WEEKEND PARTY UPDATE

CLARA

2011-12-28T14:57:00.003-05:00

I read this passage in This Side of Paradise yesterday and its a conversation I need to have.

"Oh don't stall please, Clara," Amory interrupted; "but do talk about me a little, won't you?"
"Surely, I'd adore to." She didn't smile.
"That's sweet of you. First answer some questions. Am I painfully conceited?"
"Well--no, you have tremendous vanity, but it'll amuse the people who notice its preponderance."
"I see."
"You're really humble at heart. You sink to the third hell of depression when you think you've been slighted. In fact, you haven't much self-respect."
"Center of target twice, Clara. How do you do it? You never let me say a word."
"Of course not-- I can never judge a man while he's talking, but I'm not through; the reason you have so little real self-confidence, even though you gravely announce to the occasional Philistine that you think you're a genius, is that you've attributed all sorts of atrocious faults to yourself and are trying to live up to them. For instance, you're always saying that you are a slave to highballs."
"But I am, potentially."
"And you say you're a weak character, that you've no will."
"Not a bit of will-- I'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires---"
"You are not!" She brought one little fist down onto the other. "You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination."

THIS CAME ON LATE LAST NIGHT AS I WAS DRIVING AND I FELT VERY ALONE

2011-12-27T15:52:00.001-05:00

WE CAN SORT THIS OUT

2011-12-14T10:10:00.003-05:00

“Dad, you might as well face it,’’ Wayne recalls Jonas saying. “You have a son and a daughter.’’

TELL HIM.

RICK PERRY V. BRITNEY SPEARS

2011-12-07T18:00:00.000-05:00


YouTube Doubler

WIGS ON THE GREEN: A READING

2011-12-05T21:31:00.010-05:00

Nancy Mitford portrait by Cecil Beaton

I will not stop reading the works of Nancy Mitford. This is an affliction rather than an affectation. Known for her light comedic novels about life in interwar Britain and biographies of French historical figures, I have concluded that Mitford has answers. It makes no sense to me that no one I've talked to is presently suffering this same obsession.

This is not an exaggeration because actually I cannot make sense of it, fitting as it does at present with the difficulty I find making sense of anything, of making a way in this world, featuring real problems which will not solve themselves. That is, the suspicion that something terribly wrong has been programmed into the hardwiring of my generation. My pathetic sensitivities remain slowly moving in the lurch, or staring languidly out a bay window, or from a long hot bath, or on the barstool, or in my studio cultivating anxieties into a mental garden of delusion, fear of the future, high self-regard and low self-esteem.

As an aside, I think "the studio" has been declared old-fashioned by some art taste-makers, anyway, simply because the studio is not a site-specific residency, a website describing a site-specific residency, a jet to or from a site-specific residency, or a grant application made in order to afford a site-specific residency. Now this I won't understand since a studio is a physical site, specific to "the place I go to get depressed", where I "reside" at length, and yet...

That making art doesn't save one from paperwork is an unkind realization, by the way, a tragedy which delivers its blow anew every time some form is handed over requiring my immediate, deliberate attention. Oh, the niggling annoyances one hoped to sidestep wholesale by joining up with art or some other noble pursuit, but there is after all no escaping.

I read The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate last winter, and have since read Mitford's biographies of Voltaire in Love, The Sun King, Madame Du Pompadour, and Frederick the Great, selections of her letters, Harold Acton's biography of her, her sister Jessica Mitford's memoir of their childhood Hons and Rebels, and now reading Wigs on the Green, an early comedy satirizing young fascists in Britain during the '30s. To publish Hitler jokes in 1935 seems delightfully bold and inappropriate, and that they are. Mostly its a teasing send up of the joiner type, of the kind that finds a political party compelling. Not the type for me, and not for Nancy either, needless to say.

Without getting into much detail or bore you poor blog reader with scholarship, I can tell a few things about why this resonates. In The Pursuit of Love and in Frederick the Great especially, Mitford the narrator betrays an essential dissatisfaction with life. I relate to this leitmotif. Mitford describes mild yet ineluctable misery, the inability to take serious things seriously, bafflement at what's required to support oneself, ambivalence toward politics and to those who enjoy them, forgone romantic relationships, casual acceptance of infidelity, moderate dislike of one's own family and the non-negotiable conditions of one's childhood, unshakeable and inexplicable class pretension and regard for good manners, a value system based exclusively on how to turn a phrase amusingly and a general preference for the company of gay men, leading occasionally to heartbreak. Does this pile-on seem extraordinarily bleak? Maybe it would be but for her constant sense of humor, her narrative style, her saving grace. Her books usually end happily resolved, for spite of the circumstances.

Well, today I read this passage from chapter 13 of Wigs on the Green and thought to share it. It reminds me of New York, Miami Art Basel, the wealthy, and calling bullshit:

"The artistic young men of Rackenbridge found themselves a good deal inconvenienced by Mrs. Lace's preoccupation in her new love-affair. Their hearts were perhaps less affected than their stomachs, the emotions of those young men had never been much shaken by any petticoat, but up to now they had always been able to count on Comberry Manor and its chateleine for such agreeable amenities as free meals and pocket-money during the summer. This year a gloomy change had come about. The colony had already been at Rackenbridge for over a month, but as yet not one single picture, photograph, piece of pottery or hand-woven linen had been commissioned by their patroness, nor had she introduced to the studios, as she usually did, any gullible visitors. Almost worse than this trade depression was the fact that practically no invitations to meals at Comberry were now being issued. The artistic young men were getting tired of scrambled eggs and sardines eaten off studio floors, they longed to sit up to a table and attack a joint.

This state of affairs was rightly laid at Noel's door. As well as providing a complete distraction from the ordinary routine of her life he had shaken Mrs Lace in the belief that her friends were geniuses. He assured her that in London they were perfectly unknown, and his attitude towards their work, too, was distressing. For instance, after glancing at Mr Forderen's series of photographs entitled 'Anne-Marie in some of her exquisite moods' which, when they were first taken a year before had caused the greatest enthusiasm in Rackenbridge, he had remarked quite carelessly that she ought to have her photograph taken by some proper photographer.

'Don't you see,' Anne-Marie had said, 'that these pictures represent, not me but my moods, this one, for instance, "pensive by firelight", don't you think it rather striking?'

'No I don't,' said Noel, whose own mood that day was not of the sunniest. 'It is nothing but an amateurish snapshot of you looking affected. Frankly, I see no merit in any of them whatever, and as I said before, all those young aesthetes at Rackenbridge strike me as being fearfully 1923, and bogus at that.'

As a result of this conversation the series was removed from the walls of Anne-Marie's drawing room, from whence it had long revolted Major Lace, and consigned to those of a downstairs lavatory. Here it was duly observed by poor Mr Forderen on the occasion of the cocktail party."

PRE-TRANSMISSION

2011-11-22T16:50:00.005-05:00

I'll update soon, I promise just as soon as a few things clear up mentally and I stop fighting what I want. Do know that for now, this: thighs are fascinating, my preferred manner of death would be suffocating in thighs, the way Jennifer Lopez sits on a white couch, Fiona Apple is Roni Horn basically, and Judy Collins's eyes mean it.

BOS <-> NYC

2011-09-01T11:03:00.004-04:00

I've moved. I haven't quite moved on yet from the ultimate traumatic event of moving that is, always. Relocation is a terribly violent event. No amount of preparation can dull the painful suddenness of it, the dissolution of every carefully conceived comfort one uses to feel safe and at home. The task now is to find new poles with which to raise a wider tent.

Saying goodbye is also no fun, but here we are, saying goodbye the other night at Shay's Lounge in Harvard Square.

a shit grin

First order of business in New York was attending the closing party for Ryan Trecartin's extravaganza at PS1 Wednesday night. Dis Magazine threw a really fun party, at which HD Boyz performed, as well as Glass Popcorn, the 15 year old rapper, and some other extremely beautiful people. Hennessy Youngman MCed, which was a highlight. The Trecartin show was cool, lots of really funny rooms arranged for watching his hyper-idiotic and revelatory youtube videos. In 2009 I reviewed a piece he and Lizzie Fitch did at the Rose Museum in Massachusetts, and I still feel much the same as then.

HD Boyz

yours truly, Nate, Hennessy Youngman and Kevin Kelly.

SUMMER SIPHONED OFF

2011-08-21T15:44:00.004-04:00

Poolside, pre-show. Cape Colony Inn, Provincetown.

thankfully Moises, Dymaris, Abby and Marissa were able to join me

DNA gallery, Provincetown.

look at this stupid town.

Summer is ending, I'm packing it all up. Must move on to New York City next week and who knows, am I ready to give up New England living forever? If this doesn't work, I'll just move to Provincetown and become very, very out of touch and demented.

But it is a very wonderful thing to be moving to New York, because I'm in the mood for revenge (not due to any particular offense suffered, rather, ambient incensement), as well as in the mood to survive, and New York is a city of vengeance recouped by survivors.

A FEW CLICHES PRECEDING A MORE SUBSTANTIAL UPDATE

2011-08-01T20:16:00.005-04:00

The sun is setting here in Somerville.

I am drinking a gin & tonic and listening to some r&b and country music. There is an inconsistent breeze blowing through the smaller window, but strangely I haven't minded the sweat at all today. It could be that suddenly its August and I am resigned to it as long as I do not have to work too hard.

Nevermind that just now, but the sun is still setting and looking at it I can't help but imagine that this is exactly the cliche I've always wanted, which is what cliches do. I felt that earlier this year when confronted suddenly with the "reality" of the Eiffel Tower. "Reality" in that last sentence is in scare quotes because going to Paris to see it was an honest-to-God joke. Traveling to France alone was a practical joke I played on myself. The Eiffel Tower is better understood to me now more as an absurdity than anything plausible. It is a picture, a postcard that I walked in on and ruined forever after I blew its cover as a physical entity existing in three and not just two dimensions. Walking in on the Eiffel Tower was embarrassing.

When I arrived in the Parc du Champ de Mars, in front of the Ecole Militaire, I reached around in my bag for my Pentax K1000, only to find that it had its lens cap compacted into the glass, the whole thing was goddam busted. Damaged during my flight! All this way traveled, at wonderful expense, I'm standing literally in front of Planet Earth's number one greatest hit, and my camera will not right now do what I brought it all the way here to do. More or less that is, to validate my parking.

But the truth is I was attracted to Paris, I still am. It was a lifestyle aspiration that I had encountered before, in the Eurocentric home decor of acquaintances here or there. Eiffel Tower framed posters, dish towels, coasters, decorative luggage tags, keychains, pictures of Audrey Hepburn, calendars featuring sepia-toned children kissing in France, sometimes wearing clothes that somewhat do not make them look like miniature adults. What shit. But I went, didn't I? I fell for it, I'm implicated, I had a wonderful time and I saw sights. I went into tourist shops and bought a lot of funny knick-knacks pretending to know what the French were talking about. And now I am going to paint the Eiffel Tower. At sunset, probably.

PLEASE JOIN ME IN PROVINCETOWN

2011-07-27T07:37:00.004-04:00

Come hang out on the beach. I'm in a group show that opens this Friday in Provincetown, MA on the tip of Cape Cod. DNA Gallery. 288 Bradford Street. 6-10pm, Friday. Show will be on view I think through the 14th or so.

BIRTHDAY WISHES

2011-06-22T07:32:00.007-04:00

It was my birthday last week and I could not stop celebrating. To put an end to the occasion, I just have these few remarks:

On turning 17 again.

I promise to obsess ever diligently, more than before if possible. I promise to veer closer to the edge of inanity. I will keep pouring over the image of man, many of them with visibly large dicks, but its not important. I want to be demented. I promise awkwardness and increasing instability if ever I happen to cross some slick possessor in the flesh. Behold! Composure dashed like pottery on marble steps. Rebuilding, refashioning. Doing it again. Cliche as a preordained condition for services rendered. Please God mold thy servant. This insipid filth I've been peddling, may I peddle it further? and may it one day burn super brilliantly in hell.

