Fun Drunks

The fun drunks of the 1930s and 1940s. And the 1950s. And '60s. Back then, when you had a comedy, the drunk character was guaranteed to get a laugh. Slurring, mixing up words, stumbling--winner! It's like the slapstick humor of the silent era. Slapstick isn't really funny unless the person is flopping about, falling down, clumsy. And what's a better way than to be drunk? And with movies in sound, you can have dialogue. Slurring, spoonerizing, confusing dialogue. But our use of drinking is different from these earlier movies, and I wonder why. At the risk of making comedy not funny--just like what would happen if you sat Steve Martin and Julianne Moore down to discuss why comedy is funny (I mean, what the hell is with those guys?!)--I'd like to analyze it.

A list of some drunk scenes in classic films:
City Lights (1931)--the bipolar rich guy
It Happened One Night (1934)--Clark Gable, the drunken reporter
The Thin Man (1934)-- The party scene...and every scene with Myrna Loy and William Powell
My Man Godfrey (1936)--The William Powell freak-out at the end
Holiday (1938)--The brother's scenes....
The Philadelphia Story (1940)--Jimmy Stewart at C.K. Dexter Haven's house; the pool scene; etc.
Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)--every elderberry wine scene [does that count?]
It's a Wonderful Life (1946)--After the pool (Now, this is a very interesting situation)
The Egg and I (1947)--Pa Kettle, throughout*

And more modern...
Some Like it Hot (1959)--The train sorority party
The Apartment (1960)--The New Year's Eve party (ring-a-ding ding)
That Touch of Mink (1962)—Doris Day trying to lose her inhibition

Unfortunately, I haven't seen Breakfast At Tiffany's lately to list this. And I can't remember, what about His Girl Friday? The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer? I don't believe the Marx Brothers ever played drunks... And that one guy, what's his name? The guy with the hoarse voice in all of those Westerns? Didn't John Wayne get funny-drunk in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance? And I'm sure there are plenty more that I'll be embarrassed having forgotten.

* I think drunk hick/hillbilly could be it's own subsection. Then we would have Pa Kettle, Guy from those Westerns, Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies, those hillbillies from Andy Griffith (I'd love to put in Goober too, but he probably just had a disability. Same goes for Floyd the Barber), the Moonshiners from Deliverance (ha! Just kidding)

Now, what can we make of this? Well, comedy (is tragedy + time <--no) spawns from embarrassment and feeling uncomfortable, I would say. Some of my friends say that they don't like comedy that involves laughing at someone. And I agree to some extent, because I don't like sadistic comedy about disabilities or injuries. But I will confess that I will occasionally laugh at those things I just listed and feel awful about it afterward. It's cliche to say it, but laughter is a defense mechanism, and I'm someone who laughs at funerals.

What I mean to say, is how much comedy doesn't involve laughing at someone? Slapstick is laughing at clumsiness or even physical injury (but I just don't understand the 3 Stooges). Satire is laughing at the original. Sarcasm is to some extent laughing at the audience. A lot of wordplay involves laughing at Person #2's misunderstanding of Person #1. "Tricksters" in children's movies and fables are funny. I'm having trouble thinking of what would be so-called "safe" comedy…anyone? I’d bet it’s pretty lame. To bring it back, laughing at a drunk person is indeed laughing at someone’s disability, but it’s a temporary one, and therefore rather safe (unless of course the person is a full-blown alcoholic).

But: why were drunks in these comedies portrayed as "delightful"? The Thin Man was clever, and the dialogue was snappiest when Nick and Nora were drinking, which was pretty much through all of it. But they are funny. When the characters are actually alcoholics then it's not so funny (The Lost Weekend). But PA KETTLE is an alcoholic! And he's still funny, if you don't think about it too much (then again, The Egg and I isn't very racist if you don't think about it too much). Listen though, when you're at a party and everyone gets drunk, as long as everyone is a happy drunk, then it's “delightful”. And it's funny because people are acting in a way seemingly contrary to their expected behavior. It's temporary.

