Category Archives: Art

Sneak Cheesecake Peek

Not all heroes are nice in real life. You know Batman is a seriously conflicted bitch, and Superman is so anal he probably poops diamonds, but every once in a while a hero reveals him or herself to be just as cool as you want them to be. Artist Paul Richmond is one such hero for me. For his entire career, he’s maintained a positive outlook on art and its place in the world, celebrating other artists (such as one of his greatest muses, Dolly Parton) and sharing his own work in wildly creative fashion. Even his powerful marriage-equality efforts were tinged with wit and whimsy – a lesson in how to deliver a potent message with charm and enchantment. Perhaps even more effective was the simple example he was living out as a proud gay man. It’s something we might take for granted now, but it wasn’t always so, and sometimes I think the world wants us to step back and be silent again. Richmond’s work is in beautifully brash and bold defiance of this. He welcomes all into his colorful world of art, where individuality and creative expression find happy fruition.

His work, his indefatigable spirit, and the man himself have always managed to make me feel a little bit better about being different. His work props people up when they’re feeling down or lonely, and he celebrates the diversity and strength in those who dare to tread off the beaten path. He revels in the flamboyant and outlandish, and that larger-than-life and grander-in-spirit personality is an inspiration. The best part is that he’s one of those artists who believes in sharing and cultivating an active interaction with his audience.

Lately, he’s been posting a drawing online every Friday – dubbed Friday Freebies – where you can download one of his drawings and color it in as you see fit. The only limits on how you do it are up to you – crayons, markers, pencils, lipstick – anything and everything goes, and he invites you to share your work with others. It becomes a community dialogue – a friendly, fun, engaging, and welcoming dialogue, wholly at odds with the darkness of the present state of affairs. That may be Richmond’s greatest gift to us. Tomorrow, I’m doing a little post celebrating the release of his first adult coloring book – come back and see all the awesomeness he’s getting up to now.

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“ART SEX LIFE” by Ismael Alvarez

Spanish artist Ismael Alvarez has been featured here before, as a Hunk of the Day, but now he gets a more meaningful profile as he launches his latest work, “Art Sex Life” – a brilliant collection of his artistic work that captures the stunning and colorful work that he’s been generating for his entire life. It’s as much a culmination of his output as it is a promise for greater things to come. Alvarez continues to craft pieces of perfect pop-culture resonance and relevance, celebrating the erotic and challenging the notion of the pornographic.

The heads of pop icons like Frida Kahlo and Hello Kitty find themselves on colorfully animated male bodies, jarring and comical and giddily pulling from radical sources of inspiration. Alvarez himself provides ample full-frontal artistry in poses of supreme control and devastating vulnerability. His gaze is alternately intense and removed, sometimes quite literally so. It’s a delicious tension that manages to sustain itself through the complete collection, never finding reconciliation, but always leaving a little want, a hint of desire.

The book is a hefty 200 pages, filled with Alvarez’s illustrations and photographs, a dizzying multi-format representation of an artist who is impelled to create and express himself across forms. It lends a restlessness to the proceedings, as if we were getting an intimate look at how his brain works firsthand, and it’s a wondrous trip to behold.

{‘ART SEX LIFE’ by Ismael Alvarez may be purchased online here, or in bookstores in Spain. Also, be sure to check out his enchanting website, which is a compelling compendium of his artwork.}

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REVIEW: Tom Ford’s ‘Nocturnal Animals’

Have you ever left a movie feeling like you want to cry and smile at the same time, and maybe die a little too? It’s not necessarily because you recognize yourself in any of the characters, but perhaps for the first time in your life you can admit to some regrets, and you no longer pretend you don’t have any. That’s how I felt when the stunning final scene of ‘Nocturnal Animals’ faded to black.

Directed by Tom Ford, this is not a film for everyone, even as I wish that everyone could experience it. Such beauty seems not long for this world, and though every frame is a work of art unto itself, the masses will never have the sense to embrace the multi-layered nuances and subtle styling of this mind-fuck of a film. That’s ok. Much like his Private Blends, Ford’s latest film is a potent dose of bittersweet beauty. It’s also a striking companion to his equally-riveting directorial debut,  ‘A Single Man.’