SELECTIONS FROM THE RECENT LIFE OF YOUR HERO

2011-06-18T07:21:00.004-04:00

Hey nerds. I'll post an update for your wandering eyes to glance at. I've been a tad busy.. first of all I work now, which is a major life adjustment. For those of you who work, I salute you. It really does eat up a lot of time. Gosh, I'd estimate about 40 hours a week.

Even so, there is much fun. Memorial Day was a couple of weekends ago and it was just lovely. I was piss drunk starting from about 11am on, drinking French wine in Christian Dior out of on the veranda while nearly expired veterans marched by firing blanks, as well as scads of Shriners moving along in those hilariously small toy cars. There are some pictures from the household holiday observance below.

Then, what was it. Oh yes, I am showing work in a great big group show in New York called Mixed Messages, organized by the amazing Visual AIDS group. John Chaich curated, and there are 40 or so artists participating. Its a really wonderful show of text works, with much content and a sympathetic point of view. Its truthfully very humbling and a tad too real to be included in a show with so many artists that I admire. I am very grateful for the experience.

Matt, Christina

B

Ellen

yours truly

MIXED MESSAGES, LA MAMA LA GALLERIA by VISUAL AIDS:

LIFESTYLES ULTRA SENSITIVE

darling Matthew and work by Rob Wynne

work by David Wojnarowicz

LATER ON, BODY LANGUAGE PERFORMS:

Angelica Bess

I love all of these babies

reunited in glory forever.

GET BUSY

2011-05-23T17:14:00.006-04:00

Saturday night we hosted a party I mean, I guess somebody had to. There was that ridiculous rapture scam news item, with a few really committed evangelicals making a major deal about it and as far as I know, those people are still on the planet. What is it with some people. Sucks for them the poor dears, I think they were looking forward to it. Anyway, there was that slim possibility that they were right and contingency demanded that we party hard. What-Ever. A handful of people made a couple of good rapture jokes so: kudos to you guys. We had fun. Adrian and I shared an apt moment, remarking on how the positivity seemed to emanate from the floor like a heatwave or, I thought, a mirage. Saturday night did have that all-embracing, warm quality of friendly recognition, kinship and good cheer.

We had billed the event as a Sean Paul's Basement theme party, taking inspiration from the celebrated music video for his mega-hit "Get Busy" --first popular when I was in high school. Has there been a better house party vid? Extremely doubtful. Is there a better crossover dancehall hit? Equally as doubtful, indeed. Well, moving on, this materialized like from out of thin air in the form of a 20 minute dance party before Dad (in our case, the cops) shuts it down on account of all the banging on the radiator. We had a spread of fried yucca, plaintains, and a Jamaican curry which is good for your curves.

HANG ON. Ben: maybe you can shed light on who that homeless guy is second from left? Did somebody invite him? We were fairly certain he wandered in off the street.

Anthony came up from Hartford, and Brandon and Phoebe have moved back to Boston from Miami FTW. Here is a really good vintage pic of them at their farewell party in Hartford, 2008. One more.

Punky Jewster here. Moises and Tommy, background.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA. Jamie.

CCTV

TAY-DAY thinks I'm SO FUNN-AY

Matt and Xu are starting a CLAVICLE FARM FOR IMPOSSIBLY SEXY INNER CITY TEENS

HAY VIBHU

IS IT SEXY

2011-05-16T10:02:00.002-04:00

OMG Melanie is moving away to San Francisco to run away from all that she knows and into the land of almost dead hippies, gays, bears, marijuana fans, Uncle Jesse, that movie 'Milk', etc. Ellen made a big beautiful dinner last night to wish her well and have some laughs. We did it all! Is it sexy? Follow her tweets @funnycookietime as she and her boyfriend hot-body-Neil re-discover America like in that JTT/Devon Sawa picture, 'Wild America.'

Mandy

Ellen

Mel

Brian

Jamie

Anna

Sexy!

Lady Time!

Brian slapping me in the fucking face near the end of the night.

MISS NICHOLLE PRIDE IS EVERYTHING

2011-05-03T07:24:00.002-04:00

HERE SHE IS for Perestroika, Jacques Cabaret, Boston.

ILLUSTRATED PERSONAL STATEMENT

2011-04-10T16:43:00.003-04:00

I'm moving to New York in a few months to begin graduate study at NYU Steinhardt. I want to post my personal statement here, to mark the occasion and iterate my mission to the world, to give notice to you of what I'm imagining and where I'm headed.

"A lot of what I do is to re-invest romance into painting, an urge I find inevitable while staring at pictures, despite the absence of romantic dialogue from the contemporary art discourse. Incongruous with modern tastes and standards for suitable subject matter, I often say my work is about love. I like the way this assertion bothers serious art.

More importantly, I say this because I am often moved to experience something closely akin to love while moving through the endless world of visual media, whether it is looking at other art, advertising, fashion, cinema, pornography or photojournalism. I’ve been calling this place the Sensual World, the place I prefer to work.

For many reasons, I also use the label 'Ultra Sensitive' to describe my portraits, which is taken from the LifeStyles brand condom wrapper. My canvases and the prophylactic are both inanimate, lifeless material objects. Yet when stretched over an erect support both attempt to simulate the sensational attributes of flesh come to life. I am intrigued by the way the condom boasts possession of such a rare and amorous personality trait, and I desire similarly extreme sensitivity for my work.

Despite advertised promises of intimacy, the condom acts as a layer of distance between bodies during sexual 'union' similar to the distance I regret feeling between each sitter and myself, caught in the act of gazing. Representational art may suggest a human relationship even though it cannot deliver the actual thing. This parity supplies the longing which has been all of my work’s great motivator.

Lastly, my art practice is a hedge against the banal cruelty of normative work and life. Growing up gay with an influential Evangelical Christian pastor for a father wrought in me a life seeded with tension, conflict and complicated values. These are constants which enrich my world within view of an oppressive sublime, a predilection for sad young men, and self-awareness strong enough to know that illusory art is a pleasure that can dissent, sustain and fortify against threat. I am beginning to wonder how my work can ingratiate the traditions of art while aggravating an erotic nerve underneath, touching off queer narratives that become generative for future work."

MY THROAT IS A DRAIN DOWN THROUGH WHICH I POUR THE DEVILS WATER.

2011-02-24T09:37:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was a long-ass day. I was on a one-day East Coast mini speaking tour. I had an engagement with my old professor's painting class to come talk about my work and how the hell they're going to cope with exiting school when the time comes. There's no easy answer but to say "whatever works, works" which translates roughly to "turning tricks pays bills."

Later on I hightailed it back to the BCA's closing reception for SWAP MEET, the group show curated by Emily Isenberg in which the invited artists hang work and then negotiate trades among themselves. I totally won, by the way, and I soon get to take home a totally glam pair of photographs by my new friend Heather Cleary. (p.s. the show is on view through the weekend, so don't miss it)

The closing was celebrated with a potluck supper in the gallery, where we all met and talked and discussed how cold, bitter and lonely making art in Boston Massachusetts is. And to think I thought that problem was specific to my dismal outlook. Truly heartening to know that we are all alone and suffering insignificance together.

On Tuesday night, I went down to Hartford early to get ready for the Hartford Art School gig, but mostly to reconnect with that old-timey drunken happiness that was my six-year long stint in Connecticut's capital city. Gabi, J, Mel, Petey, Angelica and I went to trivia night at the Half Door, came in fourth place, but def won first place drunk.

gays, if you've ever wondered, this is what love between man and a woman looks like

Mel, J, Angelica

big tip.

BACK AT HOME

tweeting

a baby in there.

good help is hard to find.

MURDER.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MANET

2011-02-14T10:43:00.006-05:00

The highlight of my 2011, for sure the moment to beat, was making my pilgrimage to see Manet's Olympia at the Musee D'Orsay in Paris last month. I don't care to make much of a scholarly deep read of this painting since 10,000 deep reads by 10,000 different scholars and artists already exist. Also if you're reading this, you're probably an old pal of mine from art school (who else still reads this crap?) and have already sat through a handful of meaningful lectures illuminating the many ways by which this picture of a whore wrecked art indefinitely and then saved it by making art more rebellious, just in time for the 20th century when everybody tried to outdo Manet's attempt to wreck art by fucking it all even further (read Transgressions: The Offenses of Art by Anthony Julius for a real play-by-play account of why this is true).

Anyway, seeing this hooker in person is worth the entire expense of getting to Paris. Her flesh is so pristine yet also so compromised, so dirty. Her room is 100% tacky. The lighting is crass and horribly modern, the linens, the drapes, her shoes so cheap and her jewelry too. Barely perceptible tufts of red hair grow from her underarms which is how you know she's French and into sex. Her maid or ladyservant, whoever she is, matronly and too available. Way too into having a white bitch tell her what to do. I like her dress though, especially the color and the drape of it cascading down stage left. Presenting Olympia with a Valentines Day bouquet, I'm imagining for today, undoubtedly from a John, maybe even the painter himself. Why not?

The flowers really do a lot for me in this painting, and so does that wretched stinking cat at the foot of the bed. I hate that cat! But I love it also, which is how I feel about all cats. Their principle appeal for me has always been the way they avail themselves to being equal parts detestable and adorable at different parts of the day. Illustrated here is one of the times that I would hate it, for ruining my otherwise chintzglorious self-styling, imagining myself in Olympia's position. She's like "Here I am, having my goddamn portrait painted and at such great expense I might add, and this stinking cat is fucking up my whole high-class persona, my whole business platform if we're gonna be honest, that stupid bitch pussy." The only guy who did cats better was Balthus, obviously, if we're not counting the ancient Egyptians. But nevermind Balthus, let's count the Egyptians, very topical. The Egyptians did cats best in art, hands down.

Balthus

But what I'm really into, what I am trying to get across right now, is how wonderful I think it is to try and imagine an artist like Manet, basically God in my personal Western Art History Canon, painting a picture of a whore with clear intent to shake things up just a bit and add just a touch of naked fuckability to the centuries-long project of men painting women nude, and he still takes the time to consider floral still-life. SURE, its a gift from a client, and sure its being presented by this hooker's Negress-in-waiting, but Manet still thought it an important enough subject to include here, and I think that's thoughtful of him.

Something I really liked about the Musee D'Orsay was in the next room, where Luncheon on the Grass is hanging. Installed right next to that total "fuck-you" to decent civil society is a modest picture of another floral still life. Its a tough call from my perspective to decide whats a more exciting prospect: the complete banality of a floral still life suddenly electrocuted with erotic potential via its proximity to some nude free-spirit lunching with her clothed male companions (CMNF), or if painted flowers are just inherently interesting, possessing their own alien sexuality. Naturalistic beauty sure, and an opportunity for aesthetic contemplation, granted, but not necessary for my life in the contemporary world if I want to get romantic, not by a long shot. It's a puzzle to mull around upstairs while I'm daydreaming about how intensely I love Manet's art.

Also at the Musee D'Orsay this Manet picture, Still Life with Carnations and Clematis.

Paul P. already got to it, such an enterprising young fella. Goddam MoMA now owns it. Anyhow, here we have example B, visual testimony from the artist Paul P. to support my argument: that there is an erotic ember smoldering away in floral arrangement, especially in Manet's canvases, waiting for its moment when a hot breath causes the whole thing to erupt into a devastating holocaust of desire.

xo happy valentines day from my home to yours.

SWAP MEET

2011-02-11T10:13:00.003-05:00

At present my work is included in an interesting experiment of art trading at the Boston Center for the Arts in an exhibition called SWAP MEET, curated by my pal Emily Isenberg. In the rear room at the Mills Gallery, a dozen artists were invited to hang work with the prospect in mind of trading them away. Throughout the course of the show, artists initiate trades for one another's work in a bartering style. Eschewing monetary exchange, dollar value, art dealers and non-artist collectors, the artists involved determine their own range of value within this small-scale closed system. For a trade to occur, both artists must reach an agreement that makes them both happy. The proposals are hand-written and filed away in the gallery by unpaid interns. Its worthwhile to remember that interns NEVER get paid, and never will. The role of the unpaid intern in art commerce remains very much the same, even during this fun and clever experiment. Those poor losers!