This is getting too long, but hold on: today, drunk comedies involve underage drinking. It's illegal, makes you a little uncomfortable because you know it's illegal, so… it's funny? Drug use in film can be funny too (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is hilarious, again, if you don't think about how sad it is), as long as it doesn't involve needles or heavy addiction. But dammit, making fun of crack-heads can be funny, Chappelle.

And stay with me, now: I'd like to point out how drunken office parties in The Apartment, or That Touch of Mink, etc. from the late '50s and '60s were funny in films, but Mad Men, which takes place during the same time period, straight-up shows how drinking highballs all day and picking up secretaries is actually really sad...and disturbing. But those were the good old days, right? Yeah.

So the question is still there: Why was being drunk in films seemingly more acceptable in classic films? Perhaps we have a greater understanding of alcoholism in adults, and leave drunken behaviors to the kids. But then is it still ok today to think Nick and Nora are funny.

I might be seeing this all wrong, and really, I'm open to any discussion on this topic.

Miss Pomeroy 1926

To continue: This was another piece from the same "Arts in Cinema" class from 2007. I'll admit, it's not my best, and I think it resorts to some cliches typical of assemblage art. But give me a break. I made it in probably an hour and a half for class the next day.

"There are certain things about that other girl, that Miss Pomeroy '26 that I rather like."

...says Tracy Lord from The Philadelphia Story. On my Top 10 list of favorite films, it has the ultimate cast: Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, and Katherine Hepburn. I mean, how can you go wrong? I always say that you can judge an actor's talent according to how well they can play a drunk, their skills in fake phone conversations, and how convincingly they can play a woman.* Cary Grant has more or less mastered them all: his phone conversations with "Happy Dale Sanitarium" in Arsenic and Old Lace are amazing, I would consider his "I've suddenly turned gay!" point in Bringing Up Baby his dressing-like-a-woman moment, and in terms of drunk scenes, I fall back on silly/at-wits-end scenes in the previously mentioned films (because he's always a little too cool for being drunk). Jimmy Stewart is master of drunk scenes. It's A Wonderful Life, Mr Smith Goes to Washington (doesn't he?), in Harvey he played a former drunk, and of course, The Philadelphia Story is the best. And Katherine Hepburn, of course, has a marvelous drunk time in this film. Thus the title of my piece: "Miss Pomeroy 1926".

So in the story, spoiled rich girl Tracy, on the eve of her second wedding, is separately confronted by most of the men in her life (including a stranger, Stewart). The theme of their monologues are much the same: that she is a beautiful "goddess", but is always like a cold statue, propped on a pedestal. She is worshiped, but not really loved because her distance makes that impossible. Her "goddess" image is both created by the men who meet and become infatuated with her, but most dangerously, is partly her own making. On this pre-wedding night, the shit hits the proverbial fan, and through the glorious power of champagne, her ice queen image melts away into someone warm-blooded and human.

In my piece, I interpreted this theme of positive growth of character as marked by a single event. Suddenly realizing how everyone sees you and doing something about it. It's fairly literal: the box on the right represents the rigid and formal. Stark, Classical white, standing on formal legs like Greek architecture, soft feathers** like clothing of the wealthy (at least in 1930s and 1940s movie world). Yet this is contrasted with the mesh cover. Something like chicken-wire.

The piece on the left is the interior. As its position on the left, it represents the true interior. It is also the viewpoint of the audience. From this view, the audience and Tracy/other person can look at the white piece from a distance. She is still chained but she is also nearly separate from it. The support is a cordial glass (representative of champagne), which symbolizes the agent that promotes freedom. This portion of the sculpture is more organic, less clean. It's green, symbolizing growth. A plant actually grows out of the glass and penetrates the confines of the box. It's still a young plant, and it is implied that the plant will continue to grow. The mesh is still present, but it is not as confining. In general, the piece points upward and outward, as contrasted with the white piece on the right.

