This week, EMI came down on DJ Dangermouse. Posted on February 25 at Stay Free Magazine, "EMI sent out a cease and desist notice to Stay Free!/Illegal Art and about 150 other websites this week, claiming "willful violation of [copyright] laws." EMI wanted to prevent Grey Tuesday, an online protest [held February 24] of Capitol's attempt to squash Dangermouse's 'Grey Album,' from taking place. "
Around the same time Mr. Burton received his cease-and-desist letter, his album was receiving critical acclaim in Rolling Stone magazine. The album took on a distribution life of its own online, circulated via file-trading sites and on e-Bay, where bootleg CD's were selling for as much as $80 yesterday. Two weeks ago EMI issued cease-and-desist letters to an undisclosed number of record stores and e-Bbay sellers.
How arguable is it that DJ Dangermouse and The Gray Album are on the side of art? He's mixed samples from The Beatles (i.e., "The White Album") and rapper Jay-Z into something new, that none of the other musicians could have anticipated, music very much of its moment technologically, aurally, racially and artistically.
Elements of popular culture pastiched into a new statement-- right now, at the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington D.C., Douglas Gordon is showing video artwork made from pieces of Hollywood films. No one's lining up to sue him, or the Smithsonian Institution (of which the Hirshhorn is a part).
I respect artists' rights to be paid for their work--I have a vested interest in the protection of these rights. The rights of artists to express themselves are much more in danger, however, thanks to copyright laws that belong to an earlier era, a conservative government agenda that puts the rights of corporations over those of the individual, and of the public good, and the vast wealth of media conglomerates who can fund legal action against creative individuals and those who distribute their work.
Electronic Freedom Foundation is a good place to catch up on this stuff.
Buried, buried in the New York Times this week was a story about protests during Karl Rove's recent visit to town.
Now In Previews: Political Theatre in the Street:
At one point, as hundreds of guests with invitations waited to pass through velvet barriers to enter the club, a small group of men in bowler hats and women in gowns marched up, chanting, "Four more wars" and "Re-elect Rove."
As the group approached, a man who appeared to be a security agent of some type, was overheard whispering into a microphone: "We've got two groups. One for and one against."
Actually, it was two against. The person was confused by a group that calls itself Billionaires for Bush, a collection of activists who use satire to make a political point. Indeed, members of the Sierra Club, who were protesting on the other side of the street were also confused and began shouting at what they thought was a pro-Bush contingent.
"We want the truth and we want it now!" the Sierra protesters shouted.
The billionaires shouted back, "Buy your own president!"
Mitsu posts a report of the Loft Event on his blog.
I have to agree that it went well, particularly on Wednesday, when the Bronx Culture Trolley supplied a steady stream of visitors. He notes that many of the filmmakers were there to talk about their work. I think I was the only "visual artist" there to talk about her work. Without the structure of the video presentations--introduce video, show video, ask artist questions--I was left to simply approach folks looking at my collages, introduce myself, and try to engage.
The horrible dynamic: "What do you think of my work?" What artist likes to ask this question, and which viewer really wants to answer it?
I have wonderful memories of days in museums with my Aunt Eleanor. From childhood on, she engaged me in this manner. As a child, coming up with an impression, an opinion of the art work, seemed like climbing a mountain. What was I going to say about Kandinsky? Why was she asking? Why all this pressure!?
So, I feel for the people who found themselves face to face with this unknown artist from Brooklyn a few weeks ago, trying to come up with something coherent to say about her collages (no Kandinsky, she).
But this is the viewer's part of the deal. The art is communication. I want to know if, and how, the signal has come in. Has the information transfer really happened if you just look at an art work, make a low-voiced, noncommittal expression of reception ("five by five!"), and go looking for the cheese plate? (By the way, the cheese was good, and so were the little slices of sausage; thanks for bringing them, Bronx Council on the Arts.)
