Saturday, November 13, 2010
10. Suenos Liquidos by Maxence Cyrin
9. Lifetime by Mos Def
8. Cursed Sleep by Bonnie Prince Billy
7. Hello by Infrared Sunday
6. Last Resistance by T Whistle Productions ft. Roah Giza
5. Eyes & Goodbyes by George Sarah
4. Fences by Peas
3. Demon Days by The Gorillaz
2. Mount Washington by Beth Orton
1. Weather Storm by Craig Armstrong
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Episode 7: Music to Paint By
Discussion: The soundtrack of past and present art collections. What do pianos and ice skating have to do with being "in the zone" for host Keariene Muizz?
Status: Week #7 of The Soldiers Series: A Salute to the Soul.
Sponsored by: Plaisir in West Hollywood. A French modern bakery recently named The Best Sugar Fix of 2010 by the LA Weekly.
Visit http://www.plaisir-la.com for your fix!
Episode 6: The Big Wake Up
Discussion: You are what you think. The importance of our internal dialogue. Soldiers in the field and what they can teach us about staying on task in our daily lives.
Status: Week #6 of The Soldier Series: A Salute to the Soul.
This week Muizz Gallery is supporting Paws of the Planet.
A nonprofit organization based in Newport Beach
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Episode 5: Wikileaks
DISCLAIMER: I am not a political expert but I do believe this is a topic of importance.
Status: Week #5 of The Soldier Series: A Salute to the Soul.
Sponsored by: Bieber Imports. French architectural windows and doors
Episode 4: More Than a Yellow Ribbon
Discussion: The poem "For Eli" by my favorite living poet Andrea Gibson and why our troops deserve more than a yellow ribbon.
Status: WEEK #4 of The Soldier Series: A Salute to the Soul.
Sponsored by: Hi Times Wine Cellar. http://hitimewine.net
Discussion: Every artist has their muse. Find out who is the inspiration behind this international collection.
Status: WEEK #3 of The Soldier Series: A Salute to the Soul.
Sponsored by: Bella Gioia Restaurant of Portland. http://www.bellagioia1.com
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
CRYSTAL BASIN CELLARS WINERY: Shopping at the farmer's market when I'm hungry.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Discussion: Artist's Myths. Identities vs. Roles. What makes art valuable? The Military.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
BRACELET MADE FROM CIGAR BOXES
MY MUSE IN AFGHANISTAN
(Left) Sister holding bracelet before trek to Afghanistan
(Center) Sketch for Petales D'Hier
(Right) Sacred Stones Bracelet
Though the Sacred Stones collection was inspired by the loss of my friend Jeanette O'Keefe many things transpired in my life as I created the actual works of art. Indi was deploying to Iraq when I decided to create Petales D'Hier. It was her first deployment. A first four our family. It was not easy knowing baby girl was heading off to a war zone.
I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of losing her as I completed the sketch and prepared my psyche to take to the tremendous task of painting. While other more personal things ensured that Indi had a bad week. I picked her up off the ground and pieced her together. Those who are loved by me especially know that I AM THE ULTIMATE CHEERLEADER and have mastered the ability to point out their strengths. I am like a band-aid in a world that's bound to bruise.
When she called me in 2008, I could hear the tears forming in her throat. I was like, "Don't you know who you are?" I dragged thick triangles of paint on the canvas with my palette knife as I balanced the phone on my shoulder. When we hung up I sent her a text message of what the painting looked like in progress. She sent a text later that evening saying she didn't feel important until she saw the picture of the painting on her phone's screen.
This second deployment has been as critical but less harsh as our hearts have gotten used to the potential that each new day of life shared together is to be celebrated.
As she headed for Afghanistan I wanted to give Indi something that would remind her that I was with her every step of every dusty day. The Sacred Stones Bracelet was made because of the following reasons:
- I could not give her the painting.
- I could not send her a poster of the painting because I do not currently support the idea of having reproductions of my artwork.
- Needed something small that could fit in her pocket.
- Wanted her to have a reminder of how important she is.
- Needed something portable and capable of enduring harsh weather conditions.
On the inside of her bracelet I inscribed a secret message for her in binary code...something to keep her busy and her mind off her surroundings. She says I think of everything. Indeed I do.
And there you have it.
Be You for You.
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
AN ARTIST PSA
Oil paint gets everywhere. It's just something you have to make peace with as an artist. No one ever tells you that once you incorporate painting into your life that you should expect and anticipate dried paint to turn up everywhere, especially in the most unexpected places.
