Object/Design Appreciation

I often appreciate the package design as much as the music when buying and playing records. From liner notes to covers and inserts, there’s always been just as much for me to dig into in visual terms, especially with certain albums.

Today I grabbed my copy of the Sub Pop 200, a compilation from 1988 that was originally issued as a very limited vinyl run. I only own the CD version, which came later and isn’t as rare. But as I listened to this collection of early grunge artifacts this morning, I remembered how great the box itself is, just as a designed object. We talk about the need for packaging to match content, and I think this is a good example of that. But beyond that, it’s a piece of design that’s a nice hybrid of clean and punk. Which I think makes sense here, although in the early days Sub Pop was surely more punk than professional and clean.

Anyway, these are the things that make me happy: having something like this that I can hold in my hand, read and hear, and feel that there’s something perfectly cohesive about it.

Seasons change

Decoration day

Take heart

Memories of Making

What’s the oldest memory you have of making something without following someone else’s instructions? I mean, we all made craft projects in kindergarten. But what about on your own? When did that kind of creativity start for you?

I know I always used to draw. Mostly on leftover computer paper that my dad had around the house, or the back of old mimeographed worksheets from my parents’ teaching jobs. My siblings and I drew a lot of hot air balloons, since that was big in my hometown. One thing that stands out for me is at a slightly older age, when I started to realize that I could copy pictures out of books fairly accurately. Of course it was mainly cars at the time.

My friends and I would go to the public library, about three blocks away, and check out a few big books from the small “transportation” section. We’d then sit on the porch of my house and practice drawing cars and trucks from the pictures in those books. It’s the first time I recall noticing foreshortening and perspective in a photograph. I didn’t know what those concepts were called then, but I can clearly remember thinking about how certain parts of a car looked compressed or weirdly small when it was sitting at a 3/4 view. It was an intellectual concept as much as it was a creative one, in hindsight. But either way I was learning, on my own.

I don’t think I have as many clear childhood memories as the average person, for whatever reason. So I suppose it’s significant that I remember this kind of thing well.

Magic & Light

We’re all in weird times now. These current days are abnormal for each of us in our own way, but I think it’s common that our responses to isolation and fear are, well, a little dark.

I know there will always be people in the world who have it much harder than I do, and right now that includes those who have to work directly in the fight against COVID-19. Health care workers and other essential employees of all kinds must have an unfathomable level of stress. And that’s not even mentioning people who have food and housing instability, or who are finding this crisis to be just another thing piled on some already desperate situation. My life is relatively easy: I’m still getting paid, and I can mostly stay at home with my family.

Nonetheless, we’re all seeking ways to alleviate stress, and the need is a different kind than our typical day-to-day coping strategies are made to address.

Music is one thing that we all have in common, and that we all can access in our own way. Music has, since the beginning of known history, provided a source of relief as one of its main functions. It brings humans together both physically and emotionally; it entertains, it distracts, it tells stories, it reminds us of good in the past, the present and the future. I like to imagine all those front-line workers grabbing a moment to play a favorite song on a 5-minute break, or enjoying a familiar playlist while cleaning the store in protective gear. A spot of light in the dark.

Yesterday was Saturday. Technically it was the weekend between the last week of classes for my spring semester and finals week. Remote teaching makes it feel different (at a minimum), but it was also a day that seemed a little blah when I got up, as many do.

I need to take a brief departure from the narrative here to address something that’s crucial to the main thesis, in my case. I have pain. Chronic pain. I know, I know, that’s a term that’s loaded and problematic and vague. I agree. I don’t know an easier way to put it, and I don’t need to take a deep dive into the intricacies of it here. I just need to mention that it plays into the darkness that hovers around the edges for me personally. I’m not terribly depressed, and I’m not in danger of losing my will to go on or anything. However, I’m unable to do a lot of the things that used to bring me happiness, at least at the same level. It’s difficult to take advantage of hobbies and activities that should be ideal distractions at at time like this, because said activities make me hurt more.

So, enough of that. Suffice it to say, music endures. Music is always there, to do all those things I mentioned earlier: entertaining, lifting up, reminding, filling spaces that need filled. On days when I feel that blah a little more than I’d like, I can use a record or a playlist as a kind of healing. I can focus on it and be very deliberate with songs and sounds, or I can let it surprise me and take me on a journey. I’ve always used it this way, but in these current days it’s perhaps more essential than ever (if that’s possible).

Back to yesterday. Like most days, I was up before the rest of my family. This is partially because the longer I lie in bed, the more my body complains. But I also really like being up and having time with just my own brain, coffee, reading, and music.

I started with some records: first Paul Westerberg/Grandpaboy’s Stereo/Mono, which came to mind because yesterday was also supposed to be Record Store Day (but that’s another blog post). Perfectly ragged, messy songs to hum along to from the couch while reading Twitter and caffeinating. As the morning continued, I was thinking how I don’t play a lot of my 7” singles enough. So I went there, and while sitting in the sun letting the day warm up I enjoyed some Superchunk, Flesh For Lulu, Jason Molina and even Marvin Gaye.

