Turning the Place Over - Richard Wilson, 2007 from Liverpool Biennial on Vimeo.
Archive for October, 2009
I had a tin of soup today for lunch. A worthy underflavoured can of Amy’s (organic or some other unprovable claim) Cream of Tomato. It wasn’t the worst thing ever. Don’t bother buying their soups if you like food to taste of something. I remembered very suddenly getting Cup’o'Soups in my lunch in middle school and high school. Amy’s is not as bad as that. Well, bad in a different way.
There is a pretty funny project going on at the moment at starwarsuncut.com. It’s a crowd sourced version of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (non-nerds know this film as Star Wars).
A bunch of friends kindly deployed their Miniature Stormtroopers last weekend to shoot scene 25. Getting Mini Princess Leia and her guards on film and in costume was no easy matter. It’s a bit like trying to herd very cute, sometimes angry monkeys, who also happen to be cats. Here is our effort:
See it in context on the SW Uncut site.
Have a look around, every so often you will find yourself on the floor. It’s best if you sign up so you can see the original scenes and then the new ones.
You know when you move to the USA that eventually everyone else you know will end up there too? Well it has happened! Except it turns out no one is nice enough to tell us! Did you think we wouldn’t notice?
So don’t bother to pretend that you still live in London next time we visit ok? It’s embarassing to all of us.
Nice one about the “band” Paul Ronney Angel maybe you shouldn’t have pretended that they were so successful. Well I hope you enjoy your cows.
Oh and Igor? I hope your “roadying” for Edwyn Collins is equally satisfying. We have seen where you park. You can’t live far from there!
Bastages, the pair of you!!
Don’t it?
Designers often have to educate their clients about design. How long it takes, what a font is, why changing a design after it has gone to production is a bad idea and so on. They should, they know about design, they went to school to learn all about it.
It’s also true that tough economic times are going to result in less design work overall. Less advertising, less packaging, less branding, less people sitting around in pubs and bars talking nonsense about words and colours. That means clients become pickier. It also means that the people responsible for landing design work will promise more work for less money.
Don’t you think that the proliferation of this kind of client critical side-project (see the picture above)is a signifier of something very sad? The sad thing being that designers have too much time on their hands and also that they are SPOILT CRYBABIES?
Design is easy. Choose a typeface choose some colours, take some pictures, then put it on a grid. You could be drywalling, shovelling dirt, picking up garbage up off the street, clearing tables in the same bar you currently go to complain about your clients.
Now go and do some work.
see also Crybaby Agency Time
Abuse hates silence. Abusers love secrets.
Talking about abuse is the single most liberating thing that a person can do.
People often think these things should be hushed up, not talked about.
Fuck that I say.
Recently my Abuser decided to leave comments on our blogs. My Abuser thought they were being clever in hiding their name. However their gassy writing style is obvious from twenty paces.
The Abuser loves watching it’s victim. Often I hear friends talk of times that their abusers have attempted to get in touch with them again. What do these freaks want? Why not leave their victims alone? If they get in touch it’s never to make an apology. What do they have to apologise for? Your reaction to them is insane! You are the crazy one!
Obviously the Abuser lives in a hole so removed from reality they don’t accept or understand that they are mentally ill. Many of them even fool the other people they have contact with. They will close their eyes to the truth about themselves at all costs. because what is the alternative? To face what they have done? No Abuser is brave enough to do that! Cowards, all of them! Of course! Otherwise why would they have used their power as adults to torture children?
Here is what I have to say to my Abuser and Yours.
You can cover the horror of your life with words, long long words.
You can hide what you are from your friends and family.
You can profess you are Buddhist, Christian, Muslim or whatever fucking religion you like. It’s all the same to you isn’t it?
You can even pretend to hear the mind of your Creator.
Hide in your hole and pretend.
Cover your ears and eyes with mud.
Sit in your crawlspace with the ghosts and the bones.
Chew on your own fecal mind.
We are coming for you.
We come when you sleep.
We come when you are not looking.
The voices you hear in the night.
We talk to you all the time. But you already know this. You know it’s coming.
If you outlive us we become stronger.
We are the voices in the pipes.
At your end it is we that take you to the next place. It is our hand you hold.
Confused child. We became wise. You just became old
and scared
and small
So very, very small
We are coming for you
There was this teacher of mine at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design. He taught me Foundation Fine Art. I had inched my way in a semester early and was probably not well prepared for Art College.
Super flaky, 19 years-old, attuned to skating through high school, skipping out on responsibilites, smoking ciagarettes and getting wasted. Commuting in from the edge of Dartmouth into Halifax and my poor attitude was the start of my troubles. Lateness was met with opprobrium. Sketchy project work was openly derided. I thought “F*ck, I better get doing something other than flicking my poseur hair around. This teacher is getting really pissed at me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go if I don’t go here.” It was embarassing. I would be filled with dread on class days.
I knuckled down in the end, I guess. The teacher’s hard face never cracked, though. I thought, “At least I’m doing stuff I like and I’m trying.” I was resigned to the fact that this guy probably didn’t like me and never would. All through that whole painful semester. Nothing.
When I had my final critique and chat with this teacher, he warmly told me, “Adam, you can do whatever you want at this school, whatever you want in art.”
Thank you Mr. Ferguson.
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