More notes from the Bruxist Collective

Art's Flight at Pierro Gallery of South Orange, June 20, 2013

Photos courtesy of Micha Hamilton

 PHOTOS: Micha Hamilton Photography

2nd Monologue for FLIGHT
June 20th, Pierro Gallery of South Orange, 2013

I am Art. First name terms. No need for formality here.

Comedian? Poet? Person of interest? Ambivalent? Yes. Confused? Emphatically. No question. Clear as day. No doubt about it. Are you with me? Why? Why are you with me? Trying to follow my thinking? Your time your dime.

I’m rude. My time is never well spent. I resist Blue Chip. I’m wary of the high minded, resist sincerity on some level. That whole thing of just being here, surviving—getting the work, getting the work done, cutting the lawn, Costcos...shop, clean, oil change. Change. We all have to embrace it in the end.

Food. Shelter. Toys. Electronic toys. Organic. Going green. Being green. Exploding imploding. Steam valve and kettles. Tea.

The energy to resist the hinderers, encourage the bright. Dreams essential. Optimists THAT crucial. There in the Constitution. The pursuit of happiness. Apparently a special people. More special than others. Do you think you are special? I mean I hope you do. That is healthy...right? But not more special. Not superior. The living for each day/worrying about the future thing. Dealing with matters of immediate import, grass root issues, community stuff, civic sphere and such. Community stiffs. Forums, hearings, meetings. Hearing the world laughing and screaming in every corner of every square.

Paying the bills not paying the bills. Staying safe and secure. Clutching an umbrella every time you step out of the door —just in case.
Prepared for every eventuality, wrapped in bubble, ready with the duct tape, un-scratchable.

Or go naked and vulnerable, and open and calm, palms out, receptive.
The gear can help, the right equipment—maybe first aid kit is not over the top, maybe justified, maybe some gorp, pocket warmers, tent. Sleep is worth protecting encouraging aiding and abetting with a pad a bag...gaz cooker boots. Motor generator propeller wheels and gears, night vision goggles.

Collect feathers basic technology pencil fork and knife. With this and that sow, knit, hammer, cobble together a way forward into adventure and the unknown with all the trials and tribulation and fun and weather fronts and storms and mystery. Journey walk through the rain and fog.

So we put on our wings. That is the thing about independence, being able to get up and stare into the center of the sun and go. Not dependent on airlines and schedules and trains with age-ing rails. A bit of running away from but mostly a going forth, running toward brinks and cliffs and into valleys and oceans, old stations and warehouses and factories. Sand farms with all those fascinating rusting machines. Hard to pin down that thing I’m running towards. Convinced getting there will be great but crucial I do not stop, you do not stop, we do not stop. By all means dilly dally, poke in the bushes with a stick, find bits of colored glass—for a bit. Curiosity is okay, alright, just dandy in my book.

Meditate, find your inner chi do a mantra then get up again and keep moving. By all means relax and gather strength. Stop to pick an apple, dig for truffles.

I’ve been planning this for so long but despite this it feels out of control and beyond my ken, my area of expertise but who wants experts here? Instructions blurring my vision, serailing my intent. Dot the “I”s cross the “T”s—done the formwork, the signatures, local auditor content, magistrate’s signed off. Notary public smiled and offered me a lollipop.

The insurmountable still not surmounted, kitchen cleaned, fence mended except for the latch. Been planning this trip for a while, a trip we might all enjoy. Some prefer water some land. All can come. If you have special needs just let us know.

Some’ll go by balloon or kite, some’ll go by camel. Surf or skateboard, motorbike. The dignity of walking, the cool lope, the meandering slide. The getting there faster not the point, the getting there at all...not necessarily the point. Not not the point but not the point if you get me. The thing of stopping is problematic. You don’t want to grind to a halt...not before you are ready. Slowly and thoughtfully but overthinking, fear, resistance??? The mania of civilization speeding willy nilly not forward or back but every which way?

Where there is. The there is elusive.

Different name for each of us, different feel, texture, different dimensions, big to some, small to others and go we must. I’m looking forward to it, pretty excited. I’ve oiled the engine, P and B sandwiches packed. Keep notes. You did keep notes? I’ve tightened bolts and screws, gone down my list and I’m going to go. Its not dramatic. Nothing dramatic. Pretty straightforward really. Matter of fact, mundane almost. Tiny in the big scope of things. Not unusual, not that rare, not unique. No. Unique. Different for each of us right.

Maybe see you there.

The Numchuk Dance (with thanks to Catherine Stratton of 9 Beach Films).