The show opened on January 21st and closes on February 27th.

clockwise from left, Wayne Stokes, my friend Julia Hechtman, and two by yours truly.

here are two works I'm trying very hard to trade for by Heather Cleary, who I've never met.

Heather, I'll trade one private come-hither boudoir pose for two of your wonderful prints, if you're reading this. Just name the time and place.

HAPPY NEW YEAR/HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX/BONJOUR MON PETIT CHOU CHOU

2011-01-28T10:02:00.003-05:00

Am I a delinquent blogger or what? Forgive me. Its not as if I haven't been having any fun, but you know, using the computer becomes so tiresome. What does my generation find so exciting about sitting in front of lighted screens? I'll never know; I never saw "The Social Network." Anyway, New Years Eve was gloriously fun, celebrated at Pennie's Somerville chateau. Rizzla spun records all night, and our gracious hostess nearly killed herself after a delicate spill down the grand staircase, which is no laughing matter, although she emerged triumphant and is now not only gracious, but the strongest woman in the world. Now she's sporting a futuristic neckbrace, the very definition of trans-human 21st century chic if you ask me. Let's talk about our generation.

Tom, Pennie.

Marissa, Abby

Rizzla

Sarah, Brandon

Oh, everybody.

Tom, Chris: OUTED.

the three drunk muses

Maria, Vibhu, Max

Moises, yours truly, Dymaris

TD

Love in a Cold Climate

Happy Birthday Max, nice sandwich.

for no apparent reason

the very height of injurious chic. posture.

oh and this. Paris.

Really- what is the point of photographing Paris? It is the most photographed place on Earth, and so absurdly baroque it can't be understood pictorially. Ugh, the French. They've done everything absolutely right. Regardless, I left my camera in the hotel at moments when I really fucking wanted it, like for instance during Bernhard Willhelm's Mens Collection A/W 2011 fashion week presentation at Hotel Salomon De Rothschild. Oh mon dieu. So hilariously fashionable. Or at the 10 or so gay bars I popped into with my new friends Mathieu and Olivier.

seriously.

How can we expect the children to stay on the farm once they've seen gay Paris? or however its said.

I was a starry-eyed faggot in ecstatic aesthetic ascension.

AND YES. There is a French fashion brand called Hartford. At last, vindicated in my defense of my hometown's style. http://hartford.fr/ We will all shop here from now on, am I right?

Lest I get used to this...

2010 IN HINDSIGHT.

2010-12-31T10:58:00.003-05:00

Here are a few items from 2010 that made it worth staying alive. Lists are extremely limited to what I had the time and means to experience in person.

Best art show in a museum:

1. The Drawings of Bronzino, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

-so sexy! so wonderfully cosmopolitan, exquisitely virtuosic, especially by today's body-beauty starved standard. What treasures!

2. Virtuoso Illusion: Cross Dressing in Contemporary Art, The MIT List Visual Art Center, Cambridge.

-watching the angel Michael Clark star in Charles Atlas's "Hail the New Puritan" whilst overhearing John Kelly sing Joni Mitchell and Kalup Linzy bitch about a bad romance was delicious and revelatory but everybody I talked to hated the installation design for exactly this reason. Those buttheads were absolutely wrong! Loosen up, its a party.

3. Heat Waves in a Swamp: Charles Burchfield, The Whitney Museum, New York.

-the wallpaper! Curator/artist Robert Gober drops the hint that regionalism isn't a dirty word and never really was. Figurative modernism is hot hot hot right now.
Bonus: Terence Koh was in the museum when I visited, and he had quite a moment staring at a snowy landscape.

4. Werewolf Karaoke: Justin Lowe/Matrix 159, The Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford CT.

-remember Dash Snow? Neither do I.

Best art show in a gallery:

1. Ultra Sensitive: Sam McKinniss, Proof Gallery, Boston.

-Duh.

Best movie:

1. I Am Love, directed by Luca Guadagnino, starring Tilda Swinton and a bunch of Italians.

-I was gasping for breath for the entire two hours. When I left the theater, my mouth was stuck in the "OMG" formation. Big-theme, big-impact narrative film in an expert's hands is still worth our every attention, and who knew a food movie could sway me so hard. Costumer Raf Simons at Jil Sander deserves an Oscar.

2. Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work, directed by Ricki Stern and Annie Sundberg, starring Joan Rivers.

-the gays have always been right about Joan Rivers.

Best TV:

1. Work of Art: The Next Great Artist, on Bravo.

-this show sucked but it gave me something to hate so efficiently, it deserves some thanks. Bravo also gains kudos for introducing the world to Judith Braun and Miles Mendenhall does have a cute butt. Watching the show required emerging and underemerging artists (such as yours truly) to ask themselves why the fuck do I bother with assholes like China Chow, Jerry Saltz and Bill Powers? Big ups to Paddy Johnson at Art Fag City for leading necessary pre- and post-show discussions.

2. "Public Speaking" dir. by Martin Scorsese, starring Fran Lebowitz on HBO.

-this bitch! For most of the world, this documentary shed light on the question: why is Fran Lebowitz famous? Prior to viewing this I honestly had no idea what made her a celebrity other than the way she wears suits.

Best book:

1. Role Models, by John Waters.

-this man is one of my top 10 living artists. The chapter interviewing Little Richard is a scream, the chapter with Johnny Mathis is heartwarming for people who don't like having their hearts warmed for just anybody. Waters's writing on gay pornographers is touching, just a tad too human-interest, but touching all the same. In this slim memoir, John Waters argues his polemics for living rudely with grace, wit, and the dispatch to connect with likeminded individuals who also possess no innate desire to behave.
Bonus: I saw John Waters interview his friend Roni Horn at the ICA in Boston on the occasion of her solo exhibition (one of the worst shows of 2010), and I couldn't help but believe that a John Waters museum retrospective would have been much less depressing.

2. Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen.

-shut up everybody, just shut up. Jonathan Franzen is really good at what he does, and critics cannot for some reason just enjoy this without caveat. I did not want this book to end, so I did a victory lap after I finished and reread all of his earlier work. The most repeated criticism of this book is that he is a straight white male Author with a large audience, as if "The Death of the Author" still signifies and as if straight white males ought to know better than to write fiction as such. Adding insult to injury, Franzen refuses to represent the American midwest as entirely tragic, he instead attempts to redeem the full experience of a few of its conflicted residents. This idea does not calculate for people with an understandable grudge against the middle of this country. I admit I might sympathize with this sentiment if his writing wasn't so compelling, but it is.
Bonus: I had him sign my book at a reading, and he frowned at me! Snob appeal.

3. "Humorists" by Paul Johnson.

-is there anything Paul Johnson doesn't know like the back of his hand?

4. "Just Kids" by Patti Smith.

-Patti Smith is not so hard-edged as I thought.

Best pop album:

1. "The Suburbs" by Arcade Fire.

-I am the same as everybody else. I like this album a lot, so what. It sounds best when lying on a wood floor doing drugs or drinking wine.

2. "The Archandroid (suites I & II)" by Janelle Monae.

-I like this one too, plus she's cute.

Best pop song:

1. "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry.

-this idiot managed to sing my favorite pop song of the year. Ugh it's so good. I'll admit I lost some faith in pop music in 2010. I am chalking this up to the fact that pop music is made for teens, which I am regrettably no longer. This song charts that penumbrous constellation of teenage cliches with candied perfection. I have not lost any faith in teens doing whatever they want.
Bonus: She got another idiot, Will Cotton, to illustrate her album cover. Will Cotton now has mainstream crossover appeal. Whatever.

Miscellaneous Bests:

1. James Franco is so confusing and its making him even more attractive. The big surprise of 2011 is whether he publicly declares his love for a.) Klaus Biesenbach or b.) Kalup Linzy.

2. This current Somerville apartment is way grander than my 2009 apartment in hell.

3. Nu Life at ZuZu in Cambridge is still the only party in Boston I care to go to and usually the only night of the week I go to the bar, rendering weekend party updates entirely predictable.

4. DIS Magazine is a true revelation. Its become so challenging to locate the tongue in cheek and avoid sloppiness. They're proving its very sexy to look funny.

5. L.L. Bean: Suck it, J. Crew.

6. Are you there Lil B the Based God? Its me, Sam.

7. I am slowly but surely selling paintings again, a major improvement from 2009 and the dismal first half of 2010.

8. Seeing "Looking for Langston" by Isaac Julien at the Rose Museum of Art.

9. This picture of Kobe Bryant

10. Vegans.

11. Love.

12. Halloween: epic

13. Peaks Island, Maine

14. The HPSU Bushnell Park party, stay wavy or whatever.

15. Clarity, friendship, creativity, etc.

IMPENDING YEARS END

2010-12-28T20:05:00.004-05:00

2010 is quickly becoming a thing of the past. It is tempting to sum things up with lists of favorite news items and cultural milestones. To that: whatever. I may still list, since I love to indulge a temptation. Look out for it.

My experience of 2010 was a rounded, varying succession of the good, the bad, the boring and the fascinating, which I expect every year since and hence will be also. Thankfully, the cruise to the finish has been utterly satisfying proven by the quiet creation/experience of private images. Like chamomile tea mixed with a shot of grain alcohol.

REDIRECT

2010-12-18T13:29:00.003-05:00

Hello

I've caved in and started a tumblr blog, which for now seems to suit my lackadaisical mood for online publishing. I don't feel strongly enough about this to keep it interesting anymore. HAHA. I'll probably still put up party pics on this blog, but ALSO- PLEASE HAVE A SENSITIVE LOOKSEE, FOLLOW WITH A SYMPATHETIC EYE THE SOFT EROTICS, THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A SAD YOUNG MAN:

http://weekendpartyupdate.tumblr.com

VENUS X @ NU LIFE, ZUZU

2010-12-03T18:24:00.002-05:00

The other night on Tuesday, Venus X from ghe20 gothik came up from New York to do Nu Life with Rizzla, D'hana and Justin and it was super fun, glamorous, and EVERYBODY was laid. [ALSO: IMPORTANT NOTICE: Thanks to THE FAT BURGLAR now I have this spiritual .gif (see above).]

tits are back

rizzla and justin cameron

idk

D

Venus_X-GG SO CUTE

3 GOTH TEENS MURDER DANCEFLOOR.

HAY

2010-11-26T17:30:00.004-05:00

SATISFACTION

2010-11-11T08:22:00.002-05:00

Alcohol delivers a cool satisfaction as it descends into your belly after a long day of doing very little. Friendship never dies. Alcohol never ceases to relax.

HALLOWEEN 2010

2010-11-01T17:55:00.003-04:00

We had a major party at our house and it ruled. I was totally spooked. The evidence:

SPOOK JAMS

2010-10-30T17:22:00.002-04:00

Why is Rockwell wearing shorts in the shower? What a perv.

TERRORPLAY

2010-10-26T10:05:00.002-04:00

HALLOWEEN LOOK BOOK 2011

CHRISOPHER MIR, & IMPORTANT PARTY UPDATE

2010-10-21T11:33:00.003-04:00

Greetings ye faithful.

I first want to direct you to an interview I did with the brilliant, visionary painter Christopher Mir who lives and works in Hamden, Connecticut. Chris is an artist I have admired ever since his solo show at the Wad in Hartford a couple years back. I was supremely fortunate and blessed to visit him in his studio and enjoy a long conversation about his work. We discussed Buddhism, art history, ecstasy, Mormons, surrealism, you name it. New American Paintings magazine sent me down, on assignment for their brand new blog, a thing I am happy to be working with. You can read that here. Please do.

Christopher Mir, Hamden.

