A Better Artist

It was a long personal battle trying to figure whether it was necessary to invest the money, (but I feel like more sacrificial is the time, where I won’t really be able to work on my career directly, it’s probably a short sighted perspective - I need more patience (bc this is indirectly enhancing my career), by the time I get out I’ll be 35 or really close to it) and time to go to into a MFA program. Ultimately, I decided to do it under the banner of “In the end I just want to be a better artist”. As you join a program that term “better artist” starts to get defined in strange ways you never imagined, or maybe have imagined but not in the concrete ways it has been manifesting. What you start to realize is an institution is inherently, by way of history, structure and those involved - who share what they know which happens to be a particular world, is connected to a very particular art world, the high art world of museums and galleries. The paths of all the alums seem pretty well paved, a familiar path of the same galleries, vying for the same old scholarships and awards. In these terms the idea of a better artist starts to be defined first by figuring out what good art is. A lot of times when you’re looking for a what, you have to ask who, because depending on what culture you want to enter, the powerful in that particular group gets to put meaning to terms. So as I learn about this larger, or maybe smaller but more influential, maybe not influential but more powerful, maybe not more powerful but more rich, definitely more rich and probably better well connected into the things that influence mainstream culture. And as I consider the things I value as far as my art, life and career I do want in on this elite, art world. Why? Because that’s where the money is and I do want a sustainable career, earn at least enough so that I could live in a giant warehouse, and I do want to be able to influence the greater mainstream culture. I’d say 80% of me doesn’t want anything to do with that world but there’s still 20% and I’m justifying that by saying I’ll get in, get what I need from it and then get out quick or stay in it use it in unsanctioned ways to achieve things on my agenda and subversively alter it. And because there’s even that remote 20% that wants to be in the elite high art world - “good art” then becomes defined by them (those who run this world), and ultimately “better artist” is further defined by that version of “good art”. Because if the art world were run by a bunch of 3 year olds then what they consider “good art” would certainly be different. So oftern times I feel like in order to get my 20% I need to impress that rich and influential. I know I know they say dont think about it, work freely, but reality is those that are there to objectively help shape my practice have this filter on their eyes and in their words that are colored by The Art World. 

Dave Wallace speaking the truth

dope

iMourn

Currently: Mourning the loss of my voicemails. Apparently when you switch from any phone to an iphone your voicemail gets completely wiped. I've had on there for years my niece calling me leaving messages for me, her sentences getting slowly more complicated as she got older, and the missed calls from my dad telling me his mom died or the time my parents calmly called letting me know my uncle had injured his head (from which he would die from a few days later). Going from dumb phone to a smarty (happened on 3-17-13) was an emotional experience, one I tried to put off for as long as I could, evading the urging of my wife, but it was nothing compared to the loss of those vmails, like I could physically feel it - it's one of those things, you know.

And I have the text messages on my phone that I've saved for years, the ones from the beginnings of when my wife (then gf) and I first started dating, to randoms - important ones but ones I don't remember because I havent looked at them for so long, to the ones where my sister texted about a fight she's having with my mom, one that's inspired my art work recently, to the ones notifying me that an old family friend suddenly died. These I actually still have on my old phone but they're encased forever in this physical body never being able to enter into the digital world again ostensibly making them useless. As my new phone was being activated I sat there completely engulfed in systematically, one-by-one, emailing to myself each of the 300 text messages so that they could have life again in their new virtual bodies, but my project was abruptly stopped as the activation when through. I got all of 30 or so messages sent - only the oldest ones. But this isn't nearly as bad as grief I feel from the lost voicemails.

I don't understand my obsession with documentation, the need to hold on to pieces of the past, and capture moments in the present, I'm convinced I'm a hoarder, of images, although I've never seen an episode from the series which has them as their subject, but you know they all have these crazy pasts like they got raped or had some traumatic relationship at some point, so it makes me wonder about myself, what ever happened to me. I just blame it on my slacker memory, I can't trust it so I'm dependent on physical evidence to trigger the thought. It might be the fumes or past substance abuse or it might not even be true, just a figment of my imagination but I won't risk it by not keeping the mementos that'll give my memory the shove it needs.

Gold

The oddity. Solid, polished gold, so pure and unscathed, so out of place juxtaposed against this imperfect mass of flesh molded in the shape of a hand. The nails too long with black debris underneath, hang nails, callused, dry skin, hairs a tinge too long, tiny wounds and scars abound - especially the round one between the index and the thumb. It sits so strangely in this foreign land, having random inked scrawlings of reminders, paint stains, a $1.50 watch, frayed edges from a shirt sleeve. The pinky finger was even broken once and never healed right, if this was the other hand the ring wouldn't even fit, the ring finger there was also broken and left to heal on its own making it impossible to fit a ring over the knuckle that wouldn't slide off beyond that. And the new weight it now carries is noticeable, maybe it'll make it stronger - that finger.

I feel like it has power, like the Green Lantern, like I could do things I never have before or walk around protected. 

M-Day Countdown Day 27: Dec 27

The last full day before getting married.

