Saturday, June 13, 2009
Saturday, June 27 I'm performing...
and I'm one of the collectors featured in the film.
The Collections: Screening and Performance
a delightfully inexplicable meditation on the topic of stuff
Host:
Max Juren, Jill Pangallo, Monofonus Press
Type:
Music/Arts - Performance
Network:
Global
Start Time:
Saturday, June 27, 2009 at 10:00pm
End Time:
Sunday, June 28, 2009 at 1:00am
Location:
United States Art Authority
Street:
2908 Fruth Street (behind Spider House)
City/Town:
Austin, TX
View Map
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Email:
info@monofonuspress.com
Description
"The Collections," a new video series by Max Juren and Jill Pangallo is about what people save and why they save it. Inspired by Ann Stephenson's poem of the same name, the series features twelve, short interviews with collectors that provide a jumping off point for Max and Jill's multi-genre video and performance work. Their impulsive and improvisational responses cross-pollinate with the interviews to create a delightfully inexplicable meditation on the topic of stuff. It’s a new, 40-minute collection unto itself, completed from start to finish in just one month’s time.
Conceived, Written, Directed and Performed by Max Juren and Jill Pangallo
Executive Produced by Monofonus Press
Inspired by the poetry of Ann Stephenson
Including the collections of...
Christina Campbell, Juan Cisneros, Michelle Devereux, Kate Hersch, Jen Hirt and Scott Webel, Suze Kemper, Rachel Martin, Haleh Pedram, Michael Smith, Jack Stoney, Josh , and Ross
And featuring…
Elana Farley, Carlos Rosales-Smith, Amanda Joy Venerable as the “Dream Together” cats
Juren and Pangallo will host the premier screening of “The Collections” on Saturday, June 27th at the United States Art Authority in Austin, Texas. The screening event will include a variety of performances by local artists Michelle Devereux, Scott Eastwood, Elana Farley, Rachel Martin, Paul Soileau, Brannon Via, Haleh Padram, Amanda Joy Venerable, and more. The evening begins at 10pm. Entry is $10 with which you receive your choice, FREE, of “The Collections” dvd, Max Juren’s recent compilation DVD release, or Jill Pangallo’s recent book, “Let Me Entertain You,” all published by Monofonus Press. We hope to see you there!
I made Buster an ....
Edward Gorey-esque dog stroller or rickshaw so that I can still go on long walks with him even when it's 100 degrees and he's overcome by the heat. I think it still needs mosquito netting for the total effect I was going for. He is a Goth dog, after all.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Feeling a little sad and vulnerable
I think it's because June 7 last year was the first day of the real-life romance I wrote about in Les Très Riches Heures. And part of it is Bob's death.
And maybe it's because coming to the end of a huge artistic project always triggers a kind of post-natal depression in me. I had been writing since January, then editing feverishly during the past month, and now it's all done and out there and I wait. It's a new experience for me, putting what I've made out there. Usually I just make things and never show them to anyone. Since I put this work out there, I feel a little on pins and needles waiting to get some feedback from someone. Ali was, of course, right there, reading in the first few days and she's already given me notes. I do have to examine how I feel about making and showing vs. just making and never showing. Part of me feels that maybe it's time I do put my work out there. I think maybe some lessons I learned from Bob are talking to me these days...
I do know what I'm doing next, though, and started working on the first color plate for that series Sunday night. And I have too many conceptual ideas to even count. But it seems fairly obvious I am going to have to learn some HTML to pull off most of what I can imagine doing in the future.
And maybe it's because coming to the end of a huge artistic project always triggers a kind of post-natal depression in me. I had been writing since January, then editing feverishly during the past month, and now it's all done and out there and I wait. It's a new experience for me, putting what I've made out there. Usually I just make things and never show them to anyone. Since I put this work out there, I feel a little on pins and needles waiting to get some feedback from someone. Ali was, of course, right there, reading in the first few days and she's already given me notes. I do have to examine how I feel about making and showing vs. just making and never showing. Part of me feels that maybe it's time I do put my work out there. I think maybe some lessons I learned from Bob are talking to me these days...
I do know what I'm doing next, though, and started working on the first color plate for that series Sunday night. And I have too many conceptual ideas to even count. But it seems fairly obvious I am going to have to learn some HTML to pull off most of what I can imagine doing in the future.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Book is done!
I made my deadline, even with Bob's sudden death. It was 98% finished last weekend, but I finished dropping in all the bells and whistles last night and today.
