Saturday, September 13, 2014

You Only Live Twice PT. 4 and a 1/3 ( Where there's SMoCa, there's Whiners )



“It's now very common to hear people say, "I'm rather offended by that." As if that gives them certain rights. It's actually nothing more... than a whine. "I find that offensive." It has no meaning; it has no purpose; it has no reason to be respected as a phrase. '"I am offended by that."

Well, so f*****g what." - Stephen Fry, The Guardian


Hello Blogiteers!

I've got to be honest- there are times, if the truth is to be told, where I really enjoy being a self-styled Artbitch. I get to speak my mind, clear the way for progressive debate, skewer a cretin (or two),
and generally walk around with a feeling of a job well done, if not snarkily.

Then there's the days where I'm really happy.

Usually it's because I've found an extra pack of Ding Dongs that I didn't know I had, or sometimes I'll be flipping through the ol' cable TV and find out they're playing all of the Resident Evil movies back to back with limited commercial interruptions.

You know... the simple pleasures.

Granted, the pay is non-existent, but the hours are great, and the perks make it all worth while. No matter what might be happening in my day gig existence, the world where my art-life resides is usually never boring, and that's just the way I like it.

Surprisingly, despite my once being described by a colleague as "saturnly venomous", I rarely run into what i would consider any concrete repercussions in regards to what I write. Sure, there's the occasional vulgar e-mail or sporadic sideways nasty glance when I'm out and about among my art peeps, but at worst- these are annoyances akin to a gnat flying in front of a wind machine.

in other words, no sweat, no sleep lost, no actual f***s given, no matter what. I know, I know. I'm a Hell-bound, supremely arrogant, self-righteous, intensely focused bastard of monolithic proportions.

And oddly, I'm perfectly okay with this.

Do you have any guesses as to why that is? It's simple, really. Because as long as I can remember, I've always been "that guy"- you know, the one that says what everybody else is thinking but refuses to articulate, due to their being either too afraid or too polite.

Fortunately, I have no such hang-ups, and I refuse to apologize for not suffering fools, just because outdated social restrictions and one's lack of personal spine says that I should. Plus, there's always this type of comment that I get occasionally via e-mail, which also helps keeps me motivated:

"I give you props! Not many people in this wretched arts scene/state are brave enough to speak up. Go along to get along is the norm. It's why I stay on the "outside" and travel elsewhere. What you do is valuable and I applaud you."

The unforeseen side-effect of being honest, other than a clean conscience and unburdened soul, is the amount of simplicity that it brings to your life- for instance, the amount of holiday cards that I have to mail out every year just keeps getting smaller and smaller, and at the rate it's going, pretty soon I'll only have to spring for two kinds: my girlfriends card that I spend time looking for (the $3.00 and up kind) and everybody else's from the year-end clearance sale box.

You know the type: generic, derivative, and completely devoid of any actual sentiment, emotion, or creativity. Its what all cards will be if Hallmark ever decides to make a Peter Bugg product line.

Speaking of my favorite allegedly plagiarizing insect, my last little screed where I gave both he and SMoCA equal drubbing, hit way harder than I expected. And by that, I mean my personal e-mail and FB messages lit up like a Christmas tree on acid at a Pragha Khan concert.

This time however, there was more than the usual one or two negative pieces of correspondence that I've become used to as of late. There was six. Yes, six! Not to mention the one fake FaceBook profile created specifically to comment on my anti-Bugg posting located on the Arizona Artists page.

How did I know it was fake?

Well, they had no photo, no info, and no friends listed on their profile at all, yet somehow zoomed right in on me and my comments right off the bat. So given that... and the fact that they fell off the Earth after being called out on it, made me and several others a tad bit suspicious.

But let it be known, "Gordon Bradford", that we all miss you something fierce.

On the upside, between emails and FB insta-messages, the positive responses numbered over 150- somehow, I can force myself to live with that. The best line in regards to Peter was this:

"You know, he did something that I liked once... now I'm wondering who he stole it from."