And now, party updates:

Babe Sarah, at BarLola the other night for our newly founded book club. Sarah does everything I want to do in life and makes it all seem so simple. She barely works, reads tons of books all day, gets super drunk but never acts sloppy, is taller than me, flips her hair back and forth, and admits herself into the ER sometimes for extra bad hangovers. I sincerely can't think of anything more glamorous.

Jim at book club.

ZUZU on Tuesday night, Hartford does Cambridge:

Tom, Marissa

Gabi came out.

your new favorite band: Meow Meow. They've never had a practice, only shows.

Hartford Party Starters Union. PK and Dirty Dustin

Jamie, Anna

GIVES LIBRARIAN REALNESS

Cecilia, Abby

Molly

Megan

CAT IN STUDIO

2010-10-05T16:31:00.003-04:00

BEST COAST AT THE MIDDLE EAST OF AMERICA

2010-09-30T16:58:00.002-04:00

Tuesday night I went over to the Middle East in Cambridge to check out Best Coast... apparently who is everybody's favorite band, because everyone ever was there. Whatever. They were good. They were having fun. I especially liked the drummer because she looked like a teen banging away at the drumset like she just found religion.

Inarguably, the best part was that my Hartford girlfriends were there getting into it, feeling groovy, letting their hair out (literally, J is!), and turning looks from almost complete strangers.

smelling a pec

Melanie Yin Yanging

yours truly, Gabi and J

JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY

2010-09-18T09:14:00.004-04:00

John Singleton Copley, Self-Portrait, 1780-1784, oil on canvas

"John Singleton Copley, proclaimed John Adams, is "the greatest Master, that ever was in America." While still a teenager, Copley was capable of gratifying Bostonians' desire for realistic portraits; by the time he was twenty, the essentially self-taught artist was painting better pictures than he had ever seen. Frustrated by the limitations of his provincial environment, where people, he complained, generally regarded art as "no more than any other useful trade," Copley longed to go to Europe to study. Increased political turmoil in the wake of the Boston Tea Party of December 1773-his father-in-law was one of the merchants who were supposed to receive the tea dumped in the harbor-spurred his departure for England in June 1774. There, in the flush of new success, he painted his own likeness. He never returned to America."

-from the National Portrait Gallery

Basically still true.

ULTRA SENSITIVE AT PROOF GALLERY

2010-09-13T10:24:00.003-04:00

Hey all. Had a lovely opening reception at Proof Gallery on Saturday. Lots of sophisticated people came through and were forced to consider seriously a group of illusory, figurative oil paintings of sad young men. The whole thing looked very regional which was to my liking. Thanks to everyone who came through. I didn't take too many pictures because I was busy living it. The show is open through October 9th if you would like to see it, and I wish you would, and mostly open on weekends I believe or by appointment. Get at me if you'd like a tour.

"Max"

My brother came through

Hey! its Ike

ULTRA SENSITIVE, SUPRA SENSUAL

2010-09-07T08:34:00.004-04:00

Saturday, my show "Ultra Sensitive" opens at Proof Gallery in South Boston. So I'll be spending most of the rest of the week installing and tweaking and fretting and eating and not eating. Actually I am totally ready and the work is ravishing.

If you are in Boston this weekend, please join me on Saturday Sept. 11th, 6-8pm. Proof Gallery at the Distillery, 516 East 2nd Street, South Boston MA, 02127. Also, we will after party at my house until late in Somerville, so bring a bottle.

Self-portrait, 2010, Oil on canvas, 16 x 20 inches

***

Proof Gallery is thrilled to open our season with Ultra Sensitive new work by Sam McKinniss.
McKinniss's lush portraiture is at first glance firmly in line with its history. Beautiful pictures of beautiful folks - documenting a time, a space, an attitude. McKinniss ditches this shibboleth by being hyper-aware of the flattering power of the portrait and transitively, the seductive power of flattery. What we are watching, in the most straightforward of ways, is a romance. Rather than capturing some essence of his sitter, McKinniss's portraits are all about projection. As in the beginning of a love affair, flaws are masked and attributes given; verity is... subjective. Though the paintings depict many individuals, Ultra Sensitive taken as a whole becomes an oblique self-portrait, the subject: self love.

Sam McKinniss is a Boston-based painter. He has exhibited widely in New England including a 2008 solo show, FIERCE DOUBT at the New Britain Museum of American Art. He is the recipient of numerous grants and awards including most recently, the New Boston Fund Individual Artist Fellowship. Ultra Sensitive is his Boston solo debut

***

SEXY LACY TIME

2010-08-29T12:15:00.001-04:00

Marissa got this amazing lace powersuit and now doesn't do a thing except hang around in it looking sexy.

BY AND BY GALLERY, BROOKLYN

2010-08-23T09:38:00.003-04:00

Sam & Dave the art show is up now at By And By Gallery in Williamsburg until the end of the week. If you are in New York you should stop in and say hello to them and then say hello to some really nice paintings. The opening on Friday night was really fun. The mood was summery, hanging on to the last shimmers of August's golden twilight drenched to the bone in cheap beer with a dash of vintage anxiety you can only get when your paintings are on public display.

Saw many an old friend and caught up with my favorite sisters in the struggle. While I was in town I was fortunate enough to catch Max Steele and the Party Ice perform at Pussy Faggot on Thursday night in the LES. Max's agit-electro performance pop really turned me on, the force and etiquette of his lyrics possessing a buzzing rhetoric which was really moving. Like everything not cheap, its difficult to describe, but something about the flagrant urgency of Max's sexual demands made from on stage, ultimatums tossed out at the club like epithetical come-ons, or conversely, uttered like sweet nothings of an advanced political nature. Things said, sung or shouted to make you feel like what you're up to at night still isn't safe or right or condoned or agreed on but aggressively transgressive, self-possessed of its own beauty and thus, reliant on nobody but the consensual. "Sodomy? Sodo-you!"

The problem with all bands these days, and why rock and roll is dying, fast, is that its hard to believe in it sexually anymore. Punk or rock and roll or any of these things are supposed to be more than just sexy, but sexual, which I have thought was determinedly signified by a mix of risk, body performance and vulnerability, freely offered using skill sets that resist traditional virtuosity. There ought to be evidence to suggest that whats happening on stage serves as a preamble to later intimate commingling. Intimacy unlikely won under normal circumstances. Today's shitty bands touting the promise of rock and roll usually only hint at premature ejaculation or worse, rape. Anyway, Max Steele, for me, restores faith in the promise of the Lower East Side, in post post post electro-punk, in getting on stage, all of that. And lets face it, I'm such a lousy blogger, I didn't take any pictures.

Moving on, here are pictures from Friday night at By And By Gallery:

Lindsay

yours truly "Hooded Merganser"

yours truly "Cape Cod"

Dave Whelan in front of my "self-portrait" and his "Mamma"

Zach Smith, independent curator

BABY ROSS, I barely saw him.

party cat woke up in the yard, passed out during the after party

And, Dave Whelan's mural on Zach's house, Williamsburg

"SAM & DAVE"

2010-08-18T16:53:00.002-04:00

Please do me the pleasure of attending my show in Brooklyn which opens this Friday, at By And By Gallery. My seafaring friend Dave Whelan will also be showing new paintings, right quick before he heads to Yale to start grad school.

So, be there Friday, 8/20, 7-10pm. 552 Grand Street. Brooklyn NY 11211

LETS. PARTY.

THE TITLE OF THIS PAINTING IS "BUTTS"

ROLLING

2010-08-02T18:47:00.000-04:00

Song Lyrics | BALLAD OF THE SAD YOUNG MEN lyrics ROBERTA FLACK

LOVE NOT HUMAN

2010-07-30T16:13:00.003-04:00

Ganymede was the most beautiful boy in the world leading a fairly normal but markedly charmed existence. Men and women alike were struck by his fairer than average looks and conversational wit. When Ganymede grew to adolescence Zeus looked down and took notice of what so many had already seen before he. Wasting no time, Zeus turned his horny self into fucking Eagle and flew to Earth's surface, where Ganymede was busy toiling away with the rest of humanity.

Zeus raped the ever-loving shit out of him as a bird, which technically counts as bestiality, which is frowned upon and thus caused quite a stir that resonated throughout the world, resonating still today in fact, before taking him back to Heaven, where Ganymede now abides as a Child of Paradise, enjoying endless beauty, his youth in ecstasy forever.

He's a close friend of Leda's, they're siblings actually, both divine children. They talk all the time when they aren't eternally fucking God in various bird form, who as it turns out, is bisexual polyamorous.

STILL WAVY AFTER ALL THESE 375 YEARS

2010-07-25T10:21:00.004-04:00

Friday night Marissa, Ellen, Brian and I drove down to our ancestral spiritual home of Hartford CT for the Still Wavy #375 party in Bushnell Park. The celebration commemorated Hartford's 375th anniversary. Brian was spinning all night to keep the crowd revved and dancing between sets from a stellar line up featuring Cubic Zirconia, Tobacco, Maluca, Holy Ghost, headlined by the inimitably petite Janelle Monae. The party was pulled together by the Hartford Party Starters Union, a tight organization of handsome young men throwing unbelievably fun shows in Connecticut's crap capital city. Friday night was so not crap, as everyone has come to expect, and not even a crappy torrential downpour could assuage the good vibes and performances from taking over.

I kept encouraging everybody to channel Kate Moss at Glastonbury circa when she was Pete Doherty's girlfriend. When the going got wet, she put on a sick pair of wellies. That's still inspirational. Women look great wet, so do hot guys and regardless, people should just get too drunk to care.

Janelle Monae is a great performer, its all true. She's this big shimmying across stage with a couple of alien nymph back-up dancers. Her band is super high-energy with shticks galore, but every shtick is planned and fun to watch. Janelle can sing, she can belt and she absolutely connects. Her cool exterior betrayed by a warm demeanor but basically all she wants is to gently blow your mind.

some deer art, Bushnell Park.

Holy Ghost

HPSU co-founder Dustin and Brian//Rizzla

thats Marissa, expressing herself

OK This babe rules. Tiombe Lockheart from Cubic Zirconia was so nice, had this totally stellar lace bodysuit and told me to get my ass out of Boston. We also discussed how cute and gay Hartford's new mayor is. I was like "yeaah! shots?" CZ's performance was my favorite all night.

Tiombe with Tom

Tessa

Suhayl and D'hana came!!

Bridget

this asshole stole my bed post- afterparty when all I wanted to do was pass out with Brian and maybe Marissa. I doubt if I can forgive him.

Diana!

cool back

Janelle Monae!

post-op photo-op

LJ!

J and Smell

BALLAD OF THE SAD YOUNG MEN

2010-07-14T23:30:00.002-04:00

Went out to Marblehead this weekend with my boys Zach and Dave, to roll around the Atlantic in Dave's yacht. It was glorious. Clearly, we know what we're doing.

Dave and I are doing a 7-day-long art show together next month in Bushwick New York. Zach is handling the business, curating, what-not. Details soon, I promise. But who wouldn't want to be a part of this:

Also, my new artist's statement. Ballad of the Sad Young Men- Radka Toneff

THE HEAT

2010-07-11T11:36:00.001-04:00

SAYANORA SAMANTHA

2010-07-08T10:10:00.002-04:00

Last night I went out to the Other Side to bid farewell to Samantha, because she's moving to New York tonight, as everyone must do. She's a real tough bitch, a true femme brute. Boston born and raised or whatevah.

Brandon, Samantha, Sarah

Sarah, Kathryn

AND... Sarah is a Muslim babe with "CUNT" tattooed on her bottom lip. THIS IS THE TRUTH.

JULY 4TH

2010-07-05T11:28:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted in a while, I've been incredibly busy moving and dealing with real life logistical issues. I won't bore you with details, just know that the new place is 1,000 times better than our previous apartment, which was basically condemnable by the time we finally escaped, and I'm only barely exaggerating. Living in Somerville, by contrast, is literally a breath of fresh air. Weekend party updates have fallen neglected by the wayside, but I'm happy to report they're back.

