[ Also - you should know RIGHT NOW that this site is not well-designed with efficiency and speedy loading in mind. It is a totally ideosyncratic production of my abstracted and dyslexic brain. If you are impatient and don't care for personal ramblings without any pretension to intrinsic value - you should go somewhere else now to some site where there'll be a lot of blinkie things and advertisements and blandishments to buy atomic can openers and solar powered sex toys. Which is not a bad idea come to think of it. free idea - have fun. ]
Waiting for the UPS Guy...
(this piece had been deleted from the aol sites for want of space - but now that we've got the space, if you've the patience you get to see it again. ps - i never did get the lost item that provoked the above two images)
The above image was developed on Macintosh computer using MetaCreations Poser, Bryce, and Adobe Photoshop. The site was put up with AOL Press (which doesn't seem to work any more to administer the little 2 MB webspaces they break your supposed 14MB up into and make you jump around like a rabbit on speed to make it work) using a wintelbox type PC which is why it looks this way. No manikins were harmed during construction. Incantations said in front of the UPS transmission chamber are futile, as the bill hasn't been paid in months.
There's nothing here excuses me, but as you now
can plainly see, a poet's come a'creeping, creeping onto this site. There's
no explanation for it other than, he let us camp out in our van ... and what
is more important yet, let us use the toilet.
Paula and i had just come into Santa Fe in the wake of a huge blizzard sometime in the early 1970s - in our vintage 36 horsepower vw van we followed the snowplow up from ALBQ as it cleared one lane from there to where it was normally parked in Emeliano Narranjo's back yard in Espanola. We didn't follow it all the way there though, as it was only a few 100 yards from where the highway goes over the hill past Santa Fe to Chez Rosé - and with Reno and Paula pushing, we got there. The Cohens were more hospitable than you can generally expect on this planet, and i for one never forgot it.
Although our lives didn't intersect all that much in the subsequent 3 decades, our cohort of peers did - and we shared an acquaintance with Reno Kleen and Norma Cross and mostly with Tony Price - whose lamentable and untimely demise brought Rosé and i into contact once more.
I may at some future time once again ride into his living room. I don't think he was writing about us here, but the feeling is right:
A gang of bikers came to see
If they might might spend a month with me
And drove their bikes right in
They parked them on my Persian rugs
And worked on them while taking drugs
Like speed and mescaline.
Well, there's a lot more of that poem in Rosé's new
book, POETRAITS (Synergetic Press - 2001) - and it involves, well -
racy things - sex, fear, bladder pressure ... How could you not be curious?
But here's another taste; a COMPLETE poem ripped untimely from the pages of this freshly minted tome - heartfelt lines Rosé wrote for our mutual friend Tommy Masters (who has been driving Mr. Dylan's tour bus way too damn long, right Gloria?) I first saw this poem on a piece of paper in a motel room in San Diego while we were slumming it with Tommy - swilling Heinie's and chowing Club Sandwiches from room service. Damn near wiped my face with it before i saw the words.
O it's so lonely on the road
My head is bent my body bowed
No one to share this heavy load
I'm in a zero expectation mode
I mount a horse and I get throwed
Got wild oats that I ain't sowed
I'm feeling horny as a toad
I'm in a zero expectation mode
If you click this nifty button representing the cover of Rosés new book, you can see more neat stuff and maybe a picture of the author hisself and other scintillating factiods you'd rather not continue living without the knowing of - or maybe Rosé will read you a poem.
- is simply a great painter. The image below is an "easter egg" he sent me 4 or 5 years back. I don't exactly have his permission to show it to you, but I couldn't resist. Forgive me, Ron...
Also - this guy is so prolific, so precise, so accomplished, and has such a bitchn' website of his own which he maintains with the sort of impeccable attention to detail we all wish the operators of Atomic Energy plants would bring to bear on what they're doing - that instead of pawing through my meager stack of Davises, I'm just going to point you at the White Knight of Abstract Art Sites in America -
One of the lamentable things about the state of ART AND THE INTERNET is that there are so many artists that aren't represented on it. That whining aside - there's still more art available on the net for public viewing than there has ever been in any consumer controlled format in all of human history, and many of the images on the net are reproduced better than the average image in an "art book". Ron Davis and Jim Wrinkle are examples of artists that are using their computers as just another tool in their art box - easily and facilely an extension of the artist's brain as any brush or pen has ever been - a fabulous and complex one, but still just another tool. The "art" is in the artist, and these guys squeeze their computers as hard as any garret dwelling painter ever squeezed a tube of Titanium White. Luddites need not apply (but i'll bet you have a TV and VCR, huh?)
