S.R. Wild: Artist and Graphic Designer

Gleaning Joker

While most people out this evening were doing something involving alcohol, I took a long walk to think, glean, and take photographs. I mostly walked around the South End because I like the buildings there, especially at night — everything is better at night. If I were to move, I’d move to the South End.

Pictured above is the small haul I gleaned. Walking down Pine St. (I think) I saw a joker on the sidewalk, a joker in the grass, an ace of hearts in the dirt, two jokers further up, and so on until I picked up five jokers and three aces. It’s appropriate I should find these because I’ve been thinking about cards: whether something is or isn’t in the cards (perhaps it’s too soon, I’m in no rush) and when I had my cards read a few months ago everything I was told is turning out to be true. In regards to the latter, I don’t usually believe in such things. A few years ago a Wiccan read my palm and what she said would happen really did happen. Perhaps I’ve just been lucky. Besides, I don’t want to know my future, I prefer to be surprised.

I snapped photos too.

Remembering Robert Rauschenberg

Robert Rauschenberg died Monday night at the age of 82. The world has lost an extremely talented and exceptionally prolific artist.

It’s odd, for some reason I knew he was going to die this year. I wish I had a better sense of my own matters.

It should be obvious that he was a huge influence on me and one of the few creative heroes of mine — sadly, most of them have passed away. I was familiar with his work but I didn’t get into it until I was in college. I was attracted to it because it was similar to a lot of the things I was doing and continue to do. I was surprised to find he stole a lot of my ideas and techniques — yes, I’m aware he did them way before me.

In my senior year of college I did my thesis for contemporary art history class on The 1/4 Mile or 2 Furlong Piece, sort of a one-piece retrospective of his long career that was almost 1,000 feet long when it was shown at MASS MoCA in 2000. The paper was titled “Robert Rauschenberg’s Enormous P… hurumph… Painting,” which is available for download if you’d like to read more about it and glean further evidence of how poor my writing skills were.

Shots in the Dark

I’ve been experimenting with taking long exposure photographs at night. Not surprising, I’m not smart enough to remember my tripod when I go on my evening meanderings, so I’m at the mercy of whatever stationary object I can find: cars, curbs, sleeping vagrants, my stone-cold soul, etc.

If you’d like to see better examples, check out The Long Exposure Flickr Pool.

Pinky Rose

I arrived home after work today to find Pinky holding a single dried red rose for me. Aw, she’s such a doll. She knows that Mondays are especially difficult for me: it’s the first day of a long week and I usually don’t get much sleep the night before. Now I feel bad because she couldn’t go to the cabaret — although, I brought the party to her.

The reason for the low angle is because she makes me walk into our apartment on all fours. Some ladies insist their fellas sit when they pee, others insist on walking like a dog. I actually don’t mind because… uh, I’ll tell you when you’re older.

One Hell of a Meat Show

Last night I went to the Spielpalast Cabaret. It was fantastically sexy. Once again, the ladies (and fellas) put on a great show and the band was amazing. It was worth every penny. I highly recommended going. There are three more shows this week: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

A couple friends came to town from New York to see the show. When they arrived, we went to Pho Dang for dinner — Vietnamese food, yum. We thought we had plenty of time, but when we returned to my hovel, I checked the tickets and they said the show started a 7:30. It was 7:08! We quickly put on our dapper attire and walked as fast as we could to City Hall. We arrived at 7:31, only to find a long line.

We finally went inside, but there wasn’t any room on the main floor so we had to sit in the balcony. The lights dimmed and I quivered in burlesque anticipation. The show began and I was transported to another time, filled with vises and sexual innuendos. My foot uncontrollable tapped to the music. I was sweating a bit — I don’t know if it was from the hot room or the dames.

After the first act, we were able to snag a table on the main floor. The show is much better when seen from there, you feel like you’re part of it. (My one suggestion is to get there early and get a table.) The second act was much stronger than the first, but that could have been due to the better view.

After the show — I wish it never ended — we went to a bar across the street for cocktails. As you may know, I rarely drink, but it was a special occasion. After a few drinks we went to another bar and then home.

It was a lovely night. It felt great to dress up and unwind with some old fashioned debauchery. I really needed the break. I should get out more.

When I woke up this morning… er, afternoon, my companions were gone. For a moment I thought the entire night was just a wonderful dream. Then I saw a note on my table, underneath my sock garters (I haven’t figured out what the last line says):

I didn’t take any photographs of the show (apparently there was a big sign that said “No Photos” that I didn’t see). However, I did take some here and there during the night:

Cat Missed

I was looking for something earlier and I came across a few photos of Tom, the cat who briefly lived with me. It was exactly a year ago when he was here.

Tom, I hope all is well. I miss you and think of you often. If you ever need a place to stay, you know where I am. I still have your litter box set up — it’s clean of course.

I need to stop or I’m going to cry.

The Gleaners and I

glean verb
• extract (information) from various sources
• collect gradually and bit by bit
• gather (leftover grain or other produce) after a harvest

Once in a great while I watch a movie that gets me so excited and motivated I start foaming at the mouth and jump up and down. This happened to me last night when I watched The Gleaners and I.

The Gleaners and I is a French documentary by Agnès Varda. Armed with a hand-held camera, she travels to different parts of France, documenting the various aspects of gleaning: types of gleaning, gleaners, and the laws on gleaning.

She travels to potato fields, apple groves, and vineyards, in the rural areas of France to document the original type of gleaning where people gather what’s leftover after the harvest. It’s amazing how much is left after the harvesters (usually a machine) have gone through. Moments after the harvesters are done, the gleaners arrive to pick their fill. Not surprisingly, the places that have a problem with gleaning are the vineyards.

She then travels to the city to document urban gleaning. After the outdoor markets close, gleaners search the ground for fruit, vegetables, fish, and meat — one gentleman, walks around eating what he finds as if he were at a buffet. She talks to others who get all their food from trash bins.

She interviewed an artist who works exclusively with found materials. His work was amazing. He obtains all of his art supplies by biking to various refuse collection spots around Paris. Another artist, who obtains his supplies the same way, created his home out of junk (a lot were doll parts, his preferred medium).

You can see why this movie appealed to me: I’m a gleaner. I’ve often wondered why I glean. I guess I’m just looking for something, but I don’t know what it is. I’ll know when I find it. Of course, I may never find it and that’s OK because looking is the fun part.

Watching this movie made me remember something: When I was younger, I used to go to the potato fields behind my house (I posted a panoramic photograph of the fields a few posts ago) with my mother and grandfather after the harvest and we’d glean the fields. Then, we’d go back home and cook them.

Thanks to Eva for recommending this movie, you rock!

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