First of all, America. Love it. July 4th weekend was real good this time around. Super relaxed, loose-fit and air-dried. The fireworks definitely could have lasted longer, gone a little harder, but everybody's got to cut corners in a down economy, I suppose. As is by now a regular occurrence, people gathered on Ellen and Jamie's rooftop and watched the sky explode from Cambridge. We ate and drank like kings.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ME.

2010-06-23T10:45:00.003-04:00

I turned 17 yesterday so my friends took me out and we went crazy. We're all in mental institutions now talking to shrinks. OOPS. OH WELL. It was D'hana's seventeenth birthday as well. Every picture below is terrible, everyone is shot in their worst possible light at only the worst angles. Again, oops. Oh well. It was the best birthday in years, though, I must admit.

LINDA IS 17 NOW, TOO.

Katherine came through.

Brandon too

Rachel

rumors and secrets

GABI BARNEZ BREAKING IT DOWN / BREAKING LEAH'S HEART.

MIXED DRINKS, FEELINGS

2010-06-21T10:02:00.007-04:00

Hey gang. I was in Hartford on Friday night to hang with my best boys and girls at the Spigot, the standard to which every other bar is measured. Nothing usually can compare. Ross moved to New York yesterday, making this the last chance to catch him in New England, my brother had a birthday, Fathers Day: that made enough reasons to head home for two days.

It was nice to blow through town, stealing quick glimpses of all I've loved. There were several more familiar faces than I expected, making for nice surprises in line one after another.

What was compared with what is now is a tough one no matter how good it gets or how bad it was. It being gone, it qualifies to be longed for. Longing for is an activity at which I excel.

Sutanya

Sky

good morning

EILEEN BRENNAN: STYLE ICON.

2010-06-18T10:22:00.002-04:00

Eileen Brennan is my current heroine style icon. She is the most under-celebrated earthy seductress of all time. I'm in love with her. No woman ever did ugly-hot like she did, and still no one seems to know it or care, which is just inhumane. You may remember her from such films as Clue, The Sting, and Private Benjamin. But I love her the most in Murder by Death, the film version of Neil Simon's play starring Truman Capote, Alec Guinness, Peter Falk, Maggie Smith, Peter Sellers and a handful of other notable ugly-hot character actors.

PRIDE ACTIVITIES

2010-06-13T12:55:00.002-04:00

Last night for Boston Pride Brian spun at All Asia, for the Queer Women of Color Benefit for GLBT human rights in Africa. It was real good and sweaty and good. Marissa was there making sure everybody was checking their privilege. Abby rightfully rolled her eyes. Oh yeah!

pre-jam lounge fest, who wants to write a young adult novel for teen girls?

RIZZLA

DUMDUMBHANGBHANG

2010-06-12T13:22:00.002-04:00

I just slept through the Pride Parade this morning, but as Al and Jillian would say, "2 phat 2 care." I'm gonna proudly loll about my apartment in various states of undress until its time to go to da club, and then I'm gone get into all manner of mishbehaviour.

My, my, all them hoes. A guess: Tremont Street is a sea of gayfaced yo-pros dressed in gingham and bad denim, jealously ogled by a slightly smaller crowd of begrudging daddies in mesh tops and leather. And since its raining, my other guess is that the "don't rain on my parade" and "God hates the gays, hence, rain" jokes are getting a lot of play.

Anyway, here are some pretty girls making a pretty music video!! Watch it!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVAN

2010-06-11T10:25:00.002-04:00

The other night Evan Garza turned 17, and so we all said hay and Riz played him some tunes at zuzu. It was an Extravaganza Elegarza. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY. Pictured above with Brdr and some dude I don't know.

In other news, Pretty Baby got his latest remix featured on FADER.COM ... FUCKING HUGE. So proud and happy that everyone worldwide now knows and can feel cuntier. Its a mean, psycho, party bitch anthem, which accurately describes the future of sweaty danger music. Get into it now.

THE BENCH

2010-06-07T11:39:00.000-04:00

APARTMENT HERESY

2010-06-05T12:45:00.006-04:00

Jean-Luc Godard, still from La Chinoise

I've been thinking a bit this morning about the city apartment as creative headquarters, as places to conjure and enact the details of individual waywardness. Actively dwelling as living. More than just a site for preparing meals, socializing, sexuality, rest; as if that weren't enough, for me an apartment has always had to double as studio space, where artworks are conceived of, designed and produced.

The apartment as a leased commodity, however, is also a hugely profitable target for aggressive lifestyle brands with home furnishings departments. A renter's apartment essentially is an empty closet to be filled with consumer purchases, decoratively or to perform labor-saving functions. If you are a stylish, cosmopolitan urbanite then a befitting living space is going to matter, the objects you select express a taste related to your individual style and therefore, the well-designed Urban Outfitters interiors department might matter to you too, for example. Inevitably running into the same set of drapes, the same mass-produced "painting" or Ikea duvet has become an irksome occurrence for me, because I feel these mass-marketed products' subtle influence on the visual experience of private spaces. They color our most intimate interactions, which to varying degrees take on the drab effect of Ikea'd, Urban Outfitted sameness.

What can we expect when apartment buildings are necessary in the first place? Structures are designed to organize populations, compartmentalizing families in gridded city blocks, clothed in architecture, stacked in glorified storage bins holding all of these millions of people and all of their shit. They can't all be unique outward expressions of their tenants. Can anyone hope to fashion an individually styled home-life in this scenario?

Guy Ben-Ner, stills from Stealing Beauty

Most of us certainly think we can, but still, I think most decorating is fairly standardized and cliched, even while trying to flaunt otherwise. This is precisely why I hated last year's 500 Days of Summer so intensely, a piss poor big studio stab at auteur film-making, chock full of rote product placements for the "alternative lifestyle." I won't even go into the regressive gender stereotypes, 50s era careerism and the most trite plot and dialogue of all time. The film stealthily took the bulk of my demographic for total suckers.

The film's most offensive scene was when Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character finally scores entrance into Summer's (Zooey Deschanel) apartment, like he's penetrated the inner sanctum, and is so moved by her kooky bedroom nick-knacks that he's made blind to the likelihood that there's definitely some other hot babe with the same indie bullshit tacked up around her near-identical bedroom, probably even in the same building. The scene used a market-proven combo of narrative, soundtrack and movie star performance to intensify only mildly interesting decorating trends among young people into something seemingly revelatory. The effect was revolting.

photo illustration taken from apartmenttherapy.com

So, while I'm thinking about a new apartment that will need decorating in the near future, and probably offended a few readers who really love Summer, Ikea and Urban, I'm recommending three scenes of apartment living which have periodically inspired me to believe that a rented space can be creative, can site idiosyncrasy, can be the physical plant for performing the ins and outs of nonconformist sexuality and socialization. Dramatic scenes aren't "real," they're lifted out of fictional narrative cinema, and Lord knows Godard especially has been enthusiastically co-opted into the "alternative" set's repertoire of signifiers. But I try to remember that Godard was a challenging artist first, and his aesthetics pleasingly persist even if his politics are long since dead, having been overtaken by nostalgia. I sense he had a keenly felt affection for the apartments of France, and saw in them a potential to house radical styles of living, to contain almost his entire oeuvre.

And of course, Michael Clark walking home from the club and then performing an impromptu dance for Charles Atlas's wonderful documentary about Clark, Hail the New Puritan. I love this movie purely because it opens up Clark's home/studio and reveals its DIY, collaborative environment among reject ballerinas, making innovative, joyful performance art, ballet, fashion and punk rock. That is total freedom, living at home.

NIGHT MOVES

2010-06-04T09:58:00.001-04:00

SUMMER MISSION STATEMENTS

2010-06-02T12:21:00.003-04:00

The goal of Summer 2010 is stability within a constant state of joy and elation. Can it be done? Some things are going to have to change. First, I need cash, desperately. Is this recession over yet? Fuck it never existed. It was a figment of the financial imagination, informed by a horror complex seeded sometime during other people's unhappy childhoods. I will no longer be working for free.

Next, I need new headquarters for rolling out the leisure campaign. This pit I've landed in is creeping overgrown, crumbling down; its like we realized the sinkhole trend a year ago, and its only now starting to catch on globally, but we're a whole year ahead and totally over it. Check. We're moving in a few weeks to sunny Somerville to a third floor apartment from which we can more effectively envisage the necessary means.

Moving down the itemized agenda, burgeoning internet fame needs to expand, materialize and monetize into actual, IRL fame. My lifestyle needs a refresher, a top-off. My influence over public taste grows exponentially with every passing moment. No longer content living as a well-meaning private citizen of the sensual world, I want to sit atop its benevolent throne. The sensual prince in ascension. The days of cerebral banality are numbered. The time of corporal ecstasy stands poised for total takeover. Toss out the cruel dictator. Throw down the father. Seize control. Insist on pleasure for all and good taste shall be the law. We will be in love anew, alive during a new order of love.

TOTAL REBBECCA

JILLIAN ARRIVES.

MEMORIAL GRILL KILL

2010-06-01T10:35:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a bizarre day because apparently Canada is ON FIRE, and the hazy air is floating south and smoking up the Boston atmosphere. There was an ominous glow in the air all day that I liked, that we all thought was due to excessive delicious barbecuing but indeed was from out-of-control forest fires in Quebec. Oh mon dieu!

Anyway, it reminded me of visiting Georgia and the great, heavy, humid smog that permeates and I became nostalgic. A few of us went to Peter's house for really good grilled rack of lamb. Sun dappled through trees in the driveway of his Cambridge home and it was really killer. Leisure persists. Pleasure wins.

Peter manning the two grill operation here.

Jamie

Ryan McGinley took this picture. JK it was easy.

holiday spread

MAINEGLORIOUS

2010-05-25T12:05:00.004-04:00

This weekend all involved rushed off to Peaks Island near the coast of Maine for a quick vacation, much needed. Pennie pulled some strings with a distant relative to gain access to a beautiful little bayside cottage so we could look onto the Atlantic and act out New England cliches one after the other. Seafood, clam chowder, cable knit sweaters and brightly colored shorts, leisure, whiskey, contemplative gazing. It was a good time to escape, for on Sunday, Pennie and pretty baby Brian had to run back to Brandeis University to collect their masters degrees in cultural production and accept awards for saving the Rose Museum. Pennie holed herself away for a while at one point to draft a speech marking the occasion. It was beautiful and made me proud.

Maine represents a silvery mystery in the American psyche. It would take half a lifetime to determine or articulate exactly what that mystery entails, which I haven't lived yet, so I'll leave it to the future or I'll point to something like Marsden Hartley's late seascapes to reveal it for you. I thought maybe if I looked under my bed, I'd find a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floorboard. Its a strange place, steeped in local lore, populated by bizarre working people whose expressed demeanor are weathered similarly to surf-battled rock face. Cliche? yes. Hand me my LL Bean slicker.

cocktail hour

ahoy!

slept beneath slanted ceilings

a fort!

ferrying back to the continent

LOUCHE LIFE

2010-05-17T07:47:00.002-04:00

We went over to Ellen's yesterday to have a nice picnic on the roof. Jamie leisurely stirred the sangria while I gave a sleepy wave and discussed lifestyle options extensively. Bottle after bottle of vinho verde, BLT's and a buffet of every salad variety imaginable led to this, very pre-Summer rooftop look. If you'll notice the bottoms of my feet, they're giving you pure Depression-era poverty, channeling Dorothea Lange's best work for the Farm Security Administration.