Here's part of what I wrote about it: (there was a lot of other heady stuff about devising a Rhetoric of Love and creating virtual intimate spaces, voice being the evidence that the body still exists in modern art and assorted other art school blah-blah-blah.)
"...In other words, I hope I have created a post-modernist naturalistic feminist transmedia Existential Romance novel, with a family tree extending back to Richardson's 1740 work, Pamela." Of course, I have no idea WHAT will happen next with this work, but making it is what I care about.
Now I can sleep again. When I get in "the zone" there's just no stopping me. But I did finally clean house and do laundry today after one month non-stop burning the midnight oil. I'm going to go outside, stare at the moon and have a well-deserved cocktail tonight before I go to sleep to celebrate. My family and friends will probably be glad when I emerge and rejoin the living.
If I can just learn that song by next weekend, I think I'm still doing a music video with Cindy, Jimmie and some of the Kings and others in their circle. It has three chords; surely, even brain-dead I can pull that off.
*****
Beautiful side-effect of Bob's passing: people from decades ago are suddenly making contact with me, or I saw them at the memorial. That's a marvelous thing to come out of a sad event and reminds me, as an artist, that I am not an island. I am, in fact, a member of a huge, vibrant artistic community.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Dear Bob, We celebrated your life tonight...
as an artist, a dear friend, an old love, a magnificent teacher, a family member. Did you see us at Okay Mountain? We all expected to see your white pickup parked in the neighborhood, and all evening we spoke of how eerie it was that we all pictured you in the same spot in the yard in the same seat, with your long legs stretched out. Suze and I went together, fittingly, and brought a huge bottle of your beloved Bulleit bourbon with us for everyone to toast you, with a tag I made for its neck that read, "For Bob, with love, from Hard Women." Your students from all the way back to the 80's (including Suze and me!) were there. Did you hear the stories we shared, and how I told the crowd how it was you who named us Hard Women in the first place, and how you never missed a single show? (Suze had said earlier, "Maybe we should have shared more men?" And I said, "No." You were enough, separated, even, as you were by fifteen or so years in our romantic histories. But that is a funny shared experience between best friends! We'll always have YOU in common. And she told me about how she left a wedding to go have hot sex with you, while the bride, Malka, went next door and visited your beloved friend, Steve Jones.)
And did you see that Suze and I embraced your beloved Peggy, and she clung to us all evening, sometimes with the three of us putting our heads together? We took care of her for you this evening, Bob. She loves you so much, and it was so wonderful to know that you died at the height of a great love. I am so genuinely happy for the two of you, and so sad for Peggy that she must find a way to live on without you.
Your exhibition was beautiful, and even more so because it was works you gave each of us, not work for sale. Everyone shared their stories of how you gave them the works, and there was a tack-up wall of the drawings you'd always made for each crop of your grad students. You were so generous to us!
And I finally met your sister. She said to Suze and me, "You knew him better than I did." She said, "Now I understand why he didn't want to come to our house for the holidays. He had all of you, and was part of this artistic community." Bob, she finally gets it. She sees what you meant to us, that you weren't some kind of crazy recluse. She finally gets it, by hearing our stories and seeing the crowd there to celebrate your life as an artist. Yours was the biggest opening of the year!
There are so many people who will miss you here. We toasted the sky and talked to you -- could you hear us? Go in peace now, my old, gentle, mad sweetheart. Peggy is afraid you'll hover near her and she wants you to be released and find peace. Please hear her heart and do as she needs you to do now. We will take care of her, and her children are clinging close to her.
I regret I didn't have the opportunity to look into your watery blue eyes one more time and see your crooked grin. I regret what I didn't get the chance to say to you, so I'll say it now: Bob, thank you. Thank you for our brief time together, thank you for your art, and thank you for teaching me everything I know about artistic discipline. You were a great artist, a great teacher and a pure, perfect soul. You are loved, and you are missed. At every party we will miss you most of all because we know you would have loved to be with us; and you will be. Linda Montano sends her love, and as I told her just now on the phone, please go back to sleep now, and sweet dreams, my tall boy, my Ichabod.
Sending you my love tonight,
Rachel
And did you see that Suze and I embraced your beloved Peggy, and she clung to us all evening, sometimes with the three of us putting our heads together? We took care of her for you this evening, Bob. She loves you so much, and it was so wonderful to know that you died at the height of a great love. I am so genuinely happy for the two of you, and so sad for Peggy that she must find a way to live on without you.
