LA gets a piece of Glen Ligon.

Glen Ligon's work is smart, it is beautiful, it is a commentary on black America, it will be on show in a mid-career retrospective at LACMA starting Sunday.

Consider the following part non-sequitor and part warning. Glen Ligon is a Wesleyan graduate. This is a general guarantee of awesome.

Radical Face plays LA tonight.

Radical Face has no pretensions. You can hear it. You can see it in Ben Cooper's unkempt facial hairs and the clear freedom in his bad button down shirts. Radical Face is powerful and makes gorgeous sounds. Radical Face plays LA tonight at the Bootleg Theater. Let's go.

Beautiful things happening at the tarpits.

I've been having stronger than usual feelings lately that I want to be enveloped by beautiful art and beautiful sounds and beautiful people. How lucky for me that Tarfest is happening tomorrow at the La Brea Tarpits and all of the above will be in plentiful supply. And for free. One can't beat beautiful things for no money at all.

I'm excited for:

Sounds by Saint Motel and Everest

Live art curated by the Merry Karnowky Gallery and featuring Deedee Cheriel, Edward Walton Wilcox, and Vox Humana artists Augustine Kofie and Shark Toof.

Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, some of my favorites.

RIP Troy Davis.

The United States government--the one that aims to create peace in every other nation on this planet beside our own--should feel something far more devastating than shame for its actions yesterday.

I am not a religious person and I do not believe in an afterlife. But Troy Davis did. And so, Mr. Davis, I hope that you rest in peace.

[NY Times: Troy Davis Executed]

Tonight.

 

To be concise: Lykke Li makes beautiful sounds that I want to listen to.

Appreciating Richard's art in this digital age.

We live in a time when you can search for 'farm art' on Google (there was a reason at the time for my interest in agriculture art beyond time wasting on the internet, I assure you), come up with an image like this, fall in fast love with it, and then contact its maker via Twitter within minutes to inquire. Of course, sometimes the artist might reply to you with a complete loss of words himself for when he made it, where it is, or how I might get my hands on it. But, as I live in this modern time as well, I can drag it, drop it, and upload it to share with you all in this digital archive of Things. I. Love.

So, enjoy. And, you're welcome.

And, of course, thank you to Richard Hogg for creating a piece that moves me so. Even if he doesn't know where its original is.

Your girl got dicked by Ricky Powell. Photos on display.

 

 

 

Ricky Powell (well, his photos) are coming to LA. Actually, they're here. Tomorrow night, House of Exposure presents 'Dicked by Ricky Powell.' As the Beastie Boys so elegantly put it:

Homeboy, throw in the towel Your girl got dicked by Ricky Powell

Photos from $250 - $2000. 8 1/2" x 11" prints of the famous Basquiat/Warhol pic for $50. Lollipops with Basquiat and Warhols' sillhouettes. Priceless. But at this event, $10.

 

What? You want more news about future exhibits of awesomeness and limited edition wonders? Well, sign up for House of Exposure's mailing list.

A lullaby by Little Joy.

To my friend who introduced me to Little Joy and to this song, I cannot offer enough thank yous. If lullabies were written for the children in all of us, I would ask to be rocked to sleep nightly to this sweet, sweet song.

Shed rather be scarred than be scarred with love.

Matisse on a Sunday.

I've spent much of my Sunday watching--on and off--the BBC Modern Masters episode on Matisse. I could have done worse, I suppose. I could have spent my day watching straight-to-DVD films with Heather Graham [like I did yesterday]. But today I opted for a little culture--60 minutes to be exact--drawn out with breaks and breakfast and naps. And the English accent of the BBC's narrator gives the pretense of grandeur and sophistication to my YouTube video streaming, I think, and sophistication and grandeur were exactly what my Sunday called for.

A few faves, newly appreciated after my studious Sunday telly watching.

Touched by a tot.

This week a child touched me. Not metaphorically, but really. She actually reached out and touched me. It happened on Larchmont. I was holding a bright blue wallet and she waddled on up--this adorable little girl--and she just touched my hand and stared at me and smiled. It happened on Thursday.

The world is a magical place for a child on a Thursday on Larchmont when a woman who must appear very old to her--and tall too--meanders down the street holding a fabulously bright color in her hand.

Music is my boyfriend.

At least it's about to be. I just downloaded Spotify. It's saying hello to America. So I figured the least I could do in the name of America, was say hello back.

I'm looking forward to seeing how/if/when the new service changes the way I consume music. Like, perhaps I'll start to appreciate Gaga or something. Though probably not.

Coveting: Death and the Maiden

Perhaps it is not every girl's desire to hang a 34" portrait of a skeleton in full embrace with a svelte blonde above her desk. But something's got to fill the space left by the removal of what was once a 5' tall upside-down Jesus which proudly and with great Jesus-like stoicism graced my now barren wall panel for nearly 4 years. And what better to replace one painted icon which made people incredibly uncomfortable than with another--equally awkward, if not sacrilegious--piece of art.

I want this print by Edward Walton Wilcox. I want it now. I want it framed and wrapped in a black bow that offers just a hint of the gothic nature of the subject inside. I want to enter my studio and fall asleep each night with the image of undying--or already dead as the case may be--love reminding me of life and living.

Death and The Maiden
giclée on canvas
edition quantity: 25
28” x 34”

Available at the Merry Karnowsky Gallery.

It's Saturday and your life is not that bad.

It's Saturday morning and I'm in Florida and it's humid as a sauna in a broke down spa in the Tropics. And I've complained a bit, I'll admit, in the last 36 hours about the temperature and the permanent dew that has affixed itself to my face and the hairs that won't stop frizzing, even on my arms.

