I've been working on a DVD slide-show video for my college friend Kendalle's wedding next month. There'll be lots of cheesy "remember this?" moments mixed in with a few Flash design pirouettes that I hope are not too over-the-top.

Meanwhile, see how the world changes:

Music downloads to get their own chart

This new chart obviously signals a massive shift, as it registers record sales--or more precisely song sales--not based on a new musical style, but on a new delivery system. This puts the whole enterprise on a par with the rise of music videos in the early 80s. The entire way of experiencing music changed with MTV. That in turn changed the way music was made. Such music charts have their own problems, of course (media monopoly reifying itself to start with), but it will be interesting to see how downloading technologies change the way we make music.

This is why songs will get longer and more complex: Freed from radio constraints, longer, more difficult songs will make appearances on these charts as no other chart would allow. As a result, people will start making longer, more difficult songs in imitation. At first they will be rare and will only spread by word-of-mouth a la The Grey Album, but will then pick up momentum.

Additionally, we will quickly stop thinking of songs as necessarily in the context of an album. There's no reason an artist couldn't simply release a steady stream of songs with no particular divisions between one "album" and another. So songs will have to stand on their own, as epic poems so to speak rather than as chapters in a novel. More pressure on the song then to do what an entire album used to do. Finally, as high-speed internet access proliferates, there will be fewer and fewer daunted by the idea of downloading a 12-minute song rather than a 4-minute song. The end of all this is a new sound in music.

Thanks to Roi's recent visit and now Greg P's yesterday, I've broken through my reluctance to having people visit my studio. Strange arc that was; I was very blasé about the first couple of studio visits I had a few years ago since I didn't really know what a studio visit was, per se, or how much they signified in the art world. (The writing world doesn't really have an equivalent gesture.) It was only after I learned what it was that I learned to be apprehensive about it. That's what not going to art school will do to you. Anyway, that's all behind me now.

Greg and I did mutual visits, drank beer, formed a little mutual admiration society, so it was all good. I like seeing my work through other people's eyes.

Meanwhile, Eric Gibbons has just been accepted into the latest edition of New American Paintings, which kicks the Whitney Biennial's ass as an indicator of raw, real talent without all the politics.

current music: Jamshied Sharifi, A Prayer for the Soul of Layla

Daniel Reyes, who pretty much single-handedly brought the Austin Asian Film Festival into existence, contacted me with thoughts of jump starting an Austin Black Film Festival. Sounded interesting, so I met with him. Some cool ideas, but I made it pretty clear that I do not have time to take on some big organizing role right now. Add that to the fact that his main focus is still on the Asian festival and it was a recipe for a sometimes awkward meeting where no one wanted to step forward and really take the reigns on this thing. So there was lots of "it would be nice if someone..." "Yeah, that would be great."

I will let Cauleen know we met, though, just to let her know that people are talking about it.

Imvivw

I started this blog last year with relatively little in the way of blog experience. I hadn't read a lot of blogs before and only had a vague sense of what I wanted to accomplish, if anything.

The idea--the metaphor--that I guess had been at the fringes of my mind since the beginning was to approach this as a sort of sketchbook, a free space to try out visual ideas, intellectual ideas and whatever else might cross my mind. It was, is, a place to get some things wrong and some things right, to hear how ideas sound in "public" rather than just bouncing around in my own head.

Someone who does this kind of thing very well is Tom Moody, whose blog makes for uneven reading precisely for that reason. He does art reviews, political rants, digital sketches, self-promotion, whatever.

I suppose what I like about this process is the idea of letting people in on my life and my art in real-time, without the delay of a carefully presented exhibition or published essay. This is not just new for me, but strikes me as a whole new way of generating and sharing information.

Some journalists and academics in this conversation agree. They predict in Utopian fashion that blogging will change the way we communicate and change the way information is generated and shared.

When Brian was in town, we talked about what a blog could be, how it could be a whole new kind of self-publishing for those of us who have more ideas than will ever be realized in our lifetime. We were on opposite sides though, as I advocated a "show everything you've got" viewpoint, while he took the viewpoint of "if my ideas are out there, someone might steal them." But I think that's an obsolete view of the way information and ideas work, a notion based largely on the idea of scarcity. The sense that there's not enough creativity in the world to go around.

