Thursday, August 17, 2017

PUTTY

I've embarked on a new series.
PUTTY is a live art interview programme that appropriates and distorts the chat show medium.



Putty pulls its inspiration from the qualities of two materials:

Museum Putty--a utilitarian substance, defined by its relationship to the institution it supports.
-adheres art objects to pedestals, props them up but is rarely visible.
-is malleable, ready to use, and works on almost any surface, occupying a low role in high art.



Silly Putty--a novelty product without a clear function that bounces off and sticks across surfaces.
-pilfers Marmaduke's image from the Sunday comics and stretches it into new pooch mutations.




Putty plans to stick together disparate bits of the Indianapolis art scene, connecting artists as it connects audiences, growing as it rolls.
It hopes to shift the focus to under-recognized members of the community, challenging creative misuse and different looking, curating fascinating aesthetic conversations through best case scenario bar chatter, gossip and games.

Episode one at State Street Pub featured Rad Wytch writer Bree Jo'Ann, interdisciplinary reality fiddler Carla Knopp, painter and punk historian Becky Wilson, and musical guest Hen.
It boasted a kitschy set designed by Cinnamon Rose and Jessica Dunn of Brain Twins and styling (of yrs truly) by Geraldine Lee's Vintage.



Episode two airs Wednesday, September 13 at 8PM and features IMOCA curator Paula Katz, avant-bland installation impresario Anna Martinez, Indiana poetry imprint Monster House Press and musical guest Process My Office.
I will be your host, gleefully facilitating conversation while exercising discrete aesthetic control--deciding who you look at and where and when and how.
I've prepared for this role my entire life!

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Detention



In April I had the opportunity to stage a solo show at Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis.
Detention explored my complicated relationship to art education as a student and teacher.
This piece of writing functioned as my artist statement.


Nobody told me I’d be the next Basquiat,
the next YBA,
the new Jeanette Hayes
smearing authenticity
and hip acumen across
any given art forum.
Teachers never told me I’d be a
bad boy impresario
ashing cigs in the paté,
smug in shades.
But nobody told me I’d be at the beckon call
of a dozen little children
pasting tissue paper onto
cardboard tacos,
streaks of Elmer’s glue across my thighs
when I show up to the grant application office
in the eleventh hour.
In Senior Seminar on
Practical Concerns
they should say
“Beware of your talents,”
instead of reading aloud from
The Hydrogen Jukebox,
underclassmen feeding back
with beatnik snaps,
outsider poses ossifying.
Maybe that’s the implicit lesson,
the unspoken compact,
the vulgar picture you have to paint yourself:
reallocating resources,
smuggling creative labor into your dayjob,
appropriating the services
of your vibrant young students
as I make my money
teaching art
while it takes away from
my time to make it,
spinning a cautionary tale
about contradiction
as it envelopes me.
In detention,
where I know I am
because I’m bad,
I crack a book:
a little “Skepticism About”
nestled inside
“The Power of Art.”


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Museum Pity

If it’s bad make it
big red and wrong
trippped over,
hangdog empathy
for the pedestals and benches.
The Artschwager sat upon.
The crowning kicked.
The sculptures cucked.
The platinum paintings
going down in da Hall of Mirrors
refract, refract:
a Bruce Nauman two step-



the unfunnest club
My friend guarded
speed dating in the contemporary wing
when a horny patron cut her shin
on the Patty Chang.
Blood on her radio she yelled
“I’m at the Chang!”
but no one knew the artist’s name.
Guards staked a flag in skin
to signify
Real contempt for the Viewer.
A construction sign
says Pardon our Process.
Maybe the pieces don’t wanna
Get got.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Hester Bangs Revealed, Fake Architects

Now that the smoke has cleared, now that the tumult has died leaving room for new, better tumult
...now that this blog lays largely fallow
I, Erin K Drew, can reveal that it was I who adopted the mantle of Hester Bangs to write some of the most hated the least read Indianapolis art reviews of Fall 2016.