It's a very simple sculpture. And it may be a simplistic message. And the whole idea that the loss of inhibition through alcohol is a good thing is even applicable to 1980s teen comedies... lets face it, most teen comedies.*** However, alcohol here is not "a good thing" but rather, the thing that sets her free. The key to the vault, as it were (but not Schnapps). She's free, not necessarily in terms of letting her hair down, but rather, she is free to see the amplified version of the flaws people see in her. And the implication is that she will positively act on this new perspective.

As the conversation between Tracy and her father (Seth) goes in the end:
"Tracy: How do I look?

Seth: Like a queen, like a goddess.

Tracy: And do you know how I feel?

Seth: How?

Tracy: Like a human. Like a human being."


*This last point is tricky: case in point, David Duchovny in Twin Peaks plays a transvestite very well, which redeems him in my book. Otherwise, meh. Sorry X-Files people.
** Incidentally, I was banned by my advisor to use feathers in my work FROM THIS POINT ON.

***Superbad though, that's different.

"Oh So Smart" 2007

A break from the Firebird stuff for a while, and may be a bit of whimsy.*

*You may have noticed my dislike of the term "whimsy". I have often used it as something derogatory, (like nostalgia) which I believe may be the result of my art school training (whimsy is frowned down upon in art school, as well as anime). For me, whimsy is: 1960s French children with balloons, modern interpretations of early 20th century puppet shows and circuses (excluding freak shows), tulips, puppies, ladybugs,

butter flies, and Rococco art. HOWEVER whimsy can be good. I remember a discussion about whether "Amelie" is whimsical. Maybe. I'm inclined to say "Yes", and would say it's good whimsy. "The Science of Sleep"= whimsical, maybe taking it a bit far, but still good. Jane Austen? Sure. Frank Capra. Certainly. If you hate whimsy, you'll say that it refers to something devoid of deeper "drama"/"meaning", but in its defense, I say that good whimsy in fact does address these "higher" emotions. Like you'll see...

(To the left is Fragonard: ugh, killer whimsy)

You sign up for this class "Arts in Cinema" and what do you think it will be about? My thought: cinematography, color, character development, story-telling, acting, writing, etc. But no go; it was apparently about subject matter/themes, primarily regarding abuse/rape of women, (female) nudity, and sex. Kinda creepy. And I could have taught the class, since I had seen almost everything the professor mentioned. Maybe one day. (Oh, and supposedly only "true" Hitchcock fans have seen "Lifeboat".) But whatever. I said "screw that" and worked with what I preferred (those things listed above). I was a senior and didn't give a damn what the teacher wanted anymore. As long as I looked like I knew what direction I was headed, the teacher's didn't stand in my way anymore.* So I focused on story (something I rarely deal with anyway) by working with some of my favorite movies: "Harvey" (1950), "The Philadelphia Story" (1940), "It's a Wonderful Life" (1946) and "The Haunting" (1963) (<-- a definite outlier). If I had more time, I would have moved into "The Thin Man" (more Jimmy Stewart).

*Which is the secret to art school. People often say: "I always liked art, but when I went to art school, they were dictators and they shook it out of me." Get past the first two years, then if you have a focus, the professors will recognize this and help you out.


"Oh So Smart, or Oh So Pleasant"

"Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, 'In this world, Elwood, you must be' - she always called me Elwood - 'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me."

Of course, this is from "Harvey." Jimmy Stewart as Elwood P. Dowd, friend of Harvey, a Pookah. But I really don't need to give a synopsis (though disappointingly, I don't think anyone in my class had seen the film, or rather, any film from before 1975).
As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I have a collection of old postcards, and I used to use them as a backdrop in pieces. But as I attempt to move away from the 2-dimensionality of my earlier pieces,* I've begun using images more as patterns. With these pieces though, I returned to my roots, taking it a step further in this one even. The postcard image is like the backdrop on a stage, but it's on a freestanding stage, not inside a building. I moved away from the "box-construction" format, and made more of an "object". There's a disagreement as to whether it's totally frontal (the natural format for a postcard) or a 3-dimensional object. So the image: The Mercer County Courthouse, in some unknown small town at an unknown date, with a horse-drawn buggy. On the back is written, in pencil:
Dear Lottie: Glad to hear you was a going to school and did not think you could sew as well so well as to make your gown. So of course you can help your mom a good deal when you are out of school. The weather is fine now. Write soon. [Aunt Martha].
I didn't choose the picture because of the reverse text, but because it reminded me of the architecture from the movie, and (to take it literally), because it is black and white (well, green and white). (And by the way, "you was a going"?! It's like she's joking!)