Your exhibition was beautiful, and even more so because it was works you gave each of us, not work for sale. Everyone shared their stories of how you gave them the works, and there was a tack-up wall of the drawings you'd always made for each crop of your grad students. You were so generous to us!
And I finally met your sister. She said to Suze and me, "You knew him better than I did." She said, "Now I understand why he didn't want to come to our house for the holidays. He had all of you, and was part of this artistic community." Bob, she finally gets it. She sees what you meant to us, that you weren't some kind of crazy recluse. She finally gets it, by hearing our stories and seeing the crowd there to celebrate your life as an artist. Yours was the biggest opening of the year!
There are so many people who will miss you here. We toasted the sky and talked to you -- could you hear us? Go in peace now, my old, gentle, mad sweetheart. Peggy is afraid you'll hover near her and she wants you to be released and find peace. Please hear her heart and do as she needs you to do now. We will take care of her, and her children are clinging close to her.
I regret I didn't have the opportunity to look into your watery blue eyes one more time and see your crooked grin. I regret what I didn't get the chance to say to you, so I'll say it now: Bob, thank you. Thank you for our brief time together, thank you for your art, and thank you for teaching me everything I know about artistic discipline. You were a great artist, a great teacher and a pure, perfect soul. You are loved, and you are missed. At every party we will miss you most of all because we know you would have loved to be with us; and you will be. Linda Montano sends her love, and as I told her just now on the phone, please go back to sleep now, and sweet dreams, my tall boy, my Ichabod.
Sending you my love tonight,
Rachel
And now David Carradine is dead!
This is eerie! Because David Carradine was the movie star doppelganger of my dead former sweetheart! If I had to cast Bob's life, Carradine always seemed to be the perfect choice to play him!
We have no idea how profoundly connected we are to our movie stars. They act out our issues for us. They are our surrogates. This is so strange, that Carradine had no reason to exist now, without Bob.
We have no idea how profoundly connected we are to our movie stars. They act out our issues for us. They are our surrogates. This is so strange, that Carradine had no reason to exist now, without Bob.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
But obviously life is still worth living with a child and
...daughter-in-law like these two!
And Freak Show A-Go-Go was incredible -- like a queer Cirque de Soleil! And Jimmie's father and wife finally managed to make it to a show after, what? Seven years. I spoke with them for a minute and Jimmie's father made me very happy by saying Hard Women's artistic legacy obviously continues in our child. I was rocking the old Hard Women three foot long pony-tail, Madonna-inspired ringmaster outfit, leopard spats and high-heeled tennis shoes, so I was glad if he was only going to run into me once every six years I was rocking an outrageous look. And he did behave very nicely. I am so glad he was finally able to see exactly what it is his child does as an artist. And I was so proud of all KnT and Jimmie and Cindy had done to pull off this marvelous show.
A dear, old friend of mine has died.
He was also once my love for a few fleeting months five years ago. I am so sad. He was a sweet, gentle, crazy soul, and one of the best and most productive artists I've ever known. He taught me so much about artistic discipline, just as he taught generations of students at school about what it meant to be an artist. I hadn't spent any time with him since October, but I know he had a wonderful girlfriend of a few months with whom he was very happy. It appears he had a peaceful passing in the night. So many more drawings he would have made, so much more fun he would have had.
He will be much missed by so many, including me. Rest in peace, Bob. I will remember you fondly.
I have been constantly surrounded by death since December. When will it let up?
I finished the first final draft of the book and put it out to those who had agreed to be first readers. Now I wait. I would have been high on finishing, but my sadness over Bob's passing has damped down my mood about the book. No one has time to read right now, it seems, so I must be patient. But I stayed on the schedule I established months ago, so I am proud of myself for that.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Death. DEATH.
Why can we not ever have a Commencement without death?
I am completely wiped out from the one that occurred this time. I am just going to crawl into a hole and ignore the world for at least the start of this blessed four day weekend.
Commencement went beautifully, but I cannot shake the dark cloud hanging over it because of another student suicide, this one of a young Korean woman who would have been granted her PhD with flying colors tomorrow.
It's beyond understanding, and my heart is so troubled.
I am completely wiped out from the one that occurred this time. I am just going to crawl into a hole and ignore the world for at least the start of this blessed four day weekend.
Commencement went beautifully, but I cannot shake the dark cloud hanging over it because of another student suicide, this one of a young Korean woman who would have been granted her PhD with flying colors tomorrow.
It's beyond understanding, and my heart is so troubled.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The human heart is so mysterious.
