The Sights and the Sounds of Portland Avenue

So I was working on this piece in the garage for a couple of weeks, it's frickin' huge, and heavy too! The biggest yet, by far, but who cares except for me, I guess. While working on this I had the garage door open most of the time. I could see, hear, feel, and smell everything on Portland avenue. The family of Bush backers across the street were constantly arguing with each other (nothing new here; the white trash family hasn't taken down their X-mas lights since 1999, the dad wears overalls and always yells at his over weight son. The mom came over one day and took Sarak's broken Kitchen Aid machine, funny.) Anyway, people would sometimes peak into the garage and see me laboring away in there. The little, old Asian man next door would come outside every night at about 12:00 and pour water on his car, he would then wave to me, smiling huge while smoking a cigarette. Random groups of Albany teenagers would walk by too, but they are so far out of touch with reality that they don't even bother looking around--rather, they stare stupidly into their cell phones, or dribble basketballs in an out-of-time rhythm pattern. Annoying.
But me, yeah, I was in the garage maybe doing no better than anyone else--just taping a bunch of shit onto an old board. I do hope that my time in there is productive, it feels productive, but what is the point if these pieces never see beyond 1147 Portland Ave.??? I need to grow some balls and start looking for a proper venue to display them. Alright then.

Modesto is Burning

I was in Modesto the other day, in the heat, in hell. "Hell" used loosely sometimes, but this time for real. Living in Modesto must be like living in hell, or as close as one may want to be. So, yes, I was there, along with three other friends. We actually had to play music in this heat, and practically during the hottest part of the day. I should have been more used to the heat. I come from the desert, the high desert just North of Los Angeles. Modesto is about 4 hours North of Lancaster, my home town, but certainly not the town I call "home" anymore. Many days and many seasons have passed since my time in the desert, and though I've endured relentless summer heat in my youth, I can no longer handle it. I recall skateboarding for hours in the "dead" of summer. My friends and I were pretty much unfazed by the heat, occasionally taking a break in the shade or maybe going to someone's house to cool off a bit. But we were always back on the black-topped, and blistering streets. Hats were secured and we wore big, baggy pants. Trucks were wobbly and loose, heads dizzy and dehydrated, and if you were to fall the pain and torture of skin sticking to molten surface would assure future balance and articulation. There was no way around the heat, and we eventually became used to it. But now, no, I am not "used" to it. I am old and the sun kills old people. Playing music in Modesto was similar to skating in Lancaster. But this time I had a choice; I chose to leave at the end of the day, unlike the past; stuck in a basin, melting in the sun, searching for feeble shade, dry-heaves, slurred speech, wrinkles around the eyes, reddened skin, endless sweat, and unrelenting days in and out of some surreal landscape littered with the most peculiar people suffering from the hottest weather imaginable.

Mazes and Boxes

This here is "Mazes and Boxes". A fairly uninspired name for the biggest piece I have done thus far (approx 25" x 25"). One big old square on the white wall. My parents were visiting when I mounted this. I think my mom liked some of my stuff, she is more into impressionistic art, like paintings of fruit baskets and rural landscapes. But, I think she can appreciate that her OCD'd son has a particular interest in complete abstraction. My dad helped me put this on the wall and leveled it nicely. My dad is the best, but his knees are rapidly going to the wayside. I feel badly because he used to always run faster than me when I was young. He was quick and lean. Although he certainly wasn't a jock, he could still hold his own at a slow-pitch softball game. I always enjoyed how he never watched football, fuck football. Football is the most pointless sport invented by man. I hope my father's knees start feeling better so that he can still feel the exhilaration of running. It's sad when our bodies start falling apart -- we are not meant to work perfectly forever. This piece is dedicated to my dad, David Victor Ryckebosch.

Wooden Man Thoughts

Atrophied limbs
placed here
by the Gideons

The Bulb in Danger?

