Crystal River

The following day I made the motorcycle trip back to Crystal River, committing to a holiday henceforth. The ride back was nothing short of a miracle, riding west into the sunset on a motorcycle which on this second ride, I was now very comfortable on. I hauled ass. And from here in the comfort of my parent’s house, with my father and his two dogs, I write to you. Goodnight.

Tickets

The following day my mother made a drive to Panama City to visit my sister (pregnant with her first child, a daughter) and her husband. From there, they would all make a flight to New Mexico to have Christmas with the in-laws. I was set on attending the art show at CoRK, so after walking my parents dogs, I hopped on my mother's motorcycle and made a ride back up to Jacksonville. It was a cold ride. I rode with the clear sun to my side dimming behind oaks and long stretches of marsh which lined the central Florida back-roads. The air became cold and I made a final stretch into Jacksonville from the west in the early dark of the night. I arrived to a beautifully hung show. I was humbled because Overstreet re-hung my work and made it look much better than I'd arranged it. He is very thorough. I believe most artists in the show sold paintings, I as an exception. The night progressed and the musicians began to play (this was one of the big selling points for me coming back to Jacksonville for the show- an opportunity to play). My drums were already set up. Nathan Smith was there with his wacky soundboards, and Morrison got on the mic, wailing and screaming in his 'house of gore' fashion. I got behind the drum set and played and played and played. It was wonderful fun, especially after being on a motorcycle for so many cold hours. A guitar player accompanied us for some time. His levels were too loud and it seemed like his knowledge was limited to off-tempo blues licks and metal riffs. He was bad, but with our musical verbosity, we made good parody out of it until he got tired and called it a night. The last set between Shaun, Nathan, and I was recorded. We switched instruments several times between each other and had a few laughs. It was a night that almost ended in a trip to Waffle House, though I didn't feel like hurting myself like that, so I heated a can of kidney beans and brown rice that I had stashed away and we split that three ways.

Crystal River

In the morning, I hung a selection of paintings for the Tickets show (only four out of two dozen made it in), then set off to Crystal River to have a holiday dinner with my mom, dad, and grandmother. We had a beautiful feast of spaghetti squash and steak. I didn't eat any steak and no one commented on my withering away, progress! My grandmother left back to her home in Salt Springs that night.

Burrito Gallery

I'd been talking with a local business about the state of their walls for a few days. This needs some explanation; the business is called The Burrito Gallery- the idea being a Mexican restaurant where you can eat among great, local, curated art. I went in for a meal the other day and the 'gallery' was empty. In fact, it was more than empty, it was in disrepair from several shows which had hung there and not fixed their wall mess on the way out. What resulted were walls with holes all over them, and some hardware left hanging. It looked bad. I asked the owner what was going on with his walls and he said, "I don't know, I think an artist is flaking on me and I have no one to show in his place."
He recognized me as 'Thursto's friend' and asked if I could hang a show. I said absolutely. He said he needed a few days to confirm so I gave him my number. A few days later I got the call. He said, "Your Thursto connection really pulled through, you got the spot. Bring some big paintings etc. etc."

I saw many options of what to do from here. I agreed to help him out, definitely, but how I was not personally sure of. I went to the paint store at which the Burrito Gallery's account was filed and picked up a quart of paint and some patch supplies. I was reimbursed by the owner, Paul, upon arriving at the restaurant and began preparing (removing hardware, patching, sanding, dusting, painting) the walls to get ready for an install. His remark about big paintings I believe was an assumption on his part, and I at the time had no large-scale work, only modest-sized watercolor and gouache paintings. I saw an option to build panels that night and cram some paintings, but I didn't want to hang anything that I wasn't sure of (not to mention I already had what I saw as a successful show hanging for the same period at Brew). I thought if the math was right (spacing) the smaller works wouldn't look half bad in the space, but I kept it as a plan B. I thought my friend's work would look great in the space, as was echoed to me again by my friend Overstreet, Jeff Luque. After finishing the wall work at the restaurant and returning to CoRK, I offered the space to Jeff that night and he accepted! He was ready to install within the hour and we transported five of his large paintings to the restaurant and installed them before close. We ate free dinners compliments of Paul, and I hooked up the bar in back with a clean chalkboard sign-job. Big success! That night at CoRK I prepared more work for the Tickets show.

Day Labor

One day Morrison proposed that I join him on the job site. He was likely very sore from doing this work for a few days, and was looking to divide the work load. The pitch was simple; ten dollars a board- removing nails. I thought it sounded alright so I agreed. I met Morrison in the lobby of CoRK at 6:30AM, where from we took his car to the jobsite downtown. At the intersection of Forsyth and Jefferson was a building which at a time around March of that year, Shaun and I had painted one of his crystal murals in preparation for his exhibition at the Museum. The building (the very same, as mentioned herein this post) burned down mysteriously. The city bid 800,000 for the deconstruction, which was a high figure. The property development firm (Pine Street) who developed the CoRK Arts District saw an opportunity and stole the contract. As a bonus to the opportunism, they acquired all of the property rights to the contents of the building (though most of them ashes), including all of the partially burned hardwood timber, laid in the early twentieth century. The timber could be stripped of nails (that's where we came in), stored, planed, processed, and reused in other building projects, of which pine street had no shortage. So, in this cold morning, Morrison and I with hammers in hand processed (that is, took nails out one at a time) plank by plank. The patterns and quantities of nails in the planks varied greatly. It was quite an operation getting one of them clean, and the ten-dollars-a-board figure began to seem more justified than before. Boss-man Mac came around in the early afternoon to give each of us one fifty dollar bill. Morrison and I used our bills to take a lunch break. Back to work for a few hours before boss-man Mac came back around. He wanted to take the boards which we'd cleaned thus far (a total of twenty-one for the day and sixty-something adding in Morrison's boards from pervious days) and load them on a trailer to bring to storage. We had our demo friends on the site help us by loading them on the trailer with a lift, then we buckled them down  to the trailer and drove them across town to one of Mac's warehouses in Springfield, where we unloaded them for storage. We did this twice, but it was not explained to us that we were still operating under the initial ten-dollars-a-board contract. In other words, we were working for free for more than half of the day. The deal soured. We were handed the rest of our payment, another fifty spot and thanked for our work. We'd made below minimum wage.

Cigarettes

Back in Jacksonville, I whipped together an art show called Cigarettes, my first solo show which was to debut at my friends coffee shop, called Brew, in under a week. I became a shut-in, putting paint down and mounting paintings and drawings. As the show date came nearer, I found myself out on the town a fair amount, determined to not let the show stress me, it felt appropriate to put up some flyers and to talk with friends about the opening. Truth be told, most of the work was done in the three months prior to going to Miami. I went into the park downtown where I got a coffee from my friend Will's coffee stand. He caught me up on goings on in Jacksonville (didn't seem like I missed much), including a successful winter holiday market, which I'd made a beautiful gouache painted flyer for. A young man walking by asked if I liked hip hop. I replied with a yes, and he offered me one of his hip hop albums. I had no money to give him and offered that we walk together around the corner to a bank where I could withdraw some cash for him. I let him do most of the talking. He was wonderful- very passionate about his craft, and full of life. I asked if he'd played shows. He said yes, he'd emceed at group shows before. I asked if he would like to play a show tomorrow. He was smart and asked specifics. His name was Jumu. We exchanged information and agreed to stay in touch through the night and following day. I felt determined to have him play. I got in my car and put his cd in the player. It was good!
I talked with Jumu via text about equipment- he had none of his own equipment. I need to get him a PA system if he was to play. In addition to the equipment limitations, Brew as a venue had its own set of limitations. A theater next door meant that we could not play music at the same time as a scheduled movie. I talked with Tim at the theater and he offered that he could start one movie early, and another movie late, giving us a 45 minute gap in which Jumu could be as loud as we wanted to go.
Now to get a PA system. Like divinity, while talking with the Brew crew, Liz Russell walked through the door who was there to talk with Summer Wood about lending her PA system to Summer for a show at CoRK the next night. Summer and Liz's deal went through and I piggy-backed. It worked out wonderfully. Liz and I got right into her car and made the drive to her parents warehouse where tons and tons of fabrics are processed for paint companies and thrift stores. In the back storage section of the warehouse, we dug out the PA system, then drove it back to Brew. All was a go for Jumu!

One of the two artists, Mark George, who was hanging in the previous show at Brew came in to take down his work. He patched up his holes and I agreed to sand and paint. I got the key to the business and took off for the big sprint to the finish.