For instance, my friend Jack Kleinberg down in New Orleans has been painting naked women and freeway underpasses for years - in the most fastidious oil you can image. I talked to Jack just a few nights ago and he says "hi", he's having a great time. He's really good - here's one of his paintings below...
The above image is a scan of a photograph Jack sent me. Because of that, I don't know the name of the piece or when he painted it or how big it is. I'm fairly certain it's oil on canvas, because that's how Jack paints. (Jack just told me that he painted it around 1988...)
Whoa! Late breaking ( circa 2000) flash here... Go to Jack's Page to see new images of New Orleans paintings kindly sent by Mr. Kleinberg, who includes a short explanation of why he's a freak. Oops, delete that - should read - of why he hangs out on street corners painting. Hm... sounds like the same thing. Okay, check it out.
...an artist currently living in San Diego, has requested that
I remove the images previously available to you on 'Raul'sPage'. Raul says
sometime in the future he will mount a website more representative of his work.
While I regret the images that have given pleasure to many of his friends as
well as casual browsers are no longer available here, please look for his web
presence elsewhere and elsewhen, whenever he can put down his brushes long enough
to fool around with it.
Still - I find myself not quite able to leave you with nothing of Raul's work to see. I like the image below - sent to me in the US mail as an exhibition announcement - from Raul's very excellent series of paintings - 'Aspectos de la Vida Nocturna en Tijuana B.C.' - too much to take it down. (until he catches me)
On the other hand - if you want to see some of the gory details of the design and construction of a 500,000 "art in public places" type fountain I worked with Raul on (and a more unlikely company would be rare to find), then go ahead and click on the button below and start wading.
Jens' webpresence on dadadata for the masses has been censored. VARIOUS PERSONS (who shall remain un-named to keep them from annoying me about this) FOUND VARIOUS things about the format, or the content, or the writing, or the concept and execution of it - that caused them irremediable cognitive dissonance. Far be it from me to be party to that. If you email me, I will give you a secret password that will let you view compromising pictures of jens with oiled vegetables and small furry mammals.
MARCH 2, 2000
Tony shucked off his mortal coil this morning and we assume hurled his electric form as far and as hard toward the edge of the universe as he could manage. I'm gonna go sit on the pier here in Ocean Beach and drink a beer and eat a Snickers and not think about any of it - just watch the waves roll on past.
Tony Price was another one of those artists about whom the words "another one of those artists" are absolutely stupendously impossible. There is no "another one", and the one that there was got grabbed by the vagaries of fate (some branch of the Huns, or a punk rock group - I forget which) and the contrivance of some pissant leaky artery or other in his brain and torn away 911 style from his mountain redoubt in Reserve, New Mexico (close to Nowhere, Arizona) where he listened not-too-respectfully to the star-voices gathered there late at night (attracted by various Large Scale Arrays) while meticulously crafting the best damn art ever to be wrested from the golem-bowels of the DOE, Los Alamos, the Zia company, and any other entity incautious enough to leave parts of their atomic bombs, cyclotrons, Tokamaks, spacecraft or any other portable (and some not so portable) hardware where he could get his busy brain and hands on it.
I'm confident that wherever the hell Tony is now, he's creeping back up on whatever cosmic plan he had in focus before the aliens struck him down for prying to closely - and may be a lot closer to what he was always looking for and was always sure existed even as the electron emission cloud of his brain hurls itself ever outward in singing octaved harmonies toward the edge of everything and who i personally have no doubt continues to shape complex space in ways it would make most of you puke to even think about.
Gosh Kathy, who'da thought a girl from Starbuck Minnesota would end up on the internet? Who'da thought a girl that scandalized the family by moving to the big city of Minneapolis would go from there to California and then somehow end breathing air so thin at 8500ft you can see all the way from Truchas to Colorado. From your house in Truchas you can see them turning on their TVs 20 air miles west across the Rio Grande Valley in the early shadow from the Jemez mountains and then turn around and see the 13,000+ ft Truchas Peaks glowing just a few miles away. Who'da thought you'd be living off the grid on solar and chopping wood. And still painting. Off again on again but painting. And back we to the first line.