‘Nocturnal Animals’ finds a successful art doyenne, Susan, looking back on her first marriage to Edward, as she receives a book written by him. The book plays out within the movie, featuring Jake Gyllenhaal as both Edward and Tony, the protagonist of the book. Amy Adams give deceptively soul-less life to the current-day Susan, instilling her tight-rope-tense character with just enough vulnerability to tease out a life of regret, while Gyllenhaal gives a raw, naked gut-wrenching performance in both of his roles.

The macabre tale-within-a-tale narrative is a brutal mirror of how Edward now views his relationship with Susan, and the violent acts within are barely tempered by the fact that this is a work of art and supposed fiction.

There is a bitter element of realizing that what we give up to get what we think we want is often something we may never get back. The relative notions of success are also imbued with ambivalence.

As much as some may covet Susan’s spectacular home and flawless wardrobe, it is clear there is little happiness in her life. While we never see the modern-day Edward, his presence is felt through Susan’s eyes. He is made thrillingly palpable, and all the more insidious, by the diabolically subtle way in which Ford reveals the almost sinister act of revenge by the betrayed.

It is the province and privilege of youth to display an absolutely-no-regrets mentality, a sense of owning everything you’ve done, and all the choices you’ve made. For most of my life, I’ve fallen into that trap. Ford’s film seems to give warning to that notion while also celebrating it, warping one woman’s regret into an emptiness that threatens to devour her.

Despite its somber tone and deliberate pace, and in the face of all of Ford’s gorgeous cinematic flair, this is a brutal film, one that examines our regrets, and the ways in which we deal with heartache and loss. By the time the devastating final scene plays out, the bleak totality of these characters, and the very modern carelessness we’ve come to embrace when it comes to love, washes over the cinematic landscape like a chilly desert morning. There is a stunning, barren, stark beauty here ~ the gorgeous and tragic realization that no matter how carefully we guard ourselves against the world, its pain is something no one escapes.

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Smithsonian Solitude

Alone for the day, I entered the afternoon refreshed from a stop at the Mandarin Oriental. Back on the National Mall, I moved past the Arlington Monument to the Castle, which was backed by gardens and the Freer Gallery, in which a very famous Peacock Room was unfortunately shuttled for renovation. There was an exhibit in its stead, a take on the infamously-designed room, but a sad substitute for the real deal I’d wanted to see. Undaunted, I moved onto other gems.

Along the paths, hidden gardens beckoned to lucky visitors who took the time and care to explore their every corner and crevice. One of the many wonderful things about the Smithsonian is that there is always something new to be seen, and I could visit a hundred times and never have the same experience. That’s sort of how Washington has been to me, thanks in part to my infrequent but not entirely uncommon visits.

The Moongate Garden is nothing short of magical, with corners of seclusion and places to pause. Plants and stone sculptures conspire to create outdoor rooms of requirement – for those time when one needs a little quiet and solitude. Even on a popular holiday weekend, there were unpopulated pieces of the garden where I could find a necessary spot for myself.

Though my knowledge of plants is extensive compared to some, it’s no match for the wondrous variety on display here. I didn’t know the orange bush above, whose white bracts (not shown here) are used to attract pollinating butterflies and bees, but it had a slight sweet scent that was a glorious balm on this warm day. Inside, the Freer Gallery offered art and beauty of a different sort, but no less enchanting.

There are stories that aren’t always told in words, tales that wear their message in a few colors of paint, histories that hide behind artistic code. In the gardens of the Smithsonian, what is all that beauty obscuring? What lies behind such pretty veiled things?

On this sunny day, beauty has driven away the darkness, even if it lurks just under the surface, waiting for night to descend. Re-energized by my museum visit and the gardens of the grounds, I am reminded of how art and gorgeousness work to erase any doom, even as they leave a dull ache… because when you brush the sublime, all the rest of it seems a little sadder.