That night at CoRK studio, I went into production mode. Finishing the paintings, which I could manage to finish and putting the rest in a corner. Shaun came by to take photos of some of his drawings. We set up a camera and lighting and took some photos. I mixed two colors for the borders of every panel in the show, creating a feeling of unity throughout the body of work, though the mediums used in the show were varied. I installed hardware on the backs of some of the paintings, loaded them in my car, and drove the work to Brew in two or three trips. In Brew, I laid the work in front of the interior wall on which I was to install, and moved all of the chairs from one side of the room to the other to get a better view. To my great fortune, my first layout of the show looked great. I took out a pen and paper, and did all of my 60-center math (which I learned from working in the Museum of Contemporary Art Downtown), and hung the show. I finished around 6 in the morning, then went to bed. I arrived back at Brew in the early afternoon to touch base and learn about the show. The crew seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. I'd hung paintings which I understood to be unfinished ( I thought I would come back through with ink and a brush and give it a once-over), but those were the very paintings which upon sitting at the counter and talking with the Brew crew about, that garnered the most positive response. I felt relieved and also trapped in my decision to leave the paintings where they were. I think there is something very powerful about leaving the painting alone as soon as it says what it needs to say. If you treat your audience with respect, they will show respect. They get it, no need to over explain. That afternoon, I went to my friend Stephanie's house who agreed to prepare vegetables that I'd purchased  for the night and a great deal of hummus. As the show time grew near I spent time with the crew (Amanda, Jeremy, Cali, and Jack) making the space look great. We moved around condiments, took down all of the flyers in the window, set out food, and set up the PA out in the front room. Jumu showed up right on time and checked his levels. Eight O'clock rolled around and no one was in the bar for the show. There was a definite calm before the storm feeling. Friends began trickling in and it became a real event by and by. Jumu's performance window opened up. I asked for the attention of the bar through the mic (I have next to zero command through a mic). A friend helped out by yelling through the bar, "QUIET!"- thank you.
"Hello, I'm Kemeys, this is my art show. I would like to introduce my friend Jumu who will rhyme over some beats. Thank you."
I handed the mic to Jumu. He pressed play on his phone, which was plugged in to the PA system. The beats began, and Jumu started to come to life. He sounded awful, but I thought if nothing else, it added some character to the show. It sounded bad. I took a short walk around the corner. Was I mistaken about Jumu? Coming back in to Brew from my walk, I felt the solution was very obvious. I went up to the PA and turned Jumu's soundtrack way up. His beats were killer and the increase in volume sent a wave of inspiration through he and I. At once, it sounded fantastic! Together we danced in the front room, and he looked great through the glass storefront windows. My enthusiasm for Jumu rekindled, I turned my attention to conversing with friends in the adjacent room. It was a wonderful night. There was a lot of talk about each of the paintings in the show selling. It seemed like everyone wanted a different piece and I felt that I may have a sold-out show. The night went on and I'd traded numbers with interested potential buyers. As the show came to a close, I began to re-install the flyers in the front window, and package the left-over food. I returned the borrowed sound equipment and began the load-out. I felt light. I thanked Jumu and paid him (we'd agreed on two hundred and fifty dollars- because artists not getting paid is bullshit). The night ended with a round of high fives basically and I went back to CoRK to clean up the art-mess that I'd made. I thought to myself, 'no rest for the weary'- What does that mean?

Morrison proposed a show at CoRK called Tickets- because he and I and Overstreet all got parking tickets while down in Miami. Morrison has a way of bolstering excitement from seemingly nowhere. Soon the showcase was big, with a lineup I couldn't have dreamed of being a part of. The flyer read Thursto, Southworth, Goethe, Luque, Overstreet, Pierce. Dream team. I began preparing every finished painting that I had.

Miami

Late the next day, and through the following morning I took the drive to Miami. I arrived in the late afternoon. I took a driving lap around Wynwood. It felt unnatural to see it from the window of a car, but such is the nature of experiencing new things. I parked a few blocks out from the center of the action, where I would later return to a parking ticket. I took a walk wearing a backpack with drawing supplies in it, dawning a polo shirt that my grandmother gave me at Thanksgiving. I saw many mural artists in various stages of painting. I recognized the difference between walls that were freshly painted and walls that had been around since the year prior. Among the surviving walls was one on 27th street that Johnny and I had painted collaboratively. As I walked by I saw two young women with their photographer-for-a-day friend posing in front of the wall. In passing I said, "My friend and I painted that".  - "O wow, really!? COOL!" - A muralists payment- underage fans posing in front of your work.  I felt bitterness growing within, which I quieted before continuing on to visit galleries. I walked into one with a number of expensive paintings. The gallery receptionist asked me if I was an artist. I replied yes. "Good luck this year."
"Thank you." I said. I felt like a racehorse.
The battery on my phone was dwindling. I had a bit of communication with Johnny (Blues) before the screen went black. He had come to Wynwood to meet me, but we couldn't find each other. I slept in my car that night on a street near the water off of Biscayne Boulevard.

I made a mission the following morning (after a Cuban breakfast and a phone charge) to find a skate shop where I could buy some hardware for a skateboard deck that was donated to me by my friend Morrison in Jacksonville. I made it out to MIA Skate shop in Miami Beach where I bought trucks, wheels, and bearings. This investment paid dividends through the following week plus. I drew that day. In the evening, in Wynwood, I came to a wall that was being painted with graffiti by a group of young adults. The wall, I should explain was the front facade of a stucco-coated warehouse. it had a beautiful pebble texture but the elegance did not go much further from there. I imagine it was built in the early 2000's. It's curious that with all of our advancements in technology and access to information, that we still build such gaudy structures. has the information age left us better off? Are we information rich and culturally poor? Has sophistication yielded to efficiency? Is there a difference between the two? I digress.
 I asked what was going on up top, pointing to a section of wall, which at that point was unaccounted for. They said nothing yet, and asked if I wanted to do a piece. They explained that the production was themed from a 90's cartoon called Courage The Cowardly Dog and that all of the artists thus far were working within a palette. I agreed to do a top piece and went around the corner to get the matching colors at the paint store. I laid down an outline and everyone present seemed impressed and excited. The painting involved a great deal of gymnastics, as there was no ladder- to paint I had to climb a metal gate fifteen feet up (the gate enclosing an aluminum roll door), with one hand and anchoring my feet in between bars of the gate, or in other cases behind metal tube housing for electrical wiring and painting with the other. I got the sketch and some colors blocked in on the wall before calling it a night. I went back to the car (parked still off of Biscayne) and drew under streetlight before nodding off.

Another Cuban breakfast, this time I met Steve and his girlfriend who's name escapes me. They called me over from my table to sit with them. He recognized from the paint all over my clothes and person that I was an artist. As we talked, it seemed to me that Steve was a hunter of talent, and a photographer as far as he had a camera and pointed it at things which he thought interesting or marketable and pushed the picture button. He passed me a pipe with ganja in it, a pen, and a small sketchbook and asked me if I would do a drawing. Steve knows how to milk an artist. He talked a great deal. He jovially explained that he and his friend were divorced, in between mouthfuls of food and self-aware misogynistic statements about who he bangs et cetera. I found myself glancing across the table at his ex-wife, (whom I saw ride in with Steve on the back of his motorbike) when he made remarks like this. She seemed at once strong and weak, though it may have all been a projection on my part. Certainly there were many voices to address in her head, processing the string of ideas presented by someone as self-assured as Steve the outgoing misogynist photographer, took much focus to wade through- or maybe none at all- he was transparent. When I commented on how good they looked riding in together on their motorcycle (which is what flushed the ex-wife fact). The response was a thank you from Steve and a deferment from the woman. She proposed that Steve looked good enough for the both of them, maybe I only saw Steve. I liked her, she was quick witted and introspective at the right times, but damn if I didn't wish to see her and Steve in full debate. I bet she kicked ass. We parted ways, but not before Steve gave me his business card and his tag-word sticker, 'keif catcher'. He was the marketing side of art. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

I made contact with Johnny at some point. Late in the night we drove into a poor neighborhood where dealings take place. We got out of the car to meet with Mastro and some other graffiti writers from New York and Montreal. Cars were parked in a semi-circle around a plastic fold out table, on top were rows of boxes with paint cans in them. Mastro, naturally, was the master of ceremonies. "Alright, here's how we're going to do this." Two hundred and fifty pounds of Bronx muscle under a tight, brightly colored tank top, flip flops, reflective sunglasses at night, Bermuda shorts and a sun-defying tan. "I pick four, you pick four, back and forth. That's it. I know it sounds simple, but trust me, I've seen cats mess this up and get ugly."
Mastro picked his four cans. Blues picked his four cans, and back and forth it went until the paint was distributed. We loaded up our car, then hung around for a while with a couple skateboards, talking graffiti and jumping over stacked paint cans. We had paint.