When times are tough, it is essential to ruthlessly make fun of everything, to solve real problems using aesthetic solutions, to emphasize the glamor of being broke and hungry, to take a style cue from Ms. Lange. It should get you about as far as you'd ever want to go in life. That is, to middle age, just before everything pretty much gives out.

poverty feet

SUMMER TURNS A LOOKBOOK

2010-05-15T10:11:00.005-04:00

Active style inspirations for Summer 2010, leading off as always with Michael Clark photographed by David Bailey, 1985, looking like the freshest thing that was ever borne:

Blue Curry/Isaac Julien

Scott Grieger

Krista White, ANTM 14

Marie-Guillemine Benoist/Kobe Bryant

IS IT HAPPENING

2010-05-09T10:27:00.003-04:00

I was in New York again for a brief second this weekend to attend my beautiful sister Katherine's college graduation yesterday. She really is one of the top three most beautiful women I've ever met. She's moving to California in like three weeks, which makes me very happy and a little sad but mostly happy that our most peculiar family is soon to be bi-coastal. It was a short, celebratory visit with family, followed by several pitchers of Margaritas with my boys in Brooklyn before I had to hightail it back to Massachusetts. Margaritas enjoyed somewhere on a Williamsburg patio:

Now its back to work work work. As the studio calls my name louder and louder there can be no other priority. My gut and my heart remind me in unison that there is more work to be done. There are more pictures to fulfill. There is more desire to illustrate. There are more bodies and dreams to locate using my two favorite dimensions, length and width. I've got no time for depth.

Everyone call your mother today. She loves you and you love her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY COLLEEN

2010-05-07T08:18:00.002-04:00

On Tuesday night another rousing Nu Life with D'hana and Rizzla at zuzu. It was also Colleen's birthday, their promoter. Happy 17th birthday, Colleen! It was also star wars day.

HAPPY COLLEEN (right) with Cecilia (left)

MIT/DAS RACIST/COLUMBIA/FISHER LANDAU

2010-05-03T19:28:00.004-04:00

This weekend was all Ivy League, all the time, brought to you by MIT and Columbia University. Whatevah. I went over on Saturday night to the annual steer roast rager at MIT's Senior House, which is like a huge co-ed fra-rority(?). Whatevah real wavy. The party is somewhat infamous because chemistry nerds can invent their own boutique psychedelic drugs, and they do. Locals unaccustomed to these new substances sneak in, take these drugs and then freaking die or come close, acting terrible and then complain about it. Wild!

Anyway, I was there because Brian was DJing for Das Racist. Beautiful. Fun. They were followed by Big Digits, who I love seeing out at bars, but so rarely see perform.

a babe in the green room

Das Racist on the MIT Senior House

"ONLY LIFE CAN KILL YOU"

OK but honestly, this shit eclipsed everything else on Saturday and I still want to talk about it. In between bands, the CUTEST nerdy babes came out in these flannel get-ups and very matter-of-factly announced that 20 years ago that day, their favorite band Nirvana performed on those very steps in pouring rain. As tribute, they performed this interpretive babe dance to "Lithium." I fucking LOVED it because they meant it, and it was totally shallow, but also absolutely straight-faced and seemed as intentionally momentous as so much bad art tries to be. The difference being, of course, that this is a party, not some shmuck's art project, and being about the party it could also be frank, sharing frivolity and histrionic nonsense.

I mean, they love Nirvana, get it? Let's take drugs.

Max

Ike

Big Digits

TD

SUNDAY: COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MFA THESIS EXHIBITION @ FISHER LANDAU CENTER:

Yesterday I went down to New York with Ellen to see our friend Sam Ekwurtzel's thesis show. If you are in NYC, get to Fisher Landau in Long Island City and see it. Quiet confrontations with objects of the world, awful and awe inspiring simultaneously. Situations presented that I stumble across and murmur unto myself, "fuck. everything is eternal and thus, eternally fucked." When he's doing his best, I feel both overwhelmed and incredibly light. Sam's material adventures perform these mysteries with minimal, at times severe, seductive derring-do.

11:34

clock rolls at the same speed and in the opposite direction as the moving treadmill, thus remaining in the center. The clock keeps accurate time.

the two-monitor video

Later:

beautydude Matthew at after party, Larry Lawrence

Sam's sweet dream

A BUNCH OF CRAP I LOVE

2010-04-28T23:00:00.003-04:00

Last night I went to the Theater Offensive's big fundraiser called ClimACTS Under a Big Top, which was a circus themed performance/auction/drunken mess. It was a huge gay party to raise money for this Boston community theater's youth and performance operation. Its a big deal around these parts. Street theater and lgbtq youth outreach. It was fun! I went to volunteer at the front door which basically translates to I went to go stand around looking cute and/or aloof, pretending I knew what was going on, counting down the minutes until I could hit open bar, which I did frequently. Just kidding, D'hana I behaved! JK, no I didn't.

Anyway, the highlight was tricking with these couple-a loose womyn, Lisette and Suhayl:

mega babe Lisette, who hand-crafted these exquisite tiger tits. Worth a million dollars.

and mega babe Suhayl.

Also, I want to talk about this:

I posted the other day about how good Kick Ass the movie is, which I meant, totally unknown to me at the time that star of Kick Ass, 19-year-old Aaron Johnson, is newly engaged to 43-year-old British Art Star Sam Taylor-Wood. This blows my mind. This is the pleasure of celebrity gossip.

Every now and then in the far-off cultural sphere of celebrated personalities, people who are cool of their own volition find each other, connect romantically, and peons' minds are blown to consider how non-banal popular culture can be and how absolutely undreary the world is. Its like the violence of tabloid media finally makes good on its perverted promise to deliver a scrap of hope for the sensual world. Its like a fairytale involving the Queen. Someone will yell about a tragedy involving class, gender or some other inequity and I will point to this and respond "yes, but herein lies some magical secret of love and inconsequence that proves to me that good exists." This is as deliriously misled as I can be thinking about a new picture, this one above, formed from a union of two perfect picture makers (both merchants in the picture-making trade). Essentially, every picture advertises, and I like to be surprised by the unexpected pitch for stylish unconventionality and public nonconformity.

To comment further, imagine Johnson wooing her. Or the other way around. Or perhaps it was a mutual falling in love situation. Regardless, Taylor-Wood is pregnant, and already has teenage children by a previous marriage. To me, this is magic and love is real, and also freedom is aesthetic.

KICK ASS

2010-04-25T11:05:00.003-04:00

Friday night we went out to hear Brian spin with Max Pearl aka Kat Fyte. It was cute. A lot of everything. Marissa and Abby came in and Marissa destroyed everybody with her looks and moves. She reduced a group of suited young professionals to howling morons clamoring, sweaty, and struggling to stay standing. Failing to be cool. Shmucks revealed to be true shmucks. Its what you call sexual prowess and good aim.

In other news, last night I saw Kick Ass with Brian, Jamie, Anna, and it rules. Its so fun. I'd call it post- post- post- like, 10th wave feminist. Is it? Who cares. The gay jokes are funny and resist pandering! The villain is an art collector with tastes for Marc Quinn, Damian Hirst and Ed Ruscha! I love fine art product placement! Chloe Moretz as Hit Girl is so good at saying "cunt" and "motherfucker" like she means it, lethally. Watching her kill a roomful of drug dealers or a dozen armed mobsters sounds a little rote, right? Actually, its totally thrilling. It makes me want to rent Leon: The Professional, Natalie Portman's debut as the 12-year-old killer.

Moving on...

YO-PROS/SHMUCKS

THE CHILLY GRIP OF D'HANA'S THIRSTY FIST

GREATEST HITS

MELTED.

EW!

SUTANYA + GABI DAY

2010-04-23T11:19:00.003-04:00

On Tuesday, Gabi and Sutanya came up for a visit and we danced at Brian's Zuzu night. It was real! I love my girlssssss. It was a 4/20 LIFESTYLE EVENT.

Jamie, Brian, Ellen

Nick greasing the wheel

LOVE BOOB MOUNTAIN

PONCHO LIFESTYLE

TONIGHT WE'RE GOING TO ENORMOUS ROOM. BRIAN'S SPINNING ANOTHER PARTY THERE. WHATEVAH.

THAT TREE

2010-04-20T15:32:00.000-04:00

Kid Cudi is cute! COME TO ZUZU TONIGHT. 420 WHATEVAH.

KEVJN KELLY TIME

2010-04-18T15:01:00.002-04:00

Hello followers. Hello party believers. Last night Ellen picked me up in a ridiculous Nissan Cube (not kidding) and took me down to Hartford, our spiritual home. We went because our baby brother Kevjn Kelly had his thesis project on display at the Art School. He makes a lot of videos and short movies, and for this installation called Known Unknowns, he had a giant dark room with four wall-sized video projections. All of his friends star in the movies, naturally, and then all of his friends attended wearing Kevjn's project logo emblazoned on snazzy navy blue sweatshirts: OPa or: Objet Petit a. Its about seeing and believing, branding, Lacan, religious/political doxa, and Kevjn's forceful interrogation of how we're going to deal with that whole mess.

It was good that I went. I love Kevjn and I'm glad I could support him for this, and anyway it feels good that school is finally over for the people I love and went through it with. It feels a little like we're all finally growing out of that place and we should all keep working and we're all gonna do it together, separately. It came up in conversation, and it bears repeating, but not one of us is really cut out for conventional work, and we're no good at holding down jobs. Whatever. The race is on to see who can carve out a profitable art career first and then lift the others up out of the inevitable mindless day-gigs we're forced to resort to. Its a happy contest among friends that ought to keep us poor but not miserable.

Kevjn Kelly, center wearing a gray blazer

Later on, Sutanya and Gabi

total babe Mary

blues traveler John Kane

KK and Ellen

Saturday night magic carpet ride

the eternal Seahorse bond

Gabi pantomimes "fresh produce"

real wavy Cj Day

Girl, fuck that job.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PENNIE

2010-04-09T11:54:00.002-04:00

Last night went over to the Pennie Estate in Somerville to celebrate her 17th birthday. It was a real cool time. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PENNIE ALRIGHT.

beautydude looks upon birthday girl

some shit

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE PIT:

I've actually gotten a lot of work done this year so far. This lousy picture doesn't do any justice, and there's much more not pictured here. It does me good to pile it all up in the same room and gaze at it, to consider the fruits of my labor, to bask in its collective, interconnected message.

MADAME BUTTERFLY

2010-04-08T16:33:00.003-04:00

EXQUISITE SHIT

TOTAL TITS

2010-04-07T12:09:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, everyone was being totally beautiful. Don't get me started. No, let's get started. After work, I had a few cocktails at the Beehive with beautydude Moises and his girl Dymaris. Moises keeps retail real, which I appreciate daily. There we talked about insurrection, getting paid, and lifestyle branding literally as a way of life. Be warned, "lifestyle" is a word/concept I fully intend on hunting down and murdering when I one day understand its origin and stealthy cunning to influence real lives.

Yikes, anyway:

Later, obviously, I went to Zuzu to hear Brian spin and make hundreds of attractive queers incredibly sweaty and happy.

SILK

JUSTIN

GENIUS BARTENDER T.D.

GOODNIGHT

WHAT DO WE FEEL LIKE DOING?

2010-04-02T11:26:00.002-04:00

VON'S BIG MOVE

2010-03-31T18:39:00.002-04:00

Von is moving to New York City this weekend! Good for him, sad for us. Last night a few gathered at zuzu to dance and say au revoir to our favorite little man. So long! It was fun.

Von, getting comfortable

HAY CHRIS

Von and our new outdoor friend, Kate

YEAAH MARCO GOMEZ CAME THROUGH, RIZZLA

fucking fakes

HAY ABBY

BABES

oh HAY HEATHER

OXFORD MANSE, REUNITED.

2010-03-28T21:42:00.003-04:00

I went to Hartford Saturday evening for my best boy Ross Fredella's thesis show at Hartford Art School, my alma mater. Beautiful! It was also the first time in over a year that every original Lord of Oxford Street were together under one roof. At long last! Phil flew out from LA with our other friend Trevor, Matt came up from Brooklyn and Jamie and I down from Boston. Catching up was overdue. The rare bond between us that's been stretched across a country enjoyed one good night to reinforce the fibers of our friendship.