The tall post on the right is reminiscent of a lamppost, which is of course where Elwood was first introduced to Harvey. But it also has a surreal, sci-fi, flying-saucer-like shape that fits in with, well, the whole pookah thing. It towers above the rest of the scene, makes you look up if you were to scale with the scene, something like the poster. The lamplight/sunlight streams down, creating a pool at the ground. It's an ochre colored, sandy pool, the dirt from perhaps it grew (?). To the left is a rectangle filled with some kind of grasslike material. Like wheat, maybe? Wheat: maybe it's pre-bread, showing generosity (he always invited people for dinner). Or maybe it's ore-alcohol (it's implied that he was a notorious tippler). But also, it's next in the progression from earth to grass. And to the left is a third rectangle filled with tiny black balls. Something like buckshot (violence? hunting rabbits?), but then "shots" could also mean an injection/medicine. Which could also refer to the sanitarium where Dowd was taken. It's cold hard reality, physics, atoms, electrons--"science". And it's a progression from earth, to plants, to manufactured. Or minerals. The piece is standing on screws and nails which are uneven, something like legs walking, making it 3-dimensional, bringing the theoretical, fantasy world into reality. There is a projecting piece with a round hollow. It implies a void (a wormhole? a black hole?) and again the light rays. It's the part that implies time, makes physical empty space, makes the object-ness of the piece questionable again, because it refers to the theoretical. To something that's not physically there.

So: the piece adheres to the plot, but also speaks to fantasy, the unknown, something yes whimsical, but by looking "up" at that thing towering overhead (a warm light source) there is the implication of something higher. It points both upwards, but also downwards. It would seem that there are some "serious" references to spirituality in the piece, and also in the story itself, something beyond straight-up whimsy. It's different from other pieces I have done, because of its "story", but it steered away from the story, almost by itself, to an area my pieces often occupy: metaphysics, theories, fantasy, and that place between familiarity and unfamiliarity.

*Attention to background is one of the reasons I consider myself more of a painter than a sculptor.

The Firebird: Two Pieces from 2007

Alright, it's getting a bit heavy. Shake it off, wiggle your arms, flex your toes. You might be reading this part first, in which case: hey guys! It's a barrel of laughs down here! For the rest of you: I apologize if this is looong or dryyyyy, but this is work I haven't looked at for years, and I'm getting a kick out of this new objectivity. This is maybe more of an exercise for me, rather than a formal interpretation for the public. But hang in there. OK, ready? We're going to talk more Firebird now.

So either consciously or subconsciously, the Firebird motif found its way into my work for a couple of years or so. It went through various incarnations--floating dragon-like creatures that saints would battle, floating microscopic creatures, and now back to birds (but not necessarily of the fire type). Here are two pieces: Two Hermits and the Fire Bird (right), and this (still) unnamed piece (left).

Both are mixed media, which you can't see in these images. In Two Hermits, the "firebird" is suspended by one of those motorized rotating Christmas ornament holders, and there are some mini battery-operated lights shining through the thicket at the base, when you close the box, and another set of lights held together with frosted glass and rubber bands at the back box. Also, a music box piece is mounted inside the back piece, so that it resonates in the metal box. In the untitled piece, there is sound (crusty recordings of Guangdong folk tunes) emitting from the tiny "sun"/speaker at the center. (Because of all of these elements, they're pretty high maintenance, have to be experienced by the individual, and are therefore not very sell-able.)

