Case

Today I awoke with a mission to make some observational work. I began with some rough sketches of the Westerkerk Cathedral, then went to breakfast at a local cafe, and drew a lovely miniature street scene. The drawings were frustrating at times, but began to come together in their own time. I met a beautiful young woman named Gemma, as she was glancing over at my drawing. Gemma was English. She moved to Amsterdam directly after graduating from university, as she landed a great directing gig at a production house. I got the impression that Gemma was on top of it. We exchanged info and went our ways. Back in the studio, I gave some more attention to the envelope paintings from Berlin, then studied drawings of Heinrich Kley. 

In the afternoon, Case, an exceptional craftsman and restorationist, came by the house to fix a broken crib which he had made 18 years prior for the Dennis Family. Case and I enjoyed conversation and coffe. He inquired as to what I was working on, so I showed him a majority of my smaller paintings. He had some lovely things to say about the work. I found that we got along quite well together. We went down to where the crib sat and he realized that he'd forgotten his glue at his studio. We had at that point talked extensively about the studio and it seemed like the perfect time for a field trip. Since I left my bicycle at the Rijksmuseum, I jumped onto the back of his bike, (the true local way to get around). We rode to the red light district, where his studio was. Inside was one of the finest studios I have seen. The orginization was superb. There were space limitations, so it had to be clean. He noted that he had 650 wood planes, each distinct from the next. The walls were filled with refrence sculptures from different architectural periods. He took time to demonstrate to me some staining techniques, of which he has catalogued extensively on plates of wood around the shop. He mixed all of his stains from powdered pigments and different vehicles. He explained the differences between alkali and acidic vehicles in cohercing natural colors from different varieties of woods. He showed me how to make glue and shellac into vehicles for delivering opaque pigments, and how to combine chalk and shellac to make a paste that hardens into stone for many applications. He taught me about creating a key from one layer to the next, to minimize risk of layers separating ( in application to painting and sculpting alike). The privelage to be in his studio and learn form him was incredible. I valued his advise highly.

We rode back to the house, where Case got to work on the crib. I read and drew and kept him company. He applied glue to the broken piece and brushed away the excess with warm water. He then brushed on a coat of raw linseed oil, explaninig his process as he went along. He worked into the evening, and we parted ways. I made more study drawings from Heinrich Kley, as well as some imaginative scene drawings, then called it a night. 

Studio Time

I am enjoying my re-visit to Amsterdam very much. Two days ago, I took an adventure to see the Rijksmuseum. I was astonished by the long lines, but was informed there was not a better time to see the paintings, so I entered. The lines and crowds continued indoors, where I saw dutch masterpieces from the 14th century onwards, often betweem the heads of other tourists. I occasionally found a painting which had no onlookers, which I felt inclined to see. I made study drawings from a few. I stayed at the museum through the afternoon before my exhaustion led me to walk the streets in search of a cafe. In my searching, I came across a gem of a sculpture gallery. The artist's name was Leon Strous.  His sculptures reminded me of Shel Silverstein characters. We talke for some time while he worked on a sculpture. I felt inspired by his work. Shortly after, I found a lovely cafe, where I set to make some interpretations on the characters I saw in Leon's studio/gallery ( a photo of which can be seen herein). 

Yesterday, I began preparing works and books for shipment home. I will be on the road shortly and will have to travel light. 

I am in conversation with my friend in New York about busking in a subway station for a few days upon my return to the states, thus I am looking for efficient ways to make drums out of found objects. This morning, I set to making a drum out of cardboard. I layered thirty cut squares with glue, then carved out the middle. I affixed a final cardboard square to the top to act as a beater head. I was curious to see if any resonation could be produced from such a crude drum. The result was surely a work of art, but it would be a stretch to call it a drum. I will have to sacrifice it somehow along with other larger unfinished sculptures and paintings. 

In the afternoon, I set up a small studio on a table and continued to work on a series of paintings which I began in Berlin. I am pleased with how they are evolving. 

On the left page are studies from paintings at the Rijksmuseum, as well as hand studies from Heinrich Kley. In ochre, a quick sketch from a painting by Vellert titled The Judgement of Cambyses, in which Cambyses is in the process of being beaten with a stone and flayed. On the right are characters inspired from the sculptural work of Leon Strous. 

