Dear Friends, I'm coming out for my 30th Birthday!

While on a date earlier this Summer, with a rather handsome, intelligent, financier; I was confronted (after I mistakenly revealed my age) by his exclamation "Wow! The big 3-0! You're going to expire soon!".  Although I had considered this cultural crisis we're experiencing before, I had never personally tasted milk that sour.  Needless to say, I quickly realized I should be dating different kinds of people, but I caught myself momentarily considering implants.  However, I realized celebrations last longer in our memories than silicone.  So, in response to this recent appauling commodification of women's sagging mortality (and our obsession with the perfect body), I will instead Come Out for my 30th birthday.  Rather than hide behind the onslaught of ritual/bodily commodification, wrinkles and the impending doom of planned obselecense when I hit 40, I will bask momentarily in the cultural customs that formed my personality, and the friends/family who make me who I am.  After all, I am a ghettofabulous redneck spic, and I take pride in my variegated history, no matter how alienating it may be to myself and others. That is why I love New York, and all its diverse inhabitants- residents or aliens.  If our cultural customs make us who we are, then what better way to celebrate than with a Quinceanera /Southern Bell Debutante Ball? Luckily, I have the support of pop-culture who shares my viewpoint. February snow could use a little booty shaking. 

Please join me on Saturday, February 18, 2012 for a night of sensory exploits in the form of a doble Quince 15+15=30 :

Quinceanera Southern Debutante Ball Saturday February 18, 2012

@ Cubana Social 70 North 6th Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn (L Train to Bedford)  Google Map

Featuring: Thousand Islands DJs, La Flor de Toaloche (female mariachi band), Comida Cubana  The Dukes of Brooklyn

My brother, Walter Meyer on the timbales, congas accompanying Lambastic & BlanksNYC DJs 

*Special Guests Jen & Paul Outlaw

Get Inspired! 

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Ladies in Waiting (After Soulmate)

After Christina Freeman's "Soulmate" performance from 2009, I've collaborated with her exchange project to transform a well-worn wedding dress into a tag station for racist/chauvinist banter.  What is Citizenship? Reclaiming the wasted refuse of contemporary culture for celebratory criticism. 

What is Citizenship? Sharing ideas? What about when advertising steals artist's ideas to sell their products?  Is Hollywood a giant advertisement? Where should the lines be drawn? Since artists are the Research & Development department for culture, our citizenship is founded in social practice or open sharing.  Where is authenticity and authorship?  

I decided to ask the experts at the US Copyright Office with an image title registration and letter.

Is it art, architecture, planning, melancholy or opposable thumbs? It is clear that we enjoy making things in our likeness. Are humans capable of abstract thought or is everything anthropomorphic? If images reveal truths, then let inanimate objects speak.

Food: We are what we eat

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Arcimboldo,_Giuseppe_Summer.jpg 

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[1] Rosemarie Trockel "Less Sauvage than Others" Sculpture Project Munster Aaseeufer Lake, 2007 (art net image)

[2] "Gewohnheitstier 5 (creature of habit)", 1996, bronze 90x120x16cm 

Rubix Cubes of video, leaves, and yarn

The well-oiled creature of habit may view Rosemarie Trockel's work as simply the white cube industrial process of political, psychological, and sexually gendered narratives, but serendipity is in the joy of the twisted, color-pixelations of her multi-faceted Rubix Cube.  

The Garden Problem

 My own twists and turns lead me to her work by way of the viewer's activity, and how we may develop critical positions of our consumptive environment depending on the grids of natural, woven existence.  Whether they be the perspective of the exploding cookie cutter house, the reconfigured white or black box, or the industrial, digitized loom. We (the audience) are participating from the confined corners of our roles- whether gendered, disaffected passersby, hedge-trimmers/stone masons of our built landscape, hair models, or fashion slaves to the mundane.  Our exhausted exuberance is mediated by the return to (the) work of watching.  

What is our current state of Mind?    

If, according to Christine Ross [3], we (culture) are emerging from a sleep-altered state of depression from the turn of the late teens (late 20th ac.e.) into our early twenties (00's) [4,5], have we now awakened to a melancholic resistance that will oust us from our tweed comforters, or will we explode into a frantic, emotional insurrection beyond the tenacious mundane? How can an activated viewer reclaim the repetitive industrial political loom for our own formal living or organized aesthetic protest? Perhaps by breaking apart the toy and figuring out how it turns. 

[3] Christine Ross "Vision and Insufficiency at the Turn of the Millennium: Rosemarie Trockel's Distracted Eye" October, Spring 2001

[4] Rosemarie Trockel (film still from Sleepingpill) "Eye, Sleepingpill, Kinderspielplatz" 1999 Venice Biennale Installation 

[5] Thomas Schmitt film still on Rosemarie Trockel's 2000 video "I Don't Kehr"

Macho Modernism cleansed the rubble of war with tabula raza detergent. Hausman, Moses, Disney, Speer, cleaned their shirts, and polished their model citroens from the oppression of minorities, the obliteration of civil rights, and the desecration of nature. Momentarily, utopian paradigms attempted socio-political equilibrium, and at least the right to bear opinions a generation after global hostility.  However, post-modern pudding slurped these object-driven ideas from the explosions early-century to don a familiar patriarchial old boys club-lead Ayn Randian capitalism. Upon which, a suburban social contract was built in response to equal rights with white flight on the golf-courses of McCarthyism.  The enlightenment became armchair activism. Globalism made exotic buildings logos for culture: we comfortably gazed immobilized by smoke-stained towers who confused cement dust with body ashes.  The epitome of the war on urbanism, the family, main-street, and anyone else standing colonially.  But the web bleached communication barriers, and plasticity turfed over Leaves of Grass. Sustainability trans-gendered Green Man into Mother Nature, and their still-born turquoise 3^rd Nature was oiled by their corporate divorce.  Institutional marriage to architecture dies.  Culture is reborn as social practice, because there are no identities, objects, or politics left in the post-apocolyptic contemporary.  After a reign of patriarchial power, it is now time for a feminine urbanism.