The following day John and I went to the wall. What I was envisioning.. didn't matter. The wall was better than I'd anticipated. It was located at 2nd Avenue and 36th Street, in Miami's design district. It belonged (for the time of the art fair at least) to The Kavachnina Contemporary Gallery. I was introduced to Alejandro, a gentleman younger than myself who'd just graduated from art school in Ohio and had committed himself (along with a few friends and classmates) to curating a showcase of "Wynwood Graffiti in the Age of Gentrification". It was a satirical art show, which aimed to gentrify while simultaneously acknowledging its devastating impacts. The show felt like a fun house of ideas. To criticize was to miss the art, which hit the target directly in the center, but it still felt so good to criticize, like a snake eating its own tail. I believe it was the best show at Basel. Alejandro's relationship with the gallery was a curious one to me, and I never quite figured it out, but he was treated like a little brother by everyone aboard the Kavachnina. In ship speak, he was the first mate. Beside him was Ryan, a painter and great guy who'd also graduated from that Ohio art school. When I first met him, he was in the middle of selling one of his paintings from a collector from Barcelona for a couple thousand dollars. He'd moved to Miami a few months prior to paint for this show using missed tints and cheap nylon brushes in a small apartment in little Haiti. Jesse James and Mike were from Philadelphia and were given a stipend to paint the front (courtyard) facade of the gallery. They drove a rented car, used good equipment and stayed in a hotel. I did not envy them. The paintings came out well, though seemed dry. Inside the gallery were a handful of beautiful oil paintings, portraits from an artist named Saulustiano. Upon meeting him, he had a Saint Nicholas air to him, he was beautiful and full of love. I felt kinship. I could sense deep loneliness, which comes with studio practice. I was compared to him and had a round of photographs under his arm to the delight of the room of grown ups, comparing our likeness.
Gala. Gala was the captain of the ship. A spirit. I heard her described as a nihilist several times. She had style and class. She was the type of leader that signed the papers at the end of the week, but did not worry about much else. I loved her.
In the second stage of the gallery, beyond the foyer where Saulustiano's show was installed, was Alejandro's street-art show. It was loaded with work. The space, divided between two rooms was hung salon style (though not really salon style as there was wall showing around all of the pieces) throughout. More than a dozen artists were featured and the ties between them, at least to me as a groundling, seemed loose if that. Few of the paintings captivated me, though one of Ryan's paintings felt interesting. I recognized a couple of artists who were displayed among them Atomiko- a Miami staple competing from the ground up with Britto for visual real estate. It was somewhat validating to have an affiliation (though Atomiko did not come by at any time during the showcase or events surrounding, likely because his work was featured in what seemed to me once every other block in this show or that- he was in a fully expanded production mode. I imagine he had one thousand paintings of the same Florida orange character floating around the art fair that week) to such established artists blah blah.
Johnny and I sized up our wall. There was a sign that read 'Design Studio' across the top of one half of the wall, our allocated half. I proposed that we paint a mural below it as a cropped rectangle so that we wouldn't have to fuss with painting around it or taping. Johnny agreed and with a level and a tape measure, I drew us a nice big long rectangular box on the wall. We set to painting. Perhaps due to my ample time in a studio setting, or no doubt my experiences painting with Shaun in Jacksonville, I directed the mural process. We started in monochrome grays, painting on a white background in light values. We refined the sketch using progressively darker tones, until we made it to black. To conserve paint, we indicated shading using hatching and stippling. the sketch had good rhythm, and balance. I advised now that we paint simultaneously from dark to light and cool to warm, so that our process would remain linear. The world of color is certainly a different animal and there were a few layers of paint applied in some areas to achieve the balance that seemed to come so easily in the monochrome sketch. Regardless after hours of back and forth within the palette, and some 'bonus colors', (from our personal stock) added in, we achieved a balanced feeling once again. The mural looked wonderful, it was like a window into another world, complete with surreal landscapes, vignettes, symmetry, impasto applications, abstraction. It was really singing. As John and I were talking about the painting, a woman driving in a car on 36th street pulled into a bus lane to get out and yell at us in Spanish. Johnny, being fluent, translated that we were painting the wrong wall (this has been a theme for me in Miami), or rather, we were painting the wall wrong. Instead of the mural being one panoramic rectangle as we had done, the owner of the building envisioned two vertically oriented murals, capping in the 'Design Studio' sign. This was the first time that John or I had heard this. We packed up our things and decided that we would talk to the Kavachnina crew about it the following day. We considered ourselves more than half finished with the mural.
I moved my car to the gallery courtyard that night and slept inside of it.

The following morning, a big hastily painted gray rectangle stood in place of where our mural-in-progress had just been the night before- the buff. We talked to Gala. She said it was the neighbors and with a sly grin explained that we were now at war with them. Further, we learned that the wall next-door (the bigger of the two spots) had just opened up for our use too. Allegedly the artists who were scheduled to come in and paint it dropped out of the deal (with the neighbors), and the spot was now liberated for our use. John and I were pawns in a petty territory dispute. We were not being paid and we now had a new mural to paint. We talked about what to do, and decided that it would be funny to paint the word 'MURAL' across the buff patch. We took a can of black paint and handed it back-and-forth M, U, R, A, L. The letters got sillier and sillier from left to right. Satisfied, we mapped out a new rectangle on the adjacent wall and buffed a big, black, oil-based patch where we could start painting anew. During the buff session, several photographers came by to take photos and hand us business cards, also a promotional coconut water van drove up to hand us samples and to take a round of pictures for their social media campaign. The streets were filled with bar-goers and yuppies. It must have been a Saturday. Johnny left to go work on another mural project that he had across the street. During his absence, an activist march pertaining to murders of Eric Garner and Mike Brown by police marched down 36th street. I set up our ladder in the middle of the road to provide a perch for photographers. A news crew came by and asked to use it. "Of course, it's for you." I said. They got their shot and asked to interview me. I agreed. I'd just smoked weed with our gallery crew so I was feeling inspired. The interviewer asked how I felt about the protest. I said it is important because the majority feel a lack of representation among those who control power. They asked me what I thought about Basel and I said it's a total crock. "Why?", "Because it's corporate". That was the end of the interview. They asked me my name and I replied Kemeys. They inquired, "Is that it? Do you have a last name?" They were missing the point, but I told them Goethe. They filmed me folding up the ladder, moving it back to the wall, unfolding it, moving it into place, sorting through a few cans, choosing a color, shaking a can, climbing the ladder, and looking back at them to check what the fuck they were still doing filming me. I asked if they had enough. "Yup, we got it."
Johnny returned and I explained that I was done painting. The spot was blown as far as I could tell and the black rectangle looked good on its own. We talked about it for a while before deciding that yes, the black rectangle looked great next to the gray buff which read 'MURAL'. Before we called it a night, Johnny wrote in black across it 'Don't Shoot', which was a theme within the protest march. I spent the rest of the evening at the Courage the Cowardly Dog Wall, painting the top-spot.

I met Willy Rose the year prior while painting a graffiti wall in the design district. He taught me how to weave his Charleston Palmetto Rose, on which he has carved himself a living one-dollar at a time over the years. It was a joyous reunion. Willy is a true friend with which time is obsolete. He handed me a bunch of fresh green fronds to weave for the night. He said he was turning in. I rode the skateboard to Wynwood and sat on the sidewalk, weaving roses and handing them silently to passers by. Mostly, I received thank yous, but I also got a good little pile of money, especially as the bars let out. I made eye contact with one young woman who found a miracle in me. She was torn to leave me and asked where I would be in an hour, or maybe two. I said I didn't know. She asked for my phone number and I obliged. I finished weaving roses and helped a gallery bring paint inside from a mural that had been painted that day by Nychos (I was not-so-secretly waiting him out by posting up by his supplies, while simultaneously watching the paint in case anyone came by with sticky fingers). This is the same artist whom I traveled to Vienna to visit, only to realize upon arriving that he was away in Rio at the time. I rode my skateboard to a corner store and got a veggie empanada.  On my way back to my car, I saw a young man, face down on the sidewalk, bicycle beside him, looking dead. I approached him and asked if he was all right. It took a short while, but he came to and sat up. He was very drunk. He explained that he'd just been fired and that he needed to ride to 181st street or something ridiculous. I thought he would surely crash his bike again or be hit by a car. An ambulance drove up to us. They'd received a call for him. I told him that we were fine and the ambulance drove off. We stood up and began walking north. We came to a hotel. I asked if he would like to stay at a hotel, and he agreed. I checked in to a double. I asked that he make himself at home, and I took a shower, my first in over a week. I slept very well. My friend’s departure in the morning was unceremonious.

 Another day, perhaps the following day, Willy and I took a walk to harvest more materials for roses. We stopped by several trees, which Willy knew would be ready for harvest and got a fair amount of fronds. We took a seat on a pair of landscaping rocks in Wynwood and set to cleaning fronds and weaving roses. Willy did all of the talking, which I was grateful for. We made twenty dollars each in under an hour, which was enough for Willy to go and get his daily bread. I stayed and made more roses, but not much more money. I sat out like this once-per-day since, either drawing or weaving roses, and always made surplus of my food costs.