What unites the two pieces is the suspended golden, feathery object at the center. Now, I don't begin a piece with a concept (except in some notable instances), so the decision to make the suspended objects occurred as a result of decisions I made as circumstances presented themselves. In Two Hermits, the addition of the tin to the rear of the piece was the first decision, the balcony piece came second, the background image came next, and so on, until the firebird "appeared" last. The color choice is partly the result of wanting it to contrast from the rest of the imagery, partly to create a focal point, and once again (as in apparently many of my pieces), it comes to represent that glowing life force at the center of a piece. Of the untitled piece, background imagery and texture came first, assemblage objects on the panels came next, and the suspended piece last. It arrived there because the tall shape of the center panel seemed to warrant it, as well as the prominent sky, and it acted as an attempt to make the piece more three-dimensional. A flying creature just seemed right. I think it may have taken me a while to recognize its firebird-ness.

I really wish the Two Hermits themselves were more photogenic (but hey, they are hermits), so I'll have to describe ithem The background image is a print of a medieval painting of a crowd gathered around two men breaking bread. Doggone it, it's been so long, I should have documented what the painting was. But it's not the men that you seen in the piece: just two hands breaking bread in the center. To the left and right of the hands are two white "figures" made of metal bits, cheese cloth, thread, etc. (I was going through an anti-glue phase). And at the center is the twirling firebird. A kind of valence/balcony piece drapes over the three elements. I'm just emphasizing the suspended piece in this post, so a discussion of the ground panel, the thicket, or the texture of the exterior would be sort of irrelevant and way too long for right here. It's an invented mythology that I think is open to individual interpretation, so, sorry guys, you're on your own! But I will say, that like the Firebird in mythology, it tends to symbolize something magical and something desired. Something that you might try to touch, but it's just beyond your reach...

The untitled piece is tricky, which is why it's still untitled. It began, like I said, with the image. In art history class in high school I used to draw buildings in the margins my notebook paper, the lines of the paper making perfect lintels. Sometimes they were Greek, other times gothic. So I drew this background image in much the same haphazard way. I guess it's Byzantine (which is also why I use gold all over the place). Now some associations: the salt and pepper shaker is like a speaker, the sun. Are the strings attaching the piece? Or are they coming out of the holes? Squeezed out like a play-dough fun factory? Why would the thread (if it symbolizes light?) be black? It's a speaker, so does sound black rather than light? Or maybe it's being sucked in, so does the thread mean blackness is being sucked into the holes? Hmm. And the firebird lives in this environment...so what is the hierarchy? Usually the firebird is the most important thing there, but it's decidedly below the "sun". What does that mean for the sun? Just working through this, I'm seeing something really different from when I made it, some weird stuff. I don't know what you're seeing. As a sidenote the music is an alteration of a recording of "The Phoenix of Qi Mountain". (It's a composition from the 1950s that uses the myth of the phoenix of Qi Mountain to "express the feeling of happiness and peacefulness" [Su Wen Bing].)

So whew, those are two pieces. Like I said, I haven't looked at these for years. But these pieces are my most blatant uses of the firebird motif. Other pieces that I'll talk about later are not so blatant, and are much more subconscious. But maybe I'm not continually coming back to the firebird, but back to what it symbolizes. Whoa. Dude. Maybe I should go smoke another one.

One of these days, I'll discuss something a little lighter, more whimsical (ugh, I hate that word). But I can't promise anything concept-lighter. Is it getting too dry? Too serious? I'm new to this whole thing, so I'm still trying out my wings (I hate myself for saying that).

The Firebird: Blown Egg Project

DISCLAIMER: I'm sure my facts are screwy, and though I give "history" and "background" information throughout this blog, I know that it is at times simplistic. It's more of a history as I know it, rather than it is quotable research. Sometimes Wikipedia is my main source, so what does that tell you. Hopefully it piques some interest. Oh, and that image on the right? Not mine.

I took this class in college on Russian and Eastern Slavic culture. I think it was an art history class, so I can't tell you anything about the Tsars or the Soviet Union, and I didn't learn the language. Anyway, through a series of coincidences and the stars aligning, the myth of the Firebird became my main focus in the class, which permeated throughout my art as well.

