Monday, October 20, 2014

Bluegrass: Kingman pickin in the vines

The bluegrass festival off the route 66 near Kingman in the Stetson winery was delightful. With several people from Chloride present we enjoyed the atmosphere and the music. We started out at 10 am with gospels performed by the The Central Valley Boys. Peter Hicks on the violin was remarkable. They performed several songs in  the traditional style as a sign of respect to Vern Williams. So we  were treated with Oh Suzannah! and Bald knob Arkansas.

After this really fitting Sunday  morning Gospel bonanza the Snap Jackson & the knock on wood players gave us a brilliant set. The banjos stirred up memories of Tony and Norris playing and the ballads made me think of Dave... Americana, Bluegrass, souls blends in to a fresh new sound. The musicians have fun on stage and so did the audience.

The last set we listened to was performed by The get down boys out of Los Angeles. The rhythms and their own songs are just excellent. I also appreciate that they support new movements in Bluegrass. The sound people are musicians in their own right and went up on stage at one point.... In this set the vocal harmonies were just stirring and moving. Also note the mountains in the background...

Chloride old miners day parade

Selling items for good causes is always part of the festivities of Old Miner Day.
The bake sale is impressive, the choice is incredible, rum cake, upside down pineapple cake, oatmeal cookies, peanut cookies, brownies, cinnamon cookies, law fat, splenda cake for diabetics, chocolate chip cookies for all of us. Of course women do a lot of work, hammering and decorating, you name it.Of course there is the parade with old cars, Shriners, the local volunteer fire department and even  the election was part of it. Local play actors dressed up for the occasion.




Friday, October 17, 2014

Hypocorisma

As an avid reader of Daily Writing Tips, I just discovered that when I named my small dog 'Doggy Dog' that I committed a hypocorisma, which is a diminutive and a pet name. It can also be a diminutive name or an altered name. I didn't call her 'bow-wow' though. Altering a name, or just addressing some one as 'dear' can be rather condescending if one doesn't really know the person. Small children and elders are often addressed with hypocorisma... which can be insulting or infantilising... depending on the situation. So normal speech is more respectful, it avoids the dumbing down of the person spoken to.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Steve Storz: loops: Part II

The pump to the right has the hose hanging sleekly down. The small
pump's hose is tangled up and has texture, wear and tear. "It has become an dynamic tangle with tremendous cracks and splits and ocher tubes inside" states Steve; this is more interesting to me. I want to tell stories about it: mysterious strong use and exposure to the elements? It is challenging to create a look like that which yet is authentic, giving  the art piece a look of decay and use, wear and tear. Some one pointed out to Steve that his work was apocalyptic. I feel it is post apocalyptic because his work is renewal of what has been damaged, destroyed or
 neglected. In his work Steve likes to elude to as many as possible reasons for why it looks as it does. The after effect in a piece can address all the imaginable causes.
The fetish pieces can refer to old windows with katsinam and cobwebs and insects. One day Steve wants to create his own glass vessels with extra bulges.... guarding the mysteries of it. I wanted to create something that is lasting and I want to protect them. Some work will not last: it will fall apart with the power supply, the red lights, water and snow and all that.
The magic of beauty is the immediacy of bringing together different elements.

Note the quality of the different lines, how they adhere to the paper or lay on the paper.
Steve works on his technique and it shows in the feeling emanating from the drawings.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Electro motive fetishes: A vision by Steve Storz. part I

Steve opened our conversation with: "I had a very clean living, my mother always had the house in order. The streets were covered with white shells and not with gravel, living near the ocean. I would sift through these shells and one day I found a small rusty piece of metal among them. I was fascinated and I took it with me and dropped it in my drawer. More and more pieces came and it became a box full of stuff, found objects, and the art evolved from that.
An artist has a vision about what he or she is doing. So Steve sculpts with steel and electronics and drawings. There are different sources of inspiration: man made, objects from nature
all of it mixed up in his mind. From natures it may be rock formations, twisted roots and his mind brings them together making new objects of them.
Things, yet what things? Steve is not content in re-expressing things as they are in the most common sense. It becomes a mixture of what we routinely see in our life. He clarifies: How that life affects me causes me to blend the emotional, spiritual and physical into  a new construction. All that happens in my imagination. Sometimes I think of things ahead of time and then I sketch them out. It can be a rack of coils, yet stacked up it is more interesting.
Success, says Steve, is when I have created something that mystifies me and if the public is also mystified. What they see may have nothing to do with my intent. More and more I have made an effort to create my own material sometimes on the basis of found objects like old pieces of vacuum hose or electronics. What happens when I create a version of an object it feels like creating an artifact that never ever really existed. Yet there was a basic object I have seen. Creating these found objects is very satisfying.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Stein's Tender buttons in the desert