Ross's show of photographs is totally beautiful, full of nuanced formal grace and a here-and-now moodiness. The show, called The Present, is about travel, light, observation and composing the environment around you into a 2-D flatland. There he provides a few planned exits from relentless monotony for brief, hard-won moments of personal freedom and pleasure. In his pictures I sense the desire for beauty (often made possible via structured composition) constantly competing with an overwhelming anxiety (caused perhaps by the constraints, demands, repetitive annoyances of life structures and systems), which allows quite a cerebral viewing experience for me. He is one of the most talented, aesthetic people I know, and a devoted friend. He's going to do great work.

It was occasion for celebration, and that we did. It was nice have these many good reasons to be back in Hartford, the love-hate of my young life.

Greg, Phil, Trevor. We arrived and waited in Ross's bedroom to surprise him while he showered.

J, Matt

Sara Kelly, outside of HAS

Ross Fredella, The Present

Ross's portrait of beautydude Skylar

afterward, Chino, Ross

Sky, KK

OXFORD MANSE REUNION 2010:
yours truly, Phil, Skylar, Ross, J, Jamie, Matt

Trevor, in from LA, Ian, in from NYC

Sky, Jess

Zack, up from NYC

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

SPRANG BREAK WAAH

2010-03-24T23:15:00.003-04:00

WELL, Melanie is on spring break this week and Mandy is an adult with a lot of free time so they both came up to Boston for a weekend visit, and Rachel was here too for a bit. These bitches are the REAL BITCHES. We drank a ton of wine at Ellen's house and screamed a lot about spring break. It rained a little bit but Melanie wore short skirts and tees anyway. Inebriated mind over sobering matter. Weekend activities included dinner party, dance party at Uhuru Afrika - All Asia, chat roulette, sexting, sexy iPhotobooth photo-shoots, shit talk, sex talk, intellectual gathering, me spilling red wine on a stranger's white sweater, not caring, etc.

They ought to come back. Whatever I'm going to see them this weekend again in Hartford for Ross Fredella's senior thesis exhibition at Hartford Art School and the much anticipated Oxford Street Manse family reunion. YES. NOSTALGIA BEER BONER JAMS ALL NIGHT SATURDAY NIGHT. KEEP IT MOVIN'.

yours truly, Mandy

Mel rock'n'rolling her tough butch makeover dream come true

hey Rachel

Uhuru Afrika, a shockingly light-skinned affair. But then again, we are still in Cambridge, aren't we.

Anna, Jamie

OH HAI MILLER HAIGH LIFE

THE NEXT DAY:

chat roulette

Mandy's avatar

why does everybody 'next' us?

OO

2010-03-20T08:42:00.002-04:00

A DREAM

2010-03-19T20:46:00.005-04:00

I had a dream recently that I met Jay-Z and Beyonce and was invited over to their home, possibly we were in Florida. We had a perfectly lovely afternoon, the three of us discussing current events over cocktails and fabulous little finger foods. By the end of it, before showing me out, Beyonce pulled me aside, slipped me a check and whispered, "you can count on one of these from me about once a month from now on. Just set aside the best pictures, I want dibs from now on. Can you do that, baby?"

I am forced to draw two conclusions. 1. Beyonce clearly has better taste in art than Lady Gaga does, judging on this dream scenario versus what we know about Gag-a. 2. I need a benefactor.

FORGIVE ME.

2010-03-18T09:25:00.004-04:00

Forgive me WPU fans, I have been partying I just haven't been blogging about it. I'm sorry to keep all 3 or 4 of you not up to date. I've been preoccupied by minor anxieties nagging at my resolve, coming in from several different directions that I can't seem to explain away. I don't know what it is, but it's been like a steady breeze I wish would just stop.

Regardless, which is the right attitude, here's a quick recap: I spent Friday night at a pop-up gallery opening in Somerville, curated by Pennie Taylor. She gathered the work of three artists into a tidy little show called "Troubling Reality." Two photographers, Gary Duehr, Ethan Moses and performance artist Ben Aron. Ethan Moses's works were shot in 3-D which is why everyone is wearing such festive eyewear. Brian spun soca and dancehall records which inspired a brief dance party. Afterward, heavy drinking commenced next door at the Independent with Brian, Moises, Pennie, Ike and everybody else.

The rest of the weekend was largely uneventful, save for a lovely little dinner party at Abby's house in Cambridge during an absolutely drenched Saturday night.

Tuesday night, went over to Zuzu which was fun as expected. DJ Nomadik, an old-school, well established Boston R&B DJ guested side by side with Leah V and D'hana. Cute twinks, dykes in every direction. Nightlife lives.

Ethan Moses

Abby

Pennie Taylor

Oh, hello Ike

Jizzla Dr.

oh HAY MARISSA

TUESDAY, ZUZU:

Tom!

cool back

Oh, this I want to publicize. Here is a local girl called DJ Super Squirrel (???) in full view of everybody, making out with the absolute worst lesbian in Boston. I know she's the worst because later this same night I was outside minding my business, smoking a cigarette, when this tacky bitch began sizing me up and audibly berating my attire less than a foot from where I stood. Super Squirrel stood by in idiotic compliance. My look, needless to say, was remarkable, infallible, visionary as usual. I was wearing a dark, oversized baja hoodie, white long-johns and combat boots. It worked. Slick neo-grunge without even a shred of irony. I was shocked and appalled by her audacious lack of manners, and totally unprovoked I might add. I only wish this picture was clearer, to better humiliate these illiterate children but then again, bad photography is also my look. The nerve.

Whatever, the night ended on a good note.

SHORT SHRIFT

2010-03-08T10:23:00.002-05:00

Went briefly to Maria Molteni's art show closing party in Cambridge on Saturday night before hightailing it down to Hartford for Greg's birthday party at the Spigot. I compare every bar I come across to the Spigot, but I'll just never find it again, will I?

Ugghh... anyway, Ike and Pennie, more beautiful than any contemporary art, ladies and gentleman:

Oh! I also got to the Warehouse in time to see Washed Out play their hit single. Here's a picture of the backs of their heads.

CLIMATE CHANGE

2010-03-05T09:05:00.002-05:00

NOW.

@ DA CLOB

2010-03-03T21:11:00.002-05:00

PARTYIIINNNGG!!!

Zuzu Tuesday nights continue to be fun. OBSERVE:

a decorated Samuel (actually for Haram Scarum on Sunday night and HIS BIRTHDAYYY!!!! 17!!!)

FISTING

Yeeeaeah D'hana.

MILK & HONEY AT THE GOOD LIFE

2010-02-27T13:17:00.002-05:00

Hey evrayboday. Last night pretty baby Brian spun records at the Good Life in the financial district? I don't know what the fuck where we were. Somewhere in the circle jerk of inner downtown Boston. A lot of oversized white guys in boot-cut jeans and snazzy Oxfords were hanging out at the bar when we walked in to pregame at 9pm, which I thought was a bad sign, but before I knew it the room was stacked with various style transgressors of every sexual deviance. They're calling this night "Milk & Honey" -which is a little biblical for my taste- but I think it will be successful. Hot lesbian Leah V also spun records and for some reason I really liked it when she played Fiona Apple. No shade.

Brian is always leaning in conspiratorially making deals. Its his look.

HI HATER

Ellen, Tom

Colleen, Emma

Anna

Leah V and D'hana

Oh yeah Marissa went crazy.

Rumor has it that this babe is only visiting Boston from California. What the fuck, WHY? What an epic beauty. I really lost it next to her, I was being so uncool. She broke it down to Iyaz "Replay" and I fell in love with her. Actually.

Nicole, Carly

Cool, c u later.

HERMAN BLUME

2010-02-26T08:51:00.002-05:00

I take this message to heart, I really do.

LIBERTY/GLAMOUR

2010-02-24T14:24:00.002-05:00

GIVE IT TO ME.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IKE

2010-02-23T11:08:00.002-05:00

Went over to my friends mansion in Somerville last night to wish beauty dude Ike a happy birthday. We ate rum cake and lounged hard by the fire. The thing I admire most about Ike is that he returns home promptly at 5pm every day from his job as a black science reporter and by 5:05pm is sipping an old-fashioned and reading the Wall Street Journal. He is a gentleman.

Marissa, Ben, Ike

Arpy, Max

Pennie, Jeremy, hearthside

ANDREW W.K. AT THE WADSWORTH ATHENEUM MUSEUM OF ART

2010-02-21T12:08:00.007-05:00

On Friday night, Brian and I drove down to Hartford where he was booked to DJ for Andrew WK's performance at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, America's oldest art museum and Connecticut gentry's oldest social club. Organized by the impressively connected Hartford Party Starters Union, they also invited Ninjasonik, Japanther and Lemonade to perform. The night would have been a totally sold-out success had they charged a cover, but it was free. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I think its tough to describe the night's significance to people unfamiliar with Connecticut society rackets and class systems, however, I will try.

Basically, the HPSU invited Andrew W.K. to headline a concert, so that 800 cool kids could invade the fine art fortress and do their thing in proximity to tens of millions of dollars worth of a world-class art collection. It was a rare opportunity to revel disrespectfully in front of equally rare treasures from every era of history, including but not limited to ancient Egyptian to Benjamin West to Piet Mondrian to Sol Lewitt. I've been to the kind of society events the Wadsworth typically venues, and they are staid, expensive vanity fairs for the region's wealthy and powerful elite. New money isn't even invited to these galas, as is trendy in some other parts of the Northeast. The only occasion for my invitation has been when a generous patron throws me a bone in exchange for my role as up-and-coming artist, for the anthropological delectation of white-haired donors, in awe or in envy of my life as an authentically "exotic bohemian" (If I sound like a rueful ingrate, trust I've always been thankful to eat steak, drink for free and if the stars align, charm some Von Ruthensfocker into buying a painting).

What the HPSU did was almost a complete opposite. They convinced the management to open their doors for free to undiscerning young people in want of fun, with the world's foremost low-culture party animal as the main attraction. No jazz, no foreign dignitaries, no prissy little crudites. The French word "coup" has been thrown around to describe the event in Hartford's local press, because it was a lot like French revolutionaries storming the Bastille.

Luckily, nothing valuable was damaged, although the Wadsworth staff and security were freaked the fuck out and rightly so. I heard tell of a guy lighting up while sitting in the middle of Avery Fountain, and several were kicked out for smoking in bathrooms or entering galleries closed off for the night. I saw a guy push the Giacometti to make room for what was essentially an overflowed moshpit, but it didn't look like the sculpture suffered any real harm. Generally, you think twice before sitting on sculptures or any museum furniture for that matter, but on Friday night kids were lounging left and right, Bud Light and contempt running through their veins. It was a beautiful four-hour-long, real-time, 3-D misuse of a great and venerable culture tomb. In a general sense, it was pop art, but better.

I don't think the Wadsworth Atheneum's reputation will feel any harm due to these offenses at all, I think quite the opposite. They should increase in favor with everyone but Prospect Avenue, Hartford's last stand for the traditional Old Guard. Anyway, the museum is in the middle of a really aggressive public relations campaign as it is, with director Susan Lubowsky Talbott, appointed in 2008 with the task of growing the museum's local impact and turning around lagging visitor attendance. She ought to be applauded for looking over this little bit of alarmingly inappropriate programming. Andrew W.K. ought to be applauded for showing up, giving a great show and for being famous. Likewise for the other performers. The real credit and accolades ought to go to the Hartford Party Starters Union, with Neil Brewer at the helm, for having taken Hartford's most pretentious and expensive rental venue into their sights, and throwing a really amazing all-ages party there for free.

Such willful, subversive behavior shocks the sensibilities because it scandalizes our sense of whats right and wrong in the divided class system, which looks not only to concentrate wealth at one end, but also the provenance of our culture's best art. Whats more, the highfalutin guards charged with protecting upper class propriety demand extreme etiquette when the rest of us pose near their treasures. Instead of submissively cooperating under context, or hosting the event elsewhere, the crowd Friday night said "fuck that" and did what we always do when we party. We got drunk, danced and felt sexy, this time in extremely high style environs.