I stayed up through the night and drew outside of the supermarket while the sun rose. I met a new friend, Somn, from Philadelphia who'd just been released from prison for graffiti the night before. We had some mutual friends and exchanged drawings. I returned to my car and slept.

The Kavachnina crew proposed that I paint a shipping box of one of Saulustiano's paintings. I agreed though had no supplies. Ryan drove me to his home/studio in little Haiti where we picked up some colors and brushes for me to use. It rained that night. In fact, it flooded that night, but seeing that we were working on a deadline, and that I had a sense of humor about the ordeal, I took off my shoes and made the painting during the downpour in four inches of water. During the painting, I could kick water onto the wooden box/panel to create wash effects within the composition. I was pleased with the results. The box was a five foot by five foot square and seeing that none of the paintings in the show (in my opinion) fully captured the idea of 'Wynwood graffiti in the age of gentrification', I set to creating what I saw to be an illustration of the show's intent- the 'cover illustration' if you will. I drew a vanishing point front and center then some industrial warehouses depicting the feel of Wynwood past. The warehouses also took on the appearance of moving boxes with their folding tops agape in different angles, creating movement cues. A graffiti-style bubble letter phrase in the upper third of the painting read "Wynwood Moving Sale", then in tag-style, "Everything must go!"  Then, on the facades of the depicted buildings, I painted store names and implied signage. One said grocery. Another had the word 'Shoestrings' superimposed onto it, following the perspective grid. The 'Shoes' in 'Shoestrings' lined up with a building/box (box store), while the 'trings' bled over the illustrated alleyway and building/box adjacent. Trings, a non-word, served as a nod to dada, a verbal ready-made. Further, the word 'Shoestring' shares an association with 'Budget', again referring to the gentrification cash cow in Wynwood. Closer to the foreground, between two of these 'box/stores' is a thin structure, which looks in one regard as a narrow architectural phenomenon and in another as a book, the spine of which reads 'Appraisals'.
In the gap of an alleyway, sits a dog, painted in the fashion of the highway men, an allegiance to the tradition of the Florida painter (and just a charming bonus). In the background of the painting, like a god or like T.J. Ekelburg over the Valley of Ashes was depicted a figure holding a spray paint can, poised to vandalize, or to paint a mural perhaps, or to improve, seeking fame or fortune at the behest of the haves. The hero and villain incarnate, the artist.
Behind the scenes: the depicted artist silhouette was modeled from my backlit shadow as it was cast by streetlight onto the surface of the painting. I held a can in my right hand and painted the figure in with my left, (actually accurate to my preferred dexterity). A few washes, some liberal applications of color implying light hitting the scene and the painting was complete. A masterpiece if ever there was one.

The Kavachnina crew was pleased with the painting and we moved it out onto the sidewalk as a call-in for the work inside of the gallery. It sat next to the sign of the show- "Rob-Wynhood", it read.
It became clear that Alejandro had done a lot of leg work for the show. One day after watching the sunrise on the back-end of a sleep schedule, I sought to take a nap in the sculpture garden in front of the gallery. While circling the garden like a dog looking for the ideal place to rest, a man came by in a nice car to drop off a pillow for me in the form of a stack of magazines. The publication was titled Art Districts of Florida, No. 33. He referred me to the article about the 'Rob-Wynhood' show then set out to deliver the rest presumably. I flipped through the magazine and saw an advertisement for the show, and among the billed artists, there I was. Twenty or thirty pages later, was an article written by Alejandro about the show. It was well written and again, my name appeared. I was written into the show, like a shoe-in. There was no accompanying description, as I don't believe that anyone with exception of Johnny knew what my paintings looked like. I'll take it, I thought, and went to sleep in the early morning light, head propped up by a stack of magazines with my name in them.
Alejandro and Ryan came by the gallery a few hours later and took photos of me reclining by the front door of the gallery I was not short of basking with a permanent grin across my face. The photo went viral amongst the Kavachnina crew, referred to as the Kavachnina artist-in-residency program.

All at once the day came for the opening at the Kavachnina Gallery. There was plenty of wine. Johnny and I decided that our black rectangle was too enticing to not paint on it. We broke out the paint and began going in. I hadn't much experience painting from a black background so much of the initial scratching was done by John. We began to bury the black, which I was not fond of. The mural began to look like an unrooted space scene. John and I stepped back and I convinced him that it was a good idea that I go in with roller paint and do some flat, two-color illustration on top of the layers of misting. I applied the paint in blotchy sections creating a sense of depth and motion. I became inspired to paint a tree house suspended in an oak on one end and on the other a tall cypress-type tree. Patches of grasses styled like those from Bill Waterson line drawings echoed from the bases of the trees. A dialogue was formed between the background and foreground and I felt much better about the wall. Johnny was ready to accept my moves as improvements and move on too. We packed up the paint. I went inside the gallery with the party-goers. It was quite an international crowd. There seemed to be a lot of money in the room, but it felt static. I became bored, so I snatched up my red dress that I'd found in a pile of books and clothing left out in front of a thrift store, ran into a gallery across the street where I let down my hair and changed garb. My second entrance to the Kavachnina gallery, now in a dress, felt much better. I became a touchstone for the party, hearing my name called by one person or another. I took many pictures with women that night, and gained an admirer or two among the artists. A couple of bands played, they were both great though as it goes, the first one was better.

I met a beautiful woman the following day. Her name was Heather. We took a walk through Wynwood together exploring galleries. I'd planned to leave, but things were going smoothly between us so I didn't rush it. I really enjoyed the way she picked apart paintings- she was very objective about the production of the work, and critical about the shortcomings of the artist meeting his/her statements. Together we talked about the misogyny in a series of photographic nudes which aimed to 'explore our spiritual nature blah blah', and we found some bad abstraction to boot. We did come across some wonderful photography of musicians, paired with lyrics from songs they'd written from Brooklyn in a large industrious space. It was my favorite gallery at Basel. We walked into a junk emporium on 27th street where I felt inspired to draw an African head sculpture. I asked a man working at the store who seemed like the owner if I could draw it. "Be my guest." he said. I noticed a pen and notepad next to the sculpture and asked if I could use a pen and paper. "You want to draw it, but you don't bring your own supplies huh?" he asked rhetorically. Under my arm, I had a large poster of a photograph that I'd picked up on the street just ten minutes prior, and in my pocket, a large marker. "I've got it." I said, as I unrolled the large sheet of paper and spread it across the floor. I began to draw and a small crowd gathered around to watch. I achieved a likeness after some time and bid the gentleman goodbye. Later that night, I walked Heather back to her car. I gave her the poster and we exchanged information, that I might visit her if I make a trip to DC.
I stopped by the spot where I thought I might see Willy before I left town. He was there and in good spirits. He gave me some material to weave roses with and gave me a big hug. Melissa, a friend from my trip to Miami in the year prior came by the spot to say goodbye as well. I painted a little graffiti piece on a nearby wall where Johnny and his friends were going in on a production, then left town for Jacksonville.

Jacksonville

After Thanksgiving and dropping off my grandmother back at her house, I thought I might go to Miami to begin my Art Basel Miami festivities. This year I was understood to have an arranged mural-wall collaborating with my friend and painting partner, Blues. I had no luck getting though to his phone, so I made the trip back up to Jacksonville to bide some time before going so far south.
I felt great back in Jacksonville, largely because I was most of the way finished with a good looking show on cigarettes. I opened my studio door, set up a few paintings, and binge-worked for a few hours. I got a call from my friend Mark, notifying me that one of the buildings that Shaun and I had painted in the late spring of 2014 was in the middle of burning down. I grabbed my camera and rushed downtown to catch some of the destruction. I felt giddy watching our paint-job crumble, burn, and get blasted with water from diligent fire fighters. After taking several pictures, a surreal sense of perversion began to set in. I knew fairly little about this building, but how I enjoyed seeing it burn. Among the spectators that night, myself, Mark, Weird (an artist friend), curious denizens, and cameramen, there was a sense of community in the still night. Back in the studio, I worked for a few more hours before resting.

Thanksgiving

I met my grandmother at her house as planned and drove the rest of the way with her to Vero Beach where we met my mother, father, sister (baby girl in utero), her husband/my brother-in-law, and my mother's parents. Thanksgiving went well, considering all that comes with family.

