working...

I am currently constructing the costume for a performance piece I will be doing in the up coming weeks. A few exciting things about this piece is that Michelle will be shooting it...(a lot in film) and uh well the other exciting thing is that this will be my first...performance..that I have done...like-- in public. Awesome.

Another good thing about this piece is that if people ask me, "jamie, how is your performance work cohesive with the rest of your work," I'll simply sit back, resting my palms on my ponytail and reply, "well, much like my sculpture, this piece was a real bitch to make." I am sewing a costume that has an image of me silkscreened on the front...and after spending the entire day pulling my face (ha) I am kind of wishing I just painted the son of a bitch on there...but you know...what are you going to do?




By the end of the day I turned into the egocentrically minded bastard I have always aspired to be and now can honestly say that I hate myself.



current play list:
Date Rape- Fishbone
Nugget- Cake
Headache- Frank Black
Did I Step On Your Trumpet- Danielson
Humans- Islands
Chemical Bomb- Aquabats
Not About Love- Fiona Apple
My Lady's House- Iron & Wine
No Stars- Maria Taylor
I Never Wanted You- Headphones
Holland, 1945- Neutral Milk Hotel
Love Affair- Regina Spektor
Hide and Seek- Imogen Heap
John Wayne Gacy, Jr.- Sufjan Stevens
God Bless- David Bazan
Mirror In The Bathroom (Live)- The Special Beat
Funeral Face- Suburban Kids With Biblical Names
Utah- John Linnell
Road to Joy- Bright Eyes
Hall of heads- They Might Be Giants

the devil made me do it

There are many christian things that I out-right hate. Naturally, I feel so passionately about these things because I loathe to see them rise up in me now the way they used to when I was a boisterous christian tween. My favorite frustration is the whole concept of blaming the devil. A friend once told me of a conversation she overheard between a devote christian woman and her group of wide-eyed, big hearted, middle aged droids. This woman spoke of an event that she was planning and how everything was going accordingly except the musician who was scheduled to play had forgotten an instrument that was essential to completing his set. The woman in charge of the event became determined to find the instrument at a local store and get it to the musician before his set began. The woman spoke of all the confusing and frustrating conversations she had with local shop owners who didn't carry the spoils of her new mission, and how it was truly the devil that was keeping her from following through with her assignment. Ultimately she found the thing she was looking for and the whole ordeal immediately transformed from a satan stained situation to a Jesus soaked landscape. It bothers me when people actually believe that a broken heal or a stressful situation is caused by the Lord of the Underworld; he's the mother fucking roaring lion, give the fallen Under Lord a bit more credit. Demon possessions, unexplainable disasters maybe but a lost instrument just sounds like good ol' human forgetfulness to me. The flip side of this is claiming any conformable resolution as "a God thing". It sounds as though this lady pushed and pushed until some poor music shop owner buckled under her obnoxiousness; historically nagging has never been God's thing. That being said, I am not quite sure what could be defined as "a God thing", or that humans should even be making an attempt at defining a divine act. It seems that the works of God can vary from the flamey engulfment of entire cities to soft spoken incite whispered at you through persistent mothers, honest friends, birds or Richard Serra sculptures.

My studio practice has been a struggle and I'm stressed out about graduate school. These two things affect each other in the most painstaking ways and often leave me with pocketfuls of procrastination. After a little break down, the following is the Word I received. It came as I was walking up the steps arms filled with the birthday package Syd had sent me; my mind was stuffed with the words of my mother, for any thought that was my own had lopped out my eyes or my nose.

Growing up doesn't mean getting bigger or finally detaching yourself from your mothers teet. To become grown is looking at all the stuff of your childhood and rather then bitching about it like you usually do, you simply get over it and you make steps to get on with it. Your father is no longer the gestapo, your friend is gone--but not dead; and when the lion moans that tempestuous roar you finally realize that puking feeling in your gut is none other than your own feeble and festering voice needing to be released. Now that you are an adult, you turn from the children's song of fist fights, excuses and tears, and you go back to where the lion first seized you, you go back to work.

studio cam...

Today was my first day back in the studio; I had a good time.

Kenobi and I started with a high fiber breakfast.

Before I begun any actual work I thought it would be a good idea to show off my mad nunchucking skills.



there is a good chance I may have broken 3 of my knuckles. I became bored with the chucks and moved on to more advanced weaponry.



I know what I'll be bringing to the airport!
soon after my ninja spinner blade cut a hole in my spandex and decided I should start some actual studio work...


I attempted to preach the joys of the creative process to kenobi...she seemed to take to it pretty well.


after a few hours I got a bit jittery and decided that sculpting is for losers and I'd rather go read a book, so I did.

by and large, it was a pretty productive morning.

production-duction what's your function?

There are rumors that I am a productive artist/ person...I'm going to have to go ahead and silence those right now. In theory I would like to consider myself productive but, in actuality I have a job that gets me up at 3:30 am and leaves me in a zombie state for the rest of the day; therefore, if art work does get done it's odd or bad or slow or all of the above. So there you have it, an excuse...I have not blogged, nor finished a piece, I haven't even taken the time to read anything for a while...the result of which is this whiny banter and a messy bedroom.

Eleanor will soon be gracing Monterey with her presence and I plan on offering myself to her along with a basket of tears, and 5 haikus I wrote about the application of the skills one acquires in college to a vocation in the drive -thru industry.

DING! voice inflection.
scurry robot, scurry now
why so slow? he asks.

Yet another ingredient added to the cruel blender of my existence would be my trip to Spirit West Coast this last friday. Despite, the opportunity to hang out with my parents and see Jars of Clay I was still determined to have a terrible time; but, circumstance swung toward the positive and like any good christian would I guess I should say 'it was a God thing' that I got to spend the entire day working on an art piece rather then plotting my ultimate overthrow of the entire event with a t-shirt that read: BAD ART = BAD RELIGION, SO UNPLUG AND GO HOME...but I found that these t-shirts were subconsciously doing the work for me.



Soon my observations and documentation of such shirts and their proprietors turned to inquiry and then interview and finally landed on what I like to call...seeking out the ignorant Christian youth of America and then gently planting the beautiful seed of doubt. Sure, I was feeling a bit angry that day and yes, I was taking it out of God's children but...I don't care. The way I see it is regardless of the fact that I may have just sealed my spot in hell, my goal wasn't to harvest atheists but rather, thoughtful individuals; believe in God, please...but don't be an idiot about it...basically, don't be me when I was 17. I will be posting some images in the following weeks of finished pieces on this subject...they will be different...they will involve photography, so I apologize in advance.
Godspeed,
J.R.

ps. happy 23rd to the MADDOX.