We visited Kathy recently (and were glad to see her son Karl again, it was a pleasure) at her house in Truchas for an afternoon of coffee and cherry pie and - we never did get around to drinking that beer, did we? And saw that Kathy had some recent work around. She likes to paint, and our friend David Morton has been encouraging her. As I poked around in the corners of her house a snapped a few pictures of stuff and Kathy you're just going to have to forgive me if you run into this on the internet and get mad - at least until you can get to a phone and tell me to get it off of here.
Hey Kathy! There it is on the table so - We did drink the beer! Gee, that altitude will get you every time. Folks, in the background is a genuine Ashley Automatic Stove (psst - product placement, do we qualify?)
This fairly reeks of nepotism, but what the heck, even DADADATA have siblings, and they do quite interesting things about which they are variously very proud or somewhat ashamed of. To avoid getting into the free-for-all (why do they call it that anyway?) mudslinging and possibilities of the parties never speaking (don't even ask) to one another as long as they live we will avoid the latter (I said, forget it - we're not going there) category and concentrate on the Art components of their personalities. Since I'm not sure what all we do and since I now have the pictures from Lono, I offer as a teaser the rather remarkable Stained Glass design and construction that my elder sister has obviously and behind our backs - or in front of our backs - been perfecting. Masochism runs in the family, and large scale stained glass work is a good way to exercise it - not to mention getting silicosis and whatever it is they call what happens to you when you mess around with molten lead a lot.
And Why Is He Here? For a not-too-cogent rationale of this seeming departure from all of the other departures, click on the screen of Pete's iMac. It will take you to a lame explanation of why he's here - one in which I try to figure out why we keep hanging out together...
You're just going to have to go to Cynthia's pagette to find out more about what this lady does - it'll be worth your while, because whoever she is, she's an original and you should treat yourself to a looksee. My good friend Reno introduced me to her, and I can for sure say it's been interesting.
If there's time and room, maybe Cynthia'd like to
make some sort of cogent statement about what she's about. On the other hand,
I haven't gotten permission from her to post these images - there could be some
copyright and ownership issues arise from the people that own the pieces I've
loaded lo-res scans and I might have to take them back down. Maybe she'll do
her own webpage.
I scanned a greeting card of some sort to get this one. Good thing too, since I always thought of it as a large painting and now here it turns out that she must have painted it with a 3 hair brush. You can think all sorts of things about this and probably not get anywhere near what Cynthia had in mind.
Died at 6 AM Friday January 15th, 1999 in the Monterey California Community Hospital... A week later his son Sky and his friends Jim Wrinkle and Harvey Fox scattered his ashes at Partington Cove - one of Jay's favorite places - near Big Sur.
Here's Jay Whitehead out in Joshua Tree National Park in 1982, a day when he was doing what he liked doing best - hanging out in in a beautiful place and eating drinking smoking talking hiking and painting with his friends. We miss you Jay...
Here's Jay Whitehead and the usual list of suspects, last seen together in Ocean Beach Ca.
If I could direct your attention to down below this text field
Yes - that's me in front of a VLS
(very large stereogram)
this is a "convergent" stereogram
you cross your eyes
access the cosmic donut
floating around me
- well -
like a halo
And here's some things you can click to go to friend Derricks Demented Friends & Family page.
pictures up for you to see. I guess he's mad at me or something - which is weird, since we've never met one another - or, he's merely getting back at me for sending him all that trash all these years.
Check out the old typewriter pictures - freaky -
and Derrick's youthful madness as a Detroit Iron speed freak at the:
Garbell Home Page
WHAT DO MARK AND PAULA DO?
We laze about and read (many thanks to all the good folks staffing the Ocean Beach Library...), and occasionally turn out the desultory piece of computer code or the odd bit of art and cook and take walks and generally deplore the degree of humankind's incivility to humankind and lament the degeneration of the environment and marvel over the random kindnesses and senseless acts of beauty and gape at the mass of beautiful things still to be seen and spy on birds and fish and animals and read all about their sex lives and try to think about things like what would sea otters watch on television if they could and what do they eat now that all the abalone are gone? That will do nicely for now.