But then I saw this picture this morning--from my air conditioned accommodations--and understood [though I already knew it] that the heat in Boca Raton, Florida is not that bad. At least not when you're merely hopping from hotel room to convertible to manse on the water.

The caption beneath this photo in the LA Times...

Peshawar, Pakistan — A young girl with her head partially covered with flies stands outside her family home on the outskirts of the city, in northwest Pakistan.

To be in your wee years, and to know flies on your small head--that is bad. That is terribly, cruelly bad.

[Image Credit: Fayaz Aziz / Reuters via LA Times]

Kate Bush danced like she wanted to.

30 some odd years ago, the music video hadn't yet developed its affinity for special effects, half naked girls, and cameos by film stars. It was unrefined and shot in one take in the woods with its star in a modest, long red dress and dancing like she's never danced before [and thankfully not many have danced since].

Questionable dance moves aside, the song is beautiful. And beauty's something modern day music doesn't always promise nowadays either.

The spectacular Ryan McGinley and his subject's spectacular butt.

Take away the spectacularness of the buttocks of the man pictured above and what you're left with (those of us who are decent and good and not completely sexually deviant and can take our eyes away from such perfect buttocks) is the spectacularness of this photograph by Ryan McGinley on display now at LA's new OHWOW Gallery.

Group Exhibition: Post 9-11
June 30 - August 27, 2011

OHWOW Gallery
937 N. La Cienega
Los Angeles, CA 90069

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Buh-bye for now KCMO.

On Friday night I said farewell--not forever, just for a hopefully brief amount of time which we won't even think about because it pains us too very much--to the people and places which I have become so very fond of over the last 7 weeks. On First Friday, which was to be my last Friday, I saw some things and some people. The things and people I saw included but were not limited to: musicians making music on the street wearing masks, attracting people, art--a lot of great art--by friends new and old[er], friends, crowds of people as or more excited than me to be outside on a beautiful night in KCMO, bakers baking bread at Fervere--one of whom sold me a loaf to take home to my mother in New York despite their being closed and us being in their way and all...

Thank you Kansas City for a totally rocking, life changing, mind-altering 7 weeks with you. You will not soon, not never be forgotten. Mostly because I intend to return to you sooner than later and possibly sooner than you'd even like.

The Impossible Girl lands in Kansas City.

Sometimes you see a band in a big stadium and the impact of the light show and the surround sound and the power of thousands of fans all swaying to the same beat proves overwhelmingly beautiful. And occasionally you sit on the floor of a small lingerie boutique and watch a girl and her guitar perform in the dressing room and you well up a little bit. Because that's pretty beautiful too.

Thanks to Peregrine Honig for hosting Kim Boekbinder at Birdies this week and introducing me to a great new artist. Kim Boekbinder is from NY and just spent several months in Australia and I discovered her in the Crossroads District of Kansas City, Missouri.

And thanks to Kim for penning a diddy about Facebook stalking. We all do it. No one should be ashamed...

How to make it in America.

When you're working on a show about America, it is easy to get patriotic. You see enough American flags and energetic fervor around them and you start to believe the hype. Which is a good thing. But America: Now and Here isn't just about hype and it's not about patriotism. It's about a dialogue and a conversation.

And it is probably not a coincidence that this song has been on repeat on each of my Apple music devices over the last several weeks.

Charles Bradley, I couldn't have started a more universally engaging conversation had I tried. Which I might have. But didn't have to. Cause this song does it so superbly.

Why is it so hard to make it in America?

Please enjoy Bradley's dance moves around 2:30 and 4:30 responsibly.

Days Off, Kansas City Style.

For some people, the weekend is defined by Friday night through Sunday evening. From this general assumption of what a weekend means comes the phrase 'Thank God It's Friday.' From that phrase comes the ABC Friday night television sitcom series from many of our childhoods, 'TGIF' (do we not all remember 'Family Matters' and 'Step by Step' sandwiched between or around 'Full House'? Oh gosh, we sure do). But for those of us who are in production, the weekend comes not very often or not at all and certainly not on the days others might expect it to.

Well, this past Monday and Tuesday, I got my first chance to enjoy a 'weekend' in Kansas City. And enjoy it, I did.

Some highlights.

Loose Park. Oh, how I love a park. I love, love, love a park. I'd heard some great things about Loose Park. It almost completely lived up to its expectations.

Near the Kansas City Art Institute...sponsored by H&R Block (um, oh wow, really?!)...this amazing public art piece. The irony is debatable. The art, super cool.

I swung by my friend, Beniah Leuschke's studio. He is a genius. He is a wordsmith. He is an artist. He is awesome and though this moldy seat does his work no justice, his work is rad and you must check it out.

I love Kansas City. I love my KC weekends whether they're on Saturdays or Mondays or once a month or only from 11 p - 5 a in the mornings. I will take advantage of every moment of free time I have here. I will weekend it up every hour I have off.

I put the I--twice--in Missouri.

When I signed on to manage production for an art tour I didn't really know much about, I figured I'd make the best of seven paid months exploring America. I'd take a couple of road trips on my days off, get to know the landscape of the Midwest, and write long entries into my yet untitled book during long nights to myself.

Three weeks ago I moved to Kansas City, still unsure of the city's placement on a map, let alone which state it belonged to.

Kansas City has turned out to be the kind of place that surprises you. It's not near the ocean and the street signs are poorly distributed. People are slow and they seem to want to talk rather than rush you through the line. Favors are asked in person and new friends drop by with gifts of strange fruits and common candies.

There are, amongst the barbecue establishments, a number of great restaurants in Kansas City. There are more independent coffee shops than Starbucks per the average block. People introduce themselves and then they run into you again and again and they probably remember your name.

I am currently living in Kansas City, Missouri. I am here for America: Now and Here.

The journey starts here. It starts on Friday.