I've been Lindy Hoppin' since 2006, I think. It comes from a long time impulse to want to do partner dancing but not having the love for the music. I've enjoyed jazz for a while, but I didn't know about the Lindy Hop subculture at all, let alone how extensive it is. Most Lindy Hoppers hypothesize that there is at least one Lindy Hopper in every town (and it's probably true).

For me, the link between art and Lindy Hop is a rhythm thing. I think of the best dancers as kinetic sculptures that come alive with the right song, e.g. Mike Faltesek and Nina Gilkenson dancing to "Ochi Chornya" by Wingy Manone.

Kim Salinas is now on the roster for Flatline. Check out her work at her main site and on her blog.

On every level, her work tends to develop like a snake eating its own tail. She is constantly devouring new motifs, obscuring them within a painting, pulling them out again. My favorite pieces of hers are acts of self-destruction made static, and Meat and Knitting is right up there. With Salinas's work, you can always expect rapid change and surprising imagery.

Here's a small clip from a longer interview taken at my last solo exhibition. Jason Hoelscher is the interviewer here.

Only a few weeks away from its initial inception and Jason and I have got about a third of our lineup confirmed. We're expecting to have 10-20 artists participating in the show. Here are the first five, excluding me.

Jason Hoelscher is co-curator of Flatline. His work is a mash-up of logo design, dry wit, geometry and psychedelica. You can check out his website here.

Charles Clary's complex biomorphic abstractions made of carefully cut and layered paper become a world of off-kilter color relationships and musical play. Have a look at his blog.

Vitor Mejuto's paintings encompass a variety of compositional styles from complex curvilinear designs to more simple geometric constructions and everything in between. His website has an extensive archive of his work.

Connie Goldman's works look like drop-shadow designs done in photoshop, but the canvases and panels are actually multi-layered. Her site displays a range of constructions and compositions.

I've been juggling on-and-off since around 1997. It's a simple fascination with pattern, repetiton, and rhythm. I can't be sure, but I think this has to do with the elements that drive my art. At my level, juggling is a technical activity and will remain so. I will never be good enough at juggling to bring the technique up to the level of art, but there are people who do this (side note--watch on mute, the music is lame):

The way that Falco Scheffler, the juggler in this video, juggles reminds me of the way that Durer's technique pushed the limits of what can be represented in an engraving. Having been nose-to-paper with a print of "Adam and Eve", I'd have to say that there is not a single misplaced mark in the print. Watching someone like Scheffler, I get more of an aesthetic pleasure than I normally would while watching jugglers.

Abramovic's new piece has strict rules: no photography, no stepping within the taped-off square, no talking while sitting, must keep eye contact, no hands or objects on the table, stay as long as you'd like, must sign a release form allowing you to be photographed.

From an aesthetic standpoint, it's an extremely formal piece. Two chairs are equidistant on either side of a square table within a square area marked off by tape with a photo light high in each corner. It is a setup of perfect symmetry, and it reminds me of Kubrik.

Given the rules and the display, the piece is heavily structured, so it's important to figure out what lacks structure. The length of time one may sit is left open, within museum hours, and the person who is sitting is mostly random, with alleged exceptions. Maybe the interaction is less structured, but we'll see if that's the case.

Before getting to interpretations and levels of meaning, I wanted to link up some internet highlights (in no particular order) surrounding The Artist Is Present.


First up is the Twitter feed from Marina Abramovic's Chair. There are some classics here. The chair goes from describing raw experience, to expressing the details of its relationship with Marina, to chasing around NYC after her, to their final reconciliation.

This post has been a long time in coming. I've been meaning to give my account of my experience since the day after I sat. I suppose I was one of the lucky ones. One woman who stopped by the line at The Artist is Present purchased a MoMA membership to be able to come back again and again to try to sit, but every time she came, someone ahead of her would close out the night.

I think I had to wait about three hours, and I didn't even get there early. I got to MoMA a bit after it opened, took a twice-through stroll through the Tim Burton exhibit, then went to wait in line for Abramovic. Normally, I wouldn't spend more than a few minutes with any piece of art--especially performance art, but I felt compelled. Waiting in line gives you time to think, to get bored, to talk to everyone around you and to think some more and get bored again. You notice the viewers who aren't waiting to sit--some sketch amateurish portraits of Abramovic, some sit and chat and take photos, and some come up to you to ask what this is all about. But the most interesting people were the ones around me in line.

There was this girl:

I call her the Mirrorer. She was wearing a deep blue velvet dress in a similar cut as the one Abramovic wore. She said she made it herself.

All of my friends look at me with indignation when I tell them my opinion of Avatar. It's not the horrible, hang-your-head-in-shame-and-embarrassment type of dialogue, nor is it the fact that the plot is a simple rehash of Disney movies (see image below) and classic stories. For me, it is the political implications of Avatar that put it near the bottom of my "Worst Movies Ever" list. It's not just that it's a bad movie (I knew that it wouldn't be great given that James Cameron's filmography is full of films ranging from bad to merely decent), it's more that the film produces the exact opposite meaning from what it intends.



Touted by many as an "environmentalist" movie, Avatar simply pulls us out of our environment. It's simple escapism. An extreme example is that some fans have developed suicidal tendencies after watching the movie. But let's not get distracted by things surrounding the film; let's back up and talk about the film itself. Here's a quick sketch I've drawn from the full plot:

A few months ago, the so-called "horrorcore" rap group Insane Clown Posse (ICP) released what might become the worst and most sub-culturally interesting music video ever, "Miracles".