I went to the bulb yesterday and saw a few interesting developments. First, I noticed three big, industrial waste-sized canisters at the entrance to the bulb. On one of them the following was scrawled: "No removal of art" so this scared me right away and I instantly thought that maybe the city was preparing to remove all of the art from the bulb. I peered into one of the canisters and there wasn't much in it, at least I didn't see any recognizable "bulb art". Then I strolled along the same path that I always take; up and down whoopty-do's on a very narrow and rocky trail. As I moved along I noticed that some of the trail had been cleared away. This must've been why the large canisters were at the entrance; to put the trail clippings in. It seemed odd, these big, wide paths now clear where before they were very small and flanked by large fennel plants. I walked over to the thunderdome area and saw that it was completely untouched, which was good. All of the art and debris that was there before remained. Except, I noticed that once again somebody had removed my striped drumhead from the old tire - who the hell would bother doing this? But I didn't care too much and smiled to myself and hoped that whomever had it enjoyed it. I went down to the bulb's edge, where most of the SNIFF art resides. The art was still there and intact, aside from the natural degradation of the work due to bulb elements. I walked through the big, orange foam arches and out toward the weird little shack the someone had built right along the bulb's rocky shoreline. I noticed a sign on there that stated, "Can you Preserve? Can you Contribute?" Fuck yes I can! So I proceeded to put up a piece called "Late Night Stripes". Hopefully this piece will remain here for a long while. I kind of like how it marks the horizon a bit.
I exited the bulb feeling pretty good, but not without a nagging notion that something is happening out there, something not good. I think that the city has plans for the area, and the trail widening is possibly just the beginning. Maybe they want to dig in deeper and start removing the art? Maybe they want to finally "clean up" the bulb to make if safer for all of the antispetisized families who venture out there more and more frequently? I only hope that these people who visit the bulb realize that it is a wild place, and that it cannot be changed. I truly hope that they are not the ones complaining to the city, telling them to clean up the bulb and make it safer. It is really not a "safe" place, but it can be as safe as you want it to be - you just need common sense while scrambling around out there.
Keep the bulb alive, keep the bulb wild!

Old Tire Meets OCD Art

Here we have one of my pieces caught in an old, thick, dirty rubber tire. I placed this piece inside of this tire several months ago. I then came back to the bulb about a week later and somebody had taken the piece out of the tire and placed it not too far away, and in a less "effective" area. Normally I do not care what people do with my art once it is taken down to the bulb, it is all part of the transient nature of the place. However, this piece worked so well inside of this tire that I couldn't handle it not being in there. So I picked it up and scrambled upon the rusted re-bar to once again put it inside of the tire. Man, that tire is dirty too! My hands were pitch black after handling it. Who would go through the trouble of taking that damn thing out of the tire? It is wedged in there really well. Some people are nuts, I guess, they always gotta have things their way, oh wait, I think I just described myself. So be it.

A New Trait, Suddenly Lethal

A New Trait, Suddenly Lethal:

Separate

the

altered

perception

On the Road, in the Heat

So I was in Southern California for the past few days with these guys on the left here, and another good friend named Todd. We played at a few venues and drove around in our big, sweaty, white machine. I was able to fool Todd with the fake van cockroach at least once. I always try to get somebody with the damn thing, and sometimes it works. The shows were fun and I believe we played one of our consistently best sets of songs in a long while. I recall past shows with us lumbering about on stage, unsure and skittish about the songs and the transitions in between them. This time it felt "right" or as right as it can feel for us. Essentially, we try very hard not to be "rock poseurs". You know, the type of band that belittles people in the audience by forcing them to "Come up closer to the stage so that you will inspire us". Fuck that stupid bullshit, and fuck those misogynistic, megalomaniac LA based bands that try to pull that crap. I will kill for less. Your music should speak for itself, and if people watching want to come up closer to the stage they can. And if they are comfortable staying far back they can do that too. Who are bands trying to fool anyway? I believe in being comfortable at shows, and enjoying live music the way you want to enjoy it; sitting down, standing up, squatting, sleeping, smiling...whatever. Talking is rude too, you come to a live show to watch, observe, and most importantly to listen. Take your talking and your flirting with that slutty Southern California girl outside, because I don't want to hear it. Ahhh, very nice, quiet now, able to play music for the few who actually enjoy and appreciate it. As far as I'm concerned the only good, new bands to make honest, original music in the LA area are Autolux, Timonium, and longtime residents Idaho. Forget the rest, don't waste your time, your time is precious, and you will not live forever here on this thing called planet earth. Make the best of it. Be nice, smile, say "hello", and come to shows with an open mind and quiet mouth. And for god sakes, shut off that insipid cell phone! Nobody cares and nobody wants it. Cool.