In short, the myth of Ivan Tsarevich involves a mysterious firebird stealing golden apples from a tsar's tree. The tsar sends his three sons out to capture the bird. The myth follows one of the sons, who is charged with three quests to get the bird: He finds the bird in a golden cage, but gets caught trying to take it. The owner tells him to get a horse with a golden mane from a neighboring tsar,and he would exchange the bird for the horse. Ivan of course gets caught trying to get the horse, and the tsar tells him if he captures a neighboring princess with golden hair, he will exchange her for the horse. Through trickery and the help of a gray wolf, he acquires all three of the treasures, and after dying and being revived by the wolf, lives happily ever after. I guess the princess was ok with the whole thing. For a good version, visit http://altrusse.ca/FairyTales/firebird.htm

The firebird appears as Zsar-ptitsa in Slavic folktales, but also as the Phoenix in Greek mythology, the Bennu bird in Egypt, and the Huma in Sufi and Simurgh in Persian folklore. In all of these, it is described as glowing like the sun, with brilliant yellows. The Slavic version is described as emitting brilliant yellows, oranges, and golds, and also emitting light. It was usually associated with difficult quests and magic.

So for that Russian class, I combined the myth of the Firebird with another important symbol in Slavic lore: the egg. Like many symbols in Europe, it's pre-Christian, but was adopted around Easter time to symbolize life and resurrection. A chick being born is like Christ breaking out of the tomb. In Eastern Orthodox traditions, they were dyed red to symbolize the blood of Christ, and were then decorated with paint, batik, appliqué, or engraved. Here's an example on the left of some eggs from Ukraine.

So I decided to make some blown eggs and paint on them some images reminiscent of the Firebird. I painted them in the style of lacquer boxes from the region. This style, especially the tiny, feathery strokes of the blue egg on the left, I had actually adopted before this project, and was delighted that there was such a similarity between that imagery and traditional imagery. Now, this was the fledgling (ha! get it?) days of my later assemblage pieces, so I may have constructed the bases a little differently nowadays. These eggs have since died (ouch. no comment on that one). The blue one might still be around. I made a series of these for Christmas presents for the family that year (2006), so some others may have survived.

As a sidenote, I'm of Czech descent, and was interested to see engraved blown eggs on outside markets when I visited the Prague last year. They were for tourists, sure, but traditional. I like to imagine my Czech ancestors dying eggs around Easter-time. They weren't Eastern Orthodox or Slavic, but I assume they were perpetuating Czech traditions. And who knows. Maybe they were doing it in Pre-Christian times.

This is only one use of the Firebird motif in my work. Next, I'll discuss its use in other pieces.

Billy Murray: The Denver Nightingale

I was really getting into acoustic-era music and Billy Murray's name kept popping up. I was exploring early jazz (something I had long been interested in, but came into fruition during a Woody Allen kick), and I heard some Murray music from later in his career. These were songs like "Roll 'Em Girls, Roll 'Em" and the "Follow the Bouncing Ball" kind of stuff. I was acquiring these songs randomly, trying to scoop up as much as possible. I have at least 80 songs now, spanning a good part of his career.

There were other songs that I feel like I know from my childhood, like "In My Merry Oldsmobile", "K-K-K-Katie", "Be My Little Baby Bumblebee", "Come Josephine, in My Flying Machine", and of course "Oh You Beautiful Doll".

So the search was on for the oldest recording. Audio files. I'm not hard-core or rich enough to find the original wax cylinders. The oldest I have is "Two Little Boys" from 1903. It was written in 1902 about the Civil War, and think about it: the Civil War was only 37 years prior. Crazy. (As a side note, I didn't realize Rolf Harris recorded it in the '60s. And thank you, Wikipedia, it was apparently in Trainspotting, and recorded by Roger Whittaker,and Kenny Rogers. One of Margaret Thatcher's favorites. Hmm.) Of course, the crackliness of the recording gives me goosebumps, but the lyrics are really what get me:
Did you think I could leave you dying, when there's room on my horse for you? Climb up here, Jack, we'll soon be flying to the ranks of the boys in blue. Did you say, Jack I'm all a-tremble? Well perhaps it's the battle's noise. Or it may be that I remember when we were two little boys.