With thanks to Catherine Stratton of 9 Beach Films
Shot in the Pierro Gallery, South Orange, 2012. Currently on view during current exhibition— SOMA: Engaging Art, The Pierro Gallery, South Orange, NJ.

My contribution to SOMA: Engaging Art, collaborative art projects, performance and installation

Art O'Connor's Speech at No Comment Art, 23 Wall Street, NYC

Video courtesy of Wolf Geyr http://www.wolfgeyr.com

Mr. Smucks, of Nasti Bank Savings and Loan, gives a Rousing Speech (PART 2)

In 1991 I created a performance and extended monologue called Big Chairs, at Minor Injury, a gallery in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, as part of the Shredded Money Show. For it I built, with the help of friends, a big paper mache/cardboard bank with board of trustees thrown in. The main protagonist (yours truly) as PR Guy and creative director for the Nasti Bank, attempts to get the Bohemian set to part with their dollars to help shore up his beleaguered bank, an institution that has fallen victim to the Savings and Loan Crisis.

This is the second part of an hour long performance. Here Mr. Smucks gives a passionate speech extolling the virtues of his grievously misunderstood bank. 

Mr. Smucks, of Nasti Bank Savings and Loan, introduces The Board to some inovative thinking (Part 1)

In 1991 I created a performance and extended monologue called Big Chairs, at Minor Injury, a gallery in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, as part of the Shredded Money Show. For it I built, with the help of friends, a big paper mache/cardboard bank with board of trustees thrown in. The main protagonist (yours truly) as PR Guy and creative director for the Nasti Bank, attempts to get the Bohemian set to part with their dollars to help shore up their beleaguered bank, an institution that has fallen victim to the Savings and Loan Crisis. This is the first part of an hour long performance. Mr. Smucks arrives disheveled and out of sorts, having been attacked by an angry customer. He pulls himself together and proposes some ideas to the trustees as to how they might improve their image.

Mr. Smucks, of Nasti Bank Savings and Loan, makes a last ditch effort to persuade the artists to go make money instead (PART5)

In 1991 I created a performance and extended monologue called Big Chairs, at Minor Injury, a gallery in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, as part of the Shredded Money Show. For it I built, with the help of friends, a big paper mache/cardboard bank with board of trustees thrown in. The main protagonist (yours truly) as PR Guy for the Nasti Bank, attempts to get the Bohemian set to part with their dollars to help shore up his beleaguered bank, an institution that has fallen victim to the Savings and Loan Crisis. This is the last part of an hour long performance.

In this section Mr. Smucks shows how dangerous art can be and his deep aversion to its excesses. In desperation he puts his all into persuading artists to give up their futile ways and go concentrate on making money.

Mr. Smucks, of Nasti Bank Savings and Loan, shares his love of the arts, and the pain of such attachments (PART4)

In 1991 I created a performance and extended monologue called Big Chairs, at Minor Injury, a gallery in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, as part of the Shredded Money Show. For it I built, with the help of friends, a big paper mache/cardboard bank with board of trustees thrown in. The main protagonist (yours truly) as PR Guy for the Nasti Bank, attempts to get the Bohemian set to part with their dollars to help shore up his beleaguered bank, an institution that has fallen victim to the Savings and Loan Crisis. This is PART 4 of an hour long performance.

In this section Mr. Smucks shows how much the bank loves art and expresses how how appalled he is at the subsequent behavior of the artists whom he, deep down, blames for everything. They go and shake that great ladder that the likes of Michael Milken and other heros (the other guy with the beard—Ivan Boesky) of finance have climbed...and revel in their downfall! Shocked and dismayed he looks askance at his audience wondering how they could condone such cruel treatment of such amazing creators of such fabulous wealth?

An Associate of the U.R.G. Appears Before A Senate Subcommittee

Art Endures

Swimming With The Fishes

Art Tackles "The World Head On": 1st ACT-Swimming With The Fishes

Session 5 begins: 8:12AM, 8.29.11 (NJ Transit still not running).


The Imagination: Fear to Face.