Back in Amsterdam

I checked out of my apartment in Berlin. Astrid, the owner was pleased to see the condition of the apartment upon my leaving, as I had spent considerable time cleaning. I took a walk, with a bag of groceries in hand thinking that I would come across a homeless person to donate the food to before I set off for Amsterdam. I sat down in a park and began to draw where I was approached by two lovely women. Petrina and Inge, who were on holiday from Holland. They had been touring Berlin for a few days at that point and were in the area to see the East Side Gallery, a section of the Berlin Wall which was preserved and now hosts a number of public murals. I offered to join along, and we were off. Petrina and I had a talk aobut the Second World War. At the wall, I caught a tag by a sign that said no tagging allowed, which Petrina thought was funny. We walked along and discussed the murals, before splitting off to continue our own paths. Shortly after, I came acrorss a stencil artist who had set up by the wall. He was talking with someone about graffiti and I thought to approach and join the conversation. The stencil artists name was Evan, he was a Canadian who has traveled to Berlin to carve a path for himself on the streets. The other gentleman was Rikard, a Swede who was in Berlin to paint and dance. We werer three of a kind and enjoyed conversation for over an hour. I respected Evan's business mindset with his art and Rikard's curiosity. Evan told us about an abandoned ice factory nearby that had plenty of graffiti and some squat houses inside. Rikard and I decided to check it out. We walked a few blocks and found the building, it was a five story gutted warehouse. The bottom floor hosted two massive retired engines from the Industrial Age. The floor had given in in some spots, revealing a cellar full of debris and garbage. The walls that remained were covered top to bottom with graffiti. Rikard and I climbed up the iron spiral staircase to explore up top. We found a group of models and photographers on the second floor who were setting up for a shoot. That helped our nerves a bit. Up a few more floors and we emerged on the rooftop. It was a beautiful view of Berlin and we took it in. I snapped some photos of Rikard, and he took one of me as well. Back downstairs, we found a commune, where squatters had built tee-pees and structures to support a community. we entered and found smiling faces. I held up the bag of groceries and offered, "Free food?" I was shown to the kitchen, where three young men were smoking. They were happy to see that I'd brought food, and I was happy to give it to such lovely people. 

Rikard and I walked back toward East Side Gallery, before splitting off on our own again. We exchanged information. I plan to revisit with him next time I am in Berlin. 

I called Braden, as we had arranged to meet up before I left Berlin. I went to his apartment, where he was waiting on his lady friend to come over for a date. Her name was Haley. She was from Maine, and shortly after her arrival, the offer was extended to me to join them for a round of drinks. I happily accepted. Haley and Braden talked scientific circles around me. I was impressed at their capacity to recall facts and figures so efficiently. I found our conversations about German economics very interesting as well. After two tall beers, and plenty of good conversation, we decided we'd had a long anough Wednesday night. I took off for the train station. 

To my luck, the departing train which I thought had many transfers, in fact had none. I boarded around 11pm and slept all the way to Amsterdam. 

Arriving in Amsterdam, I was exhausted. I was sore from head to toe from the awkward positions associated with sleeping on the train, and I still had residual symptoms from the fever that I'd fought so hard against in Berlin. I met Josine at the gallery beneath the Bloemgracht home to receive the keys. Upon entering the home I found it immaculate. Karen had worked her design magic backwards and forwards on the place, including notes to guide me through my stay. She left a basket of medicine with instructions and books which might be relevant to my upcoming travels. I was wholly grateful. I ran a bath, had a slow lunch, and a slow dinner, and settled in for the night. 

Fever

Yesterday was hellish. I woke with a dehabilitating fever. Throughout the day, I had sweat sessions in which I experienced nightmarish hallucinations. My sinus pressure was extreme and I could hear my rapid heartbeat behind my eyes. In the afternoon, I made a venture out to the drug store and bought a fever reducer and a decongestant. I went to the market as well and bought a fruits, garlic, and chicken noodle soup. 

My evening was spent staying warm by taking baths, and periodically sweating while fully dressed under two down comforters. The most addressed theme during the nightmares which ensued from the sweats was that of an owerwhelmingly large task. I dreamt that I, with assistants, had undertaken an enormous installation sculpture from found objects; it was a representation of my current body of work, 'Still Life From Ether'. The construction of the installation was monumentally difficult and disorienting. I percieved the covers under which I was sweating as components of the installation; I was drowning in it, and I felt that I was overheating. I explored some good ideas, and some bad. Throughout, I felt that I was gaining an understanding of my motivations in making art. I believe some of the appeal is that you create your own monsters to battle against. I believe that some artists make monsters for themselves which others cannot relate to. They become caught up in a fantasy, which registers as uninteresting to others. I am still digesting some of the implications of this. I believe that in some way, I have fallen victim to creating monsters which others cannot relate to.

I believe that I sweated out the fever last night. I am grateful that it was not another type of illness, as I believe fevers to be the most receptive to proactive treatment. Further, I appreciate fevers for their ability to take you on an intense mental journey. 

Today I cleaned the apartment and prepared for my departure from Berlin. 

Museum Day

Today I went to the Berggruen Museum, which houses works from Paul Klee, Cezanne, Giacometti, and Picasso. I was particularly drawn to the Picasso exhibitions. They had a good collection of his studies. I made several reference drawings from his works in my sketchbook. I also filled a few pages with portraits of fellow train riders from the commute to and from the museum. It was amazing the difference drawing from Picasso's studies made in my perception of figures afterward. I felt like the world had become deeper and decoded in some way, as I perceived value and spatial relationships more intensely. 

Back in the studio, I finished a pen drawing if an intricate piece of graffiti-treated-like-fine-art that I'd been working on for a few days. I am pleased with the results. 

