Thursday, August 04, 2005


Speaking of Charlie Krafft- he's done a new line in his "Disasterware" series- this time he's made porcelain "Mad Cow Creamers". I'm getting one for sure- as well as Spone (human bone china) grenades as well as other assorted and sundry items. This show will be huge- not to mention we'll have a giant installation by Frank Kozik!
In the Seattle PI today art critic Regina Hackett gives props to the upcoming Charlie Krafft/Frank Kozik show:

" In Belltown at the real Roq La Rue, 2316 Second Ave., the great noir subversive Charles Krafft teams up with poster artist Frank Kozik for "Kreepy Kitsch: The Devil's Hobby Hut." The opening on Aug. 12 should be fun. Wear your combat tutu and frizz your hair, and you'll do fine."

Frizz your hair?
The Seattle P.I.'s "People's Picks" picked Roq La Rue as best art gallery in Seattle. Excellent!

You wanna Roq! This hip Belltown gallery specializes in "pop surrealism" art that ranges in tone from cartoonish to sexy to disturbing. So focused in its mission is Roq la Rue that its owner, Kirsten Anderson, literally wrote the book on the movement, "Pop Surrealism: The Rise of Underground Art," featuring artists who appeared on the gallery's walls: Shag, Lisa Petrucci, Mark Ryden and more. Roq la Rue is rock 'n' roll for your eyes.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Random
I've been busy lately trying to get Ignition up and running at a faster clip these days. M and I have a zillion ideas- we just have to convince other people that they are really good ideas (and they are) and they should give us money to do them. So I'm hustlin'. It's an interesting game. You have walk a fine line between being straight up, but also selling the idea, wording it in the language that makes it sound marketable. I'm pretty lucky in that so far the people I'm dealing with are pretty cool. But it's interesting to me that I have chosen to create my own jobs rather than going and trying to get hired somewhere. I sort of can't imagine it any other way. Somehow- perversely, I almost feel like I have better job security that way.
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I hate sports, and I hate going to the gym. I have to force myself to go biking- because while I love tooling around on a bike there is always some ghastly hill I have to wheeze up afterward. But I have recently found a sport recently that I love and am suprisingly good at...which is lawn bowling. I may secretly be a 68 year old woman named Velma.
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I saw a book the other day about "How To Be A Bohemian"....it set me off a little and I'm still thinking about how every little goddamn thing has to be labeled and sold with a stupid instruction booklet. If you buy that book you probably are not a bohemian. If you have even a dim sense of aesthetics, and are poor, you probably are a bohemian. Whatever that means. Guess I'll have to read the book to find out. For me- all that sort of thing should be grokked- if you don't know what it is, you ain't ever gonna know.
Maybe I should lighten up.
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There are spiders going hog wild all over the place these days... I guess it's some sort of season for them. Whenever we leave in the morning K goes first down the outside walkway and gets saturated in early morning webs. My brother was telling me about practically getting his eyes glued shut from all the webbing he's walked into the past week or so (Always accompanied by frantic flailing and cries of "Gah! Get it off- GET IT OFF ME!"). My family are all outrageous arachniphobes. We all stand around on the ottoman clutching each other and and screaming like little girls and pointing when we see those little bastards scuttling around, my 300 lb, 6.2 brother D being the worst of us all. We try not to ever kill the spiders, so we have "compare and contrast" conversations about catching them effectively while still ensuring no contact is at all possible. The worst is catching a spider in a glass and then chucking it outdoors, not realising the wind is blowing right towards you.
When I was a teenager my stepbrother Mike and I both had our bedrooms in the basement- ground zero for wolf spiders. Almost every night as I was falling asleep I'd here the furtive scurrying of 8 hairy legs across the floor and my eyes would snap open, I'd flick the light on and the usually unbelievably HUGE spider would hoof it right into my laundry pile. I'd have to go knock on Mike's door and wheedle and whine for him to come get it, not knowing the entire time he was smirking and petting the TARANTULA he was keeping in his room. What a bastard.