Later in the day, I was in the kitchen baking some coffee cake. Baking is a good use of social isolation time too, as we all know. There’s a CD player in the kitchen, so I dug into my discs to find things I hadn’t played in a long time. I landed on Neil Young’s 1994 “Sleeps With Angels” first, and man, am I glad I did. I would guess I haven’t heard that album in at least fifteen years, and it sounded vital, beautiful, and frankly, important. I recall lots of critical dialogue (about the particular moment of Cobain’s death, etc.) upon the release of this one, and I’m happy to see that it doesn’t feel stuck in a moment; it holds up better than a large percentage of Neil’s catalog. After that I threw on a Dwight Yoakam greatest hits compilation, which coincided with the doors being opened and my family going in and out as the day warmed up and rolled on. It too was an excellent reminder of an artist who is consistently better than I recall. Such songs, and such players.

While the cake baked, I watched a live stream of one of my favorite songwriters, Bill Janovitz of Buffalo Tom. Sitting on the front porch in the wind, I listened to him singing from his basement in Massachusetts. Later in the evening my whole family watched a benefit concert on TV while relaxing in the living room, and the musical performances were a great reminder of how we’re all connected by this mess, worldwide (even if some of the sound quality was less than excellent). Even the mighty Rolling Stones have to interact via Zoom, so I guess we can too.

This morning it’s back to coffee, of course. Now it’s accompanied by a Spotify “Sunday Morning” playlist carefully curated and shared by some good friends. Mellow sounds are definitely Sunday sounds. I’m fortunate to be acquainted with so many people who recognize the value of music like I do, and I love hearing something new in the middle of several familiar tracks.

None of this is revolutionary thinking, of course. I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. The whole point here is that we all use music to provide some light in our lives. My hope is that maybe many of us are becoming more conscious on a regular basis of just how vital it is. Whatever else fails, music won’t. It’s almost like it’s immune to any kind of darkness, even a worldwide pandemic. Seems like magic to me.

in my ears

Back when I used to blog (on Blogger) in the early twenty-first century, I would use the heading “in my ears” for a regular kind of post on current music I was into. I think I’ll revive it for occasional use.

Today it’s the latest album from Torres, “Silver Tongue”. I’ve been familiar with Torres for a while, but never spent much time with her music before this record. Reading some pre-release press hype made me take notice, and I was especially intrigued when I heard “Dressing America”, the first single. I’ve also followed the career of the painter Jenna Gribbon through some social platforms, who happens to be the partner of Mackenzie Scott (Torres). So…bottom line, I kept seeing talk about the record, and anything on Merge is bound to be good anyway.

The album is a really intriguing mix sonically: it’s primarily guitar based, with beats and effects used judiciously throughout. But the instrumentation embellishes songs that range from quiet and delicate to jarring to almost poppy. You’d call this “indie singer/songwriter” music if you were forced to categorize, but you’d be missing a lot of complexity by doing so. “Dressing America” has this chill, almost lazy strumming throughout that subtly shifts from a slight swing to straight feel. It’s like the sound of a drum machine that’s just a little bit stoned, but still keeps perfect time. And the lyrics are a perfect fit: the surface level reading is a love letter, but it’s undermined with feelings of fear and disconnect.

Similar combinations work their way throughout the album. It’s personal music, and you feel like it’s written for a lover. But in the way that real love is messy, so are the songs. Other highlights for me include “Good Grief” with its muscular, crunchy sonic foundation, and the lead track, “Good Scare”.

I think the current decade has really brought pop music into a closer dialogue with indie rock, and we’re all benefiting from that blurring of boundaries. It wouldn’t be crazy to draw comparisons between this album and the work of some huge mega-stars like Lorde, for example (though that’s not to say this record sounds like a Lorde album; it doesn’t). The social media age has destroyed the old way of promoting and selling albums, but it’s also destroyed some of the needless categorizations. As a newish fan, I can’t speak eloquently to the trajectory of Torres’s music or career, but I can tell you that this record is worth your time. And I shouldn’t need to remind you to buy a copy from the artist.

Postmodern Horsepower (a meditation on midwestern roots)

It’s difficult to reconcile my influences and interests as an artist. I know this is common for most creatives, but I think there’s a particularly unusual kind of dissonance that comes with being raised exclusively in a fairly rural Midwestern setting, followed by an adult life that attempts to make work that can exist outside that small box. The roots are undeniably there, and I love them. But the world asks for a wider lens, and I love that too.

As an MFA student many moons ago, I opened my eyes to the world of Art (capital A intentional) and drank it in. In the 1990s I learned about painters, photographers and installation artists who crossed cultures and used context as an intentionally fluid element of their work. It’s unavoidable, and I still believe that it’s a sin to call yourself an artist without making sincere ongoing efforts to understand the contemporary art world. You don’t have to love everything, but you need to know what’s been done and how that creates an ever-changing history in which your work has to play.

So back to that Midwestern thing. Growing up, I had experiences that were similar to a lot of my peers around here, and that includes being raised in car culture. You know, being a Car Guy. I read Hot Rod magazine, drew pictures of muscle cars, and couldn’t wait to get my first ride. The noise, the smells, the whole idea of driving something powerful…it was a thing. And it still is. As a 47-year-old, I still love automotive culture and I still love driving and working on cool cars.

