crystal.

Coral-stitch beadwork earrings. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

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Black and silver glass, wooden disks and white marble beads.

Coral-stitch beadwork earrings. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

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Red and black glass, blue glass chips and red wood beads.

Coral-stitch beadwork earrings. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

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Transparent blue and bronze glass and 'redstone' beads.

Coral-stitch beadwork earrings. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

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Various coloured glass, wooden disk and moss agate beads.

Coral-stitch beadwork earrings. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio.

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Loomwork beadwork, applied to carved leather purse.

Loomed beadwork; . Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage Studio

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New visitor?

My coral-stitch beadwork photo gallery and general beadwork photo gallery
Updated,when new pics uploaded.

Few fave posts:

Busted pictograph trip.

Last tasty bit.

Bringing the Bassalope.

Merry season.
xmas ornaments

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Remember:
- Johnny has thumbs.
- He's prolly bigger than you are.
- His evil is weak.
- His squeak is worse than his bite.
- Johnny's the goof, but he once saved Sage from a Rottweiler pup by busting his harness and charging the beastie.

Johnny cat

Remember:
- Sage is small and fraidy.
- Her growl is incongruous.
- (She's the serious one).
- You can call her "Kiiiittty".
- She wants to check her email... Now.

Sage Kitty

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Saturday, September 29, 2007

Codename: Guppy

I wanted to create a male character, for the "Lost Treasures" event (facebook page) coming up in Kenora, Ontario, to acknowledge the fact that most killings-of-women in this world... are at the hands of men. Husbands, brothers, fathers, lovers, sons, lovers, friends and strangers.

It would be simplistic and wrong, however, to say that men are inherently prone to kill women, by nature and testosterone. They/We are programmed by cultures, religions, mass medias, ancient archetypes and legends, corporate environments, etc., etc. I want this piece to reflect upon the anguish of two human potentials lost, when a man kills.

That's not to let us off the hook; the male gender has given the world "honour-killing", "murder-suicide", "serial-killer", "date-rape". "scorched-earth", "mutually assured destruction"...
So on, and so on.

---

[Pics click to enlarge.]

I started out by playing with the spare parts and various heads-in-progress lying around the studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Once the head was chosen; I scrapped the huge arms and started papering/taping the figure.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

I added another pre-made papier mache fragment to the back of the head to bulk it out. I think that I am going to leave the piece unpainted for the Kenora event. It radiates some real emotion, without being individualised, this way.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

Lay it down, to get at the underside. I think that I will put some metal weight in the base of one leg to make it "stand".

Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.Lost Treasures. Broken Vulture Art. Bingorage studio.

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Tim Giago article

Ledger Art
"The Plains Indian Ledger Art Digital Publishing Project (PILA) was conceived as a way to keep this irreplaceable historic and cultural information intact, address the challenges of research and public access to the Plains Indian ledger books, and preserve the images for future generations."


NARF myspace page.
"The Native American Rights Fund (NARF) has announced its 2nd Annual National Call for young Native artists, ages 15-35 years old. NARF is seeking art entries for its 2nd Annual Art Show in Boulder, Colorado-Modern Day Warriors: Empowering the Young Voices of Native America . The dynamic art exhibition will celebrate and highlight present and future generations of modern day warriors for Native rights. It will also place focus on the fact the Indian Wars Never Ended-they have merely changed venues from the historic battlegrounds of our ancestors to courtrooms; the media; schools; communities; Congress; and the modern day world around us... DEADLINE FOR ENTRIES IS 5PM, FRIDAY OCTOBER 12TH, 2007!"


The Seventh Annual Festival of Native Film & Culture
"(formerly known as the Native American Film Festival & Cultural Weekend) is currently accepting submissions. All feature length and short film Native American and indigenous work produced after January 1, 2007 is eligible for consideration. The Festival will take place at the Camelot Theatres in Palm Springs, California, March 5 - 9, 2008... Film submission entry deadline is December 15, 2007."


Indigenous nations hit hard by hurricanes


The Fenimore Art Museum September 22-December 30, 2007.
"Being Indian: The 6th Contemporary Iroquois Art Biennial, an exhibition featuring the works of Native American artists Peter B. Jones and George Longfish"


AIEA 2007 Native American Youth Conference October 18 & 19, 2007 Phoenix Arizona

Nike has designed and produced a shoe, based on the Native American foot.
"...the Air Native N7 is designed with a larger fit for the distinct foot shape of American Indians, and has a culturally specific look. It will be distributed solely to American Indians; tribal wellness programs and tribal schools nationwide will be able to purchase the shoe at wholesale price and then pass it along to individuals, often at no cost."


How is this for a great idea? The New Zealand government has opened a "wiki" so that the citizens can write the new law on policing. Police wiki lets you write the law.
"Superintendent Hamish McCardle, the officer in charge of developing the new act, said the initiative had already been described as a "new frontier of democracy".
"People are calling it 'extreme democracy' and perhaps it is," he said.
"It's a novel move but when it comes to the principles that go into policing, the person on the street has a good idea ... as they are a customer," he said.
"They've got the best idea about how they want to be policed."
NZ Police were reviewing the old Policing Act, from 1958, which had become "anachronistic" and was "written for a completely different age, not policing of today", Superintendent McCardle said."


Columbus Day is approaching again, United Native America was formed...
"in 1993 as a nation wide grass roots movement to bring about a federal national holiday for Native Americans. The Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma fully supports this issue with resolution 91-93. United Native America resolution 1-1 calls on the federal government to stop using our tax dollars to pay for Columbus Day.

Columbus does not rate a federal tax paid holiday in this country. We are standing up against the racial exclusion of Native Americans in our society to include these industries, national television stations, movie industries, national sports industries, national news media and music industries. Bringing about these changes have to take place before America can say it represents all its people equally.

The American Indians helped give birth to this country and helped form the government we have today, this is the true beginning history of America. This contribution and many more are noted in the American Indian heritage month of November resolution passed each year by the United States Senate and signed by the president, please join us in the struggle in the spirit of Crazy Horse, Tecumseh and countless others to live in peace on our land."


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Ugly Necklace Contest

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