Classic. The last time I can recall getting this much feedback on something I wrote was when I took on the Phoenix New Times, and that seems like forever and a day ago. Ah, good times... no pun intended. It seems that many of my fellow Creatives share the same dim view I have of Peter's "talent" and SMoCA's artistic "vision", even if they don't always (or ever) agree with my views on anything else.

See, there's always middle ground, you just have to forge ahead and find a commonality that bonds you as a team. But as usual, there's always going to be those who get their Underoos in a bunch over something I said or did, and I can't help that. And even if I could, I probably wouldn't, anyway.

When it gets down to it, I'd rather be right than liked, and it's been my experience that people who usually have a real problem with me and my opinion are typically the type of people I wouldn't want to be trapped in an elevator with.

Yes, that's actually the acid test I use: would I be okay being trapped in an elevator sans Ding Dongs with this person? If not. then us being friends is gonna be a long shot at best. Given my nature to speak my mind candidly, it's not too surprising that becoming my friend only requires two things: loyalty and honesty- two qualities for membership that I generally don't waive for anybody.

This Artbitch does have standards, after all.

Shockingly, it does take a modicum of effort to get onto my spit list- I may be somewhat aggro at times, but I'm not that aggro, if you know what I mean. Despite what some of my critics might think, it's not like I walk around cracking skulls and slicing up people with my tongue on a 24/7 basis.

Sure, recently somebody asked me how did I eat with that switchblade folded up in my mouth, but I'm pretty certain that they meant that as a compliment. And on a more realistic note, who has that kind of time? And more importantly, the energy?

Not me. I'm way too lazy to go on an unchecked smiting spree, and when it comes to the PAS, let's be honest- it would be a full time job given all the candy-assed human speed bumps we're presently dealing with at the moment.

Speaking of which... as it happened, I was out and about last First Friday with my GF Ashley, taking in the local gallery offerings: Pela Contemporary had a strong showing with painter Jason Hugger and sculptors Brad Konick and Thad Trubakoff, {9} The Gallery was showing artists Dino Paul and up and comer Mikey Jackson, and Braggs Pie Factory was host to "Consumerism" an exhibit by members of Phoenix's Eye Lounge Artists' Collective.

All in all, fairly solid shows, and a pleasant night was being had, until we decided to drop in at The Lodge Art Studio, located at 1231 NW Grand Avenue in industrially interesting downtown Phoenix.

The Lodge is home to painter Abby Messmer [http://abbeymessmer.blogspot.com/], painter/sculptor Rafael Navarro [http://www.rafaelnavarroartes.com/] and sketch artist Joe Brklacich, whose website I won't link here due to what I'm about to share.

Now, I've known all three of these artists for the last few years or so- Abby's extremely talented and very nice, but we're not what I would consider good friends, not due to any personality conflicts or anything like that, mind you- we just don't hang out in that context. It's along the lines of she's a much more talented colleague who knows this snarky Artbitch kind of deal.

Rafael on the other hand, I know a little better, we get along relatively well, and I'm a huge fan of his work, which is both innovative and stunning. One day, when my income improves, I plan on knowing several people who can afford to collect him. Rafael is also possibly one of the mellowest Artists I know, being so laid back that if you bottled him, you could market him as liquefied Zen.

And yes, I do mean that with complete and total respect.

Joe Brklacich on the other hand, I can't really tell you anything about. Over the last few years, I've never had more than a handful of conversations with the guy, have never seen his work outside the Lodge, and really have no idea what he believes or represents. I can tell you his website hasn't been updated [at the time of this blog] since December of 2012, so obviously he's exceedingly busy with commissions or juggling kittens- whatever it is that he actually does to make money.

But more on that in a bit.

As I said, Ashley and I dropped in at The Lodge, where I chatted with Rafael a bit about his newest work currently on display and other various sundries, until Joe walked in and asked to talk to me "outside". Some insight: as a rule, whenever anybody asks to see me "outside", I already know that it's going to be most likely a conversation in regards to my writing/attitude/opinion/tone/ or possibly my love of Swedish pop group ABBA.

