The figure above and below is of a grafed female nude. To see it in its original state you need to go back to earlier posts. It is a very crudely spray can figure in a contorted posture, denuded of personality mutilated arms and legs. It has a large erect phallus penetrating her from below. It is obvious that there are two artists at work. The original figure was drawn in green can and later on the detail ti the spine hip breast and penis were done in black. I perceive the two acts are ritualistic. It is such a lonely figure in all the chaos on the concrete it has this gargantuan quality that figures into its power. Of all the piece this one had been here for quite some time evident by the age and wear of the paint it somehow evaded being painted over. I found this intriguing. Why does this piece seemed to special place on the slab? Call me crazy but I believe that this figure has a definite function. This everywoman serves a purpose to a particular group of individuals. How do I know this? Simple. Observation. I stood in the brushes one afternoon observing a group of men gathered around her. I thought I might be hallucinating but before my very eyes each man, not boys, began to thrust there groins at her. It was the most bizarre scene. Three grown men thrusting and dry-fucking this image of a woman. It was as laughable as it was sad. They laughed amongst themselves and left. There was the function. There was the ritual. The most rudimentary act. On one level art was playing out in its purest form. I can't imagine anyone going to a museum and becoming so overwhelmed by the texture of a Modigliani and whipping it out or dry humping a Renoir, wrestled to the ground in a spasm of aesthetic euphoria.Faintly you can make out the sharpie marker image of La Nuestra De La Senora De Guadalupe. I drew this over the the female figure. I thought it an appropriate response to the image and its function. This dichotomy toward the female figure, once reverend and reviled, mother and whore entwined, the intention was to create tension in the conversation between the image, users and the space. The space's "sacredness" has been violated. I intend to finish up my figure, but leave enough of the original to filter through. Unfortunately, the randomness of this project does not allow me to do protracted observations from any one location, but I do wish I could observe the first encounter after the additions.

"The Three Skaters of the Apocalypse" is a piece I started after discovering that the surface of the slab was used by skaters and bmxers. It was a sort of consolation to the fact that I was an intruder an needed to recognize that. The skaters, two male and one female, was created in a hope of generating a response from this particular users of the park. All the participants/collaborators are of a specific group of the population. They are in general, young, for the most part , other than white and working class, I think it would be safe to say. After all I did grow up in this neighborhood and the area has not changed that much in respects to socio-economics.

The t-shirts and skateboards on the images are taken from tags in the area, so I singled out Soar and zero originally. I added Spark after he/she tagged over one of the pieces . I simple gesture at an attempt of respect. The next day I returned and Spark had tagged alongside the image. In applying Spark's name I kept true as possible to his letter style.I liked that style of lettering. It was very familiar growing up in Logan Heights, it had a clarity and power to it.

These figures have been worked in oil stick, sharpie markers, house paint for base coats and Montana cans. This piece is at its early stage. There is much more layering and detail along with poly protective coats to apply.

Around each image you can make out a faint design inscribed. It is a dashed and dot design that references the demarcation of national boundaries such as seen on geo-poltical maps.The relationship of boundaries on the grand scale are reflected at the site where the common concern and familial ties are mapped out clearly in the graffiti signatures that clutter the area. Each group or individual carves out there piece of the part and a call and response occurs with proximity tags or cross-outs by rivals or intruders. The markings, the dot and dashes are reminiscent of a Mayan motif or numerical markings. This is purely coincidental and probably only in my head but worth mentioning as meaning's design relieves itself in the doing. In actuality what the dashes and dots are is Morse Code that is signaling out the international distress call,SOS. I felt, in light of the current state of international and domestic affairs is was a fitting decorative element.

This guy is an original resident that I lifted as my own. I borrowed as a whole added the hat, transformed the dick in hand, redrew it as a gun, added a sheriff's star, stuck a flag in the barrel with my crew's tag...wipc.

I am treating the slab as a sketchbook. It is less a work with some endgame in conventional aesthetic. This is not a cop-out. It is in keeping with the aesthetic that exist. There is an ongoing communique evolving at the site, and I am a latecomer, however a very vociferous and ever expanding presence. I know this. And in some ways I find it hard to control the desire to sweep over the whole the the entire space, slabs, discarded broken concrete chunks, branches, dirt and possess it as my own. There are so many voices competing for this small piece of turf. The fact that I am being allowed, given permission to pursue my voice is humbling but intoxicating.I have the conqueror's blood coursing through my veins.It is difficult to halt my advance, to even take stock of my inevitable contradiction, but I continue against the better angels of my nature and press deeper into this virgin space.

In memory of Vanessa

This is for our beloved Vanessa. A beautiful child, daughter, sister,mother and niece. She will be so dearly missed by all. She was a generous human being that greeted you with open arms that was genuine and real. I will very much miss hearing "Uncle Ron!" issue through the room.Auntie Kathy and Uncle Ron have always loved you and always will.