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Art by Nicolas Brunet: A Celebration of the Salacious

Sex has made a dirty name for itself over the years, and any celebration of cock is going to be met with instantaneous dismissal if not outright hostility. The Hunks featured here, some of whom are gay (and straight) porn actors, pose and preen in proudly naked form, and in some small (and big) ways they are hopefully blazing new trails of sexual acceptance for a sex-positive world. One artist who is also pushing for a transformation in the way our culture demonizes sex is Nicolas Brunet.

His website ‘The Art of Nicolas Brunet‘ is gloriously NSFW, and more than worth a perusal if you’re into fascinating work that pushes boundaries and highlights the maximum pumptitude of the penis. Devilishly and deliciously not for the faint of heart, his artwork flirts with the profane, but actually makes greater strides in putting forth a world where words like ‘profane’ don’t exist, or at the very least matter.

Witness his glorification and depiction of gay porn actors. He paints a pretty picture of these gentlemen – worshipped and wanted in certain circles, and the judgment and derision sometimes heaped upon the gay porn industry is here transformed into a component of inspiration and beauty. Changing attitudes and social constructions doesn’t happen overnight, if it happens at all, but Brunet’s giddy joy in crafting such figures, and the exuberant arousal they put forth, is perhaps more effective than any abstract ideological argument on the subject.

The rock-solid phallic perfection of his work seems partly inspired by the legendary Tom of Finland, and his famous crotch shots. Yet Brunet’s work injects a modern-day edge, occasionally going boldly into sci-fi territory. There is a rich history of this sort of sexual display, going back to the erotic Japanese wood blocks centuries ago to current day Yaoi and Manga.

Not that it’s always been about sex and pleasure. Solitude plays a recurrent theme in many of his pieces, with auto-erotic acts and ejaculation made in mostly solitary respect. The men here don’t often come together, and the juxtaposition of such an intimate and isolated act given a public display makes much of the work crackle with tension.

Brunet is also a master of making quieter moments come to brilliant life. The longing of a man sniffing a shoe – a lost lover’s, a boyfriend’s, or his own is unclear – but what does come through is a palpable and resonant depiction of yearning. Maybe it’s a sexual peccadillo, or maybe it’s something more. The most powerful part of Brunet’s skill is that he leaves it up to the viewer to fill in the rest, and filling in the blanks has never been more fun.

{You can view more of Nicolas Brunet’s work at his NSFW website ‘The Art of Nicolas Brunet‘.}

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Lessons in Art Remembered in a Hot Shower

Whenever I take a long hot shower, I think of my seventh grade art teacher Mr. Griffith. (Not in any sort of salacious way, so if you’re looking for that kind of story, keep looking.) We called him Mr. Griff for short, per his instructions, and in truth he was a short, rather nerdy guy with glasses and a pocket protector that held his pens and pencils. As shocking as it might be, to myself perhaps most of all, I did not excel in his art course. At the time I was too timid to be considered creative enough for the work, too hesitant to step outside the boundaries in a way bold enough to glean the appreciation of the teacher. My methods were precise and exact, my technique measured and defined, and I didn’t allow room for error or experimentation. In other words, I was far too anal to let go; I wanted to get the theory and execution down perfectly before I played around. I don’t think he admired that, but such was my Virgo nature. We’re getting off track now, and this story isn’t about my failings as an art student, it’s about that hot shower.

When we worked on our projects, Mr. Griff would regale us with stories of students past, or incidents from his own life. It was far more interesting to me than the papier mache mannequin lady that another student was working on or the painting of a car that Mr. Griff fawned over. (A red sports car? Really? I knew then that my abstract pencil designs weren’t getting me anything over a solid ‘B’.) Once in a while, those stories touched me, especially the one he told on a cold winter morning.

He was stooping over the sink to wash his hands, and he paused as the water ran over them. Drying them off, he turned around to tell us about a girl in one of his classes. He said she was a nice enough girl, but very quiet. Kept to herself and did her work without making a fuss over anything. One day he watched as she stood at that sink, adjusting the water until it was warm. Once it was at the desired temperature, she didn’t move, simply stood there still, letting the water run over her hands. He puzzled over the scene for a moment, wondering at first if she was all right, then reached the point where he determined it was a wasteful pose, and was about to admonish her for taking so long. As he approached, she shut the water off. He decided to ask her why she just stood there letting the water run over her hands. She told him that she did not have hot water in her house, so whenever she had a chance to feel such warmth she enjoyed it.

