Hello From Tacoma, Washington

So, one of the series I am working on these days is a group of little landscape woodcut things, each of which represents a memory of a time associated with a place...you follow? They're like little gems, these prints, and there will be at least a hundred or so before I am finished with the series (which might be never), ranging in size from 2"x3" to 12"x24" depending on the detail (it is all but impossible to carve miniscule details into a piece of wood and then transfer those details to paper using ink, though god knows, if anybody can do it, I can).

This image isn't part of that series, but it is an homage to a certain place nonetheless. There are drawing elements involved, and spraypaint as well, but much of this piece was completed on photoshop. I would love to do a series of these images, related to cities only, and including the Edify symbol...what do you think? This image (sans text) might end up being the logo for a dentist here in town (lucky bastard) with a little modification, but I can still sell it as an Edify postcard from the beautiful city of Tacoma, can't I?

The correct answer is yes. Yes, I can.

Ch-ch-ch-check it, ya'll...

I promise you all that I am going to win this mother...

http://www.artofpolitics2008.com

Ha ha...get it?

It's a tank!

I only thought it appropriate after my last post...

Suckers!

...we are far more intelligent than we seem

NASCAR

This morning, at breakfast, I was forced to watch the beginning of the Daytona 500. See, I was at a bar (my favorite Sunday morning breakfast type establishment) helping my lady work off her hangover. As this is a slow time of year for sports in general (especially being the NBA All Star Weekend [I mean, seriously, it's a dunk for chrissakes, I don't need to see it over and over ad infinitum]), and this being the gol dang U S of A, the management apparently felt compelled to show NASCAR on all twelve hundred of their televisions. That meant watching part of it was inescapable, as I am drawn to sports on television the way a moth is drawn to a light bulb...especially since said lady with said hangover was simply repeating "I'm cold," and "do you think she forgot us," until she fell asleep in my lap once she had eaten and therefore there wasn't much diversionary conversation to be had...

Anyway, I will repeat once again, for the record, my assertion that there couldn't be a much more despicable way to simultaneously prove to the world that, not only are we unable to dress ourselves or speak English, but we are intoxicated by the burning of fossil fuels to the point of
fuck-you-needlessly-dead-and-dying-soldiers-and-citizens-in-Iraq-and
-elsewhere-in-the-world-but-all-40-of-us-dipshit-"athletes"-is-going
-to-drive-in-a-circle-now...FIVE HUNDRED TIMES!

No wonder it's hard to get respect outside of our borders...

So I was already bothered a bit by NASCAR before being forced by circumstance to watch the opening ceremonies, which didn't make finding out that they ("they" being hundreds of thousands of rabid white people [aka fans], the drivers and crews of each team, and Trisha Yearwood) hold a fucking prayer meeting right before the singing of the Star Spangled Banner. Apparently afterwards, they each shotgun a Natty Ice and hold their lighters to an effigy of Al Gore with devil horns, holding a copy of the Koran and working an overhead projector (comes free in the program), but I was busy holding my breakfast down and didn't see it. What? Are you kidding me? A prayer meeting? And a fundamentalist prayer meeting to boot...could we possibly look less sensitive to what is happening in the world around us or more self involved? No, we must invoke Jesus' name at our hillbilly petroleum orgy in order to make it clear, thank you.

Later, I went home and googled prayer meetings and NASCAR in various combinations, and I tell you what, if you're ever in need of a nationalistically self-deprecating belly laugh, you should read what some of these people have to say about the illogical combination of NASCAR and Christ...

Meet Beppe Grillo

This is he. In this picture he is actually shouting out the names of Italian Parliament members and Italian members of the European Parliament and then describing the crimes of which they have been convicted, ranging from "corruption, perjury and tax evasion to more inventive infractions, such as fabricating explosive ordnance and aiding and abetting murder." Once he explained each member's individual crime(s), he then exhorted the crowd to simultaneously raise one finger on each hand and shout out "Vaffanculo!" which, as anybody who speaks Italian or grew up in North Jersey knows, means, in English, please go right ahead and fuck yourself. This event, attended by over "two million people in two hundred and twenty cities across Italy" was actually staged by Grillo himself in an attempt to raise awareness of the nepotistic filth that is Italian politics .