“Back to Imagination. We touched on it earlier.”
You called it a keyword. It is. The failure of imagination undermines everything. I start with me. Every day I am trying to wrestle me down to the ground, grab hold of this slippery thing and get to its core. Daylight, stuff—jobs, shopping, housework whittle away at my concentration.
“You resent that?”
Not exactly. I do, but then I catch that I am resenting it and try to reverse myself. I don’t like resentfulness as a quality. If I feel it, I want to get to the bottom of it, which naturally takes me away from the issue of tackling the imagination, and so I get resentful. The circle has to be dashed so I try even harder to figure out how to handle those errant emotions. Mostly I have to accommodate them. All these feelings in me have to work together. No festering allowed. No self pity permitted. You acknowledge those feelings, biological, physical and emotional, sit down with them. I made a choice at some point that said my main focus is on—let us call it artistic expression—but art produced from a place of festering emotions does not really appeal to me. I want transparency.
(PAUSE)
People are scared of transparency. We are all juggling so much. We all have locked up places, places we will not go to, fear to face.
(PAUSE)
I remember being at Art School, my foundation course at Hatchmill, watching a lecture by British performance artist, Bruce Lacey, along with his partner Jill Bruce. He described life drawing when he was at Art School, how he’d be sitting on one of those horse benches with an attached drawing board, riding closer and closer to the model, lustily excited to be near a naked woman. I remember being thrilled by the honesty of this, and a little disappointed by the childishness of this shared experience. He’d dashed the enigma of the artist, made him all too human—clearly artists are just as silly as every one else. I understood this but a lifetime later and I’m still processing this. We filed out of the lecture hall and watch the artist couple climb down the bank outside into the river where they disrobed and did a wild dance to the green man or something.
(PAUSE)
I was always a performer. After their performance I remember thinking I’d do a performance in the cafeteria at Hatchmill in which I’d confess. I’d reveal myself with a long list of my darkest secrets. Seemed a great idea at the time but I could only come up with one major secret—the joys of masturbation. Might’ve been a weight off to share this but really not that interesting.
Art as art,
 art as confession,
  art as therapy,
   art as simply a way to get things off one’s chest,
    art as self-indulgence.

I longed to perform and have always held a spark of the exhibitionist within. He comes out on occasion but these days I press the remote. The self censor flashes on, I adjust the controls and distance myself from the act. To live on this thing must be more than merely me.
“Did we digress?”
We did.
(PAUSE)
By the way I like the new couch. I feel like I'm floating.

Session ends: 8:36AM

Art Prepares For An Extreme Performance

Arthur Does His Numchuk Dance

ANIMATION Click Here...

Mr. Smucks, Youngest Partner of Nasti Bank Savings and Loan, asks for Donations from the Bohemian SectorPART3

In 1991 I created a performance and extended monologue called Big Chairs, at Minor Injury, a gallery in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, as part of the Shredded Money Show. For it I built, with the help of friends, a big paper mache/cardboard bank with board of trustees thrown in. The main protagonist (yours truly) as PR Guy for the Nasti Bank, attempts to get the Bohemian set to part with their dollars to help shore up his beleagured bank, an institution that has fallen victim to the Savings and Loan Crisis. This is PART 3 of an hour long performance.

The Bruxists

I had no idea there was a performance art collective called the Bruxists...until today. Go figure. Going on picture slightly Residentsish which I like. Below is out take from above link.

Formed in Los Angeles, California, circa 1999, The Bruxists are a performance art collective, in general, and experimental noise duo, in particular. The group maintain a visual aesthetic whose main feature is the optic orange traffic cone mask, the eyes and mouth of which are carved in the style of a crude Halloween jack-o'-lantern. This tall tapered head piece is an apparent tribute to the Cabaret Voltaire-era "Cubist costume" of Hugo Ball, as well as a parody of dunce masks and Ku Klux Klan hoods.
The Bruxists' sole constant member is Red E. Made, a punning pseudonym clearly drawn from the Readymades of Dadaist Marcel Duchamp. (The band's record label carries a Duchampian moniker: The Teeth's Loan & Trust Company, Consolidated.) The other half of the "powerless duo," A. Pseudo, is a floating member in the form of a volunteer from the band's live performance audience. The original A. Pseudo was a founding Bruxist who performed in the band's earliest days. His current whereabouts remain unknown.
Choosing to play live infrequently and in the Los Angeles area only, The Bruxists have performed at L.A. venues as varied as The CIA (California Institute of Abnormal Arts) and the infamous Rainbow Bar & Grill. Among their more well-received shows was a June 19, 2003 event at The MET Theatre in Hollywood, California. Also sharing this bill was The Cacophony Society. At that time, The Bruxists mimed along to mashups of artists such as The Dead Kennedys and The Banana Splits. Mock instruments consisted of a broom ("Sweep-o-caster") plugged into a "Box Fan Amp," and a vintage Hoover vacuum cleaner that functioned as a "suck-ass microphone." The most recent live Bruxists show took place October 31, 2010, in a puddle beneath a bridge near The Echo nightclub in Echo Park, California. This occasion found The Bruxists giving an impromptu Halloween performance dressed in costume as Los Angeles surf-noise-pop duo, Best Coast.