At work, I am dealing with yet another tragic student suicide. I don't want to trivialize the great tragedy by writing about it here. I'll just say it's very sad and my heart goes out to the poor, lost young woman.
Personally, I am suddenly furious with my former lover for his freeze-out since our parting in January. My contempt for him, long coming, has arrived. I am really angry with him now. As Ali says, "He's renting too much real estate in your psyche. I assure you, you aren't in his."
She's right. But I am truly angry, four months later. I guess it took me this long just to get over the sorrow, numbness and horror. But I am now. So the anger has arrived. Cue the orchestra: Carmen's made her entrance.
Another possible trigger: the book's so close to being finished. I think it's very good. My goal is to finish it by symbolic June 7. If I can finish it and simultaneously do the music video and all the other opportunities I have next in queue, that is. If not, shortly thereafter.
I take up no space in his heart or mind or he would have contacted me by now after reading my final posts to our private blog in the last few weeks. I'm erased, invisible, banished. Got it.
Why would he orchestrate this pathetic ending to a beautiful romance, knowing full well I'd lose all respect for him forever in the bargain? I suppose I'm angry with myself for being duped. I loved him, so I thought I knew him. I couldn't have been more wrong. As I wrote him, "I broke my own heart." I own that.
Personally, I am suddenly furious with my former lover for his freeze-out since our parting in January. My contempt for him, long coming, has arrived. I am really angry with him now. As Ali says, "He's renting too much real estate in your psyche. I assure you, you aren't in his."
She's right. But I am truly angry, four months later. I guess it took me this long just to get over the sorrow, numbness and horror. But I am now. So the anger has arrived. Cue the orchestra: Carmen's made her entrance.
Another possible trigger: the book's so close to being finished. I think it's very good. My goal is to finish it by symbolic June 7. If I can finish it and simultaneously do the music video and all the other opportunities I have next in queue, that is. If not, shortly thereafter.
I take up no space in his heart or mind or he would have contacted me by now after reading my final posts to our private blog in the last few weeks. I'm erased, invisible, banished. Got it.
Why would he orchestrate this pathetic ending to a beautiful romance, knowing full well I'd lose all respect for him forever in the bargain? I suppose I'm angry with myself for being duped. I loved him, so I thought I knew him. I couldn't have been more wrong. As I wrote him, "I broke my own heart." I own that.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
B&W Breakfast at Tiffany's
Just had a great photo session with Ali! I'll be editing for days. Movie Shoot II.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
"Love is my religion - I could die for it" John Keats
And evidently one of my former advisees did last week, by his own hand. Tragic. A beautiful boy, a sensitive soul of thirty years. I'm haunted by his death these days.
I always think at the end of a love affair that I will die (or must die, or should die), but I don't. Perhaps that's my tragedy: I live on. I put one foot in front of the other, I breathe, I take meals, I work, I see friends, I shop, I make plans for the future. My life goes on. I survive. But, truly, a part of me has died forever -- the part of me I shared only with my lover.
But, perhaps, with each ending something is also created? A timeless, transcendent space, a kind of metaphysical empty room full of blinding light? An intimate space that may only be shared with one other human being in all the world? And maybe will be again someday? Or so it seems to me.
"In my father's house there are many mansions." And in some of them dwell those I once loved so much I believed I would die if they ceased to love me. Perhaps one day, outside of time and space, we will love again in those rooms full of white light.
I always think at the end of a love affair that I will die (or must die, or should die), but I don't. Perhaps that's my tragedy: I live on. I put one foot in front of the other, I breathe, I take meals, I work, I see friends, I shop, I make plans for the future. My life goes on. I survive. But, truly, a part of me has died forever -- the part of me I shared only with my lover.
But, perhaps, with each ending something is also created? A timeless, transcendent space, a kind of metaphysical empty room full of blinding light? An intimate space that may only be shared with one other human being in all the world? And maybe will be again someday? Or so it seems to me.
"In my father's house there are many mansions." And in some of them dwell those I once loved so much I believed I would die if they ceased to love me. Perhaps one day, outside of time and space, we will love again in those rooms full of white light.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I had the most splendid...
Parent-of-a-Specified-Gender Day with my family! Thank you, Jimmie and Cindy and Maya Naomi and Autumn for the gifts and swimming and fun! Love you guys!
And thanks for a wonderful show on Friday, the Kings 'N' Things Seventh Anniversary. Hard to believe you guys are now senior kings of the troupe!