Either/or. It's a toss-up.

Now, before I start telling you what transpired, be informed that I will also be engaging my standard line by line deconstructionist technique not seen here for quite some time, due to the inherent amount of arrogant stupidity I have to dissect. Much like arsenic, it's best when taken in small doses, so that one can build up an immunity.

So, with that explanation off the table, let's carry on. As I step outside, Joe proceeds to puff up and ask matter of factly:

"You know what your problem is?"

Wow. I have only one? And here I was, thinking that I was just rife with issues. Thanks, you big sweet-talker, you. I feel better about myself already. And damn, if I don't feel prettier too.

"You take everything personally."

Um... yeah, I actually do. It's both a curse and a blessing. Unlike a lot of my contemporaries, I'm actually trying to make a difference by not sitting on my ass waiting like an artsy Rapunzel for my super studly prince to come.

Perhaps it isn't obvious, but I've been writing these first-person narrative blogs for roughly five years now and it's ALWAYS BEEN personal. I see what I regard as obstructions or ethical lapses within my field of Phoenix-centric vision, I say something about it, and that isn't going to change anytime soon... if ever.

When I bring attention to an issue to someone [in this case, Lesley Oliver] who is in a prime position to either address it or kick it upstairs for a management looksee and I'm dismissed like a servant at the Playboy Mansion with a trite and condescending politicians' response, you're damn right I'm going to take it personally.

Focusing my knowledge and personal energy towards the goal of starting a conversation that hopefully changes the playing field, that's what I do. This process involves having to put your own self-interest on the shelf, which is why I can see how it might confuse and enrage you, Joey.

"That's why I un-friended you on FaceBook the first time."

Yep. You read that right. He actually said that. The mind reels.

Two things: first, I'm not a thirteen year old girl, so shunning me on FB is hardly what I consider a banishment to the social Gulag, and second... I wasn't actually aware that we were friends on FB in the first place.

What's next? Going to read my diary and kiss my BGF?

"It so happens that Lesley Oliver is a friend of mine."

As an aside, anytime anyone uses the phrase "So and so is a friend of mine", it's a sure bet that it's a self-righteous rationalization to engage in behavior that otherwise would be called out as dickish at best, asinine at worst.

This may come as a shock, but I too have friends. More than I need, less than I'd like to have, but they all benefit from one thing in common- I stay the f**k out of their personal business unless specifically requested to dive in. See, here's the deal: I automatically assume that as an adult, they can handle their own battles.

I know, I know... I'm weird that way.

And when one takes into account that Lesley is a professional PR person, it's even more ridiculous that Joey assumed he could try and threaten me on her behalf. With all due respect, if that's her chosen field and if I'm the worst person that she's ever dealt with in regards to someone being a bitch to her, then she should just cash in her 401K and become a macramé artist, to the benefit of all parties concerned.

To clarify, I don't believe for one second that Lesley asked Joey to get involved, as it's fairly obvious he took it upon himself to engage me. The level of anger he was dramatically and chivalrously overacting [phrase appropriate] was so ridiculous, I thought for a few seconds there that it was a performance art piece.

If anything. I'd like to think that she'd be truly embarrassed by his high school-esque display of hairless Gorilla chest-thumping. On a more personal note, I guess I should be more impressed, since after all- it is the first time I've ever seen him on a First Friday without a drink in his hand.

But to be fair, I was probably blocking the path to the beer cooler at the time.

"And if you had said what you said about her to her face and if I had happened to be there, I would have punched you in the f*****g face."

Can I ask you a personal favor? Would you please?

Because a punch to my shockingly delicate face couldn't be nearly as painful as that run-on hot mess you believe to be a sentence. All snarkiness aside, are you f*****g serious? Somebody says something about your arrogantly craven buddy and your approach to debating/settling the issue is to threaten them with an act of violent assault?