Woof

I took off towards Titusville to meet my father's mother in her home, where we planned to carpool to Vero Beach to meet the rest of the nuclear family for Thanksgiving dinner. I was on an inverted sleep schedule. I drove a few hours south from Jacksonville and stopped in to a Waffle House in Port Orange for my 'mid-day' meal. I took a seat at the bar and got the look down from a couple guys who gave off the cop vibe. I took out a sketchbook and the waitress, who's name I believe was K... something, well I can't remember, but she was a beautiful light-skinned (that is, mostly black) young woman of 19 who upon seeing me pull out a pen and paper requested that I draw her portrait. I surprised her and myself with a not-half-bad portrait of her likeness in between her taking orders and me seasoning my sunny-side ups. A shuttle vehicle with handicap decals pulled up outside of the door and out came a man of the road, a southerner. Perhaps writing this so long after the event took place gives me that advantage of glorifying his entrance, but I do think there was something about his coming in to the Waffle House that night, like how a wet seagull finds a dry perch after a hurricane. He'd just come from the hospital, I imagined him as the type to rip the IV's out from his arms when he felt he'd been there long enough. He sat down and ordered an all American breakfast, no sooner did he start talking to the waitress, K... "You ever heard of Lynard Skynard?"

"Yeah."

"You like 'em?"

"Hell no. What do they sing again?"

Singing, "Sweet Home Alabama..."

"..Oh yeah, no."

"Well, you're looking at him."

He rolled up his sleeves of his flannel shirt to show his symmetrical tattooed forearms; Eagles triumphantly grasping an American flag on one forearm and the other grasping a 'rebel' flag. 

Woof was the harmonica player for Lynard Skynard. He'd been around the world but most recently, in surgery rooms of three different hospitals, undergoing a cardiovascular bypass, which cost the rock star well over a million dollars (a great deal presumably in helicopter fuel, as he was airlifted from Knoxville to Chattanooga, then again to Port Orange to finish the surgery). Woof was looking to meet his son in Sarasota later that day so he too could spend Thanksgiving with his family. I told him I'm not going to Sarasota, but I am going to Titusville and offered him my passenger's seat. He said, paraphrasing, "Sure, anything that gets me closer". We buckled up and took off. He seemed like he was on the same wacky sleep pattern as I and we talked and listened to radio together as we drove south on 95, watching the sun rise and burn off morning fog from the swampland of central Florida. In our blissful conversation ( I was quite pleased, we seemed to get along swimmingly, and we maintained exchanging stories for hours) we overlooked the fact that Sarasota was in fact on the west coast of Florida. It began to near my proposed arrival time for /to pick up my grandma. Woof and I had to come to an agreement as to where I was to drop him off and how soon. He asked how the beaches were in Titusville. Nice, I replied. "Well, I'd really like to go to the beach today, let's just go there." In Titusville, we found ourselves with some extra time, so we went into a Village Inn for a cup of coffee. Woof asked the waitress if she ever heard of Lynard Skynard... 

Woof had every colored hair, which poured out of the bottom of a black sun-soaked cowboy hat belonging at one point to a band-mate of his who'd since died in a tragic plane crash. He carried two harmonicas in his jean vest pocket. While listening to classic rock stations he would explain the songs to me (I was very curious) and in what ways the musician(s) or lyrics related to Lynard Skynard. It was fascinating. 

After coffee, we took a drive towards Titusville beach. We felt a kinship, and upon turning onto a high causeway connecting the mainland from the barrier island of Cape Canaveral, 'Sweet Home Alabama' came on the radio. The sun gave off its first pure light of the day as we crested the Atlantic landscape. As romantic as it would have been to leave Woof there at the beach, we recognized somewhere along the way that he would have no way back to the mainland. He thought for a minute and we drove back into town to check out his gigging spots. Everything was closed for the holidays, so as the hour grew near that I was to meet my grandma, we decided on a McDonald's by the interstate. He said that his son would call soon and make the drive from Sarasota to come pick him up. I bought the two of us breakfast, then we parted ways. 

Road, rails, and home again.

Bar Harbor with family. My sister had big news to share that she was carrying her first child, what a miracle when life is created from seemingly nowhere- where do babies come from? We rented bicycles one day and hiked another. We stayed in a home with a beautiful garden and a local population of deer.
I traveled to Machias to visit friends, stayed for a short while.
Bus back to Bangor.
Quick transfer to Portland.
Train to Boston, transfer to DC bound train.
Layover in DC. Early Morning-Evening. Slept in a park, quick visit to the National Portrait Gallery where I saw presidential portraits. Chuck Close did Clinton like a boss. A quick peek at an over-advertised Andrew Wyeth show.
Took an evening departing train to Jacksonville. Gave a studio tour to visitors of CoRK.
Drove to Crystal River to visit mom and dad for a few days.
Back to Jacksonville-Working on a show of cigarettes and a few commissions. Working on an installation for TEDX with Shaun and Mark.

Maine

I left for Maine with Jacksonville brains. I felt a sort of self-loathing , which came in part from being shouted at and called an orangutan at a comedy performance. 
I broke things off with my girlfriend. 
I took a taxi to the Amtrak station and left Jacksonville at 9:30 or so. It was a rainy night. 
On the train, I took to drawing. It seemed like the best thing to do with my racing mind and restless hands. I made several good illustrations, Even flushing out some illustrations that I'd put on the mental back burner for a special occasion. 
The train itinerary featured a six hour layover in DC. I went to a few museums and sculpture gardens and made a charming drawing from life. I gave away two drawings before I left town, undocumented. It felt exciting and dangerous. 
I had a few hours in New York, to walk around Chelsea. I twas the middle of the night. I got a felafel wrap from a street cart. 

I had a transfer in Boston which allotted me enough time to grab a coffee and a bagel- it was early in the morning. I enjoyed this transfer. I found the coffee shop just outside of the train terminal. It was a fair trade, organic free exchange, etc. etc. place that was in the location of where a Starbuck might be. (side note, at the time of the publishing of The Starbucks Experience, Starbucks was opening 5 new store per day). Anyway, this placed was slammed. The fair trade market in coffee now has drastically expanded from my vantage point. But how green can you really be when you bring fair trade coffee from Central America to the northeast (or any great distance) and sell high volumes to go-go-goer's in to-go cups. Hundreds of to-go cups. To-go is an environmental nightmare. Convenience is a real killer. 

I arrived in Portland Maine at around 9am. I had no plans. I walked around town, sat down at a taco place and met a beautiful young woman named Sydney. She tried to set me up with a bicycle, as I expressed interest in riding to Bangor. No luck. I continued on, found my way to the art school, MECA, where I took a short tour of the illustration department. I enjoyed the school very much, especially the part about students having 24 hour access to the entire building- that is number one on my art school checklist. Everything seemed great about the place. I went to the public library and thumbed through a pile of books about Maine history in the public archives. I felt that this research has greatly enhanced my appreciation for the state henceforth. I walked towards a bike shop that Sydney had referred me to. I saw the Salvation Army serving dinner. I went in and asked if they needed help. They gave me some gloves and asked me to bus the dining room. They offered that I eat dinner first. It was a great dinner. I stayed after the meal to help with cleanup of the dinner hall, then went to a cafe nearby, where I talked with a  couple locals about the town, and where to stay that night. I was referred to a bus line to take me to a hotel, outside of town by a couple miles. I checked in- it was like a motel 6 (which there was one of just across the street). It was nice. I turned on the tv and indulged in a movie featuring Matthew McConaughey about HIV and drug dealing.
I got a late start the next morning, I walked in to town, took the tracks for a mile or so and saw some cool graffiti. I talked to a gentleman named Vic who's was opening a cafe about painting his sign. He was going for something cheap cheap cheap and quick quick quick, so I moved on. More cafe's, more drawing. I sat at the ends of a pier among lobster traps and seagulls (heavy fish smells from seafood processing plants) and watched the sunset. Sailboats dotted the harbor and a pair of seals lolligaged in the bay. Another great dinner. I had a Guinness afterward. Across the bar I saw a middle aged man look defeated when he saw me ordering a beer alone. He too had ordered a beer alone. We didn't talk (and maybe this is just me projecting) but I felt that I had let him ( as my future self) down. I resolved to wake up early the next morning at least. I met Hilary at the bus stop. We were waiting on different busses. We both enjoyed many of the same things, and conversation was fluid. She asked if I wanted to smoke. We smoked together. I caught my bus before hers arrived. I gave her a very clever little drawing. Back at the hotel, I tried to outline some drawings with ink, but this was a bad idea. There is an illustration expression, 'if you drink, don't ink', I believe this to be true.
I woke early as planned the next morning. I took a bus into town and had a nice breakfast, where I inked some drawings, successfully this time. I explored Portland more that day. I went back to MECA and talked about the next steps toward applying. I went to the art store, and bought some cans of spray paint to go paint the town legal wall. I spoke with Maxon, the store owner's son and to a local woman who'd attended the school about the college, good reviews. I walked across town and a couple miles down a trail on the water's edge to the graffiti wall, a retention wall to the town water treatment facility. I painted a large piece over some gaudy New York gang graffiti. I was thanked multiple times by passers by for painting. It was a beautiful scene to be painting right there on the ocean. I met a new friend, a homeless gentleman, who stopped by the wall to talk. He has been voluntarily homeless for 30 years. He told me stories about his adventures living in the woods in British Columbia and some techniques for catching and cooking fish. He also told me about a submarine that was sunken in the harbor there in Portland that was leaking mercury into the water and about the depleted cod population throughout the state of Maine. Of course, (especially in the  case of the submarine) this is not commonly known to the Maine tourist. I ran out of paint about three quarters the way through the piece, and went back to town to get more at the store. I arrived a bit late and did not get the paint. I hope I can get a chance to finish the painting after traveling to Bar harbor to visit with my family. As the sun set, I went back to my favorite local cafe and asked my friend for advice on sleeping at the bus station. He referred me to a coach line alternative to greyhound, which didn't open its doors until 8 or so in the morning. I left the cafe and went by MECA, where I found the doors open. I went into an illustration lab and worked on drawing for a few hours. I left at about the same time the bars were letting out and caught the late night dinner rush at a pizza joint. From there, the only place that was open was a Denny's, nearby the bus station. I took a taxi out to it. I sat down and had a milkshake and some fries. I stayed late into the night, and grew very tired. I walked outside, committing to at least being away from Denny's. The air was bitter cold. I went into a nearby hotel, though the lobby and into a stairwell, where I made a small bed on the top floor and took a few hour nap. I left the hotel as the sun rose, grabbed breakfast and went to the bus station which was now open. I checked in, then slept under the bench for a few hours before my bus took off. I slept on the bus.
In Bangor, I took a cab to the airport to wait on my family to fly in from NYC. Their plane was delayed, so I took a walk down the street to a nearby skatepark, where I smoked with some locals and shared stories. Aaron gave me a ride back to the airport, where I met up with my family upon their arrival. We rented a car and were off to Bar Harbor.