In the evening I went with my friend Braden to see a show but upon ariving, we both decided that 12euros and a commitment to the late night were not in our best interest. I was relieved to hear that Braden was as exhausted by the city as I was. 

I believe I have adopted a fever. I hope to sweat it out before I leave on my train ride to Amsterdam on Thursday. 

Beef

I attended the Broken Fingaz opening at Urban Spree Gallery the other night. I fell in love with the work and bought gifts for friends. It was rumored that Banksy was in attendance, which I do not doubt. The evening ended with a preformance by Unga and Kip, two of the members of the Broken Fingaz Collective. Kip sang and played keyboards, while Unga played a drum set. The music was electifying and the crowded room became alive with dance. Miss Red preformed freestyle intermittently throughout the set. I mistook a gentleman for Kip and approached him to compliment him on the show. The gentleman acknowledged me and offered his hand for a handshake and a friendly hello. I quickly realized my mistake, but we became quick friends thereafter and spent the rest of the night discussing relationships between America and Germany. His name was Owe and his friend was Mischa. We came to several great realizations on roots of the pissing contest between the States and Europe in terms of immigration and citizenship process, and the different ways that the conflicts are addressed. 

The following day, I rode my bicycle to the Urban Spree Gallery to pick up the prints that I'd purchased. I met the gallery owner, Pascal who was a genuinely pleasant gentleman. He was happy to talk with me about the process behind the work of the Broken Fingaz gents. I gathered that oil paint is the best medium to use on top of spraypaint. I also was happy to hear that the Borken Fingaz use little digital process in the creation of their prints, and installments. 

After my errand, I took a train home (in interest of not damaging the artworks), then fell asleep to try to reverse back my backwards sleep schedule. 

The reverse worked. I happily awoke this morning to a beautiful market on the street in front of my apartment. I bought a stem of red grapes, and an apple for breakfast, then walked to the graffiti shop to celebrate the morning with a painting. I bought several cans, including green which I rarely use in my palette but was convinced that it would be a good idea by my shop-friend, Yulia. I set out for the legal wall at Mauer Park, and found a good spot. I painted for hours and met some new friends and fellow artists at the wall. I was the most senior writer at the wall, and such was approached by many younger writers with compliments. I drew a piece in a young man's sketchbook and taught him a bit about piecing. I was happy with how my piece was coming out. Towards the end of the painting, two thugs walked by my arrangement of cans (essentially, my palette). They slowed down considerably. One of them picked up a can and waited for me to ask him to give it back. I grabed his arm and aked him to give the can back. He swung his arm in a punch toward my face, which I dodged. He threw the can at me then began to charge at me, throwing punches and kicking. I asked what the fuck he was doing. He shouted insults in German and landed a few punches to my face, knocking my glasses to the ground. I backed towards my new friends to see if they would have my back if I began fighting. It was clear to me that they would not. I felt that there was nothing to be done. Looking back at my bag and cans, I saw a small crew forming, there were four other thugs. My assailant turned to raid my bag. He took the cans with paint in them, and threw the empties at me, yelling manically through the whole thing. I only cared about my sketchbook, and my wallet, which to my relief he overlooked. My friends picked up my glasses for me, and I saw the young man who assulted me tag the letters of his crew over my piece. I wasn't scared. I cocked my hip and stood behind the gang while they essentially circle-jerked to beating up, robbing, and insulting me. When they finished, they walked away together and I waved goodbye. I walked home. My ear was bleeding and the side of my face began to hurt. I washed the blood away in the sink in my apartment bathroom. The thug had torn a small gash on my ear from the force of a punch. Aside, from the minor pain, everything seemed alright. 

I went down to the cafe to process what implications this event could have. Perhaps it signifies the last piece of graffiti that I will ever do, perhaps it represents a shift from street-art to fine art. Only time will tell about these speculations and interpretations. What I did conclude after today's event is that I don't particularily like Berlin. Being abused by a gang is not the extent of my dissatisfaction, Berlin has been rude-crude and lacking in spirit since I arrived. I have tried. I have made work here, work which I am proud of, but the cost has been an arm and a leg and bit by bit my sanity. I am figthing the feeling that the remainder of my time here will be marked by a feeling of pending status. 

Tomorrow is a new day. I hope I don't get mugged again. 

Acknowledging Crossroads.

I have had a difficult time deciding on wether to stay in Berlin or not. The city inspires me, but I do not want a beaureacratic prosess such as applying for a visa put me off center, or in some way legally bind me (or feel that in some ethics-of-value way, like I owe something during my permitted stay.) I have found great peace in my studio, but I do not believe that the power comes from my location exclusively. Good things come from good actions, regardless of location. I believe that art is a modality, a perpetually executed philosophy. I have come to understand at the end of the day, I am not worried about the visa. My home is where I am, and if I so choose to stay or go, I will find a way. 

I am in full swing in the studio. 

Tonight, I will take an adventure to see my friends from the Broken Fingaz Collective, who are hosting an opening.