I've walked around for days with a smudge of cadmium orange accenting the highlights in my braids, at the back of my head where I couldn't see. Just the other day someone pointed out that I had a touch of Rembrant noire d'ivoire on the tip of my nose. I imagine it's how new mothers must feel after dealing with poopy diapers, after a while they may just give in to the notion that their definition of cleanliness and perfection has changed -no, expanded to include a genre unimagined in their former life. At least that's how most professional artists feel. In the numerous years that I have been painting I have tried just about every product known to man to remove dried oil paint from clothing, and the like (carpets, upholstered furniture, you get my drift!). And the best product, the only product, in fact, which left no trace or stain from paint, or residue is Kiss Off.
The key to all stain removal is to never (and I mean never) put the article of clothing in the dryer. That is universal. If you find the stain while folding clothes after doing laundry the stain can't be undone because it's been "cooked" into the fibers. The new alternative is to make that shirt/skirt/pants your new painting wardrobe or my personal favorite, cut it up and use it for rags versus some random rag one purchased. Some of my rag mementos include tees from past vacations, boxer shorts that my older sister wore to cheerleading practice back in the 90s, and favorite shirts that have been ruined by oil paint in their previous lives. Get creative. And use every step in life, even a mishap, and make it a part of your process.
SECRET TO CLEAN BRUSHES: The best tool to remove paint from brushes is Lefranc Bourgeois' Brush Cleaning Fluid / Luquide a Nettoyer Les Brosses. Unfortunately, I do not believe this product is sold in the United States but it surpasses every product ever created, in my opinion. This product would totally be worth the day of detention in customs if one were to opt to smuggle it into the states -but you didn't hear that from me.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Follow Merriam-Webster on Twitter!
Editor at Large Peter Sokolowski offers daily observations on new
words and language. http://twitter.com/petersokolowski
The Word of the Day for March 2 is:"The universe would just be an empty space without art." -Keariene
didactic \dye-DAK-tik\ adjective
1 a : designed or intended to teach
*b : intended to convey instruction and information as well as
pleasure and entertainment
2 : making moral observations
For the past eight months I have been wearing a cuff I designed out of cardboard. My cuff is black and bears a sequence written in white oil paint beneath a high gloss polish. A-7713. The number assigned to Elie Wiesel during his imprisonment in Auschwitz..
Art, in my opinion, should provoke dialogue and empower one to ask questions, of themselves and all that exists within their surroundings. This is how I measure the meaning of my work. If the answer is "yes," when the question asked is "Did they take a second look?" Only when others measure their experiences and opinions against the message I convey has the end result of my labor been productive.
Many politely inquire about my cuff. "What is A-7713?" Other times I have had to explain who Elie Wiesel is, which is never a bother. With my upcoming collection, I hope to blend powerful imagery and aesthetics with instructions that the past must be retained in the future, as well as, the present.
And, yes. Before it is asked, oil is still my first love and only medium.
Friday, February 12, 2010
In 2007, I was determined to create the collection which is now Secondary Sources: Stone Narratives of the Holocaust. It was a concept, an idea that flourished inside me. I have so many concepts in my head for art collections that I could literally paint each second for the rest of my life and never exhaust the list.
I made a special trip to Paris from 2008 - 2009 to prepare this collection. My business partner was in the south of France and the next thing I knew I was on a plane. It was the very first time that I had ever left Paris on a visit to France. The city just sucks me in.
The snow was something terrible, but I'll take a terrible day in Paris over a good day in Bermuda any day of the week. My approach was not systematic. I had to take off my gloves in order to sketch. Then, I had to warm my freezing fingertips for a quick minute inside the safety of the gloves before returning to sketching.
I like to be in Paris during the winter because there are few tourists and I can roam about freely and have full access to the statues. Art creation is a very private and intimate process for me. I will close all doors, pull curtains, and draw blinds down in order to separate myself from everything outside my head, shutting off from everything in existence beyond me. So there I was in the Cimetiere Pere Lachaise with freezing fingertips and sketch pad in hand. I do not listen to music while walking about because I am trying to "feel" the stones and discern whether a particular tombstone or statue bears a message for me to deliver to the world.
The sketch on the left was created as I sat in the snow, before it began to rain. For me, this statue represented the children that were lost during the Holocaust. The body, in scale, felt innocent and ghostlike, and it was also, vast, and empty, and a gesture that echoed with questions. Upon my return from Paris in 2009, I painted the middle image; a sample for Patricia Guggenheim who will be modeling her hand in the final version. I never signed the painting depicted in the middle image which was an indication that while my mind said the painting was finished something within me said it was incomplete.
Eventually, I had a most delightful and brief life change and something inside me "clicked" and I knew what was to be corrected with this piece.
"It's all wrong." I told a loved one who phoned from Spain New Years' Day.
"What's wrong?" Was the reply.
Balancing the receiver on one shoulder I exclaimed, "Patty's painting."