Art Walk

I made twenty shirts for art walk last night from a prohibition themed illustration that I made for the Volstead. Burro Bags, a local screen print shop, did all of the dirty work and gave me a discounted rate on the terms that I design a shirt specifically for them. I agreed gladly.
I set up a merch table in the lounge room of the Volstead and made a dent in the twenty shirts that I had. The shirts sold for twenty dollars a piece. I saw a few friends throughout the night walking around wearing them- that was a cool feeling. I hung the original illustration from which the shirts were made up in the foyer of the bar. Sam and Alyssa of the Volstead crew wrote me a check for the painting, and asked that it remain hanging where it hung. I felt that I had done a good job in matching imagery to the space.

Volstead Preparation

I'm working a lot. Pulling serious hours for the Volstead Bar art walk installation. I have a  bunch of mostly-built panels in the 'woodshop' studio space. I made a good black and white image which I intend to use for a silkscreen print for shirts or the like. I hope that I will make some money at this art walk or at least inspire some people. I did a photo shoot with my friend Dennis Ho today. I got a free shirt of of it from 16 sixteen clothing.

Here is where I've got a drawing for Volstead looking like right now in preparation for a one-color silkscreen.

"Well Looky Here."

Hanging and Lighting

Today at the MoCA I learned how to hang and light a show.

I also hung 10 or so paintings in Chamblins Bookmine, our local bookstore/cafe.

After work, I went to the library to look through more microfilms of 1920's-30's local newspaper articles on prohibition-era Jacksonville. This is in preparation to a showing at the Volstead bar on September 3rd.

MoCA

Started work at the Museum of Contemporary Art today. We laid out a show of the top floor. Hanging tomorrow. It felt good using calculators to space everything. What an invaluable tool.

Went to the Library afterward to research 1920's newspaper articles on prohibition in Jacksonville. I found a good illustration and a good comic from Muff and Jeff pertaining to prohibition, both from June, 1929.

About me

Speaking of updating my website, I have decided to strip down on the 'about me' section.

Therefore, I will paste the about me info here so that it still exists.

Insurance:


Kemeys Goethe is an illustrator and muralist from Tallahassee, Florida. He works large scale with buff paint and spray paint, as well as small scale with pencil, ink and watercolor. His objective is to document spontaneity of thought and self-awareness through art making. Goethe’s practice and philosophy are informed by his upbringing, his appreciation for exploration, his self-reliance, and his quest for sustainability.

Goethe was born in 1990 as Robert Kemeys Goethe. As a child he enjoyed exploring the shallow waters of the Gulf of Mexico with his dad. His love of nature grew when his family moved to Montana where he enjoyed long hikes. He competed in gymnastics through his elementary years, taking many road trips across the southeast with his family to attend regional meets. In high school, Kemeys was a key member of the swimming and diving team and marched in the drum line. He continues playing percussion in bands.

After high school, Goethe began writing graffiti, which served as an ideal means to marry his physical and creative capabilities. Graffiti has informed his creative practice in its spontaneity, impermanence, and range of application. There is a constant dialogue between Goethe’s graffit and his fine art, adding textures and color studies to walls, and a brave and fluid style to his studio work.

Goethe has painted several commissioned murals for local tattoo shops, churches, music venues, school clubs, and theater departments. He assisted Bob Copper in painting set backdrops for FSU’s production of The Nutcracker in 2012, and more recently painted a mural at the CoRK arts district in Jacksonville while staying as a visiting artist. He has organized exhibitions in Tallahassee, and has been featured in several others regionally.

Goethe has earned an Associate’s Degree from Tallahassee Community College and has attended Florida State University briefly as a Studio Art Major. After one semester, he began to question the efficacy of standardized art education. Through friends and family, he began to design his own artistic curriculum; attending various workshops and events including Life-size illustration with Fred Lynch at Haystack Mountain School of Crafts, Draw Anything with Jerry Moriarty at SVA, Graphic Design with Skip Sorvino at SVA, and Children’s Book Illustration with Monica Wellington at SVA. He has studied info-graphic illustration under Jonathon Rosen, and watercolor techniques with Scott Brundage.

In late 2013, the beautiful Dennis Family in coordination with The Josine Bokoven Gallery offered Goethe the opportunity to participate in a unique artist in residency program in Amsterdam. This one-month residency allowed a flourishing creative time for Goethe, in which a large number of studies for his forthcoming ‘Still Life From Ether’ series were created. Amsterdam also served as the gateway for further European adventures, leading Goethe to set up a one-month studio apartment, in which he made hundreds of drawings and studies.  He attended gallery openings, museums, and The Venice Biennale.

Upon returning to the States, Goethe attended Art Basel Miami, painting a handful of murals in Wynwood. Today, Goethe resides at his lovely parent’s lovely home in Central Florida, where he is reinstating infrastructure to pursue more long-term projects.


CV

2008- Florida State University Developmental Research School Diploma
2010- The Dumpster Lords Rise, Railroad Square Gallery, Tallahassee, FL
2012- A.A. Degree Tallahassee Community College
2012- The Dumpster Lords Return. The Renditions Gallery, Tallahassee, FL
2012- Artbrary, Strozier Library, FSU, Tallahassee, FL
2012- Haystack Mountain School of Craft, Illustration Workshop, Fred Lynch, Bangor, ME
2012- Exhibition in FAB, FSU, Tallahassee, FL
2013- March First Friday exhibition at The Renditions Gallery: 'Soft Spots', The Art of Kemeys Goethe and Hope Limansah
2013- Art Army's Guerilla Art Show at Railroad Square for April First Friday
2013- Restitution, Display Gallery, Gainesville, FL
2013- MASS Presents: The Dave Matthews Twins with Superb Art. MASS Gallery. Tallahassee, FL
2013- Sorry Mom; An Art Show. The Office Lounge. Tallahassee, FL
2013- Visiting Artist, CoRK Arts District, Jacksonville, FL
2013- SVA Continuing Education Department Summer Workshops: 'Draw Anything' with Jerry Moriarty, 'Children's Book Illustration' with Monica Wellington, and 'Graphic Design' with Skip Sorvino. NYC, NY
2013- Info-graphic design workshop and studio visit with Jonathon Rosen. NYC, NY
2013- Studio visit with Scott Brundage. NYC, NY
2014- Apprenticeship with Shaun Thurston. Jacksonville, FL

Much Working

I'm surrounded by mostly finished work. My production has increased substantially with having a great deal of studio time at my disposal. I am working on a spoke card for a local bike shop called zen cog. (image herein).

I am also working with several paintings to be displayed in a local book shop, a series of paintings based on making bread for a local bakery, a mural proposal for a local print shop, a graphic logo for a local plastics company, a commission for a friend, a zine, and an installation with several paintings for a speakeasy bar at the beginning of september.