The New Yorker describes Beppe Grillo as "a distinctly Italian combination of Michael Moore and Stephen Colbert," which, to me, means he is neither as fat as the one nor as subtle as the other and far more passionate than either. The story, Beppe's Inferno, The New Yorker, 02/04/08, explains how he got from jeans salesman to Italian television star to edgy political comedian to his current incarnation as a maverick policy maker staring down one of the most corrupt governments in the Western world.

He is a great man in my opinion, and, therefore, I have included his blog (yes, blog) in my list of blogs I appreciate. Don't worry, he writes in English as well as Italian...and actually Japanese as well (the Japanese comes from a blog entry wherein he "observed that in Japan politicians accused of corruption have been known to commit suicide" and then asked the people of Japan to accept Italian politicians in an international exchange program...sweet). Read it while you can, as recently, the Italian parliament has actually proposed a series of laws that will eventually silence not only Grillo's blog but all internet content in Italy with which the government has a problem. Be prepared, however, as, like I said, he is far less subtle or consistently "funny" than we Americans have come to expect from our politically themed comedians.

Stickerpation!

What is stickerpation?

I know all none of you has been eagerly awaiting an explanation, and I consider myself a good king, a kind king, one who listens to his subjects desires and does his best to fulfill their wishes if it is within my powers. Answering this deepest of questions, it turns out, is easily within my powers, so, here goes...stickerpation is a word I made up to make it sound as though I am doing something important when I am out slapping propaganda stickers all over your town (I know it's sort of a childish word, but children are important too, don't be so rude, and also,why not keep the revolution light?).

See, a good chunk of the images I have been crafting these days find their way onto label paper and fed through a cutter...and then I stick them on things. Public things. Sometimes even private things. As an artist, I've just made the world my gallery, which is pretty sweet, and as a semi-permanently broke propagandist, I've discovered an inexpensive way to get my ideas out there with consistency and BAM! street urgency, baby! Well, when I say discovered, I am using the word loosely. As a matter of fact, I do believe street art, (including stickers, posters, etc.) has been around at least as long as there have been streets, and there are others out there today who have been doing it longer than I and who do it harder than I as well (making my BAM! more bam!, but it's my bam! so I'll go with BAM! thank you very much...again, you're being rude).

I find stickerpation exhilerating, personally. I mean, when I'm creeping up on an unsuspecting lamp post or parking meter, freshly peeled sticker in my sweaty palm, ready to drop some revolution on the next innocent passerby who might possibly, accidentally happen to look down and see my image...damn, brother, that's the front lines! And imagine if someone's maybe watching you...and what if it's a cop? Daredevil razor wire cutting edge front lines, that.

I have a couple different ways of going about my stickerpation too, depending on location and desired effect. For example, if I am in a very public place and want massive exposure, I'll go with what I like to call "saturation stickerpation." Usually done under the cover of night, it involves me placing stickers every few feet for entire city blocks. You can't get away from that shit, sweetheart, I'm all up in your brain now! The unfortunate side effect is that it can be annoying and you risk people losing sight of your message. Another method is "breadcrumb stickerpation," wherein you lead people from point A to point B by selectively interspersing your stickers in a manner that draws them ever onward. Curious, no? "The Tarzan" is a close relative of "the breadcrumb," only it's more choose your own adventure. With "the Tarzan" (also known as "the Spidey"), you make sure that when standing at any one point close to a visible sticker, you can view several others in all directions, but just far enough away to have to steel yourself for a bit of a walk. It's rather like a system of rope swings in the jungle...be careful now! "The Rascal" involves some viewer participation. Usually in a private space like a medicine cabinet, a glove compartment, or maybe your wife's underthings, I will leave you a sticker treat and you will think to be angry with me but then begin to chuckle a little bit, shake your head, and say to yourself "...that rascal."

It helps to be a little ballsy when making sticker choices. It also helps to do some postering, billboarding, some giving out of free merch. Of course, judging how effective it is really depends on comparing the reaction you get to the reaction you are going for, and when you're going for nothing less than a global paradigm shift (or at the very least some tee-shirt sales), it's going to take a while to gauge your impact.

Be patient...keep stickerpating...

Let's start a book club!!!

Something feels slightly dirty about posting twice in the same day...it's like sleeping in too late or idly masturbating while drinking beer and watching sports while alone at home and bored (it happens, ladies).

