Disruption hitches a ride on New York currents. Attending a presentation from down under and way over in the Washington Mews – former horse stables now echoing voices of the worlds regions – we learn that the Maori contribution to the Venice Biennale costs as much to ship from New Zealand to Venice as it does to then transport it from the Grand Canal to the venue. We also learn by depiction that we have already sunk parts of the world in polar melt and that some are busy crafting diving suits from woven zipper asylum seeker totes. Impatience is gripping the world of foresight due to a certain intractability inherent in the current machinations of man. Brett Graham is temporarily residing in New York to ponder the meaning of Indigenous artist. This sort of identity is very much intertwined with a notion of place and Mr. Graham takes us through the sixty guilders myth, said to have brought landed property to Turtle Island. Disconcerted by the security screening at the Museum of the American Indian he recounts being disheartened by the myth making inaccuracies of a sculpture depicting the beads for land grab he encounters in Battery park. Yet a statement he makes catches us in poetics: Manhattan, a meeting place of the canoes.
Flows dispelling the land outside traversal, maneuvered outside the commons, claimed use of game that wanders freely past, by hook or by crook. Mr. Graham, on a mission to dispel the myths that seek to lay claim for the landed and capitalized, erects dark monuments celebrating the fleeting romance of discovery in freshly pressed whites, a part of New Zealand being the last blank dot to be filled in to complete the colonial maps. In collaboration he codifies ancestral loss in a video where the development of a hydro-electric power station triggers a flood, erasing the previous. Though video as tool, still in the collaborative frame, can stem the tide of loss, short-circuiting mourning with defiance and elected office.
Flood or cascade, the view of Manhattan as a meeting of the canoes seems brilliant fleeting insight. More extraordinary, Mr. Graham unaware a treaty does exist governing life on the river that flows both ways, codifying mutual ebb and flow rather than demarcating boundaries for exclusions and ownership. The Two Row Wampum celebrates a quadricentennial and for a moment Manhattan reimagines a meeting of the canoes, renewing flow.
Subtext to this accrued sensibility, the flows rejuvenate a treatise, the founding Sachems inspired a now disoriented giant left standing, dalliance to the world for word. In another borough, another museum solicits extended parlance daring a sinking Venice. No shipping of a new media installation clear across the world, instead rafts in crude assemblage, arriving as islands of cramped mayhem by making Adriatic inroads to the canals.
“I think that people can pick up where governments are failing.” – #swoonstreetart
Take your iPhone off-grid with this bonus #IKEAHack:
An incredibly easy way to calculate the sun exposure is with an app called Sun Seeker. The map view will let you calculate how many hours and at what angle your panel is exposed to direct sunlight. Another handy app is Level to easily match the angle of the sun when mounting the solar panel to the Grundtal shelf. Please take care not to drop anything on peoples heads below should that be a possibility. There are many creative ways to catch rays without putting anyone in danger.
The following are the components that seem to work in this case, the assumption being that the wall charger supplied with these lithium ion batteries is “dumb” so that the battery contains a “smart” shut-off regulator. The panel on the other hand provides overload protection and prevents the battery from discharging through the panel. These are two ways it is possible to damage either the battery or the panel and it is only via limited experience and not rigorous testing or in-depth calculation that the above assumptions are made.
- Grip 12 V Solar Battery Trickle Charger
- Anker Astro Pro2 20000mAh Multi-Voltage (5V 12V 16V 19V) External Battery
- IKEA Grundtal Shelf
- Threadlock Blue
Drilling through the frame of the solar panel can be a bit tricky. Best to go slow and wear eye protection. Used some straight metal support brackets that were lying about and some bolts that matched to clamp the panel to the arms of the Grundtal shelf. To secure the bolts Threadlock comes in handy. Once hooked on two zip ties seem to be sufficiently anchoring the solar panel mount in place but it’s probably a wise idea to bring the whole solar panel mount indoors during inclement weather. A solar panel is only effective at generating electricity when the sun is shining on it in any case. Using a soft bristle paint brush to regularly dust off the solar panel will boost efficiency.