That story changed my life more profoundly than any exercise in art class ever could, and it’s remained in my mind for those times when I take anything for granted. To this day, whenever I indulge in a long hot shower, I pause to remember the story, and the girl I never met, and I feel thankful and lucky, as if somewhere in that pause I’ve had a brush with grace.

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Bravery, Brevity & Bravado: The World of Ben Kline

There’s a lot of bullshit on the internet, and it just keeps accumulating. Wading through all the nastiness and fluff is a Herculean task into which I rarely delve. If it doesn’t happen across my social media feeds (and often when it does) I don’t pay much attention to it. Once in a while, however, someone comes along to get me to sit up and take notice. It happened the other day when Matthew Rettenmund’s ‘Boy Culture’ blog alerted me to the awesomeness that is Ben Kline. I immediately sent him a FaceBook request asking if he’d deign to be a Hunk of the Day, but upon perusing his site and his work, it was clear that Mr. Kline was much more than the average Hunk.

As a poet, writer, and fellow-seeker-of-the-truth through the imagery of Instagram and Tumblr, Kline and his creative output resonate powerfully with me. He takes the acutely personal and transforms it into something universal, which is at the heart of any work of art. Getting at the core of the human experience and exposing the raw emotional circuitry between the heart and the head is a talent only the most courageous choose to cultivate. The exploration of one’s identity in such a public platform takes a big set of balls, as well as a thick skin. It also requires a certain vulnerability that can be frightening to many people.

Perhaps best-known for his poetry, Kline combines the written word with powerful, personal images. I’ve always held that contrary to popular perception, poetry is the most difficult style of writing. The thousands of words that comprise so much prose (and almost everything you read here) are designed to mask the ineptitude of content and style, whereas in a poem of a few lines there is nowhere to hide. Such an economy of words is terrifying terrain for any but the most talented writer.

 

Kline’™s poetry seeks to further the eternal quest for finding meaning in our lives, in the ways we strive to connect with each other and the attempts we make to get closer to the truth. His first collection, ‘Going Fast in Loose Directions‘ is an examination of those moments. His Tumblr website, Original Content Required, offers similar insight and intimate revelations with its of-the-moment observations. Time and distance can provide a safety buffer for intensely-revealing work, but so can the development of a persona slightly separate from the real person behind it all. That sort of dichotomy is befitting a Gemini like Kline.

“I definitely have created a character in my work on Original Content Required,” Kline explains. “Even though I’m clearly the writer of my poems, stories and essays, as well as the “model” in many of the photos, I tag them The Author. Which draws a line, yet allows the line to blur, because I am the author. Just not “The Author.” I like to say, My work is not me, but of me. Readers do not always appreciate that a poem, particularly in first person, is not about me, Ben, but is a character with or without name. Biographical critique has caused two generations of readers to seek too much information/gossip/context about the writer from the work, instead of just taking the work as presented. Throw that into the social media age, where every detail is scrutinized for real or imagined context…it’s almost too much… I don’t mind the two aspects being separate and also blending on occasion.”

There’s a certain fortitude required when you live your life so openly, and then put it all out there for the world to see. Some shy away from that because they’re afraid to face the truth about themselves – the negative, the raw, and the primal underbelly of basic human drives and needs. That’s never been an issue for Kline. “I have no fear of honesty, especially my own about myself,” he says.

He backs that up with some scorching sexual descriptions that once caused a Creative Writing teacher to advise that Kline back off from so much of the sex stuff. Fortunately, that only fueled the fire, and to this day Kline doesn’t shy away from graphic descriptions of sexual acts. The line between art and pornography is one that he simply doesn’t recognize, and such freedom is a welcome defiance of all the banned FaceBook and Instagram photos that get reported. His is a far more progressive take on sex: “I don’t have or encourage a definition of pornography. I suppose I could be basic and say sex on film? Pornography also suggests something obscene and I find nothing obscene about sex. Now that I think about it, I’d like to have that word stricken from our vocabularies.”

