Photography- A poem

Photography,

Photo journalistic,

Everyday, realistic.

Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,

Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.

Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.

News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.

Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,

Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,

Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,

Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.

Cheap whore, digital manipulator, image poser,

Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.

Where did they go:

Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,

C-type, digital archival,

Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.

Image addict,

Image taker,

Image maker,

image seller,

image buyer.

Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,

TV, dreams, even the trash.

Billboards, subways, phones and buses:

Utopia:

Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.

Modern ideal.

Surface manipulator.

Brain conditioner.

Consent manufacturer.

Oh Photography,

I got you in my eye.

A few thousand dollars,

A BFA, A critical scholar.

Or maybe a nerd,

Just boys with toys.

Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.

Studio lights, umbrella traction.

Oh Photography,

You proprietor of obscene.

Detailed, de-sensitized.

Court ordered, jury analyzed.

Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.

Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,

An internet media overdose.

Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.

Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.

Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.

Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.

Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.

Exacerbate:

Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.

Devour and captivate society for years.

Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,

Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.

Space and Action

In a recent reading of J.D Ballard I was compelled to research secret space experiments on the internet. I came across this video footage from an Apollo expedition and a large amount of material regarding a seen UFO. I have no doubt in my mind about the existence of alien beings. Perhaps not the cliché of Hollywood, but for sure, we are just a Petri dish amongst a vaster then comprehensively possible space.

Our wars with each other and our technology to dominant pales in comparison to the things going on outside of this bubble, and perhaps if we concluded our primitive games with each other and invested the time and technology we could have better understanding of ourselves in the context of a greater reality. Perhaps we could even begin to understand the mythologies past from generations of migrating animals, such as dolphins and whales. They might be able to give us clues to answering mysterious questions. Maybe not directly, but perhaps in the secrets of their behavior and the psychology in their reasons, it is up to us to decipher and conclude. Then to re-decipher and re-conclude until it works.

But this civilization does not welcome change, even if it is for the better. It seems people want more of the same, but more of it, harder and more concentrated. More technology, more TV, more Movies, more flights, more stuff. They want to sit in their faux stucco homes and navigate the world from TV, computer, phone. They want to fly to foreign countries and eat McDonalds, Starbucks or a postmodern impression of what they think authentic Greek or Moroccan is. A safety, a tourists production. Perhaps the reality of people living so differently from the Western ideal is too much for them, maybe it would shatter their illusions. It would force them to realize that they can not protect their children or themselves and that is the greatest fear, and this modern Capitalist society uses this as their main weapon. They use the love we have for each other as a device to sell us things. They use the love we have for each other to make us fear our neighbors and fellow man. They use a Tourist package to guarantee our safety, hotel with restaurant, pool, English speaking locals ready to be tipped. They use the headline story of bombers, killers, car accidents to make us fear each other so we do not unite and speak for ourselves collectively. To say: I DO NOT AGREE TO BE POLICED. I do not agree to be afraid, I do not agree to be sold to incessantly. I do not agree to eating chemicals, I do not agree to have my child taught a government issued curriculum in school. Not only do I not agree but WE, the community, this country, let everyone know, we do not agree to this government.

Structuralize, deconstructuralize, metaphor, philosophize, these things hinder. One can get so caught up into the theory of action that no action takes place at all. You become an anthropologist, not a participant. We just all sit back and watch the world go to pieces and we suffer the results.

And myself? Planning escape and participation, very soon.

Miami Shores inspired Poem

"American City"

American city, your roads make me gasp,

Hold my breath with cancerous anxiety.

Your sidewalks, 

Ancient ruins of time passed: A failed optimism for Utopian desire:

A house, a yard, a car for every person.

Now derelict, termite infested, but rented.

Chlorinated chemical water runs through rusted, moldy spickets to 

Rinse pesticide seasoned vegetables.

And yet they remain so tasteless.

But who  cares?

Suburban middle class zombies?

Created with media placed propaganda.

Born and inoculated with DisneypepsiMccocacola ideologies.

Oh Wal-Mart, 

how we love your homogenized Chinese products.

Oh America, 

how we love your multi-million dollar cathartic films,

They bring my mind to no place and inspire nothing.

Your theme park inspired retail caters to any identity I desire:

I am a professional, 

My wallet lined with the best credit cards, 

SUV, Hummer, Super boat, designer label, mall bought, 

bleached teeth smile, with slick greasy hair style.

I'm cool, I pay for the gas.

Beep your horn, and rev your engine.

We are at war with each other.

Everyone get out of my way: road rage lifestyle: compete or die.

Big screen television dream.

Bought it at Target.

Open my cupboard: Macaroni and Cheese, delicious.

Ambian, Prozac, antibiotic, Listerine.

Collagen bovine beauty:

Manicure, pedicure, dye and wax

Acrylic nails, hair extensions

And silicone sacs.

Oh, American city

How we want to steal your money and suck your blood.

Chop your trees and cement your grass.

American city you are dead.

Miami Shores: A Cultural Metaphore

Sometimes I'm brave enough to take Luciano out for an evening walk around our neighborhood. 

Miami Shores is such a strange area, it is completely indicative of the nature of Miami or maybe the western world. I'm not sure if I should be afraid or if I should feel okay and at one with my neighbors. There are definitely a few that say hello and smile and the rest are mostly Haitian and when you smile and say hello to them, I think they are scared. Maybe they are illegal and dubious, but a friendly smile isn't so hard to return.

