Bess - Spring/Summer 2011 from Bess NYC on Vimeo.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Friday, 28 January 2011
Slater the Machine - Malice Media
FROm Malice Media
Got lucky enough to be the only person shooting when Slater paddled out at pipe yesterday. The dude is a machine.
Heres an edit I put together from the session with a few clips of Nils and Eric G.
Got lucky enough to be the only person shooting when Slater paddled out at pipe yesterday. The dude is a machine.
Heres an edit I put together from the session with a few clips of Nils and Eric G.
Check more at: www.Malicemedia.blogspot.com
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Bob Penuelas - Wilbur Kookmeyer
San Diego, California
- visit: www.wilbur-kookmeyer.com
- buy: www.mckibbenstudios.com
- email: info@wilbur-kookmeyer.com
Born and raised in San Diego, California, Bob Penuelas learned to draw at an early age by his father, a technical illustrator. In Bob's younger years he was heavily influenced by the satirical humor of MAD Magazine. Later in his early teens he learned to surf and soon combined his art with his love for surfing. At that time he was influenced by Rick Griffinwhose artwork regularly appeared in Surfer Magazine.
Penuelas began his career as a comic strip artist with the creation of the "Maynard and the Rat" strip for Surfer Magazine in 1980. Between 1980 and 1985 he produced twenty-five, two-page episodes for Surfer.
In 1985, while working on a "Maynard" strip, Bob introduced a dorky little character named Wilbur into the strip. The laughable, little beginner surfer struck a chord with the surfing public and there was a tremendous positive response from the readers. By 1986, Wilbur had totally eclipsed the "Maynard" strip and the title was then changed to "Wilbur Kookmeyer".
Surfing for almost thirty-five years, Bob has always found limitless inspiration for fresh ideas and characters while out in the water. The driving force behind the success of the strip is Bob's ability to satirize the style and the people he knows so well.
Through the years Wilbur Kookmeyer has gained a strong underground following and has become the unofficial mascot for surfers all over the world. In 2006, after twenty years and seventy-four episodes Penuelas decided that it was time for Wilbur to finally paddle into the sunset. Though the comic strip has been retired as a regular feature in Surfer Magazine, the name and legend of Wilbur Kookmeyer will undoubtedly live on among the pantheon of surf legends and heroes.
Penuelas is now making some of the Wilbur Kookmeyer comic strip originals available to collectors exclusively through Mckibben Studios. Bob has also released a series of posters, which are reproduced from some of the most classic strips. To see the collection go to www.mckibbenstudios.comor email orders@mckibbenstudios.com for more info.
Check more surf art out at: http://www.clubofthewaves.com/surf-artist/bob-penuelas.php
No Eddie but lots of HYPE at Waimea Bay Hawaii
Blank City
New York City in the late 1970s was a city near bankrupt from the US economic stagnation where electricity blackouts, poverty, spiraling welfare debt and crime rates soared. However, this proved fertile ground for a flourishing community of confrontational artists, musicians and filmmakers.
Taking a punk, do-it-yourself approach, these artists picked up super 8 cameras and began to turn them on themselves and their friends. Artists such as Jim Jarmusch, Nick Zedd, Richard Kern, Lydia Lunch and Amos Poe debuted early works to an audience of their peers. Imbuing their art with a poetic anger they carved out a nihilistic, street-level aesthetic that left an indelible mark on the art world.
Full of interviews with the major players and rarely seen footage, BLANK CITY looks at how this explosion of creativity dubbed No Wave Cinema and Cinema of Transgression has lost none of its raw power and the shock-waves still reverberate today.
Check more out at http://www.qualitypeoples.com/
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
OuT Looking In
Lightning flickers in the distance. The eyes are seen through the window shades as sweat drips from my forehead. I lay in bed pondering thoughts of the day, the night, and what is to come. The fan spins on high clicking and spattering all possible cool air into the room. The light on the porch shines as the distant ships do as they do floating along the distant horizon. The skin on my body feels, as I am nub from the medication that was proscribed. The mood is still and thought provoking with out an understanding of the thoughts that flow through the mind. Is it good or bad that you cannot put your finger on it? On what that is? What you are thinking? Love and life seem to consume the heart and the mind in a moment. You get use to routine and when that routine is broken we feel lost. When the routine happens day after day we become discombobulated without thoughts, but just action of doing what ever equals the specific plague that is done to one self.
M-
Friday, 14 January 2011
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
DRiNK IT DowN
If I could touch you through this looking glass I would drink you down.....