As bold as that may be, and as sex-positive as his work is, nothing Kline puts out there is what I would consider offensive or rude. (Those are subjective terms, it’s true, but this is a subjective blog.) In all of his scintillating photographic work, the photos that reveal the most are the ones that hide any blatant explicitness. The hint of a cock is somehow more scandalous than the exposed member itself. In a way, it’s the perfect embodiment of his poetic intent: “I want to portray a feeling, not the actual circumstances.”

To that end, Kline has managed to make the internet more personal and more resonant in the way he touches the common, tender thread of emotional examination. He also reaches out and interacts with his readers. It’s a vehicle to enhance his message, and he’s one of the wise people who focus on the positive aspects of its power while maintaining a realistic notion of its actual effect.

“The internet is fun to me,” he explains. “I’m old enough to remember life before it existed. It will never feel “real” to me the way I see younger people behave in regard to online interactions. I don’t mind the anonymity and people trolling or acting crazy. Just ignore them… But the comment poems and stories, as well as some of my responses to direct reader questions, are just another way I enjoy taking the mundane and making art with it. It’s really that simple. It engages both parties, the audience and the ideas in play. I love it.”

It’s a love that is rabidly returned, judging from the popularity of his poetry and his photography, and Kline is the kind of authentic artist that reveals the best of this wild and crazy internet world. At a time and place where so many of us try to portray ourselves as something other than who we are, his honesty and openness are an inspiration.

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Troy Gua: Pop Icon Master Creator

Madonna is a legend.

Madonna by Herb Ritts is an icon.

Prince is a genius.

Prince in ‘Purple Rain’ is an icon.

Michael Jackson is a king.

Michael Jackson doing the moon walk is an icon.

The delineation is subtle, but important.

Troy Gua is an artist.

Troy Gua’s work is iconic.

Reflecting the world of pop culture, bending it to his vision, and presenting his own glorious version of a pop universe has made Troy Gua into one of the most exciting contemporary artists. Very much a product of the 80’s, when Warholian soup cans and Haring stick figures brought pop art into colorful, modern-day focus, Gua brings the stylistic flourishes of that decade into the present-day artistic landscape, making the image of a pop moment into an iconic creation.

Take a look at the featured commission piece of Madonna featured above, (or any of his spectacular ‘Pop Hybrid’ series for that matter). On its shiny surface it is at once familiar, but also brand new. Combining the visages of several Madonna moments over the years, it yields a prismatic result that resonates through three decades and still manages to be remarkably of the moment. Through the clever use of shadows, layering, and an assembly of images that any student of the Madonna canon knows well, it is an instantly-eternal classic ~ the very definition of an icon. Its glossy sheen, the immediate recognition of the subject, and the bold juxtaposition of opposing interpretations – sinner and saint, virgin and whore, past and future, relevant and passé – is what gives the work such nuanced heft. This is what separates and elevates an iconic artist like Gua from the rest of the pack.

I imagine a future where the world is out of room. It’s a world where, in order to save space, even our thoughts, our memories, our nostalgia becomes distilled, consolidated, hybridized, and layered on top of itself. ‘Pop Hybrids’ are the reduction of personality into logo, the reduction of individuality into the collective, the reduction of photography into design. They are a subtraction of images: the recycling, re-using and reducing of two or more images into a new and unique iconographic collection of shapes. Conceptually opposed to Warhol’s emphasis on repetition, this work suggests that we are running out of space even for our cultural icons to retain a solo spot light in our crowded collective conscience. The work deals with iconography, ironic duality and satirical juxtapositions. By layering thoughtfully paired cultural icons with one another, these visually arresting pieces challenge the viewer to decipher the image while making the sardonic, metaphorical and sometimes philosophical connections within the image. ~ Troy Gua

As he hones his skills and refines his output, Gua’s work has become iconic in its own way, with a trademark look and a deceptively clean style that straddles the line between the abstract and the completely recognizable. His output functions partly as a way of both combating and celebrating the fracturing of a collective experience and mainstream popularity that has been the bane and boon of pop culture in the age of the internet. The dilution of impact and ubiquity, coupled with an ease of distribution, has transformed the age in which we live. Artists can reach the world in a single click, and so can anyone with the slightest artistic inclination. The internet knows no such distinction, and good and bad alike can make the most of an egalitarian system that has yet to filter out the posers. The real artists – the truly great ones – will carry on much as they always have, and the best still have a way of rising to the top.