An empty ice-cream canister is one of possibility for connecting the panel to the battery. Mount two bolts to clip on the leads from the solar panel and then inside the jar connect them to a small plug (red + wire to center pin, black – to outer sheath) also mounted in the lid to accept a cable to connect to the input on the lithium ion battery for an easy plug and charge solution without changing any of the leads. The battery can be used to charge or power the iPhone and many other devices even while receiving its own charge from the solar panel.
The week finally ended with Krugman being a ‘bumblefuck’. But let’s backtrack a bit. Part of the Brooklyn arts resurgence is heavily financed by student loans. Be it on the one hand people in ‘programs’ or for the graduated strata people feeding themselves to the youngens as adjuncts to get a piece of that loan money by maintaining the plethora of ‘programs’. Sure in speculative hot Billyburg you’ll have a chauffeured SUV pop out a discreetly hipster camouflaged tech mogul of the new bit pay or almost passé sharing economy who then disappears behind some nondescript warehouse door. Most are glad to know these well positioned individuals on the tit of the vast sloshing money streams that might be VC or just HFT. There is the disquieting realization though that the aesthetic of a glasshole video stream is similar to a Shark in a fish tank preying on the violations of mere mortals tripping on some new social faux pas as defined by the lawyered up. In any case these guys know how to hold onto their money.
Big promises are made for philanthropy in later life but right now its best to just get a buzz started, keep the costs down, and build some culture sharing cred. Krugman, nobel laureate et al, can’t fathom why the financial voodoo machine might be continually mythologizing the ‘skills gap’. He makes a great liberal case for not ‘punishing workers’ but is unwilling to recognize that what banks want to do is print money and the current AAA way is to issue federally backed student debt that can’t be discharged. No one is interested in imparting ‘skills’. It’s about loading up debt, stupid. And managing endowments. It’s what funds the arts, makes the rental market hot, keeps the Apple hardware refreshed, and defines ‘sharing’ as the most natural thing in the world, affording all the illusion of free by reducing with a grand gesture of de-commodification all (creative) human activity to an experienced ‘fun’ value. Getting compensated is a matter of hustle yet discharging debt means turning some pretty large tricks.
Next up a gaming conference. Serious business these days because games have sex appeal – nothing like a line of peeps snaking around the block willing to drop a fitty for GTAV. This one happened to be serious speaking about sex in video games and the conundrum of the buxom female form lifted from comic books as wire frame, super hero boys aren’t too shabby either, yet the complete absence of the depiction of sex. Seems there is some enforcement code involved policing the virtual, tinkered with by politicians who we learned this week are engaged in real world gun running.
So there I was making a day of it in the BK, a day later painting the walls of a photo studio belonging to a young woman running a successful small photography business. I wanted to ask about the crunk that was issuing off a tommy’s iPhone. Were they listening to the lyrics? Just the beats? Does the blackness function as a mask so the lyrics don’t matter? Is it just that the misogyny isn’t real? For sure it’s hot painting walls to that. Up and down, surface coat glisten. Slosh it all about to get some more paint on the roller. In the back of my mind is the concept of “Happy Ending” which really only has one connotation while listening to Crunk. Yet at the gaming conference the two German women presenting their game with a protagonist female character, “Happy Ending” is still the stalwart fulfillment of marriage prospects with the added twist that they come at the end of a long series of sexual conquests in a surprisingly extensive set, rendered in 8-bit diversity.
While the irony that marriage might still be considered a “Happy Ending” at the end of a string of sexual conquests escapes no one in the US, the nostalgia is bitter sweet and not as brutishly funny as it might be in German liberated feminist circles. The stark reality is that in the US depending on the social safety net leaves one pretty much destitute for generations to come. The literalness that a marriage might imply a better shot at maintaining the economic status quo for raising offspring remains with societal imposed conflict a source of anxiety for women. While not happy, marriage may spell relief from a life of economic struggle.