Friday night was all that or it was just a party, but either way it was magnificently transgressive to see a booming sound system shake the walls upon which Balthus, Dali, Magritte, Miro, Picasso, Tanguy and others hang delicately, usually unmoving, in both senses of the word.

old friend Marshall, Hartford Party Starters Union member

Rizzla spun at the start of the night and in between performances

my boys, Dave, yours truly, Jamie, Skylar, Ross and J

the great hall repurposed for merch booths and cash bar

Ninjasonik, possibly first rap group invited to perform in the museum, my favorite performance of the night

RIZZLA, PICASSO

I think definitely the first ever crowdsurfing at the museum

Avery Fountain, surrounded by cuties

Andrew W.K. meeting local babes in the Hartford Courant Room, "backstage"

fakes

Mel, Mandy!

Ross, Giacometti

breakfast at Goldroc, post after-party which was hosted at the Warehouse, the HPSU's usual home venue (which was also loads of fun).

BEAT ME BITE ME WHIP ME FUCK ME

2010-02-19T13:38:00.003-05:00

The last week has been strangely, optimistically inspirational for me, for a number of reasons, not least of which is my impending tax return. Maybe I'll turn the heat back on!

The other night I went to go watch John Waters interview Roni Horn and discuss her new show at the Boston ICA. I didn't really want to go, at first, but my best girl Marissa convinced me that it would be worth the $25 ticket. I didn't want to go because I don't like her work, I have no predilection to be disposed toward that kind of neo-minimalist, anti-sex hostility. John Waters is delightful, however, and his "Art: A Sex Book" with Bruce Hainley nears on revelatory for me in respect to the way I look at and discuss any contemporary art.

As predicted, Waters ran circles around Roni Horn, charming the packed auditorium with perverse wit and informed observations regarding Horn's opaquely foreboding exhibition and persona. I was left wondering, why doesn't somebody give this guy a museum retrospective? He's made a bunch of art, and you know, a dozen or so movies that have each changed humor or pushed it or forever altered the popular culture field. He made an international style icon out of the very least of thee, Divine, something Warhol couldn't even quite do with his superstar queens. I don't know. Indeed, it took this virtuosic conversationalist to make Horn seem even remotely relatable.

Roni Horn came off as above it, inconvenienced, slightly hostile, and tried to avoid any probing discussion as to why audiences are, at this moment, so keen on her work. Here's a lot invested into an artist who might not care less. Oh well. I guess that's what being cool is all about. Walking out, this essentially was the insight I had gained into her work. Its cool to the level of hostility, lascivious, yet somehow anti-sex, a highly skilled purveyor of minimalism personally guided by the king of its previous generation, Donal Judd.

What of it, I went out afterward with Marissa, Samantha and Von and got super drunk.

Then yesterday, I went over to the MIT List Visual Arts Center in Cambridge and had such a stellar experience. Their new show, Virtuoso Illusion: Cross-Dressing in the New Media Avant-Garde, is revelatory. Goddamn! There is so much good work in there right now. Curated by the recently disgraced ex-director of the Rose, Michael Rush, here he fully redeems himself. There are so many art heroes mingling together in the packed MIT galleries; Charles Atlas, Kalup Linzy, Ryan Trecartin, Ma Liuming, Yasumasa Morimura, Michelle Handelman to name only my favorites.

Kalup Linzy

Briefly, the show's curatorial premise proposes that since Marcel Duchamp's famous foray into cross-dressing as Rrose Selavy, the best avant-garde new media has taken up the practice and used it to many varied winning effect. Transvestism is still taboo, it still freaks out norms, and its still innerving to even the most hip among us. After spending a good four hours watching videos, I was generously bereft of the lingering cynicism inspired previously by Roni Horn's depressive, anti-fun androgyny. I would give a million bucks to see John Waters in round-table confab with these edgy troublemakers. He'd be in his element, and we'd all walk away with new verve and new vision.

My absolute #1 style icon of all time, Michael Clark, stars in a video by artist Charles Atlas, Hail the New Puritan, which should be mandatory viewing for everybody who wants to have a cool life. Everybody bites his style. Everybody. I can't even take away much art inspiration from it, I only derive LIFE inspiration from it-- its that good. Its such a treat to watch it on repeat, I just wish it were playing a larger screen. Then again, I also wish I was in it, up close and personal to Clark's angelic beauty and agility, but that's a whole different story. When Atlas's camera follows Clark dancing through the London nightclub in its new wave grand finale, I imagine a thousand different scenarios in which my life would improve if only I could muster a similar courage, fluid sexuality and presence of body. This is really good art, surrounded on all sides by other fearless corruptors.

My Valentine, Mark Morrisroe

2010-02-14T09:51:00.004-05:00

I often think about Mark Morrisroe, the photographer who came of age here in the late 70s and early 80s, whose life and work united a local movement now known as "The Boston School." Since then, the so-called Boston School has had profound influence on the rest of the worlds of art and fashion photography. Morrisroe is acknowledged as the unofficial leader of this group, which includes such luminaries as Nan Goldin, David Armstrong, Gail Thacker, Tabboo! and Jack Pierson. Critics and scholars are fond of coining this group's collective oeuvre as diarist photography or autobiographical photography, and most members of this group enjoy very successful art careers today. Their contributions to 20th and 21st century pictures are among the most direct, most empathetic, most emotionally salient and challenging in their often difficult, anti-pure, hard-luck human beauty and pain. The most memorable works possess a social realism, queered, sexy, surviving and abusing substances and emotional peril, violence, romance, Boston, New York, Hollywood, Paris, the works. Nan, Jack and the rest were on an aesthetic fringe pitting everything against mainstream ease to take up with the world in all its gorgeous perversity and loneliness. Thousands of kids have gone to art school and tried to make this work new again, or failing that, just again.

Out of them, I love Mark Morrisroe the most, and here's why: He is the most beautiful. I know this because of all of the polaroid self-portraits he took during his short life. In them I see a wholly erotic and virile young man who also seems fragile and damaged, a cage-like little body which I selfishly recognize and relate to. Its the same way I relate to Arthur Rimbaud's puckish Une Saison en Enfer. I believe that Morrisroe probably thought of Rimbaud too, when he was shot by a john after an unhappy trick when he was just 18, the same age as Rimbaud when he was shot by his abusive gay lover Verlaine, a century earlier. Morrisroe survived and carried the bullet in his chest the rest of his life, incorporating the event into his photographic oeuvre by exhibiting his x-rays and subsequently, enhancing his life story to legend status.

Legend also has it that Morrisroe was possibly an illegitimate son of the Boston Strangler, since his drug-addicted mother supposedly lived in an apartment owned by the man accused, Albert DeSalvo. It is impossible to ever know if this is true, but its dubious suggestion is compelling, portending a life of danger and noir. Indeed living dangerously and in the dark, he contracted HIV in 1986, died in '89, which is the goddamned worst. As we've often learned from cliche, brilliant fuses don't burn very long, especially for gay guys in the '80s.

So, what the fuck am I thinking about this tragic beauty all the time for? I'm trying to sense a legacy or a plot thickening or a spiritual connection to this kind of life's work while I'm toiling away here in Boston. I'm busy working and living my own artistic claim to virtuosic homosexual longing and enduring fame afforded through pictures. While I'm not trying to die of AIDS, drugs or domestic violence anytime soon, I am into lifestyle, urgency, looking good, being fucked for life and throwing it all in for the sake of what you love. To me, his work is a heartfelt rebuke to that ever-encroaching feminist mantra which looks to draft homosexuals as soldiers for the culture wars; "the personal is political." Fuck no its not! The personal is personal! In the course of my life, I can't cede whats most dear to me for political causes, and I don't think Morrisroe would go for that either, even if he'd lived. The message is, stay fringe, where the beauty is visceral and hard won.

This is what I think about in Boston, Mark Morrisroe's spiritual home and my current one. This is what I thought about the other day when I was gazing up at the Museum of Fine Arts Rotunda, painted by my other favorite artist John Singer Sargent, another deceased Boston local. To the left of Apollo's medallion, I noticed for the first time the ancient Greek beauty Ganymede brazenly wielding an enormous erect cock, which for 90 years has been two-timing viewers overhead as the Eagle Zeus's right leg.

Wow! Is this a stretch of interpretation? Do I force queer theory here? I don't think so, considering that Ganymede and Zeus were gay for each other and this is their big dramatic rape scene, after all. The Ganymede myth historically was used to describe homosexual love and relationships. And Sargent? Most agree that he was a closet case, as evidenced by thousands of male nude sketches which seem to serve little purpose other than satisfy his own gently homoerotic musings. But anyway, has no one at the MFA ever noticed this? Why has no one addressed this before?

Well I'm sure it has something to do with academia wanting to protect the legitimacy of Sargent's artistic achievement (already under siege soon after his death by Modernism's macho anti-mannerist agenda) and society wanting to shield his respectability. Apparently family and friends burned much of the private contents of his studio at the time of his death, many suspect to get rid of the kind of gay crap I'm talking about. Nevermind what may only be conspiracy, really, I just think the possibility of an erect dick flying overhead in Boston's most prized cultural jewel is significant and exciting. An American bald eagle's leg composed and drawn perfectly to suggest something else hidden in plain sight via some tricky double entendre is queer, kind of pornographic and totally thrilling.

My valentine, Mark Morrisroe, studied next door at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts briefly and probably passed beneath the Ganymede rape scene, familiar to his own rough life experience, if not so mythic at the time. Also probable is that he was unaware of what I think I see, which is fine too. To me, today, their very different lives are interlocutory. I can't imagine one without jealously recalling the work of the other. Even though the neo-classical Rotunda projects an extreme official politic, what's personal to John Singer Sargent remains subversively personal. Morrisroe updates the rebellious misuse of classical figure study as the original punk rock twink photographer. Walking around Boston, fantasizing, this is like my call to work.

DAS RACIST AT GREAT SCOTT

2010-02-12T09:22:00.002-05:00

Last night at Great Scott in Allston, Das Racist performed for the Together Electronic Music Festival. Rizzla last minute DJed for them. Show was hilarious and also transcendent. Yes they rap beautifully. By chance, we met boys Victor, Himanshu and Dap at McDonalds across the street where some dizzy BU student reporter was grilling them on ethnicity and how cool it must have been to go to Wellesley College. YEAH REAL COOL.

BEN

Victor, Dap, Rizzla

KAT FYTE

Penelope

WATCH US BLOG TGTHR

COOL BACK

REM FANS?

###

LOCAL NEWS

2010-02-11T10:54:00.002-05:00

Wanted to share two articles I came across recently that I thought were very insightful, regarding Boston's beleaguered art scene on Hyperallergic, a newish art blog that I think is pretty good. Kyle Chayka writes why he thinks Boston's potential as an art town consistently lags and offers some suggestions for improvement and maybe some signs of good to come. I think the take-away message is this: Boston new money needs to take interest and start collecting the Boston artists they like. Boston artists need to pursue these connections, make high quality shit, and not feel bad about not living in New York. The MFA, ICA and MIT List will continue to do whatever the hell they like and we should stop caring so much about the staffing bullshit of official institutions.

Hyperallergic articles here and here.

ALSO. Nu Life at Zuzu Tuesday night was amazing. It was real fucking sweaty. Kingdom, Rizzla, D'hana, Leah V, and Justincredible spun soca, bass, r&b, the future and there were only a few hundred people jammed up next to one another getting sexual in that teeny tiny room. Epic fail on my part because my camera battery died so you'll just have to imagine how sweetly erotic and mindblowing it was.

Finally, I caved and joined Twitter. I have nothing to say, so follow me @wkndpartyupdate

SECRET RETARDS NEED NOT APPLY.

2010-02-09T11:11:00.004-05:00

PARTY TONIGHT, NU LIFE AT ZUZU. TOGETHER FESTIVAL (WHATEVER-FEST). MEET ME THERE AND BUY ME A DRINK. KINGDOM RIZZLA D'HANA JUSTINCREDIBLE LEAH V.
HITS HITS HITS.

"WHO TOLD?"