Top facing W,below N toward wall.The Photo below shows the depth of the trench that is adjacent to the wall I am building. From this view you are facing west with the wall to my right shoulder. In the spine of the inverted "L" trench you can faintly see that I have dug to the depth of the old plumbing. This discovery indicated that I am either in or very near another structure. I am at about four feet here. I occasionally hit the root system of the pepper tree. I intend to keep the main roots intact but may expose them as I dig down. I have worked and lived with pepper trees going on twenty years, and these are by far the hardiest tress in creation. Nearly impossible to kill. So I am not too concerned that my digging will adversely affect the tree's survival. What I am working at in these photos is th attain a suitable depth around the piers, six feet as the new floor, with potential raised seating areas, to carve out and design. Each idea is omly a potential idea. I must contend with unknown factors that alter or completely destroy my initial intent. Why the digging? It is a fair enough question that should have a definite origin. The first notion came a spring ago as I prepared by garden for planting. Anyone who has a garden whether as ornamental or a functioning food source knows that the soil needs to be treated , the soil conditioned with compost, maybe the addition of redworms and manure and the dirt finely worked to accepted tender roots. It was then that I became "aware" of a sensual pleasure with my hands in the soil. Digging, working in the soil triggers certain pleasure points in my brain. I wondered if the origin of this pleasure was not genetic. Is the proximity to the soil coupled with the pungent odor of moist manure and the physicality of may hands and arms deep in the soil part of my DNA? It's possible. Both sides of my family are connected historically to the earth. It could be in part what I am.

Art should do more than stand as a signifier.

It should do more than satisfy

art should stop being

an object

artists should stop being

a hole in the ground will communicate that.

The beast stands but man's intrusions are difficult upon it.

Yucca. My friend.Little does he know but he will be recruited into my battle with my wall critics. I must say that this type of problem-solving is more real and meaningful than any insulated sophistry. There is tangible risk. Each time I approach there is the expectation of some alteration that I have no control over. My ego in checked down. Imagine artists what that might feel like if everytime you walked into your studio, your work was changed, damaged and alter beyond your control.This is working in real time and real space.

On working on the shared space. The type of space is important. My action of intrusion is important and lends itself to the type of conversation that will ensue. My action finds it roots tied closer to that of street/urban art than land art. There is the sense of the street in the action. My actions are not sanctioned by the state or those that formerly occupy/ied the space. I am a violator in the whole sense, a tresspasser. Am I there to integrate, yes, but I am not asking permission or do I apologize. I work in No Man's Land.

Pure time/space and applied time/space overlap completely on this particular project. The applied time/space refers to the functional moments that I am actively engaged with the project, the making. This is impacted by pure time/space, those moments that act upon the environment, myself included. When I approach the space I have an intuitive sense about its becoming. I first examine the physical opportunties available, while imagining the possibilities for alteration. The space may be in the process of its own natural transtions and this will influence and inform some of my interactions and proposals.

The five photos above are a continuation of the mural piece. " The Three Skaters of the Apocalypse" is just south of the Dog poem and Garrett Hardin piece which will eventually occupy the whole of the north side of the foundation. The south side will incorporate the skaters, with tagger names on the boards and shirts of the figures as well as a cartoon road to tie them all together. The woman piece is

pre-existing spray can work that I am redesigning, and filling in.

The is the northside of the berm. To the right of the photo you can see how I have dug down to create elevation. On the right middle, is the pile of dirt from the trench piled creating another berm. If my detractors action continue I have a contingency plan to counter this latest response. Tomorrow I will rebuild and structurally enhanced the wall. If the counter-response is more destruction, Plan Norte will begin...

There is an psychological element to this project I did not anticipate. It is the emotion that wells up when I see my work intentionally destroyed. My immediate response is to lash out in anger. I am perplexed by the act that destroys and bythe seeming lack of humor or imagination. It confuses me. I see it as an assault not on me personally, but on things constructive, creative.

My actions, the making are designed to explore "deep" into the spaces we occupy. The digging is meant to expose that which is hidden. The geo-historical secrets are revealed in the stratification of the soil. A repositioning of the self in relation to the surface beckons me to reexamine thoughts of heirarchy, privacy, seclusion, a deeper contact with the soil, immersion into the abyss, the delicate balance between inhalation and suffocation.

...I restack.

8:30 in the morning I began working at the dig site. I worked for two hours straight, hauling heavy chunks of concrete, stacking, balancing, fitting the piece to build up the wall. After that I continued the digging down on each side of the berm. On the north side, opposite the sitting area and the inscribed surface I dug to a depth of three feet, creating a trench approximately 4 feet long by 3 feet wide. The strategy is to dig down on each side in order to make construction of the wall thicker and more stable and still attaining a desirable height.

I always expect some damage, but this is different. The reaction is the same as to the "beast" sculpture. It was more of an attack as evidenced by the photograph above. The concrete was pulled down and thrown into the northside trench. The message is clear, and my response is crystal. You tear down, I rebuild. You fill, I dig deeper. You approach my work with hatred and intolerance, I will present you with patience and perseverance.

This is my work. One aspect, the digging, has blossomed into active theater. I am communicating over the space, about the space. It has become so contagious, that those now visiting the site are "tagging" into the surface of the site.

In some respect this is a very historical dialogue. One side clings to possessing the space while the other side does not comprehend property rights. Which side I am on, I don't know.

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.