Listen up: even when you give ideas away, you still possess them. And the more people are working on the same problem you are, the more likely you'll all come up with something that flies. My opinion. Brian did start a blog, though, and it will be cool to see where it goes (link to come as soon as there's something there).

I'm interested in this idea of generosity, of sharing art and ideas with people, seeing art as a collaborative enterprise rather than a solitary activity. I joked with Roi last time we hung out. I told him to please steal my idea of the maps. Take the pressure off me so I can go on to the next idea. They are endless.

In fact, I've lately thought that many of my ideas are pretty good and I want them out there with or without me. If I die without these ideas seeing the light of day, then my own death will have been an act of selfishness.

DJ Spooky has talked about moving from a paradigm in which artists make finished products to one in which art is about providing the raw materials that others can remix, remake and recombine at will. I think of this as moving from a permissions-based creative culture to a collaborative creative culture. If this shift is happening it'll be slow and not without major fights and setbacks (to wit, the litigious recording industry).

I'd like to make this blog more of a sketchbook, open up that process a little more. And then I'd like to take it one further and see what kind of art can be made in this medium. There's a huge potential here, not just as a new medium of distribution, but as a whole new art form.

We'll see.

current music: Snoop Dogg, No Limit Top Dogg

I went with Roi James to see Lance Letscher's pair of shows at d berman and the Austin Museum of Art. So glad I didn't miss these. This artist gives and gives and gives. His handling of materials (collage elements that recall the way brushstrokes work) and content (abstract work that references American quilts as well as some pieces that rework landscape, botanical illustration and even written language) is impeccable. And his vision, his ideas, are so clear and present. It's nice to see that kind of confidence, brave enough to just state itself and move on. (left, Lance Letscher, Pinwheel with Drawing of an Eye, 2001)


Seeing these touched off some work I'd been wanting to do for a while around maps--maps of places in our collective history, maps of imagined places. When I was a kid I was obsessed with maps. (I'd forgotten about that). I collected atlases, globes, wall maps, whatever I could get my hands on, and still went looking for more. Also languages, geography in general, the histories of places. I dedicated myself to learning the language trees of a number of the major families: Indo-European, Sino-Tibetan, Bantu, Semitic (I never really got around much to the Native American languages).

Last year I talked about getting out of a mindset of scarcity and moving into a mindset of abundance. I talked about it, but it was still in the realm of theory and difficult to put into practice.

So I don't know how I've finally clicked over, but I have. Turns out when you think there's plenty of time and money and creativity in the world, that turns out to be true. I reflected on this while running yesterday--that finding time to run used to be such a chore, everything used to be such a chore. I'd really forgotten how to have fun with a lot of things. Then somehow click! it changes over and I have almost more time than I know what to do with.

Which makes for much better art making. Or at least happier art making, not looking over my shoulder to watch the clock gaining on me. I think tonight's painting finishes the series of small portraits on small paper--I'll start some larger work tomorrow.

current music: Wyclef Jean, The Carnival

Went out for the best sushi ever (Musashino) with Kazki and Paul last night. Awesome birthday! Finished off with a relaxed visit to the mercifully un-overcrowded Gallery Lombardi, where Rachel held court in typical fashion and where Simon Pascal's craftsy mosaics pretty much ruled the walls.

Meanwhile, check out artblog.net for a lengthy and vigorous debate about some contemporary art stuff. Some people are all like "It's about to be the dark ages," and some other people are all like, "Gimme me a break! You're a cretan!" And it goes on from there.

I promise I'll get comments installed here sometime soon.

Zakia Carter informs me that Africana's editorial offices in Boston are closing down, which makes me sad because Zakia was awesome to work with. Apparently, the site will continue to be published by some as-of-yet unnamed people at AOL's office in Virginia. Which explains why my check from them for the last article I wrote was from AOL. In fact, I almost threw it away because I assumed it was one of those scams where you cash the check and that gives them permission to change your long distance, your car insurance and your blood type. Anyway, I assume changes are in store since people generally want to piss on their new territory to mark it as their own, even if no changes are needed. I'm hoping to catch up with Zakia when she lands at her next gig.