{For more of Gua’s work and background, please visit his captivating website, ‘The Art of Troy Gua – Contemporary Pop Conceptualism.‘}

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The Art of Touring

Having just spent a couple of days in Portland, Maine, it seems a little soon to be jetting off to the other side of the country, but such is the state of affairs when one is on tour. In a few days I’ll be in Seattle, and there are some serious ‘Delusional Grandeur Tour‘ posts coming up for that – but for now, a holding pattern to give me the chance to breathe.

The photos for this post were taken by permission in the Portland Museum of Art, where we were awaiting a showing of ‘Iris’ – and which is absolutely worth a trip for its own merit. A museum is a treat on the most beautiful sunny day (when there are fewer crowds) or the rainiest (when the place transports you to other realms of beauty). In this case, the day was hot, so we kept to the cool environs and surrounded ourselves with works of art. A ‘Director’s Cut’ show was on display, whereby various directors of other Maine museums had supplied some of their signature works for a grand exhibition – a greatest hits if you will. It was comforting to see the many pieces that referenced or originated in Ogunquit. We’ll head back there as we get deeper into the fall. Before that, I’m heading West… life is peaceful there.

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A Senior Recital: Caleb Eick

Back in my high school days, I played the oboe. I was pretty good, but I was far from great. While music came pretty naturally to me, the oboe is an unnatural, and decidedly difficult, double-reeded woodwind to master. Thanks to a wonderful private teacher, Mrs. Green, and hours of work and perseverance, I managed to do decently enough for various NYSSMA performances and ultimately ended up making it into the Empire State Youth Orchestra – a rather competitive place for young local musicians. I also had the opportunity to perform with the Albany Symphony Orchestra and the Schenectady Symphony Orchestra. The point of this thin musical résumé is that I know how much hard work and effort goes into making a career in the arts – especially in the world of music. You have to be dedicated, driven, and basically obsessed with perfecting a craft that is largely imperfect. Very few are the times when you feel you’ve had a perfect performance – but that is precisely the goal of many a musician. It’s an elusive quest, but a noble one, and so my heart always feels a certain tug for those who attempt such a path.

Caleb Eick is one such musician. Currently, he is preparing for his Senior Recital this Friday. A baritone majoring in Vocal Performance, Mr. Eick knows the discipline and work ethic involved in a musical career. Music also opened a world of acceptance and possibility for someone who preferred Chopin to science or sports. (Not that classical artists were his sole inspiration; he equally favors the work of Panic! At the Disco and Paramore.) Last year he was named the first Auriel Scholar at the College of Saint Rose:

The Auriel Scholar program is an educational program, aimed at mentoring college-aged voice students, that provides practical experience and knowledge of the inner workings of a professional arts organization. Students involved in this program have the opportunity to sing in a fast-paced professional choir, acquire advanced choral and vocal skills, learn challenging repertoire and add practical performance experience to one’s resume – all the while learning the business skills it takes to become a music professional. The Auriel Scholar program is a valuable apprenticeship that helps students get a head-start on their professional musical careers.

His Senior Recital is scheduled for this Friday (you are are all invited) and will feature works by Lully, Campra, Bellini, Verdi, Schumann, Bizet, Gounod, and Vaughan Williams. A challenging program, Mr. Eick has been preparing for it for over a year, and it contains pieces that span from the Baroque period to Late Romantic and 20th Century works. Great music transcends time, and great musicians remind us of that.

Music made sense. It allowed one to move in ways you couldn’t in any other situation. Music allowed me to connect with people on a deeper level that we don’t allow ourselves to in our everyday interactions. ~ Caleb Eick

The Senior Recital of Caleb Eick

Friday, March 13, 2015, 7:00pm
Kathleen McMannus Picotte Recital Hall
The College of Saint Rose
Albany, New York

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Unexpected Inspiration

I love it when art takes me by surprise, seizing upon an unlikely moment or an unexpected place, such as this graffiti-ridden spot at the end of Newbury Street. In the little space between what used to be Best Buy (and many years ago Tower Records) and one of the many Starbucks stores, there is an expanse that has always been the repository of graffiti and tag-lines. On this day, however, it holds a heart, a heart in a gilded frame. I pause in front of it, while Kira gamely waits out my fascination.