Now that we have escaped 2016 relatively intact I feel I owe it to the brave fake architects who shared accounts of their counterfeit professions with me to publish their words. Originally published on the Broken Glass wordpress from the mouth of my alter ego Hester Bangs, I present my review of the Exhibit Columbus symposium.


Exhibit Columbus–Columbus, Indiana’s inaugural design symposium–happened this past weekend.

I’ve tried my hardest to understand Columbus’s architectural legacy but whenever I attempt to do my research or listen to someone knowledgeable talk on the subject I briefly and respectfully fall asleep.

In lieu of attending the keynote sessions and panels , I interviewed a crop of upcoming designers and architects at a tiki bar in Indianapolis. We spoke over several rounds of Fishtanks— blue curacao with a salted rim and goldfish cracker skewer— and tried to fill in the gaps of my understanding of the practice, its theories, and the event.

Profiles of these visionary makers are presented below and ordered from sober to sloshed. Questions by Hester Bangs are presented in bold. Comments by some subjects are italicized where noted.

E.J. Troubleshooting (architect, Chicago, IL)

Would you say you identify as a duck or a decorated shed?

I like the elegance of the duck. They align with my personal philosphy of grace and utility and motion and the duck’s body has all that and a wingspan and a tail.

What would be your ideal building in which to cry?

I feel it depends on what kind of crying you’d like to do. If you’d like to do loud, mournful crying i’d like some sort of cathedral-like structure. But perhaps to simplify maybe a tube— a big tube that would resonate your cries.

But if you want to cry in private I would suggest a form like an igloo, but— kind of like, a sock-like structure that would be close to the ground. It would allow you a lot of privacy.

If houses are machines for living, what kind of a machine would you say you are?

I suppose the kind of machine I am is a thinking machine gone awry and I’m just generating meaningless sentences and verbiage.

And finally: Fuck/marry/kill: Doric columns, Ionic columns, corinthian columns.

I would fuck myself, kill you, and I don’t know which column I would marry because I intentionally unlearned all this stuff when I became a minimalist architect.



Misbehave (designer, Columbus, IN)

Fuck/marry/kill: Doric columns, Ionic columns, corinthian columns.

I’d def fuck Doric— Clean shaven a little androgynous

lol!

It’s all boils down to a hygiene thing

oh my god, gross



Burt Harbinson (architect, Malibu, CA)

Fuck/marry/kill– doric, ionic, corinthian columns

hmm i think i’ll go with ionic…it’s the “just right” bowl of oatmeal—
not too simple but not gaudy either.
like how Chanel said she’d always take off one accessory before she headed out the door…maximal but self editing…
Chanel was a nazi sympathizer and should not be glorified.
o i just realized it was marry fuck kill not “which r u”
so hmm marry ionic fuck corinthian kill doric

Burt Harbinson and Matt Boyd Lepht (architect, Indianapolis, IN)

If a house is a machine for living, what kind of machine are you?

a machine for crying

tell me more

that was the first thing that came to my head but i do cry a lot

What is the right building to cry in?

My home.

What specific to your home?

I like to cry in my bedroom or my bed.

I tend to think that cars are the best place to cry.

But you’re so exposed!

I think that they are incredbly intuitive as a crying space, like—i’m moving, you’re looking, they’re looking (trails off into unintelligible drunk hot air)

Crying in cars is dangerous.

So could we imagine your ideal cry spot?

It’s my bed.

Your current bed? What color is your bed?

I really love my bed and I like to buy things to make my bed more comfortable

In the coming weeks I think I’ll be purchasing a bedskirt

That’s incredible

And a duvet cover— I’m going to go to Ikea and get a duvet cover with pictures of plants on it.

GOD that sounds gorgeous. Ikea is fucking weird.

I love Ikea

It’s intense

Let’s talk about Ikea, that’s a great topic of conversation.

ALRIGHT. (to Matt Boyd Lepht) Have you been there?

MBL: Do they sell food inside??

(emphatic) YEAH, THEY DO.

MBL: No, no i haven’t been.