Scattered emotions sink pirate ships as the ocean currents spin in circles pulling old wood planks down and up creating sounds of dreams that are yet to be. Hear the distant sounds from ladylove’s light trying to guide a ship to treasure that only exist through eyes of the same. Mother ocean and father time please grant this life line. She glows like the sun through tattered sails bringing songs with bebop melodies. Melted hearts bobbing and weaving from the truth that is faced. Melodic melodies skip beats as the ocean DJs remix my world to play warm vibrations and smooth sensations. The faint sound of hearts thump and closeness of lips splash passion that bump. Permanent tattoos stab new experiences that cannot erase.
bY:M
Scattered emotions sink pirate ships as the ocean currents spin in circles pulling old wood planks down and up creating sounds of dreams that are yet to be. Hear the distant sounds from ladylove’s light trying to guide a ship to treasure that only exist through eyes of the same. Mother ocean and father time please grant this life line. She glows like the sun through tattered sails bringing songs with bebop melodies. Melted hearts bobbing and weaving from the truth that is faced. Melodic melodies skip beats as the ocean DJs remix my world to play warm vibrations and smooth sensations. The faint sound of hearts thump and closeness of lips splash passion that bump. Permanent tattoos stab new experiences that cannot erase.
bY:M
AbOUT ARaKI
SEE More at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobuyoshi_Araki
Araki was born in Tokyo, studied photography during his college years and then went to work at the advertising agencyDentsu, where he met his future wife, the essayist Yōko Araki (荒木陽子). After they were married, Araki published a book of pictures of his wife taken during their honeymoon titled Sentimental Journey. She died in 1990. Pictures taken during her last days were published in a book titled Winter Journey.
Having published over 350 books by 2005,[1] and still more every year, Araki is considered one of the most prolific artists alive or dead in Japan and around the world. Many of his photographs are erotic; some have been called pornographic. Among his photography books are Sentimental Journey (1971, but later reissued),Tokyo Lucky Hole (1985), and Shino.[vague]
In 1981, Araki directed High School Girl Fake Diary (女高生偽日記 Jokōsei nise nikki), a Roman Porno film for Nikkatsu studio.[2] The film proved to be a disappointment both to Araki's fans, and to fans of the pink film genre.[3]
The Icelandic musician Björk is an admirer of Araki's work, and served as one of his models. At her request he photographed the cover and inner sleeve pages of her 1997 remix album, Telegram. More recently, he has photographed pop singer Lady Gaga. Araki's life and work were the subject of Travis Klose's 2005documentary film Arakimentari.
His works are held in numerous museum collections including the Tate[4] and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.[5]
Check more Photos at http://www.artnet.com/artist/1592/nobuyoshi-araki.html
Check more Photos at http://www.artnet.com/artist/1592/nobuyoshi-araki.html
Monday, 10 January 2011
Saturday, 1 January 2011
People we meet aBout Ventiko - www.ventiko.com
It was cold, very cold. My finger nails were blue (well maybe not but it makes for a better story) and my fingerless gloves were red like my glasses.
Papa and I were on the bank of the Broad Ripple Canal shooting mallard ducks. I hate mallard ducks.
I was nine years old, awkward, dorky and the new kid in town. My father gave me the gift of a Pentax K1000 and it became the tool to help me interact with others and simultaneously express my human experience.
A dozen years later, while attending John Herron Art School, a professor suggested I search out Mr. Tony Clevenger of Quarter Moon Photography. I did and he became my mentor.
Everything I know about photography he taught me. What I learned was not just to be an assistant, but to become a photographer. With his encouragement and support I quit art school and moved to New York City to pursue photography as a career.
Currently I live in Bushwick, Brooklyn and live and work in my loft which I share with two cats, Eva and Zsa Zsa.
Classical literature and painting has had a great impact on my early understanding of the human condition. Often I incorporate similar archetypes in my work. This year's has included my cats, my taxidermic peacock, head forms and dead animals.
The first attached work is The Capture and Freeing of Me 2010 is my first self portrait and was inspired by Rembrandt's The Capture and Blinding of Samson. It was first shown at the Juried Kinsey Institute 2010 Art Show.
The second, The Lady of Shalott, is a piece inspired by Poet Laurete Lord Alfred Tennyson's poem of the same name. His 20 stanza iambic pentameter masterpiece is my favorite poem. I am drawn to the melodrama and frustration of the beauty of isolation. " I am half sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott." Something about this beautifully poignant line has mesmerized me since I have been a young lass. his photograph will be represented by Joanne Artman Gallery at Photo L.A. 2011.
The poem in its entirety can be found here:
Ventiko
Check more at www.ventiko.com
DeaD Man- Johnny Deep - Neil Young - William Blake
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
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