Speaking of sports and slightly dirty things, let's talk about Barry Bonds. Now, I think the man is a complete douchebag. I don't understand his inability to give a decent interview and I can't wait for the day when A-rod (or whoever the fuck, really [though A-rod would be sweet]) topples his homerun record. Also, it is comical to listen to his vague denials while simultaneously comparing his trading cards from 1986 and say, any time since the early 90s. I mean, overnight the man gained about 50 pounds of muscle (in addition to 100 pounds of testosterone).

Still, I have always found something objectionable in the whining about how his steroid use alone is responsible for his prowess as a baseball player...the fact is, he really is very fucking talented despite the douchebaggery, people. The most disturbing thing of all, however, is the hypocrisy inherent in singling him out when we as a nation have basically consecrated "bigger is better" as our informal slogan and are so incredibly dependent on our own various pills to help us through the daily slog.

Writer Lee Klein can say it better than I, however. In fact, reading his essay "All Aboard The Bloated Boat: Arguments In Favor Of Barry Bonds" in The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2007 (edited by Dave Eggers) is what reminded me that this is a subject I am quietly passionate about. By quietly passionate I mean I don't really talk about it much in public, preferring to whisper my opinions into my pillow at night or discuss it with one of our cats.

You can also find the essay in Barrelhouse: Issue Two...and by the way, The Best...is truly fucking great this year. Seriously, I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Happy Valentine's Day: wherein I flip you some birds...

I would like to apologize for blowing your minds. As a token of my atonement, please accept these three hummingbirds. They are just birds. They do not symbolize anything, especially not some strange I am you are we are all the same in some crazy beautiful cosmic way type maverick religious retardation insanity...Happy Valentine's Day

In this post I blather on and on but still manage to make sense, at least to myself...

...which is what matters most.

This here image/sticker/whatever is my proposition to the masses as an alternative to the greedy and solicitous mainstream religions I was "calling out" in my last post...not the image itself, actually, but what it represents, namely, an understanding of spirituality that encompasses all things, even down to the most humble flower...although technically, a tiny flower is only a sort of midway point (however, it wouldn't serve the cause to have a rock, a cock-a-roach, or bacteria as the central image [one must consider these things when trying to sell one's own crazy to random strangers as religion])...using the self as a pivot point. For, it is only when you become the central figure in your own quest for spiritual contentment that you may truly invest your whole being into creating a personal system of sacred answers, traditions, and commitments that work for you as an individual...and it is only when you are able to include literally everything into that system that you can honestly begin to operate as an agent of the divine.

How is it possible to be holy when you are worried about being judged by vengeful ghosts or when your decisions come not from an earnest desire to be good and kind to all of creation but instead from a sincere fear of severe repercussions when you "fail" to succumb to the will of the congregation (especially when the congregation requires you to relinquish control of your money, your vote, or your sexual preference, or demands some other personal sacrifice sometimes as great as your very life)?

I digress...I am not arguing against anything here (though I will, often and loudly, and probably soon), I am simply attempting to invite you, dear reader, to incorporate a more fully realized vision of all creation into your daily life, and to celebrate the holy instead of cower or cringe.

If you like what you read here, or even if you absolutely detest it, or if you are bored by it but for some reason compelled by my hypnotic run on sentences to read more, please visit my other site, pericwaldmann.com, and stop by the 30x30x30 gallery...the write-up there is a constant work in progress, and whether it is more succinct is debatable, but I have spent an awful lot of time on it and would seriously appreciate your indulgence.

Plus, it is far more worthy of your time than 2 girls, 1 cup...

At least, dear god, I hope so...

Let's get down to it, then...

So I'm back home from the Southwest...I wish I had pictures of the tournament for you, but alas, I do not. Suffice to say it was what I remembered it to be, basically an orgy of booze and silicon, fake jumblies all akimbo and drunk frat boys too sloppy to do much more than leer. I made some good money though, got back on top of my finances at least, saw some really good friends, hung out with my sweet old parents. Not that any of this has anything to do with the image above...this image is, in fact, a statement about how religion, especially the big three Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) have become more about money than spirituality. I recently turned this into a sticker and began putting them up in conspicuous places. I will have to explain more about stickerpation in another post, however, as my computer is dying and I don't feel like walking the 30 feet or so it would take to retrieve my charger. Enjoy!