I just have to ask this simple question Joey- how high/drunk/overconfident are you right now?

First, your unfounded optimism that I would let you attempt to inflict harm on my person without pinning your f*****g empty head to the sidewalk is adorable at best, delusional at worst. Don't get me wrong, your forced faux chivalry is cute and all, but a little absurd- especially when you consider that you're going to need those hands to make art, which you can't do if they've been snapped off your wrists and jammed up your ass sideways.

Just saying.

Given the acidly contentious nature of my writing, I'm not shocked that someone finally threatened me face to face, I'm just surprised that it took this long for somebody to finally do it. Granted, I've always hoped that if and when it happened, it would be by someone more impressive than who I got.

But qualified people are hard to find in the PAS, so it's not too scandalous that I wound up being threatened by a person who has no love for the craft. If you're going to try and scare me, you need
to focus on those things that I find bone-chilling.

Normally, I wouldn't offer up that information, but when it gets right down to brass tacks, I truly want to see the old ways preserved. So in that vein of openness, I put forward this list of what scares the bejesus out of me.

Here goes:

The mere thought of President Sarah Palin. Skinny jeans. Paris Hilton as an actress. Stale Ding Dongs. Earwigs. Clowns. All clowns. Dolls- you know the ones with the dead stare glass eyes and the Linda Blair countenance? People who believe that Jesus rode dinosaurs. People who think science is a conspiracy. The Tea Party. Anyone who is in a "militia" and thinks that they can overthrow the Government with camo and ammo. Cockroaches. Bad pizza. AXE body spray. Nickelback. Sharks in my bathtub. The Boogeyman. My mother in a bikini. My ex-fiance moving in next door. The Tooth Fairy. The Sandman. SMoCA being held in high regard. People who dress up their dog. Waking up naked in a Walmart. Buying something at Walmart. Walmart in general. Zombies. Vampires that sparkle. Lightning. Hellfire. Militant Christians. The upcoming Superman versus Batman movie. Waxing. Constitutionalists who've never actually read the Constitution. Diplomacy. Compromise. Pat Robertson and others of his ilk. The Lifetime Network.


But what I find even more disturbing is this- despite the fact that I made a valid argument in regards to SMoCA's failure to use due diligence where Peter Bugg's outright plagiarism was concerned, his issue [essentially] was that Lesley was butt hurt, and that was why he was mad.

Not because yet another local Arts organization screwed over the PAS community once again, not because situations like this make us [as a whole] look like unprofessional amateurs to serious patrons, no- he was upset that a grown ass woman whose entire job is dealing with sometimes difficult individuals got tagged for what was at best, a spineless rejoinder to a valid question.

It's always been my conviction that it's perfectly fine to get upset- but if you are going to, you should at least endeavor to get mad at the right thing.

As I've said many a time before, there's a reason why "candy-assed" is my favorite euphemism to describe certain members of the PAS, and it only seems to be getting worse with time. I've made note that there exists a specific demographic within this community who don't want to shoulder the burden, but have expectations of reaping the end benefits, nonetheless.

To quote the original Avon Lady, AKA Shakespeare:

"This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."


And Joey's twisted testes hissy-fit just underscores that point. When the opportunity arises to clear the air or have a serious and well-measured debate regarding the crucial topics at hand that afflict our scene, more often than not- this is how it typically unfolds.

Back to the argument at hand...

Chuckling, I then inform Joey that "we are done", as I wasn't going to attempt civil conversation with someone who just threatened me. Granted, there was the qualifier of "if I had been there" to be sure, but at that point, you've lost whatever right you had for me to fake interest in whatever topic you're babbling on about.

Wait a minute, you're asking- aren't you the guy who always says that if you have a problem with something I said or did, to come and find me? Yes. Yes I am.