I made this clever little drawing at my sister's graduation ceremony.

The other night I painted a wall for some friends at a local bar. I spent a few hours on it and it came out well and quite expressive and loose.

I sat at a bar (this is a drinking town) for a full day on Sunday on the understanding that there would be an art market that was low key. Low key was an understatement- I was the only vendor. I maintained a good sense of humor about it and set up a nice little table off to the side, complete with a welcoming lamp, a canvas tablecloth, books, wooden boxes, and drawings. I was not approached by anyone for four hours. I did not worry for a moment- it provided for great drawing time. I even knocked out a drawing for a commission during what began to look more and more like a waning moon fishing venture, or a lemonade stand in a rural neighborhood. As the patrons trickled in, and began to lubricate themselves, I began seeing visitors. I gave away every book on the table. Everyone seemed to be out of cash, or had prospects to hit me up for another project. No worries, no worries. I think they will enjoy the book.

I painted a sign for a downtown art walk at the beginning of the month. It came out okay at best, but it taught me a lot.

I helped my friend Laurel decorate her classroom today. (soon to be teaching at a nearby high school). I made a large cut paper letter piece that said 'Respect' so that it may be referenced by any and all in classroom at any point. Pictures likely to follow.

I have taken steps towards volunteering at the local zoo. I am not yet scheduled, but I did take all of my tests, attended an interview, attended orientation, and got a shirt. I'm so close I can smell the giraffe dung. I am looking forward to drawing the animals from life, and painting for the zoo. Matt, an organizer at the zoo mentioned that they would like to have several of their walls painted with murals. Fingers crossed.

I am scheduled to work at the Museum of Contemporary Art Jacksonville, downtown, beginning on the 18th. I will likely start with vinyl letter application, then move forward with hanging in the future. Fingers crossed.

On the 21st, I plan to go to Orlando for an art opening of a German artist, featured in a recent High Fructose magazine. Mark Gmehling.

I misplaced my phone, maybe at a nearby store. I am happily without for now. Without a phone, I feel more inclined to write to you through this blog now. I enjoy the distance. Feel free to email me at rkgoethe@gmail if need be. I will not be more than a day away in most cases.

Our downtown library here in Jacksonville is beautiful. I checked out two backpacks full of books for research on aforementioned projects.

I updated my website recently, streamlined it is more like. I may make more additions as I have a lot of mostly finished work around me here in Jacksonville. The first batch. I can't wait to show you what this Northern Florida oven has been cooking up!

Summer Splash Show

I showed some small works at Cork this saturday with some friends. 

The show went well I thought. The only people that showed up were some of the artists and a few girlfriends. It was a very punk rock show in that regard. We played music and talked and drew. I gave away three paintings to friends, and a few copies of my zine. 

The Cork East Gallery- Summer Splash Show

My humble section.  

Facebook

I've just deleted my Facebook account. Everything is fine. I feel wonderful. If you need to contact me, please do so through my cell at 850 445 9541. Thank you.

Titusville

I went down to Titusville to visit with my mother and grandmother today- That was nice. My grandmother is very intelligent and loves to share her joy and knowledge. While driving around tow in my mom's car, the three of us pulled in to my grandmother's church, where I'd planted an orange tree. I walked around the side of the building alone and paid the tree a visit. It felt wonderful to be with the tree. I pruned it back, as it was feeling overconfident (or stressed) in it's new environment and had begun producing fruits.

This blog has become somewhat of a stagnant checklist of my daily going's on. Like a logbook.

Anyway, I've dealt with six different cops this week. All of them were rude, dogmatic, and presumptuous.

I am very tired, as I have taken to the 'night shift' here at CoRK.

Summer Splash

Today my friends and I showed our artwork publicly in CoRK East. The show went over relatively well- there was enough art in terms of wall to painting ratio, though some of the quality of presentation was weak. Also, the bottom fell out beginning in the morning, we had periodic rain showers throughout the day. I slept through four hours of the opening. I had not slept in preparation for the event, my sleep schedule remains untethered. I enjoyed showing my work. I hung five paintings at a time. I met Jess, Cassia, and John early in the afternoon. Cassia told me that one of my paintings was her favorite. I told her that she should take it home with her. She asked how much I wanted for it. I told her what was important was that she have her painting. She took out what I later found to be thirty five dollars and handed it to me. "I feel like I should pay more", she said.

I'm happy that she has her painting. 

Weekend

I had a great weekend. On saturday caught a ride to downtown on the city bus, returned library cds, tried to hitchhike to Tallahassee to no avail. I caught a ride with Mike, a local guy headed to Riverside Arts Market. At the market, we sat and talked. I drew a jazz guitarist who was preforming in front of Mike and I. I offered to sell the drawing for $10 to Mike. He was real cool about it, agreeing to pay me $10 to give it to the guitarist. I agreed and made a new friend.

I'm almost finished with a wedding invitation commission which I'm real stoked about. Jamie a few studios over, helped me format and print them on her 1962 Heidelberg Letterpress. I brought the vellum to NesPrint northeast of downtown for gold die-cut applied foiling. The design is elegant. Left on the list of things to do for it are to print maps on, cut and assemble envelopes out of card stock. And to cut the letterpress elements to size.

Watercolors made an appearance in the studio in the past week. Getting ready for the Summer Splash Art show in 13 Days is a blast.

Riley Dennis visited me from Saturday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. Dan, whom I know from Tallahassee art school came by Saturday afternoon as well. We drew and talked for hours.

More friends have taken an interest to coming through JAX and visiting. I am so blessed!

Fever

I would say that I'm full time at CoRK now. The Studio at Blue Buddha serves for storage and supplies mainly.
I have built a beautiful table which measures 10X4 ft. I am now finishing the top with shellac.
I have also published a zine from the 17 paintings on beer coasters during my time in Amsterdam. They are an edition of 100. I am now more comfortable in Adobe Indesign after making this book, (my second with the software). I like the print shop nearby, they can print on a lot of different surfaces and are hard working.

I have been commissioned by my wonderful friends Cory and Grace to create 40 invitations for their forthcoming wedding. The deadline is fast approaching. I have some ideas, and am reading a Stephen Sagmeister design book in preparation.

I am now illustrating a spoke card for my friends at the local bike shop down the street. I am learning about Adobe Illustrator with this project. I think this is very good practice for a postcard (which is basically all that it is, except it also advertises owner, Garfield,'s business and is laminated for waterproofing).

I will be a part of a show on July 12th with my friends Morrison (whom I met during Art Basel Miami) and Mike (an artist who is fresh from living in Boston for some time), both great artists. I have several different drawings and paintings which I am working on in preparation.

Today I went to see Laurel at her job at the Museum Cafe. We had lunch together.
In the evening, I met with Dan, a friend of mine from Tallahassee. We went to a bar where I got a soda, and talked about graffiti, design, sculpture, furniture, quality, functionality, and purpose before overhearing an anti-gay remarks from a group of the bar patrons concerning their views on marriage. Together we unceremoniously stood from our chairs and left. We walked around the neighborhood in a different, more industrial area than I had ever been. It is obvious that this town had a boom, and that white flight left a scar. We made passing regards to locals, two asked us for money.

I am ill with a low fever I believe. This is day two, it's going around. It hit me hard. And I am certainly at a time where I feel motivated to work. I wonder if there is correlation between my work habits and temporarily hosting a virus. I am eating well and I began taking bee pollen tonight as advised by Mike.

CoRK Studio

I am now moving into Shaun's studio space in CoRK. It was mentioned several times that it would be a favorable arrangement for both of us that I take over his lease. I am now building a table to go in the middle of the room. This table will mean a bit more of the same working style, flat, which for aqueous mediums works best for me. My friend Mark McCombs donated a 10 foot by 4 foot sheet of 3/4inch MDF for the table top. This studio will have heavy artillery.

Europe to Jacksonville

I traveled to Copanhagen to visit Laurel and be romantic.

I bought the ticket one day before. I loaned my car to Shaun so he could move some things. 

In Copenhagen, I met with Laurel and her family. We ate well and walked thoughout the city. In the evenings Laurel and I watched sunsets and in the mornings we visited parks and gardens. One day we rode bicycles to the edge of town and jumped into the ocean (which was crystal clear, even in the city- where Copenhageners jump in from the seawalls). Another day we took a train about 40 minutes out and saw the Louisiana Museum.

After Laurel left, I stayed in Copenhagen for few days. I went to the Arken Museum, where I saw an exhibit on Hundertwasser and monuments by Damien Hirst. The town seemed less fun without Laurel ( though likely not the case, I just missed her momentarily). When she was still in Copenhagen, I remember we had a conversation with a couple at a bar, they recommended I see Prague. 