The houses are the same, all of them seem to be from the 50s in that suburban dream style. I call these neighborhoods "Failed Optimism", because it was a dream for everyone to have a home, a yard, a car and the neighborhood all have decaying sidewalks and porches to sit on and talk with the neighbors and big front yards for bbqs and family activities. But now they are all cracked, their colors faded and the sod taken over by weeds or even dead. However, there are some houses here that have been well taken care of. The paint fresh, the lawn a landscape or tropical trees and fruit and an aura beaming out new life and harmonious visions. I suspect the difference to be because of one thing, owning or renting. 

We rent, but our house is covered with greenery and fruit trees, so no one may suspect. But the house is terrible. Termite infested, leaky roof, lime eaten fixtures, rotting bathroom, and who knows probably lead pipes. We request things to be done, but those landlords don't care, they just want the money. They should do a TV show called house swap, where the landlords have to live in their rented houses and the tenants get to live in the landlords house. But we settle for it because the yard is great, it is a piece of what Miami could be. There are hundreds of varieties of plants (a lot of them edible), beautiful bamboo, coral, papaya, avocado, star fruit, ginups or mamicillo, Chinese plum, mangos, and some others.

But really we decided on this place becasue we were so desperate to get out of the heat of my warehouse in Little Haiti. After a year of a lunatic landlord, leaky roof, bugs, oh wait those are the same problems with this house. But all is forgiven in our current house because of one vital thing: AIR CONDITIONING. Yes, that's right, as long as the termites and the leaky roof and rotting bathroom are kept cool we deal with it.  I was four months pregnant, just returned from Burning Man and an across country trip and returning to a hot, baking warehouse was not an option. And so it was that we found ourselves in a hidden Miami garden. 

In September it will be a year that we have been living in this 1905 house, which is the size of a guest cottage, and it is time to move out. Work is almost nil and Luciano is ready to see the world.  We are hoping that our escape will find us via opportunity. 

Two years in Miami

Today is day number four of being alone with my six month old Luciano. Don't get me wrong, I adore him and he brings me nothing but joy, however, I would like to take a shower, cook or even use the bathroom alone. 

 I was considering the first months with him and how diligent I was in making sure his first experiences were perfect sensory pleasures. The water birth, baby wearing, co-sleeping, all the good things. Although we continue most of them, I can see that the collective unconscious is slowly showing itself and I do not have to introduce things as though he was an alien arrived from another planet. His instincts are so strong, he knows what to do. 

I started to blog, since I have at least twenty years of journals and writings that no one will probably ever see and they are scattered between napkins, backs of receipts, loose sheets, word documents and notebooks. This is a far more organized and modern.

Sigh.

I have been in Miami two years last month. I came here to escape the dreary London weather, swim, be happy and try to make some room for myself in the art world. The first part worked out great, when I moved here I was swimming, snorkeling, cycling, socializing all under the beautiful, super-real sunlight. When I stepped out of the airport and saw the sky and the colors around it was surreal. The level of color vibration was amazing.  Everything a pop painting. 

But after being away from the high energy of the London art world, things become more focused. At first you miss it, the events, the openings, the crowds, the bull shit conversations. Oh how delicious for the artist's ego. And that is why everyone was there, massage our insecure egos, maybe the word is onanistic. Even then I had my suspicions,  everyone trying to make it, Saatchi this, Jay Joplin that, YBA crap. It was a propaganda ploy, lets be art rock stars. All of them made out well, celebrity artists, celebrity attended events, media all equals buyers. Oh and lets not forget the art schools. They are the real bandits. Kids going for celebrity degree shows and ending up with $40,000 of debt. Most Universities are money scams. "Got to college, earn your degree, so you can get a good job", yeah right. That is how they get you, incur a debt that you can't pay for and there you have another cog in the wheel of Capitalist society.

But maybe it works out for some people.

Being in Miami, living in Little Haiti, chickens walking down the street, things start to break down. 20 blocks South is the Design district, high price furniture, rugs, tile, clothes, food, expensive cars and suited people stepping out of them, what is it all for? Money?

Another 20 blocks south in Wynwood, where all the real contemporary galleries are, Kevin Bruk, Fred Snitzer, and for me it is a mini, more laid back London. Great at first, but essentially the environment that killed art for me. 

My first December here (Which is referred to as "The Season", because Art Basel comes into town),I was working for a private art dealer who had a booth in Art Miami (an art fair). It was great, high paced and constant socializing. But I was making no commission and I was selling. What I wanted was my work in an art fair, I thought that was a good thing. But then I saw dealer and gallery purchase prices, I saw what they sold it for and I saw that the artists were no longer involved in any way. No share, no profits, just one time payment. Everything was a commodity, the meaning of a piece would be changed client to client. Ambiguous artist statements preferred. Just keep making more of that, that one thing.  And those of you who say "Okay" you are no longer an artist, you are a manufacturer. 

Being an artist today is very difficult, I do not think you can just sit back and make paintings, photos, drawings or whatever it is you do. You must engage fully with the world around you and ask it to do things. Maybe a real artist is someone who can be without material things and find solace in community and has an ability to be anywhere and with anybody. Maybe a real artist isn't called an artist anymore.

It has been as of recently that I find all traditional art trite and inconsiderate of the real world, including my own and I long for a change. It is sort of depressing, since I have spent most of my adult life involved in contemporary art, but at least I came out of it this way rather than the alternative. 

Well, it is 5:53 pm and I have successfully baked a vegan orange and chocolate cake while wearing the Baby Bjorn. I think it turned out okay, considering it is Vegan,  it is more like a bread then a cake, but I'm sure it will be appreciated.