One of my last museum outings with Eleanor was to the 1999 "Sensation" show of young British Artists at the Brooklyn Museum. I pushed her along in a wheelchair, checking in frequently so that she was not stuck staring at something longer than she wanted to. This forced me to pause and consider the work more thoroughly, and overall it gave us a lot of time to talk over what we were seeing. How wonderful to look at and talk about art with her, trying on interpretations, smiling together at the amusing works and debating the "controversial" ones. (Eleanor, a psychiatrist, took a medical professional's interest in Damian Hirst's slices of cow, and decided they'd be better seen in a natural history museum.)
How much more empty I'd feel since she died, not having our lifetime's dialogue to remember. She trained me to think, and express ideas, about art.
This morning, I am sanding down some panels that I collaged late last year. The collages are fairly simple: three panels (purchased from Simon Liu, Inc. Fine Painting Supports) each with a single Polaroid image glued onto a ground of acrylic paint. Each of the three Polaroids is a portrait I made, I think in late 2001, of a man I was seeing. The paint and Polaroid are covered over with several layers of translucent Golden Extra Heavy Gel (Matte), for an encaustic effect.
I hang on to stuff. Sometimes it ends up encased in translucent acrylic media.
I was not careful in applying the gel. It foamed, trapping little air bubbles inside. You can see the bubbles against the paint and Polaroid below. This isn't the effect I wanted. The panels cost me just enough that they're worth reusing.
I emailed Golden late last year, asking how I might remove this stuff once it's dried. Sanding is pretty much the only option.
For a delicate material, Golden Extra Heavy Gel (Matte) is remarkably resiliant when sanded with 60-grade coarse sandpaper. I work away at the surface for several minutes. It doesn't want to smooth down. If I press too hard, it starts to heat up and get stringy. I have to stop for a while and let it cool.
The best I'm going get, I think, will be to clean up the panels around the edges, and get that gel roughed up and ready for a couple new coats of gesso. When that's dried down, I'll paint the panels again.
My current palette includes titanium white cut with a bit of umber; a bright sand color heavily reliant upon titan buff; and, a milky blue that reminds me of photographs of Antarctic glaciers.
I'm all out of Polaroids of exes.
If you, like me, often find that the most interesting articles in the paper are the obituaries, you will want to start reading The Blog of Death.
On Saturday, riding the train home from Mitsu and Sue's loft event with Margaret, I said, "I can't even imagine waking up the day after the election in November, and looking at four more years of Bush. How will we even get out of bed on that day?"
Margaret reminded me that Bush didn't actually win the first time. Thus, we may be in better shape than we think in terms of electing a different president this year. This cheers me up, and it's worth remembering.
Recent cracks in the unified stone facade of the Administration are also terribly uplifting. While Bush tries (in his self-satisfied way) to excuse patently incorrect intelligence about WMD in Iraq--this is the information that he used to justify the whole invasion, remember--Dick Cheney refuses to back down.
Meanwhile, I am thrilled to say that I'll be doing something direct to help remove these criminals from power. I will be writing freelance for BushGreenwatch, a great web site that tracks this admistration's all-out assault on our environment and public health. Read it, subscribe to it, forward it to your friends (and senators, and congresspeople).
When my first assignment goes live, you can bet I'll post a link here!
I am giddily obsessed with the Oscar race this year. Will a fantasy film--The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, natch--actually win Best Director or Best Picture?
Most of the sf/fantasy folks I know--editors, a copy reader, a writer or two, some very dedicated readers of the stuff--could care less about this, and I don't count any truly obsessed LoTR trilogy fans in my circle of friends. Why does it fascinate me?
Maybe it's the standard underdog pov of the sf/fantasy fan. Vindication, at last!
Maybe it will just be fun to have a film involving wizards, magic, halflings, ents, and elves win an Oscar, and to watch hobbitty New Zealander Peter Jackson triumph amidst all the botox'd, siliconed, glazed-to-perfection Hollywood royalty.
Maybe I just need something fun to think about.