It takes a lot of resources, luck, and less and less so hard work to be able to provide the chance for a child to attain near the same economic security that a parent enjoys now. So irony in this case, inspired by the freedom with social support existing for young women starting families in Europe seeing the happy arrival at marriage as a series of sexual conquests of men does not hold out the same possibility for turning the tables in America simply because of the level of predation and lack of support that bootstrapping freedom ‘offers’ young folks in America.
This might be why in the US “Happy Ending” in practice is a negotiated commodity, forbidden or not, with no illusion that this activity might be seen as conquest. Instead more and more so it is the currency that delineates just another form of income to keep the ravages of the well situated profit takers at bay ensuring that you live another day above squalor.
Not to take this argument too far, but this situation does predicate a level of anxiety that is fostering a new found solidarity among young women, esp. in the social media space. It is easy to launch campaigns in this new found solidarity space to say, stop telling women to smile on the street, or commiserate about creeps lashing out on the subway. In this sense oppressed groups are learning to be enforcers of new sorts of mores to counter the anxiety and the discomfort imposed by artificial societal scarcity.
Yet these campaigns do nothing against the true mechanisms of injustice. They may fill costly prisons with sex offenders with no hope of rehabilitation and may put a cop in every subway car. But they do not make the subway run any quicker, quieter or provide any other modern comforts. Lastly they don’t make it any cheaper for the commuter either or relieve any more of the anxiety. All they do is make taking a cab more enticing and something to strive towards by joining a hurried elite actively wrecking the world with their amplified and shielded “activity”.
After such Washington Mews academic inspiration, heading on down the Bushwick rabbit hole for deeper shades of gray wondering on the elaborate fiction spun that when Mr. Disney has the rights to the Poppins novel and has made idle fantasy from it, showered her with a small stack of cash yet then ignores her. At the premiere will the corporate entity Disney fill in for the failings of the man, take her by the arm to lead her into the palace where all anxiety is relieved in fantasy? Bullshit.
After much Wildlife wild night inspiration, the masked protuberance of the day again makes itself felt. A conference, this time “Make it Green” with envy rather than red with lust. Yet these aspects of sustainability are two sides of the same shard. Fashion in the form of amoebas – kits for hands and head all pointing to a littered ocean yet providing minimal mitigation.
Sustainability quickly draws the focus to material, possession, reuse and the concept of the local. Major concern – how do the models feel? Protuberance seen as protective or even shelter rather than cumbersome. A question on below the border scrap issues the response “I don’t live in a society where I am deprived. Rather the opposite, excess is the norm.” In another room a pop-up shop laments the fact that we refuse to reuse refuse. Even the prospect of “free” can’t counter the notion of getting dirty. “There exists still some shame in making things. Everyhting I have on has a story. That’s a wonderful thing for objects to have.”
Finally after having endured existential woe, a spectrum mechanics spanning from game play to fabrication, with a late night respite full of dead on perception, a light drizzle of rain leads me knocking on a Clinton Hill front door to learn that life itself is churning creation and nothing but form and effort is truly new. A pop up with a fashion past and politicized awareness for the things that might have been… discarded.
Meet a sweets in the Manhattan lower mids to jet to an opening that promises the oportunity to demolish some preconceptions with bits of red foam. Failing miserably, the click BOOM click of a prescriptive haze of cards washes over like attending the school of no chances. It stills the heart to peer into the endless plexiglass vortex.
Around the corner, frack in full effect a demo of upstaters takes the block between Avenue fundraiser and then, fully realized, we scamper for some temperate Brooklyn climate.
We find with Plato views of the artist mind elucidating the first inklings of intolerance. Basis theory for all ejections from the Polis subsequent. A Nebraskan transplant who muscled himself into the starkly minimal composer scene was beamed back to Brooklyn via Skype. After having bounced across the pond for bouts of looped elegance an artistic reality of being expat not for former love of country but for demonstrable lack of financials. Yet Skype seems the perfect medium for push-button loops and subtle glitchy deconstructs, upgrading the tragic hungry artist to the untethered aloof.
Further down the road to ruin, now in NASA bona fide form, the glacial pace of impending doom is met with the sounds of stubborn refusal for dry ice to take on liquid form. On metal mic-ed for effect.