LIMPING BACK INTO THE STUDIO

RECOVERING NICELY, METHINKS. Still hobbling on weak leg, after knee surgery eight days ago, but am back to about where I was just before the surgery, so hopefully it's clear sailing to pain free walking from here.

Sue, with the help of an artist we met at Artomatic, broke down my space on the first day of de-installation. Thanks, though for the offer of help.

Kicking up at the last rites of Artomatic 2008, drinking with Matt and Dana, eh? Well, Sue and I tossed back a few with fellow 52ers—Peter Harper, Adam Eig, and Luke Idsiak—before getting there nearly too late for party favors that Friday night. Ended up hanging with Tariq Rafiq, that new artist friend I just mentioned, up at his space on the 12th floor, closing the place down at 2 AM.

Good luck on the appointment. Meteoric rise through the ranks! Does this mean that you are not a voting member of the board in the interim? Anyways, what do I need to do to formally apply for membership? I've been anxiously awaiting some news on that front since our little chat at the Mayorga a couple of months ago.

A Facebook contact I know in name only) just wrote me a one liner: Do you have any Work that is framed and ready to be hung? I wrote back saying, "well, uh, yes I do but the question is where and when."

Such informality is perplexing to me, but I'm still in the game I suppose. Crap! Just got a return message from this mystery tramp saying only to email him (her) at some new address she (he) posted. That is all that was written.

Fuck it. Another mystery tramp. Where is the literacy in this new crowd of supposed movers and shakers? Email what? I can't read minds, and I so vigorously loathe this tug of war game that everybody seems to play, hiding behind minimal communication skills, I suppose, aiming to gauge the gullibility factor of the prospective fish on the hook.

And then yesterday I was asked by phone to be interviewed by National Public Radio (NPR). But I wasn't at studio, and after learning why I wasn't, she said she didn't think it was worth my while to try to get down to 52 O with only an hour advance notice. I was to be one of three interviews she said, but Stevens [Carter] later said others also were added once the crew got to the building. So I lost out on another rather ample bit of publicity which was building-wide and I, highly recommended, am cast to the wind.

Pulling teeth, dead in the water, strange karmic odor...

But best of luck, Marina, with your own shooting star,

Gabriel

P.S. So I presume you aren't looking to check out the new studio, to see if you want a corner, and general run of the place, or anything like that. Not that I am really looking for someone, but I did promise you an opportunity if you wanted one. I fill the space rather nicely, but I certainly have room for a compatible spirit from the world of paint. If you are no longer interested, please tell me so I can close that particular book for now.

THE INTERVIEW

Originally published on March 8, 2007

52 O STREET ARTIST extraordinaire Stevens Jay Carter, pictured above, was here today to interview this ruffian for his newsletter. As usual, I was wordy. Emotional. Nervous. Relaxed. Characteristically trapped in oscillation between a strident confidence and that unflattering corrosive excitability I exhibit when shown the least amount of attention. It’s times like this when I feel that the caricaturing aloofness that certain historical artists have postured might serve me better, or suffice in certain awkward situations, ah, a touch of the Steppenwolf…

After all, I liken myself to an open wound, but nature, being its own cruel taskmaster, demands obedience even from its inquisitive slaves, as Jackson Pollack observed in his statement that he himself was nature, so you would pay huge odds on the bet that aloofness in my mouth would ever sustain itself.

My burden is the burden of connectivity. Scattered shards of reflective glass that were once cohesive members of a magnificent window pane are products of a disconnect. Torn asunder violently, clumps of dried blood and rotting flesh that once promoted a promising creature’s thoughtful passion stress our senses, again, absorbing the ultimate disconnect.

Augured by my driving need to connect, to gather, rather than to divide, even when a particular division may be in my own best interests, my own eager nature refuses to allow me to participate in a calculated aloofness beyond an initial shyness a new situation may temporarily impose.

Contrary impulses of course always inject themselves and inform this nature. Hence, the battle. The conflict. The anxiety. The curdling of the milk, and the long scream. But the interview seemed to go rather well, a success, despite any number of competing considerations.

As always, Mr. Carter was charming and professional. It should be interesting to see how he hammers the passionate if sometimes pedantic Gabriel Thy blather into presentable form.

DAY ONE

WELCOME TO the Idiotsheet. This is where I shall post updates to my 52 O Street Studioscalendar, theorize on the state of my own work, and that of others, ponder the universe found on the brush, question the molecule at the end of a thought. Perhaps I’ll even wax poetic on some “dead to rights” topic which may or may not interest those of you prowling for art stuffs on the halfshell. Doesn’t matter. It’s just a blog. So relax, kick off your shoes, and take a stroll through the ragged imagination of one of 52 O Street’s more notorious blogs—the Idiotsheet.

Oh yes, props to John Woo for the photo. We’re standing in the Ratner Museum at 10001 Old Georgetown Road in Bethesda, MD. Moving left to right, that’s my lovely wife Sue Hedrick in red, the old ruffian himself protruding beyond his gears, and finally, the truly cultured and honorable Stevens Jay Carter. Enjoying the opening reception for Le Duet, the two man show featuring Stevens and Solomon Asfaw, we appear fist deep in red wine and the exquisite promise of another fine hour in the smarts of the Washington art scene.

The show runs through March 27, 2007.