But there's a subtle crowbar difference between talking to me and talking at me, and I don't cotton to that. If you want to debate some point that I've made, that's great. If you feel the need to open up your conversational gambit with an insult about my Mother servicing random sailors, even better- especially if it's one I haven't heard before and can use next time she condescends to call me.

In addition, if your opening involves magic or card tricks, I'll willingly stay for days. But when threats are issued, be they real or theoretical, that's only going to go one of two ways... either I walk away, or I'll make damn sure you remember my name every time you use a mirror.

You want to debate? Here I am.
Gonna act like a Neanderthal? Go pound sand.

I've got better uses for my energy and intelligence, and they don't involve getting into a fistfight over what is, essentially an argument in regards to my writing sharply constructed words about Art.

Back to the argument, still in progress.

(raising his voice incredulously) "We're done?!?" 

Um... yes. Done. Finished. That's all she wrote. Over and out. Long gone. That's a wrap. Completed. That's all, folks. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Comprende, dipshit?

Oh and by way of additional information, when I turn and start walking away from you, that's what we in the educational business like to call a "visual aid"- it means that no matter how entertaining I may find your rant, I'm off to go converse with a much better type of person.

As I turn to retrieve Ashley (who's still inside the Lodge), he screams at my back:

"Well you can just get the f**k out of my studio, then!!"

You do see the issue inherent within that statement, do you not?

Of course you do, as your brain actually works.

 In order for me to "get out" of his studio, I'd actually have to be "in it" at the time, don't ya think? If one were to get technical, I'd opine that at that moment we were in God's studio, as we were nearly in the parking lot, and without sounding too arrogant- Jesus happens to be my homeboy, so I'm fairly sure I had more pull with his dad at that moment than Joey did.

God may love babies, children, and the drunk- but I'm pretty confident he hates when all three are combined into one mediocre mélange of moronicness. Yeah... I said it. Mediocre. When I think of the term studio, I think of this definition: the working place of a painter, sculptor, or photographer.

What that means to me is this- it's a place where inspiration leads to new works being visualized and then produced, on a consistent basis. This begs the obvious question: what is Joey using the space for exactly?
In all the years I've been going to that particular location, I have never seen any work of his except the same three pencil drawings that have hung there since God knows when.

The other two Artists that he shares space with [Rafael and Abby] seemingly have new work* to look at every time I walk in there, but when it comes to him, it feels like it's been the same weary offerings for every week, month and year of the last decade.
*[Heck... Rafael probably just finished two new paintings and carved four sculptures in the time it took you to read this.]

To be fair, I could be dead wrong about this observation, but I call it as I see it. Literally.

Now I do know that he's connected with a lot of artists in this town (as am I) but I still can't recall seeing anything else he's done... ever. Anywhere. Not Chaos, not any solo show, not any group show I've either been in or attended. That just cannot be right, even as much as I'd like it to be for the sake of my own personal amusement.

Who knows? Maybe he draws under a pseudonym that we can actually spell, or perhaps his commissioned career doesn't require his having to show in galleries, so that's one of the ways it could go, but here's the rub: if that were the case, wouldn't his website reflect his success?

I haven't had a full show in a long while, but my site gets updated at least every two months, and even my diminutive in-house studio has several examples of my work laying around to impress guests when they come over. When I look at Joe and his one third of space, I don't see a studio, I see a mausoleum.


Regarding his banning me eternally from the Lodge, I will have to admit begrudgingly that his plan to enforce it is fiendishly clever in it's simplicity, as I'm pretty sure that his third of the studio just happens to be where the only door is.


Curses! Thwarted again.

In the end, I guess you'll have to make the final call on his significance to this scene, as I've already established what I think of his level of maturity in how he voices his opinion. And while you may not always agree with me or mine, I still wouldn't take the position that issuing threats is the most effective way to resolve conflicts of the Ego or the remaining problems lurking within the PAS.

But what do I know? I'm just an adult trying to school the kids.

And BTW Joey? Integrity just so happens to be a friend of mine.

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.” - Albert Einstein

"Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent." -Isaac Asimov
















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