Anyway, to continue. Yes, the music now sounds pretty obnoxious. Because they were literally shouting into a horn to record it on wax, so He Who Shouted Loudest was the Most Successful, more or less. But then came the '20s, with new recording technology and crooning, so Murray had to alter his voice. Though I feel like I shouldn't (because it wasn't from the peak of his career), some of my favorite recordings are from the Ed Smalle days in the '20s. Smalle has that smooth, high voice that uncannily supplements Murray's. They do a mean version of "Dardanella Blues" with some sweet harmony. It's weird from a modern perspective that they recorded so many nostalgic songs like "Down By the Old Apple Tree", "Homesick", and "That Old Gang of Mine". Everybody thinks they remember the good ol' days, back when they were a kid.

I can't handle the Aileen Stanley era in the mid '20s. I'm not a fan of Irish ballads from that time, with affected accents, and clumsy so-called realistic dialects. Ada Jones in the '10s is rather grating to modern ears, but I cut her some slack. She had many recordings in the 1890s, was prone to epileptic seizures, couldn't read music, and got others to sign her autographs (was she illiterate?). She died in 1922 on tour as a result of kidney failure. Jones and Murray's 1909 version of the popular vaudeville song "Shine On, Harvest Moon" is lovely (just ignore the questionably racist spoken part).

Yes, it's hard to avoid racism in old songs, especially vaudeville. Murray's work with Bob Roberts is at times uncomfortable (and not just because of the title "Won't You Fondle Me"). And I can't see the song "Hi Lee, Hi Lo" making a comeback in the near future (if you'll excuse me, an example: "Hi lee, hi lo. Quite funny, don't you think, to every little chink, it means 'I love you so'"). But hey, it was the time period, right? He didn't write the songs. It wasn't overwhelmingly offensive back then, I rationalize.

To return to the above image, one of my earliest pieces. I wanted to make a piece about Murray, and in the end, it became a kind of shrine. Clearly, Joseph Cornell was a major influence. The free-floating element just inside the glass references Ada Jones (who was rumored to be "Mrs. Billy Murray" in private, though they denied it), and string (that maybe implies strings on an musical instrument). There are images from the Tin Pan Alley cartoon days ("In My Merry Oldsmobile"), remains of a baseball (he was a huge fan), and other elements. About the text: in 1954, Murray, his wife, and two friends went to see Guy Lombardo's Arabian Nights. Murray was breathing heavily, and told everybody to go into the theater while he went to the bathroom. Fifteen seconds later, he was found dead in the bathroom from a heart attack. The writing on transparency in the piece is from Arabian Nights. As in many of my pieces, I bring in a light, whose source cannot readily be seen. It's life, soul, the source, the person, the beating heart. It creates warmth, especially when reflected off of the rice paper portrait. The apparatus on the side of the box is functional: it looks like one of those old, wind-up telephones,
but I've piped some of his music through it. The observer should pick that part up and listen close, and it really makes a different environment for sculpture.

Oh, Billy. It's been so long since I've looked over my research. But I definitely need to come back to this era. And when the moon shines over the cow shed, I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

Thesis Work 2008

This work in my Senior Exhibition, and since then in the MSC Forsyth Galleries Juried Show in Bryan, Texas this year. In the latter show, there wasn't an artist's statement, so the sculptures were a bit lost. This might be a good way to discuss them. I'm mixing what I assume is an objective perspective, but also the perspective of the Maker (oh, that's me).



A Man, a Plan, a Canal--Panama
Found objects, wire, acrylic paint, coral, postcard, pen and ink on rice paper.
The piece resembles some kind of gadget, a gadget that could be Victorian or futuristic, but not really retro futuristic. It's an apparatus for measuring...something, with a magnifying glass, antennae, a lightbulb that would presumably light up when...something... is detected. The other elements suggest exploration: Victorian-era hikers in a canyon (oh, silly Victorians), an elephant trunk. The pen and ink drawings suggests some other kind of exploration: the microscopic.
An important aspect to all of my work is creating dichotomies. Land (elephant) vs. underwater (coral), past vs. future, printed vs. drawn, reaching out (antennae) vs. looking inside, permanent vs. ephemeral, electricity vs. candlelight, functionality vs. non-functionality, expensive vs. inexpensive, opaque vs. transparent, etc. Rather than being one thing that is recognizable, it's a collection of things that look familiar...but alien. Something between the recognizable and unfamiliar.