I flew to Prague. On the plane, I sat next to a drunken Swede. He and his freinds were traveling to Prague to party, as is customary for graduating high school students in his country he told me. He was loud throughout the flight. 

I met Benjamin in the airport on the basis hat we were the only two Americans and were introduced by the Swedes. Ben was from Boston. He asked if I had a place to stay. No. He offered me the name of his hostel. We shared cab fare to the center of town then began looking for his hostel, Sir Toby's. We asked around and were helped by a group of Greeks, by way of going inside for a few drinks and using the internet to look up an address. 

Prague was incredible. The skyline was like nothing else, spires of cathedrals and castles in the dozens. 

I went to Vienna next. I thought I might meet an artist that I admire there in his studio, but I learned via email that he was not there. I still visited his gallery, which showed the work of Cone The Weird. Very cool stuff, and I liked Vienna's vibes. I went in the huge aqueduct channel which runs throughout the city. It was early in the morning. My Ethiopian bunk-mates woke me at 4:30 when they got up to catch a flight. I stayed awake and explored giant tunnels. 

 I was running low on time and had to take a flight back to Copenhagen. I had a ten hour layover in Brussels. There were about eighty people who slept on the floors of the airport that night. The harsh flourescents stayed on full bright through the night. I tried to seek relief in a Muslim temple, where I removed my shoes, layed down, and was approched by a man who was also reclining and asked to leave, if I was not a Muslim. I kept my philosophies to myself; when he asked me if I was a Christian, I said yes. Then he said there is a Christian chapel next door, and that this room was for Muslims only. Aagin I kept my philosophies to myself. The Christian chapel had bright fluorescents, wooden pews, and white tile floors, much unlike the Muslim dark room with a large persian rug. I slept under a bench, covered in newspapers like a Christian.

My final day in Copenhagen was wonderful. I went to Christiania and smoked hash and skunk in the soft grass with a graffiti artist friend that I'd just met. We collaborated on a few drawings. 

I am now back in Jacksonville. It is good to be back. I am now moving into my second studio, in CoRK ( a collection of artist studios just a block from my first studio). I now have air conditioning, a refridgerator, a shower, and a communal bathroom with the other artists in the community. 

Copenhagen

I'm in Copenhagen now. Details later. It is beautiful here. I am not getting much sleep. 

Jacksonville

My folks drove up to Jacksonville for a day in their new electric car. We had a nice lunch. It was good to see them. Afterward, I went to a lovely local farmer's market/ craft market. I was inspired by the local talent and spent the rest of the day in the studio.

Shaun and I started a mural behind a local bar called The Volstead (named after the prohibition era 'Volstead Act'). Shaun expressed appreciation for the structure of my murals, so I influenced much of the underlying lattice to our collaboration. Shaun and I negotiated the palette, though he picked more colors than I felt comfortable using. We worked on the mural for an afternoon/evening session. We covered most of the wall space with color, then carved shapes into mostly plant forms, flowers, leaves, fungi, etc. The wall has a great sense of movement thus far, and there is no going wrong within our palette, despite deviating from what I originally had in mind which was closer to dichromatic.  

In the studio, I am building shelves for the bathroom. I hope to turn the space which currently feels like a prison, into a calm space, in which inspiration can strike. I hung a painting, which helped. I do not yet know how the creepy crawly critters fit into the picture. Perhaps they don't, but I also do not want to kill anything for my personal preference. Perhaps I will put in a sort of deterrent. 

Still Life

I made a painting from life last night. It was my first. I intended to learn something about plain air painting before setting out into the wilderness (or more likely somewhere along the coastline) to paint the sun rise. I became enthralled with mixing colors and stayed up late into the night. When I was exhausted, I dated the study and went to sleep. I woke in the afternoon, much too late for sunrise.

Jacksonville

After spending a week or so down at my folks house in Crystal River I felt well and rested to return to Jacksonville. I packed my car full of art supplies and books and made the drive back through bands of rain. I picked some lovely flowers from a median along the way- they are still doing well in a glass of water on my studio worktable, nearly a week later.

I was happy to be back. Upon returning to the studio, I felt as though I knew exactly the next steps to continue moving in. I built a wood holder, then a bookshelf. I unloaded my spray cans and tools. I installed a pegboard and a bicycle hook. The studio now feels like there is more of a flow to it. I took the advice of my friend Shaun in relation to setting up a studio. His advice was to arrange in this order from left to right: books, materials, tools, work station, preparation station, and finished work. With this set-up it is easy to view myself as a cconduit through which art is channeled and created. Flow. 

I finished a logo that I'd started for a local church. The second visit entailed some detail work on a scroll with a heavily seriffed font on top. I enlarged the font digitally and brought it to a print shop where it was printed to size. I made a carbon transfer onto the church wall so that the font would be exactly as pictured. After a total of 20 hours or so, I am happy to be through with the logo. And it looks wonderful.

I helped a family who I met in San Marco (trying to seek refuge from churches with no luck). I helped them get back on their feet by buying them lunch, paying for a night at a hotel, buying them groceries, and subsidizing their bus tickets to Michigan. They were very grateful. I am blessed to be able to help those in need when the case arises.

I also finished a drawing that I began down at my folks house. It started as a doodle, then progressed. I outlined the initial pencil drawing with a gel pen, then went in with a 3B pencil to establish some rough values in the case that I choose to paint it or finish it with markers. Well, that was a slippery slope, as I began to enjoy shading the drawing deeper and deeper. I took it back to the studio reluctantly, dreading having another piece of unfinished artwork lying around, but to my great joy, I found plenty of time to finish it today. 

I am now working on more black and white studies of graffiti-inspired landscape/cityscapes. I enjoy the process of making them as the options are merely to go black or white- no colors or midle tones to crutch on. Working this way has been a fear of mine for some time, but it seems to act like a crossword puzzle at the end of the day. The rules are simple- if you're looking to show a defined line, black must touch white to the point that the eye can recognize a pattern. Becoming comfortable with this one rule, and learning its boundaries is wonderfully rewarding. I feel that working with a full range of values after working with hard black and hard white will be less difficult in many ways.

Laurel left town for a family trip to Europe and while I do miss her, her abscence represents an upturned hourglass in which I can create in the studio without the option of distraction. 

I may move into Shaun's studio a stone's throw from my current studio. We are moving his belongings out now in preparation. I plan to use my current studio as a woodshop where I can work large scale, and the CoRK studio as an illustration lab. 

Crystal River

John and I brought four value paintings to an easily readable level, and we began another black and white drawing on of exterior of one of his class folders. It was time for use to add colors, but also time for me to leave town. I seem to have wooed John into coming to Jacksonville after he wrapped up some obligations he had in Miami, tentatively two or three months worth of obligations. I am thrilled to have aonther potential collaborator of such high caliber whom I can work well with. I packed two of our value paintings (watercolor paintings) to work on in his absence, with the idea that I might ship him the paintings with new developments once I've had some time in the studio with them. He expressed wanting to do the same with the two paintings of his, to keep our exchange going.

I drove north to my parent's house in Crystal River, where I was greeted warmly by my mother, father, and their two wonderful dogs, Mandy and Mac. Although I have never lived in their new home (new as in their moving in three years ago), it is beginning to feel more like home than before. It is always a place where I can rest, wash, and not worry about creating anything. Invariably though, after a day or two, I become consumed by the urge to create. The love in the home, the beauty of the southern landscape, and the solitude are enough to jumpstart a big project within my imagination. I often try to curb it by making small drawings, which I can finish in one sitting, but with the tools and time alloted, I tend to make small projects into larger ones, for sake of keeping my hands busy, or something. My sleep schedule usually begins to bend into the late hours. It is a marvelous place. 

I took the dogs on a wonderful morning walk as the sun began to rise, diffused by miles of fog- that is, the sun rose like a soft light growing in intensity. It was nearly three hours after the first sign of light that I could detect even the faintest qualification of hard light and shadow. I took many photos with my relatively new camera and was delighted with some of the images I captured of the dogs. I also took many shots which I intend to use as reference for illustrative works. 

I invited my best friend, Sarah, to come down to Crystal River to join in on the atmosphere. My parents left this morning to visit my sister in Panama City, and Sarah arrived shortly thereafter. My beautiful grandmother, Donna, arrived as well with her little dog, Trixie. Sarah and I went for a walk down a lovely trail along the Rainbow River. As the sun set we observed hundreds if not thousands of fireflies along the trails' edge blinking their messages to one another. 

Tomorrow, Sarah and I plan to go Kayaking. 

Miami

I am in Miami and doing very well. I am visiting my friend Johnny, using his garage studio to make drawings together. I have never met someone with such openess in his art making. He is very talented and I am happy to be making art with him. We are discussing his movng to Jacksonville.