After All, You Can't Take It With You

Leaving Before the Encore

I am so everything. I am everywhere. I so remember having life experiences where camera phones weren't so prevalent. Now? In our pockets. Every f*cking one of them. But just the other day I had a flashback. Maybe from deep inside my own hermetic bubble, but still, I thought of a concert from the old days. Everyone there was so excited. The band, the intimate crowd or audience. The sound resonating between the participants in that experience. All of it.

You had to be there. Maybe you were. But maybe, these days, you don't have to be present. I fear this because we can later open the app and scroll through endless videos that all cut out just when it was getting pretty good.

Who knows? Maybe it is the stuff of legend? Passed down via oral history. Or by your favorite music mag. Or by everyone's camera phone?

I ask the question: is it the contemporary culture? Everything is everything. Me. Available. I'm a photographer. I write articles. I interview bands. I am content. I'm a promoter. I'm an influencer. A mover and a shaker. Old. Bitter. Obsolete. 

I am everything. I am so a photographer. Won't you participate.

Smile!

Side A

Side B

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So here are the ingredients for a new series (and how to use them):

Stray, salvaged wood/furniture. 

(here's where the strings come in. No one wants your dust any longer. Not even me. Oh ok, just this once).

Masking tape.

(Mask your feelings. Then apply masking tape to preserve the past. Mummify, baby! Increase monetary value. After all, you can't take it with you? Historical significance).

China marker.

(Task at hand. Don't damage the goods, nor its surface integrity. You can take back what you said, just buff it out. Got it? I like orange as a color).

Techniques and methods. Desires and outcomes:

Cartoon image of a person. Probably a self-portrait. Ok, it is. Also borrowed from my field research, an archeological expedition I witnessed, and recent art history. 

Hindsight delivered. Regarding the stale, late-stage, tanking of online platforms. Those that once were sacred and useful for artists and musicians. Not to forget those who seek and find said art and music mediums. We miss you. Sorry, it's over. 

Closing remarks and notes:

What does this piece even mean? The writing is on the wall. Surely there must be a conclusion, or solution I can offer. Especially after such criticism, though a little late I agree. All I can say is that it's tangible, and analog, even. In fact, I live with it. I created it over the course of interactions with the very thing I poke fun at. And once I felt it was time to share my visual reaction and document it the time was late and the sun had gone down so here we are. A poor-quality camera phone pic is all you get, mostly. Aren't you glad you clicked or tapped away from fb or insta to get here?

If nothing else, this piece is fun. And somehow traditional. Old-school in its materials and techniques, and perhaps even concept, and at this point... already been done. But we can all relate to the message, and I hope, got a little chuckle, and a good cry.  

Finally, now that I have defended and explained my position on the matter, and took all of the air out of it, I hope you will revisit the piece above. All the while disregarding what you have read, and take it all in now that I have laid it all out. 

No more f*cks to give. 

Please look out for this drawing in a show coming soon. Thank you. And I hope to see you in person in the very near future.

 

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