I snap a few photos, and in them it almost looks like a work of photoshop. But there is no retouching here, no magical computer strokes or filters to lend it anything more. What you see is the way it really was. Maybe the light of the day helped, maybe the worn surface lent it some enchantment – whatever the case, I am enamored of this shot. It reminds me that art can be found when it’s least expected. Love too.

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Gay Anime And A Little Bit of Death

My pal Alexander fronts antirockstars, and he asked that I share this video. I get a few requests to share things, most of which are not my cup of tea, and while the music is decidedly not Madonna or Ella Fitzgerald, there’s room enough for some diversity here (and I never claimed to have any musical taste), so give this a whirl. More compelling, and surprisingly moving, was the accompanying video. Give me a teddy bear as a supporting player and I’m all over that shit. Give me a cute cuddly couple in the first flush of love, and I’m even more entranced. But give me an interlude of death and a baby scythe, well, it’s all over. Sign me up and call it a day.

For more of antirockstars and Alex, check out his website here. This is, in his words, what antirockstars is all about:

You may be wondering, what does antirockstars mean and why am I going by that name?   It’s my opposition to the vulgar excesses and disingenuousness that all too often accompany rock music.  It’s a chance for me to be me and to do what I want musically.  I have no handlers, no image-makers, no men in suits marketing me to kids in jeans.  I’m not doing this to get rich or to get girls.  I’m an artist who wants to share his art with those who are receptive to it and who are touched by it.

That’s the kind of artist I like, and the artists I’ve always admired are those who have a drive and determination to create not for money or fame or fortune, but because it makes them feel alive.

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The Art of Joe Phillips: JoeBoys

It was the mid-late 1990’s. Armed only with the light of a bedside lamp, and the questionable, haunting thoughts that come to the insomnia-racked night bloomers, I turned the pages of ‘xy’ magazine. It wasn’t naked men I was after, or titillating underwear pics, it was something deeper. The glossy rag, intended for young gay men (and perhaps those who admired them) was a lifesaver for me, someone on the verge of coming out, on the verge of becoming myself, or becoming nothing. On the page that featured letters and photos from readers, I saw a guy in a Structure sweater proudly standing in his store, with a subtitled phrase that he had written: Why should I be hated for my love?

It was a simple statement, and stirred something in my heart that has never gone away. A shared connection. A longing. A desire to feel that I was not alone.

I thumbed through more pages. A colorful riot of guys having fun, enjoying each others’ company, laughing and doing the little things that friends and lovers do. Sharing an ice cream. Walking down the beach. Holding hands. Kissing. It was another world – a world which looked too fantastical to be true, a world that seemed so far from this dark night in upstate New York, a world filled with fun and fabulousness and light. It was the world of Joe Phillips, and as I reflected mournfully on the question of why we should be so hated for loving, I found a hopeful escape in the cartoon giddiness of what life might be. Maybe not for me, but for others. At that point, it was enough.

With a comic book background working for DC, Marvel, Dark Horse, IDW, Image, and Wild Storm, Phillips has been a freelance commercial artist since the 80’s. Where others have struggled and failed to turn their talent into a career, Phillips has insisted on it. His signature style has catapulted him into one of the most instantly recognizable artists working today, as distinctive as Tom of Finland or Steve Walker or Herb Ritts. Each, in his own way, has done something to advance the notion of equality, but whereas Tom of Finland pushed boundaries by being brazen, Phillips breaks down barriers with humor and affection. His work hints at the happiness that comes of love and companionship, the beauty intrinsic to friendship and acceptance.

Mr. Phillips and his artwork offered a portal to possibility. For myself and countless other young gay men, it was a way out, a distant vista of paradise ~ the proverbial light at the end of our individual tunnels. It wasn’t heavy-handed, it wasn’t tortured or labored, it was the simple vision of hope, a glimpse of the way life should be. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked him for that, so this is my way of doing it, all these years later.