Besides lazing about on the beach in San Diego perfecting our tans and generally ignoring as much of American culture as is possible in a town of about 6 million people (we count Tijuana, and oye amigos, don't take umbrage at this ok?) with 200 cable channels and a squabbling scrum of major league sports organizations, we spend a certain amount of time painting over the rust spots on our cars that arise from the salt the sea breezes bring in. I also spend a fair amount of time not thinking about all the work that needs to be done on our place in Truchas, New Mexico (remember the movie, Milagro Beanfield War ... yup, that's home) which leads to getting homesick for the place - mostly for the friends but also for the food, food, food - clean air and green chili and the great views from our outhouse of the 13,000+ ft Truchas Peaks just 8 air-miles away.
Anyway, there's laws in New Mexico that say you
[a] have to eat green chili 3 times a days and not moan about it too much the
next morning and, [b] be an artist or run an art gallery or carve santeros or
at least lie around on your back and watch the clouds go by (look! there's a
clown. Naw, it's a cow skull. Naw... it's a giant calla lilly...etc) and when
we were recently there fulfilling our duties as New Mexicans by eating green
chili I got a few pictures of paintings and other art things. I'm gonna try
to post em soonest... really. Mostly I was just staring at the people we were
visiting and being heartsick at all the absence of them in my life and trying
to put that together with what it is that we all have to do to make the Universe
run right. OK?
Ocean Beach California is the last to the classic beach towns and should be conserved as a Life-style Preserve so that the next generation of children will have something to shoot for. The developers want to tear it down and make a parking lot or something, but a coalition of bare-chested butt-length blond haired surfers (of both sexes) and 80 year old Little Old Ladies have so far held them off.
Just as there's laws in New Mexico about eating chili, there are laws in Ocean Beach that say you must wear shorts even if it's freezing and that your bicycle shall have an insulated beer holder duct-taped to the handlebars. Flip-flops are almost mandatory unless you're among the unreconstructed hippies and lefties of the birkenstock contingent. You will smile and wave at everyone and if you're driving a car you will stop for pedestrians. Stop by Ocean Beach and watch a sunset and spend some money and then go back home and we'll love you.
So - maybe some more Truchas and OB images sometime. There are a lot more people out there in line too wanting to show their stuff and what's here is here by virtue of FIFO and GIGO and AOL so it's hard to know what will be here. Details at 11:00...
This page will expand and contract like a possum eating its way through a kitchen cabinet full of donuts and Ex-Lax, and at times it will work no better than the Federal Government . So don't whine and complain just go do something else and GET OVER IT! If you run into any links that don't work - don't be so sure - they could be doing something strange to your computer or your wetware brain bits. Maybe they're NOT SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING! What about that, huh? On the other hand, likely something is screwed up since _this is me and it's running on AOL_ ... so...
and finally of course you can email me at email@example.com but you'd better meticulously craft your missive to our board of reviewers exacting standards and furthermore use the words DADADATA in the subject field or I'm apt to DELETE IT with all of the other ejunk / spam that comes to this address, which I am certain the computer wonks and weenies at AOL are doing their best to curtail since it would be a shame if we all bailed on them and they lost track of all that nice money...
PS - If I die now you'll have to keep looking at these same pages until my estate stops paying my AOL bill, which could take quite a while - so, wish me well folks!
[ Well - ok, some of the above is no longer true - although the contact information is - hmm - sometimes true but if you persist you can get in touch - and i'll edit it when i get around to it. You may have noticed you're being served this from dadadata.ws since aol got so crudded up with spam and other things and anyway the way they whacked your webspace up into 2MB chunks one for each screen name was a serious joked - and other things have happened too - and i can't think of what they are ]
For some reason, although paged in AOLPRESS and posted from a wintelbox pc this looks a lot better on Netscape than on Microsoft (ugh) Explorer. Expectedly - the graphics look better on a wintelbox since I overcompensated in the gamma tweaking department and everything looks great on the PC and sorta washed out on a mac. I'll do better - sometime - maybe. Or maybe I'll just reverse the process and make it look good on the Mac instead, since most of my _real_ friends have macs...