I usually have a blueprint in my mind of what a work will look like. I store this image in my head and typically know exactly what I want and my job is truly to execute the schemes of my imagination.
"So, you want to know how I spent New Year's Eve? " I continued, "I revised Patricia's painting." My heart sank like a stone drifting to the bottom of a dark ocean floor. "I realized that if there was a war and I was torn from (my partner and) my child. The last thing I would be feeling would be all pastel colors and a silky smooth background!"
And so I conveyed the story of how I spent December 31, 2009, meditating and offering up thankful prayers for the inner and outer peace that is present in my life. I am ruled by a very deliberate passion and so, to the angst of many, I prefer to spend my birthday and my New Year's Eves painting. I am called to create and identify messages for society and therefore it is not work.
Many viewers do not realize that when they look at one of my painting they are simultaneously looking at chunks taken from a calendar, weeks that are given like an offering. It's like I have to give up my life in order to deliver life. And for such love I am a willing slave.
This painting was created to Leaving Paris by Craig Armstrong on Piano Works. I usually play music while I paint. (The same song on repeat until the piece is finished.) Something that punctuates the emotion of the work, but there was never a song created that could translate the darkness of the Holocaust to me. The hardest part of this collection is finding that there is no song or sound that can translate such darkness to me.
I thought about all of the millions of baby's hands that were let go of in the concentration camps. I thought about the worried mothers. I stood inside their stripped uniforms and shaved heads, and tried to interpret what it meant to be a Jew on that day. I asked, "How could a yellow star hurt so much?" So I painted the yellow star above the "child" because of what it meant to be Jewish in the 1940s. That is why there are heavy yellow strokes on the statue. It is also the reason my signature is yellow because I know what it means to be a Jew at any time.
Be You For You,
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Dear Mr. Taub,
I know you are dead and this letter will never reach you. You passed away in the summer of 2006. Your daughter, Talia, my dear friend, was marked by your sudden absence.
I could not help but think of you as I roamed the tombstones of the Pere Lachaise Cemetery that winter. I was preparing my Sacred Stones Collection at the time, marking the end of my process with grief. You see, I began painting because someone stole the only baby photos I had when I was in high school and I had no way to show my unborn children and grandchildren what I looked like throughout my lifetime so I began documenting my emotional history for them. In telling this to Talia around 2003 she said, in her thick Israeli accent, "I know what you mean. My father survived the Auschwitz death camp. We lost everything in the Holocaust. My family has no pictures from before 1946. I know how much it hurts to not be able to see the past."
Talia and I held hands through what was the most tumultuous times of our lives, and now we walk beside one another with the inner peace and self-certainty that has been won in this newfound era of our existence.
I asked her about your tattoo number. I asked if she knew what it was. "He had one, but I don't remember what it was." I became a little obsessed with your tattoo number when I returned from Paris. We called Israel and asked your wife what your tattoo number was and she too could not recall it though she slept beside you faithfully for over forty years. It was like the horror of what the tattoo represented had been blocked from their minds, ignored, and thus erased from the caverns of time and history.
"My father," Talia declared one evening after we left schul, "has always had more integrity than any human being I have ever encountered in my entire life."
The horror and indignities you experienced and witnessed were not enough to overcome your humanity. And that is how YOU became the spark that has become the inspiration behind my newest collection Secondary Sources: Stone Narratives of the Holocaust. I knew that all around the world Survivors were dying, taking with them the extraordinary narratives of history. And such personal accounts, if left unrepeated, means that the Holocaust itself could also bear the threat of being erased from the archives of the future. The weight of this thought made my heart crumple like a bawled up sheet paper.
One day she told me your story. That you were a young man in Auschwitz and worked doing labor. That you hurt your knee from always kneeling on the ground and that the wear of your wound became so serious that you could barely walk. You could not work and had a fever. You became so sick and you knew the feeble ones were killed. So death became so real. You spoke to another worker, someone higher up. He had been a doctor before coming to the camp. You and this man were from the same country and had lived in nearby villages. Somehow, the doctor convinced the Nazis to let you rest for two days in the barracks. He said you would be valuable again after resting off the fever. And so you laid in bed knowing death was surely at hand if you did not recover. On the second day, as you tried to break the fever that was inside you, bombs were dropped and everyone that worked in the labor camp you were in was killed in the blast, including the man that saved you and the only reason you survived was because of your wounded knee.
You only told the story once to your children. You did not want to ever look back.
I want to thank you for having the strength to tell your story. And I pledge to remember you and tell your story so that your memory and
It is not an easy thing to disallow the darkness of humanity from overthrowing one's spirit.
Thank you too, for creating and nurturing a life that has grown to become one of my best friends.
You are triumphant,