The happiest part of this post, however, is not in celebrating what has already happened, but what is about to happen. Mr. Phillips is currently working on a brand new book – JoeBoys – to celebrate the spirit and power of being gay, being alive, and being part of this world.

When I think back to that lonely night before I ever came out, One of the sole bright spots is the memory of Joe Phillips and his artwork. I remember seeing his signed name in the corner of his work, and wondering if this person would ever be a friend. In some ways, he already was. In the smiling faces of his subjects, and the hopeful happiness of his work, he did what most friends do: he made me feel a little bit better about the world.

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An Artist and a Gentleman

My hat goes off to anyone who lives an artistic life, and no one exemplifies that more than Thomas Wolski. He recently updated his website here, so the whole world can get a glimpse into the fascinating world of his artwork, and it contains a gorgeous lot of gems and jewels ripe and waiting for excavation. Illustrations, painting, and photography are all on display, sometimes intertwined in glorious thought-provoking ways.

Regarding his whimsical painted photography process, he explains his vision thusly: “I see the finished piece before I have even taken the picture. It’s no good stock-piling images that are pretty in hopes of a story, the best tales are those told in the moment.”

Pop art doesn’t usually get its proper due until it proves itself worthy of standing the test of time, but true talent resonates in the moment, and Mr. Wolski manages to be both forward-looking and introspective, a powerful combination that lends itself to explosive self-expression. His work is richly varied, often imbued with witty humor but sometimes more weighty matter.

I have never been a fantastic painter, but I don’t care. For me it is the execution of the idea that is important, physically getting it down on paper to be seen by others. It’s my way of printing that big thought bubble above my head.

Witness his art installation at Hackett London below, proof that his work is living, breathing, vital and engaging. It demands a bit more of the viewer, and the invitation is inherent in the wit at work, as well as the crowd-pleasing pop culture touchstone references.

His work teases and delights, drawing in the spectator with a wry smile, a nudge, a challenge. While often instantly accessible on the surface, there are details and layers to all of his pieces, subtle hints at the complexity of the work, demanding revisits and continued contemplation.

That’s the sign of a true artist: their work lingers in the mind long after the viewing.

[Visit Thomas Wolski’s website here for an in-depth look at his world – and stick around for a bit more of him later today.]

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Meanwhile, Back at the Walker…

It was my last morning in Minneapolis – and the weather had reverted to the dismal trappings of the winter. Cold, brisk air rushed along on cutting winds, and the sky – so recently blue and filled with the sun – had turned gray, revealing not one clue as to the whereabouts of the central orb of our solar system. Faced with the prospect of an entire day to fill before my flight boarded, I stored my luggage and made the journey to the Walker Arts Center. There were happy memories there.

The walk back was decidedly less colorful than the one through the sculpture garden a few short days prior. While the land had been just as brown and barren then, there had at least been a very blue sky, and a shimmering sun, both of which eluded me now. The day felt like winter – a rather disappointing dirge at this stage of April – and an aspect of sadness on this day of departure could not be shaken.

But there was color, even – and perhaps especially – in the gift shop. For some reason, photos culled from museum shops always turn out better than the actual photos of what’s in the museum itself. Part of it is due to accessibility and the nearness of the objects at hand. No one cares, or minds, if you touch and grope what’s in the gift shop. Such is not the case with those velvet-rope scenes.

Part of it is also due to the nature of the art on display. It really is meant to be seen in person. That’s the only way to accurately gauge the scale and color of a painting, or the shadows and light of a sculpture. When captured in a photograph, a little, and often a lot, is lost – as if the real artwork would never deign to be displayed any other way than its creator intended. For that reason, I don’t tend to post all the photos I take of the works that move me.

The whimsical inhabitants of a gift shop are another story. Their displays cry out to be photographed, sassy little show-peeps begging to be noticed. For that reason alone, I usually indulge them. Often the objects will relate to the featured exhibits or artists, but sometimes they stand alone.

Waving goodbye to the Walker Arts Center, I pause in its doorway as they leave a happy last-look.

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