There is an unsettling conflict between old and new that this project produces, which is more action than the act of. It is always about language, but to use language to identify itself? To document, the act of securing evidence, seem contrary. To talk about the talking, feels uncomfortably redundant, if not, nonsensical. The project runs the risk of becoming chatty.

Disruption. I sway between guilt and jubilation. I have entered this area that has been claimed and remained relatively "untouched" and have made my mark upon it. It is graffiti. To those that stumble across it , it must be inexplicable. It defies convention. It grates the rules of the graffiti writer/artist. The mark is deliberate, but with no apparent end than to mark. This goes against all the rules of engagement. As a tagger/graf writer it is about the mark, but the mark is a self-proclamation, quickly scrawled in secercy. This is a defiant act. It proclaims, "I am here and I am here for the duration!" It is beyond a challenge; it is a declaration.
It is as if nature itself has risen with pickax in hand against an insult and declared war.

Integrating my work, using humor, into an area that is highly contested and defended. I attempt to signify my respect for their work my singling out works I admire.

First step in the reconstruction of this slope. I am constructing a tiered sections that will house a series of manure and mud reliefs on the facing side. The steps will extend up the slope and occupy the "V"

open space. The steps will be functional steps enabling park visitors to traverse this slope. Below, the concrete pillar, which must have been a support beam is a densely inscribed piece. In some respects it can be considered a Rosetta Stone. It is densely written upon. The concentration of colors and lines make for an almost incomprehensible web. I entered the fray by generalizing the existing marks and signatures. This was met with immediate reaction as the blocked areas of blue, yellow and white were encrusted overnight with markers. Tomorrow I will add more colors and shape. Perhaps I will obliterate everything and start over fresh with a completely different piece and wait to see how that is received.

A 30'x150' concrete slab dominates as the compass rose of the project. I see this as the hub of everything I imagine. All radiate from here and in effect returns to. This is my Rome. Someone I greatly admire remarked that this was my Walden Pond. I will have to revisit Thoreau. But who knows.There may be an element of the romantic naturalist attempting to inhale only what's is good and clean and saintly, but I wouldn't give that too much weight.
This is what inhabits the surface now. Street art. Pure. Undiluted. Crass. A conglomerate of low end self promotion, adolescent sexual ramblings and nonsensical blurts, that when you're as high as a monkey evrything is as funny as Hot Cheetos for breakfast.

These are examples of a redesign/redistribution of materials in an urban open space. The space is used by area residents and their dogs, the homeless, alcoholics, the discontent, late night drug users, and a "lover's lane" or ficky-ficky spot of sorts, tagging social networks and possibly neighborhood gang members and one obsessive reorganizer, me. This area is a true multi-use area that is segregated by specific use. Dog trails, cyclists urban hikers, hideouts speckle the space.

This is my pulpit, classroom, studio, battlefield, laboratory.

Deceased 3/5/11

I have appropriated an abandoned foundation on which to develop a mural fashioned in oil stick on an acrylic paint base. The area is commonly used as a "hang out" and tag space. In essence it is a giant ongoing conferencing session, with various tag crews signifying their presence. I have decided, in addition to my other forms of communications in the area, to join this one as well. It is a very direct form of discourse that comes replete with many risks beyond what traditional artists may take. Again it is a give and take atmosphere, and if I inject myself in this arena and come with unrealistic preconceived notions, personal learned luggage handed down by my education and any ideas I may have about artistic permanance, I am going to be sadly frustrated from the get go. This is about true dialogue at its most ancient and creative level. I am sure prehistoric rock paintings discovered about the world are no more than this. Passing conversations to anonymous others reassuring each other that they are not alone.

This photo is part of a series of gates and fences that I am constructeing from redistributed branches . My intention is to benignly alter the terrian and the sensibilities of all that encounter them. My considerations does not stop at human interaction, but considers the natural inhabitants as well. Only chance encounters, as with my "beast" object that is now the habitat of several squirrels and field mice, are the means to supply me with any data as to interactions with the objects with and the "other".

This particular project is the work of 8 months of creation and a "curing"process to attain the aging through time and weathering. This is a piece that was created in the open in which it endure several storms, extreme heat and wind all the time maintaining its structural integrity.

It is constructed from fallen branches, bound through tension with rope. A layer of found burlap acts as a first layer of skin coated with roofing tar. The head of the creature is also constructed of branches and burlap with a mixture of soil and moisten manure and finally coated in tar. Though it was never intended to carry a political statement, it was curious, that as I began the tarring process, the Gulf spill occurred adding a degree of poignancy.

Constructing "in the open" created a sense of place for the creature. It adapted to a life in the wild so to speak. But its true poetry was not realized until it was crated off to its exhibition place, an unfamiliar setting and it was forced to interact with the artificial. As if on cue, we placed it into position, it began to flay about, struggling with the slickness of the floor just like a hoofed animal, thrashing, it toppled over and cracked a limb. We did some quick repair, found a comfortable center of balance for it and anchored it with a leash where it remained peacefully tied throughout the remainder of the exhibition. However, this was never the intended home for the piece. As with all the pieces in the show, they were all destined for "release".

It was in the return to the open space that the true dialogue with this creature/object played out. I found a secluded clearing for it that was off any heavily traveled trails and left it to its own resources, with the intent of periodically checking up on it and documenting its lifespan. The first two weeks it remained relatively unmolested by the elements. A few patches of grass had rooted in the creases and folds. On the third visit, it had been overturn and the leash and concrete anchor had been smashed onto the chest cavity. I had to perform on the spot repairs, and supports. On the next visit, again it was found toppled over and this time violently attacked. The legs had been snapped and it appeared to have been kicked on it side.

Ironically, I had hoped for a dialogue with this thing and the open, but I was surprised at the ferocity of the response. What I now find myself engaged in is a conversation with an anonymous conversant/combatant, and in some respects, I have taken the role of the Other, That which does not respond. Its language is not cluttered in signage and abstraction, or acts of negation. It frustrates that form of discourse with mute persistence.

I will go back tomorrow and see if we have been left a message.