At a certain point, I honestly (maybe not consciously) tried to sort of hide or minimize this element of my life, mostly because it didn’t seem to square with the attempt to become an Artist. My art world idols were on the coasts or overseas, and their obvious interests were very non-automotive. Many of the people I saw (and still see) as peers had no connection to automobiles at all, often because of where they grew up. I wanted to be one of them. I needed to be the Guy Who Listened to Indie Rock or the Guy Who Knew What Postmodernism Was in order to fit that role.

I’m still those guys. I’m all those guys. Including Car Guy. Which is fine, I’ve realized. Even if it makes me feel out of place at car meets or on car forums sometimes.

So, how does it play into the work? That’s the hardest part, even once the aforementioned reconciliation has happened. I know people who are Car Guys and also make art, but pretty much 99.9% of them make the stereotypical kind of stuff: paintings of cars. Shiny chrome. You know, the stuff that you see cheap reproductions of in craft stores, in the “man stuff” section. Boring.

Over the past few years, I’ve tried to accept the fact that it’s a part of me; it’s in my brain, and therefore it’s going to find its way into my studio work if I’m being authentic. It sometimes involves using recognizable imagery that comes from hot rod culture, but hopefully in a way that’s less cliche. I appropriate icons and images and recontextualize them, and I don’t know if it always works as well as it could. But it’s going to continue, off and on. It may make some of my work less relatable to an audience without that background or influence, like many of my Instagram followers, for example. But it’s a tradeoff I can make. I’m throwing all kinds of stuff into the mix when I make something, and that’s just one part of it.

One thing I know for sure is I’m not interested in being known as the Guy Who Uses Car Stuff in His Work. I use a variety of imagery and influences, and that’s definitely one of them. Anyone who follows my work will respond to some of it, but not all of it. And anyone who starts following me because of car-related posts on Instagram or wherever will eventually be turned off or at least confused by the other stuff. It’s just being a multi-dimensional human, I hope. Leftist politics, contemporary painting, indie rock, and horsepower. My Midwestern mantra.

The rebirth of content

I think what I’m doing here is attempting to use the blog on my personal website to try to integrate my presence on some social media platforms a little better. No, I know that’s what I’m attempting to do. We’ll see how far it goes.

I spend more time on Twitter these days than most other social media. My Twitter persona tends to skew more towards music and politics, less about visual art. I often have thoughts that seem worth typing somewhere, but they’re rarely easy to categorize. Is this post about art? About music? About life in general? Where does it go?

I know, I know. We’re all complex multi-faceted people. This is not a unique struggle. It’s just my own way to deal with it. Again, we’ll see what happens. For now, I’ll try to post here when I need to get some thoughts out, and then I’ll share the blog posts elsewhere. It’s a good time to be getting thoughts down, one way or another.

Stay tuned for album reviews, random bits of art manifestos (manifesti?), frustrations, and celebrations.

Website?

Does anyone look at anyone's website anymore? Are we moving into a post-website world?

The eternal question

...but does it feel like MY work?

This can be tricky. You want to build consistency, to have a solid body of cohesive work. But you get excited about new things, and you want to move into challenging territory. Balance is needed, but how?

I think the secret (or maybe it's just the answer) is to make lots of work. To make things every day, even if that just means a small sketch. If your brain and your hands are constantly forced into that territory of making, then your work will make consistent progress by default. And that's the key; those two words together: consistent progress.

As always, the disclaimer: your results may vary. But this is my truth.

Forward. Forever forward.

I've always been a person who needs something exciting to look forward to. I need to be able to think about things that are on the horizon, and to work towards them. Never stagnant.

It makes it difficult, because that often means going to uncharted places with the work. It would be easier to settle into a routine, but my brain doesn't want to settle. So, here we go again.

I'm working on two bodies of work now that are distinctly different. The collages have been in progress for a while, but they're changing. They're incorporating more elements of perspective and form. And these new drawings are sort of a call back to an earlier body of work, but it's developing in a new way. In my mind these two kinds of work keep wanting to interact with each other too, but we'll see.

So things are happening. The work is exciting me, and there are opportunities to get it out in front of new audiences that are exciting me too. Opportunities arise in both Des Moines and Chicago, and this is all good. Forward.

Sketchbooks

...or process books, journals, whatever. Call it what you want. There's been some good conversation lately at work/school about how we use these, and what the value is in doing so. Obviously it's different for everyone, but whether or not you think of yourself as an artist or a maker, there's inherent value in making marks on a regular basis. And for me it's best to have multiple books so that I can always have one nearby: in the car, in my office, in my pocket....they're full of notes and things to remember, but more often lately they're just a way to focus on something. You could call it mindfulness or meditation I suppose. Get out the pencil and do something. It allows for the use of brain and hand power in a way that's direct and deliberate; I'm not being a passive consumer of anything when I make marks on a page.

It's a strange season.

I think there are enough words on the internet about the election of 2016. I'm done with it. Turned in my ballot today.