Art Daily is saying goodbye entirely. They were never really a publication so much as a clearing house for press releases, but it was a news source I checked almost every day on my Electric Skin rounds.

The outcry over Weblog.com's sudden shutdown shows just how passionately (and irrationally) we get attached to our blogs.

I'm also interested in MOOV, the all video-art channel for Hi-Def television. Suddenly I see a reason to get into video art... For that matter, I suddently see a reason to get a HD TV.

A few things that have been on my clipboard for weeks:

San Francisco is the latest city to try and turn artmaking into a full-body contact sport. I have mixed feelings about these live "drawing rallies" and such things (some space in Indianapolis has done this a couple of times and probably other cities besides.) On one hand, it's nice to see someone injecting new energy into what is otherwise a dusty, fusty academy-bound world. After all look what slams did for poetry. On the other hand, there's a whiff of desperation here, like, "loooook at uuuuuss! We still matter!" Good thing or bad thing, people are doing it, so I guess what really matters is to see what it means.

If I have time, I plan to do this art scavenger hunt around Austin. I just hope the art has survived the rain.

BMG has announced plans to drop 60% of its recording artists. As the big boys conglomerate, step on the little guys, sue their own customers and generally behave like bratty apes, I gotta believe all kinds of opportunities will be opening up for cottage industry artists. The dawning of a new day of grassroots music--think folk, early rap, grunge... That's the eternal optimist in me talking.

Like a huge weight lifted from my head, I've finally completed that long-overdue illustration side project. I'm embarassed to admit it's gone on this long.

There are people who can do this sort of thing in their sleep. I'm not one of them. When your whole art practice has been geared toward one kind of naturalism or another, this kind of cartoony reduction takes a little concentration.

Behold...cloud, aglet, coral:

Also, if you don't already know, Steve Kurtz of the Critical Art Ensemble (CAE) is in hot water with the FBI over his art practices, which of course the federal government can't distinguish from bioterrorism. Strike one for free speech and art that matters, support the CAE. I've signed the support letter and donated to the legal fund; give it some thought, kids!

current music: Kid Loco, Jesus Life for Children Under 12 Inches

Just got back from the Prince concert in San Antonio where even 4 straight hours of torrential downpours couldn't keep Kazki, Paul, Clint and me away from His Purpleness. I don't get to see enough funky-ass diva playboys slither around onstage.

current music: Prince, 7

I just read Dale Peck's book Hatchet Jobs. I recommend this to anyone who likes to think about the state of contemporary art. All you really need to read is the Afterword, which you can do right in the store. In it, Peck talks about his relationship to contemporary fiction, his disappointment, his somewhat self-righteous desire to protect it. He's known for calling Rick Moody the worst writer of his generation. But he also has some choice words for David Foster Wallace, Jim Crace, Terry McMillan, Philip Roth, Stanley Crouch and a bunch of others.

I can smell Dale Peck's scent. I recognize a voice there because it's very much like my own, self-righteousness and all. He writes about how his anger is most provoked not by bad writing (which history will dispose of), but by writing by genuinely talented and smart people who nevertheless seem more interested in outwriting each other than in communicating ideas to people, more interested in impressing critics or appearing outré than in sharing their minds and spirits with readers. These writers are more interested in keeping their membership in the academically-defined cool kid's club than in producing meaningful literature.

Replace "writer" with "artist," and something very much like that holds true in the art world.

I have something of a reputation for ruthlessness, a reputation that isn't really deserved, because when it comes right down to it I'm pretty sensitive about this stuff. Whenever I see works by self-evident brilliant minds deployed in the service of increasing alienation, pointless nihilism and the like, my brief moment of anger is always quickly overcome by a sense of sadness.

I get really sad, and usually for a pretty long time. Longer than I should. Because I see all the energy, all the resources being poured into various forms of nothingness. I see entire rooms in museums and whole galleries turned over to Nothing. The reign of the cool kids. And it makes me sad because yet another opportunity to help people connect with each other and understand something real about the world has been lost.

Do you see what I'm saying, Bob? Do you remember when we talked about belonging, about being shut out?