I got leopard spats made for me by Cindy for Mother's Day. I am gonna rock them all over town, and in Paris, too!
And thanks for a wonderful show on Friday, the Kings 'N' Things Seventh Anniversary. Hard to believe you guys are now senior kings of the troupe!
I got leopard spats made for me by Cindy for Mother's Day. I am gonna rock them all over town, and in Paris, too!
Happy Mother's Day to one and all.
Man, woman and child. Because isn't trying to learn be good mothers to each other why we're all here? You know, nurturing, unconditional love, a shoulder to cry on, to teach one another? Without the icky parts of motherhood like constantly worrying, being neurotic or controlling or too critical? I think we should all be like the mother birds and protect each other so that we develop the confidence and independence to fly!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Can't shut my mind off = insomnia, followed by nightmares
A terrible dream last night:
Ali and I were doing a photo shoot in a long, narrow space, walls and floors like my apartment, but easily a hundred yards long and only about six yards wide. The dream had three passages to it, and we moved down the space in thirds.
1. People bundled up in coats and scarves came in as we arrived, as if coming into the space from winter weather. This seems to set my dream in Italy. And the people were all academics known to me from meetings at school or X's colleagues in Italy. Academia. They ignored us as we set our lights and began the shoot.
2. We moved on to the middle of the space. Today the second passage is wiped from my memory, although it was vivid and I didn't think I'd forget it when I awoke from the dream. I think it had to do with X and a tattered top hat in need of repairs. The photo shoot continued in the middle of the space.
3. At the far end of the room we continued the shoot but were having trouble getting my arms in the position needed for the picture. There was a small curtained window in the wall there, and the space behind it was dark, seemingly a deserted, cluttered storage room. It occurred to us that if I put one arm on the sill of the window we could get the shot.
My hand accidentally went into the space behind the curtain as I took the pose. Then, out of nowhere, a dry, hot hand seized my wrist violently and angrily held on. The hand's skin was old, papery. I was terrified and screamed for Ali to help me detach myself from the hand, which would not release its death-hold on my wrist no matter how I twisted and jerked. She couldn't force the hand to release me, either, so reluctantly I struck out with my nails at the person who attacked me behind the curtain. With a sickening feeling I realized I was scratching my attacker's face as my fingertips dug into eyes and a mouth. I didn't want to hurt this invisible attacker, but felt I had no choice since she wouldn't release my wrist and clearly meant me harm. I told myself to wake up so I could end the dream.
The hand belonged to X's friend J, I realized upon awakening.
Horrible! I could venture a psychological analysis but will abstain.
I hate the end of the semester when I am so stressed out at work that it carries over into my dreams!
Ali and I were doing a photo shoot in a long, narrow space, walls and floors like my apartment, but easily a hundred yards long and only about six yards wide. The dream had three passages to it, and we moved down the space in thirds.
1. People bundled up in coats and scarves came in as we arrived, as if coming into the space from winter weather. This seems to set my dream in Italy. And the people were all academics known to me from meetings at school or X's colleagues in Italy. Academia. They ignored us as we set our lights and began the shoot.
2. We moved on to the middle of the space. Today the second passage is wiped from my memory, although it was vivid and I didn't think I'd forget it when I awoke from the dream. I think it had to do with X and a tattered top hat in need of repairs. The photo shoot continued in the middle of the space.
3. At the far end of the room we continued the shoot but were having trouble getting my arms in the position needed for the picture. There was a small curtained window in the wall there, and the space behind it was dark, seemingly a deserted, cluttered storage room. It occurred to us that if I put one arm on the sill of the window we could get the shot.
My hand accidentally went into the space behind the curtain as I took the pose. Then, out of nowhere, a dry, hot hand seized my wrist violently and angrily held on. The hand's skin was old, papery. I was terrified and screamed for Ali to help me detach myself from the hand, which would not release its death-hold on my wrist no matter how I twisted and jerked. She couldn't force the hand to release me, either, so reluctantly I struck out with my nails at the person who attacked me behind the curtain. With a sickening feeling I realized I was scratching my attacker's face as my fingertips dug into eyes and a mouth. I didn't want to hurt this invisible attacker, but felt I had no choice since she wouldn't release my wrist and clearly meant me harm. I told myself to wake up so I could end the dream.
The hand belonged to X's friend J, I realized upon awakening.
Horrible! I could venture a psychological analysis but will abstain.
I hate the end of the semester when I am so stressed out at work that it carries over into my dreams!
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