They have dollar hotdogs (Editor’s note: they’re 50 cents.)

MBL: That’s what I’ve heard. Something about hotdogs…



Last time I was there I got the vegetable balls which I don’t…recommend that.

MBL: NO vegetable balls? What else do they have?

I like to go to IKEA on a weekday around noon.

Why?

Cuz there’s nobody there!

OH MY GOD THAT SOUNDS AMAZING. No people is choice.

(long explanation about the show room and the warehouse and how it works)

There’s three stories…It’s like Disney Land and you’re on a ride that ends where you’re looking at these possible futures for youself…in a warehouse

I like the grocery cuz they sell tubes of creamed smoke roe

THAT’S AWESOME.

It’s really weird— it’s like tubes of hydrogenated canola oil with fish roe in it.

Braun Strumen (architect, Las Vegas, NV– designer of minimalist tire chains, specializes in repurposing former Taco Bells)

Do you see yourself as a Duck or a Decorated Shed?

Deep down, I’m a shed.

Much has been made in postmodern architectural theory about the super reality of the Las Vegas main strip…

yes duh

What did you learn from Las Vegas?

I can pee and poo wherever.

Go on…

like…poo poo

Hester Bangs dislikes metaphors but will use them. She joyfully appropriates the swaggering obstinance of contemporary American culture’s creemiest critics while wearing the scarlet letter of the Indpls art scene for being a bad bad girl.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Poetry Recaps

So, a few weeks ago I was supposed to perform some of my favorite Classic Poems for a show at General Public Collective but I forgot my notes!!
Luckily I was familiar enough with the basic content that I was able to offer highlights of all the important parts.
All signs point to my memory getting better and better!



Many thanks to my favorite Hoosier-poet-turned-expat James Payne for documentation and support.

Saturday, September 3, 2016

Extreme Exit Strategies

Seven years deep, I'm determining ways to officially end Extreme Appearances.
This will likely manifest in a physical publication, long hinted at.
A piece of print to expunge the records. Not the coffee table book I once imagined, but a slim photocopied volume of greatest hits.

And hanging in the website's place, digital residue.
A list of search terms to redirect your way finding.
Did you mean

Extreme Ape Hangers

Extreme Apathy

Extreme Apricot

Extreme Apple Body

Extreme Appetite Suppressants

or

Clean to the Extreme/Appearances


13 Extremely Unfortunate Boner Appearances


Extreme Readers: This Man Proves that Love does not Depend on Appearances!




Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Call for Monumental Anecdotes



Friends:
Some of you have spent many years in Indianapolis; others just a few significant weeks.
Regardless, I come to you in search of your experiences.

I have been asked to make artwork for the Harrison Center for the Arts Bicentennial celebration of the state of Indiana.
This group show will hinge on Monumentality and literally and figuratively be inspired by the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, the heavily adorned obelisk at the center of my non-mean city.

For this show, I plan to collect anecdotes from you about *monumental* experiences you have had in the vast and varied neighborhoods of Indianapolis.
I will represent your experiences in the form of fabric flags that simplify and symbolize events and blur lines between public and private history.
Ultimately, these anecdotal flag designs will be fabricated on a smaller scale and sold in the gift shop of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument itself.

What experiences count as MONUMENTAL?
I want to hear about your arguments, illnesses, and unexpected discoveries. I want tales of lust, tragedy, tragicomedy, dissociation and drunkenness.
I want to hear about the events that came to signify your experiences with specific districts of Indianpolis— from Broadripple to Fountain Sqaure, from Castelton to Englewood, to whatever happens on the westside.
If you do not know what to write, I am always interested in the conditions that produce public crying.

The artwork resulting from this project will be exhibited October 7-28 at the Harrison Center alongside a short statement culled from your testimonial.

Please limit your anecdotes to 500 words and specify the neighborhood in which your story occurred.
Submissions are needed by Thursday, September 1, 2016 and should be directed to extremeappearances@gmail.com

Your favorite flag waving Hoosier,
Erin K Drew