I want art that talks about love without putting quotes around it all the time. Or about anger, or the fucked up state of the world, or beauty, or whatever, from a real and sincere place. I'm exhausted. I want art that opens the door to me, that doesn't coyly dodge me whenever I try to encounter it. I want art that's about the world, not just about the artist. I know that's a nebulous description, but it's a true one. And actually artists already go there. I just hope that at some point, the art establishment decides to go with them.

current music: Phoenix, United

Behold...comments have now been installed. Have at it, kids!

Update: Spoke too soon. Decided I hated the new look after sleeping on it. Back to the old style until further notice....

I just gave a terrible interview to a reporter from Newsweek who called me up for a small story they're doing on Afrofuturism for the international edition. I spent most of the time saying, "ahh...ummm.. hmmm.. I'm not sure... You'll have to ask someone who knows more about X, Y, Z." I should have just started off by saying, "Hey look, I'm not an art historian, I'm an artist with opinions," and then taken it from there. Oh well, live and learn.

I did get in a plug for the show I'm helping Charles put together. Of course I'll let everyone know when it's published.

Been moving at half speed lately. Being back home has been nice, despite a few hiccups, like a busted air conditioner in 100-degree heat and a lost set of keys. Who ever would have thought I'd say that after visiting New York, which I had considered in many ways my real and inevitable home since I first moved there in '92? In spite of myself I've become a southerner.

I enjoyed the Whitney Biennial much more than I expected. If you went into it thinking you were going to see a coherent "show" you were bound to be disappointed. If you thought of it rather as walking into a warehouse into which these particular works just happened to be piled up, it wasn't so bad.


Dario Robleto's reinvention of archeology has not let me go since I first laid eyes on it. His sculptures (?) invited me to interrogate the world in a way similar to a natural history museum, only with the disjunctive shock of being updated to roughly current times. I'd like to see his work in a more serene setting. (left, Dario Robleto's "At War With The Entropy Of Nature/Ghosts Don't Always Want To Come Back," 2002)

I really, really tried to like Cory Arcangel's installation of the reverse engineered video game. I wanted to come back and shock everybody by saying how much I loved it. But I didn't. It just wasn't good. Those digital clouds, that plinky music, taking up so much space and saying so little.


Also disappointing was Eric Wesley's installation of scaled sets for reality shows. It looked like the desperate ramblings of an artist on a deadline. A flimsy concept and questionable execution. This was even more disappointing since Wesley was one of the few black artists in the entire show. The placard said something like, "The sets reflect the clean, modernist design that is often portrayed in reality television." Bullshit. What reality shows are they watching? Almost uniformly, those shows are either set in some nature paradise or everything is gilded, brocaded, upholstered, and shellacked to within an inch of its life. Reality shows are the last bastion of the rococo. (right, Wesley's "Scale Sets for the Upcoming Television Production of 'So, This Is Reality,' 2004)

I suspect that was some curatorial garbage that was thrown in to try and justify the work, whether it needed it or not. I found that I had to ignore a lot of those curatorial placards. For instance absolutely nothing in Terence Koh's installation of all-white objects in an all-white hut room supported the reading that the color was somehow being used to symbolize mourning in "non-Western cultures." In fact, Koh just stated in a recent interview that he thinks of himself as "distinctly quite white" and doesn't understand people's tendencies to read his work as racial. Similarly, I saw nothing in Sam Durant's meticulous drawings of 60s radicals nor in his light boxes that supported the belief that his stance was "critical" towards 60s political strategies. He may well be critical, but it didn't show up in the work. That felt like something the curators had to tell themselves in order to feel ok about liking the art.


On the plus side, I found Julie Merehtu's paintings and drawings engaging and beautiful. Ditto Chloe Piene's sexed-out death girls. Both struck me as honest and successful attempts at organizing disparate experience. (right, Mehretu's "Renegade Delirium," 2002)


My therapist questioned me a couple of weeks ago about my obsession with honesty. I don't know what that's about; I do know that there's nothing I resent more in art than the feeling that an artist is lying to me, usually, I think, as a result of believing about himself what other people have told him.

current music: Dave Navarro, Trust No One