I didn't really have a plan I did have some errands I needed to get done before the wedding; pick up my newly pressed shirt and get my glasses cleaned of the paint that seemed permanently grafted onto them. But instead my day consisted of working with the plumber all day, 3.5 hours, in the end he cost us $341. He kept claiming his rate was the best out there and I didn't dispute that, I even verified by asking a neighbor friend of mine - it was true. But the problem is did it need to take 3.5 hours to get a clump of old rotted tampons out from deep in the main line? (tampons, are like woven cloth rats with their long nasty tails (the tail's the worst part) - I hated them when he pulled them out. Those things cost us lots of shit mopping and money and an arm insertion into crap filled water to try and feel for something) Because at nearly 100 bucks an hour, it adds up fast. I don't think the guy was malicious but also don't think he should've taken 3.5 hours. (even he was surprised when it was all over and it was 3.5 hours later) So who's wrong? (because it was a point of contention) Nobody. Everybody. My mom was pissed. I felt at the same time had and sympathetic to the guy and somewhat responsible and dumb and okay.

I had Elaine pick up my shirt for me. Never got my glasses cleaned, oh well it has character.

We had our rehearsal. Here for the first time you get to walk through the ceremony and it feels. It feels. The reality of it starts to set in. People are gathered. You hear the words, walk through the motions and then do it again.

Rehearsal dinner was good. My mom who's a natural Korean says the food was mediocre. I couldn't tell.

Part of the whole thing is, it's a wedding, but it's so many other things, it's a family gathering, it's a meeting new people for the first time, it's a reunion with old friends, it's a party, it's a recollection of memories, it's every emotion at the same time. I mean people spend days just to work up the nerve to meet for the first time the one person that's important to them, at a wedding you meet ten of those.

Having no best man I didn't have a bachelor party or any sort of person in charge of that department, but the girls were going out, Elaines sister in law planned a night out for her, her last as a single. So I last minute texted a bunch of dudes, many who didn't even know I was getting married, I'm not sure if that was a fair way to let them know.

"My last day as an independent, come to Dogwood. 22 Telegraph at 9" I had the address wrong because it cut off.

But with a 3 hour notice and the wrong address. 13 guys miraculously showed to the otherwise empty bar. In the chatter I got a sense how people felt about me. I'm so unaware.

My name means: Beloved

I went home slightly buzzed. I don't like alcohol anymore but I do.

Is that the way I wanted to spend my last night as an independent? I'm not sure. But I did and now it's done.

M-Day Advent Calendar:

On day 27 (oh which was my birthday, btw, I always forget): 

i was naked

M-Day Countdown Day 26: Dec 26

Increasingly more difficult to find time to sit down to write down thoughts or to even think. My only thoughts are personal pep talks reminding myself that this is good. I don't know what advice I would give a young dude looking to get married. I honestly don't.

Going all day. All day. Crunch time and family time.

Waited for over an hour in line, in the rain, in the cold at Mamas in Nor Be-atch

 Went to get a haircut and it was closed and so was this nearby store I was supposed to visit bc I met the owners randomly at a taco truck. Sad. Closed before I could reach it. 

Found a new random place. The haircut was aw-right

 but I dont really care, it's just a show

and I liked the guy so I'm going back (I'm all about the service, I dont care if the food sucks)

 I invited him over for dinner but he declined. Why? 

I invited my neighbor who helped me all day on my gasline over for dinner and he declined. I said "nexttime." He said "maybe." Why?

Errands: Mills to print stuff and grab supplies, Kinkos, Target, Micheals, Toy R Us, (got a lot done, with a lot of help) and finally back home. 

For the Feast:

And games

 And prizes

 Gearing up

For the chunky, chocolately goodness of the overflowed, clogged toilet, I had to stick my hand down.

(not pictured here)

M-Day Advent Calendar:

holy crap. 2 more days. i'm actually not trippin, I will the day of though. All those movies about runaway brides - I get it. This is the craziest position to be in. I went to a monastery once and I met this woman who was there bc she had cold feet and the dude never forgave her even though later she came to her senses. I feel like temporary insanity is normal. Sometimes you need to go insane for a time to make the right decisions. Those are actually two different versions of insane: one's to run and one's to commit, both are okay. 

On Day 26:

M-Day Countdown Day 25: Dec 25

This is what I woke up to.

literally in front of my new pad.

Shot up Hollywood, machine gun style - engine still running, all the tires blown out, gas pouring from the tank. 

My neighbor came over and helped me put in a gas line so that I could hook up this dryer I've had sitting idle for a month. I'd need it to run for when my family comes and invades my home later in the day. We watched the car sitting there and then walked to Home Depot to get parts for the line, it was strange like dang there's a shot up car but 'we got things to do'. Spent the entire day working on this, from dusk til dawn. I can't thank the guy enough - I seriously have no idea what to get a diabetic, retired contractor, whose wife is a nutritionist. Note: If installation guys charge you less than $200 to get a line installed you're getting a deal. 

the layers of my floor

Family's starting to come in. Picked up the first batch from SFO - the floridians. 

Morning exercises - gotta think about sustaining the aesthetics of the pristine beaches in the far off land I'm about to invade.

Ants invading my house - I had to launch a slaughtering campaign underneath my house - thwarting the ant invasion more urgent bc I have a family invasion coming. 

Covered in webbing, dead bugs, raid and mud I was forced to take a shower. There's something so soothing about warm water flowing over your head and down your body that's both relaxing and creates the perfect haven for thought. It's like the opposite of chinese water torture. The shower is my thought chamber, plus it's the only point in my day where I'm completely alone and there's nothing going on around me. 

I'm gonna marry this chick

Chinatown, Oakland, USA

 in search of duck

 and pastries

raiden fights the cardboard warrior.

Happy Birthday

More family is here

Moms meet for the first time

Circle talk

M-Day Advent Calendar:

On the 25th Day : 

I slept in the last room:

the one where people poo