I
The desert

So full of life even in the space around the plants and all that prickles our tender buttons – Buttons pushed I listen to you tube about Stein - I have a hard time reading her work but listening to people reading her and speaking about her work then she gets to me, through to me. So the desert becomes my cultural landscape with its loose arrangement of life and lifeless – both as good, as necessary, open, dangerous, fractured in grandiose unity. Desert is a word, a word pointing to sand rock plant and the size of land. Can the word paint or point, refer, represent, not yet I know the names of all the rocks and all the tints of beige rust brown... Stein get very close to representing through her words.

II
Desert Dry

Dry raging floods have passed, disturbing, changing, sifting grains of sand. Desert is a language I don’t fully know nor understand. I know not fully in my foolishness cactus, cat claw, mesquite rosemary, Joshua tree, creosote, shifting sands, rocks, dead branches supporting life, yet I have my garden weeded on the edge, branching off of thoughts dead ends, barbed wire concentration camps. Tracks, traces, tramping of feet, paws, always change changing and dangerous beauty not reflecting in dry raging living. The separation of being alive in an alive changing place – standing still alive in an alive changing place – wandering thoughts among the standing still. Buttons pushed should be joyful – fearless, light, befriending slipping shadow – in the desert- not through the desert, over, next to --- just in the desert is a home –

III
Desert days

The long days of friends, talk and walk relentless repetition of 23 years, two ears. All town yard sale- bought a peace sign made by a city hippie, signaling, signing my intent. In this small town no treasure hunt, no treasures to be found but sharing, but loneliness on the dry air. Books, reading, absorbing Modpo 2014, drinking it all thirstily, parched as I am. Where is the world – In a book, in Tender Buttons – under desert blues and skies – No color but rock and sand under cerulean skies, sands sifting lies –

IV
The desert

Dan knows a bit about water, water pipes and repairing. He knows all about the civil war – traces his heritage back to decorated men and mostly unknown women – women giving birth after seven months, burying husbands and children. He knows about black powder, Harley’s, selling his to stay afloat - - - floating desert, mirages of trembling sun of airy words which don’t want to settle, sink in, in the soul – His loneliness pointing at drowning in dry sand.

V
Desert night

The dark inhabitance of desert nights. Stars. The sun reflecting on the moon and the dark inhabitance of timid thought spreading, spreading in dark drunken flow. The secret plenitude of the loneliness of words when Stein's difference is spreading in sound, accent, un-pointing to reference or meaning yet meaningful – Desert my abstract painting, un-resembling. Words embracing a dry wash.

VI
Not resembling

The desert is the desert, not resembling anything but itself. This is occupation. My occupation, deranging, pitting word against object. The desert distance separates, rearranges, reappearing strangely orderly, in its permanence of occupation. The Dickinson desert gathering paradise... for occupation this, decidedly different than Stein. Gertrude Stein gets an inspiration – This – This is – This is sand, circling in the wind, wind circling sands. This is – this is morning – this is evening – here is sand - where is the sandman.
So much depends upon a dry wash
Flowing
Flooding
So I am sand
The difference disappearing
in a grain of life –

VII
Influence

Influenced by Dickinson and Stein after looking at the desert for 23 years, noticing its rhythmic changing work of water and wind, of time passing into now again – The desert always differentiating in its collapsing washes, the mysterious lake after the monsoon in the repetitive rearrangement of  the element of wood-herbs-sand-stone-plant-bone. The desert, a home for now, changing me as I write about the flow rearranging grains of sand.

For lack of words of gratitude,

Annmarie Sauer
Thuesday October 7
Modpo 2014
 

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Under the cover of clouds... bloodmoon solar eclipse

I have been taking pictures of the sunsets... yet the remnants of a tropical storm hid the spectacle of the bloodmoon ecliptse ...


This morning tropical storm rain...

Bloodmoon lunar eclipse
hidden
shrouded clouded
envelopped
in tropical storm
rains


Harvest moon
rising
amids the constellations
and later
the hunter's moon
brings closure
consolation

The skies
unwelcoming
witnessess
standing in darker rain

Smell the moisture
in the air
Feel, fill the thirst of earth