Vanguard-1

Found objects, styrofoam, thread, wire, magazine clippings, plexiglass, wax, fabric, acrylic paint.
Vanguard-1 is the oldest manmade satellite still in orbit, and it's now considered "spacejunk". Again, there is the flavor of exploration in this piece: a satellite is associated with space exploration, yet it points back toward Earth. If a satellite faces toward Earth, then that may imply that we are not on Earth when we look at the piece. Earth is about 45 degrees upward. It's covered in a kind of gunk--wax, grit, paint, scratches--implying either age or wear. Though the title and certain elements would imply the early days of space exploration and Wells-ian fiction, there is still a futuristic quality about it that again, is not necessarily retro-futurism.

Embedded are dichotomies and contradictions, like: past vs. future, Earth vs. space, grounded (wheel) vs. flight (satellite), found objects vs. constructed objects, naturally aged vs. artificially altered, reaching out vs. looking inward, opening vs. closing, organic vs. manmade, opaque vs. transparent, light vs. dark, etc. And like the other piece (and what is the goal of most of my work), the elements look familiar, but alien. They occupy the space between familiarity and unfamiliarity, as well as the other dichotomies.


The Empty Quarter
Found objects, thread, wire, brass (with engraving) fabric, magazine clippings, moss, acrylic paint, watercolor, pen and ink on rice paper, working light.

"The Empty Quarter" refers to the Rub' al Khali desert region of the Arabian Peninsula. It's associated with the frankincense trade (of course frankincense was used in ceremonies across many religions in the regions), but also the Black Stone, the important relic at Mecca, is thought to have been found in that desert. The stone may be a fragmented meteorite. The background of the floor (for want of a better word) is reminiscent of the swirling cosmos, or looking down into swirling water. Or sky reflected in water. Like the other pieces, there is a theme of exploration. In the upper segment there looks like men fishing on a boat, and the front apparatus looks something like a sail, but it also seems to be tied down by threads. Maybe though, the threads (which are yellow) are not tying it down, but are instead a reference to sunlight, like the Egyptian Aten. At the very center of the base of the piece and at the center of the swirling image is an object that sort of resembles a vortex. The apparatus behind it is sort of hovering, floating, but tied down (again with yellow thread). At the very back is an opening from which a flickering light can be seen. The source cannot be seen, but it implies the soul, life, importance. That general idea of "soul" is paired with the sacred, which this piece obviously references. The overall shape is like a reliquary, the shape is like the architecture of temples, the fact that it closes up is like an altarpiece, the oculus at the center is like a rose window. Of the oculus: it is easily and commonly overlooked, because it must be seen at eye level. Children therefore are more inclined to notice it, or those who are comfortable in ducking around. The piece is best seen at all levels so that you are looking down into the abyss, and looking at it straight on. Something that I haven't been able to right is the overwhelming tendency of people to look behind the piece to see the light source. I intend for it to be frontal, and I'm still looking for a way to "hide" the back.

There is a balance between opposites: ground and sky, Earth and Space, land and water, presence and absence, floating and grounded, night and day, dark and light, sacred and mundane, open and closed, image or object, made naturally and constructed, accident and purpose, microscopic and macroscopic, portable and embedded, functional and nonfunctional, familiarity and alien, etc. The piece through references occupy a between-space of dichotomies.


Closing...
All of these pieces are tied to ideas of exploration, either from the ancient perspective, religious perspective, Victorian, H.G. Wells, 1950s space exploration, but also our present perspectives of the unknown (the microscopic world, outer space, the sacred). But you know, there's a lot of heavy material, heavy "important" ideas, but they are also silly and (I shudder to say) whimsical. I mean, come on, antennae? A slinky? What's with the colors? And how are we supposed to believe that any of these could really be functional?