Coyotes in Occidental Park in October

From June through October, Seattle’s Occidental Park has been the setting for ephemeral art works curated by artist Susie Lee and landscape architect Elizabeth Umbanhowar. Lee and Umbanhowar invited four teams of artists (one artist team for each month) to create site-specific work related to the writing of Haruki Murakami. October’s upcoming installment is by Gina Coffman, Seth Damm, and Kristin Ougendal.

A time-based narrative in four acts, the performances will feature coyotes in the form of the three artists wearing coyote mask/heads they created. The heads are stunning yet somber; evidently hand-made, yet transcendent. The coyotes are teenagers.

From the press release:

“In the spirit of a Haruki Murakami story these urban agents of transformation, trickery and transcendence will, in 4 acts, explore the fitness of Occidental Park, make preparations for a den and establish a liminal and wayward home.”

Wayward Home

Act One

In and Through

Friday, October 2nd, 4pm-dusk

Coyotes pass through the park taking stock, surveying and discovering a territory fit to inhabit.

Act Two

Egg and Wall

Tuesday, October 13th, 11:30am-1pm

The coyotes return to tidy-up the park accompanied by a restless house.

Act Three

Well House and Surrender House

Saturday, October 24^th, 8-10pm

The coyotes find refuge and begin to build a den. Joined by the house they engage in the ritual of settling down, exploring internal environs and inviting you to do the same.

Act Four

Foundation and Transcendence

Saturday, October 31^st, 6-9pm

In a final act the coyotes transcend their subterranean home. Restless again they parade out, away and into the night.

Also through the month of October will be a show of photographs by Seth Damm and Kristin Ougendal at All City Coffee in Pioneer Square. The photographs (taken by Damm) document the cross-country trek of the androgynous coyote (Ougendal) through awkward forest surrenders and graceful desert dislocation.

Opening reception October 1st 5-7 pm

All City Coffee

125 Prefontaine Pl S

Seattle

Studio Group

We’ve started a studio group here in Seattle. Anna and I had been wanting to participate in a group of artists that visited each others studios, so we decided to start one. I emailed local artists I already knew personally, as well as the members of SOIL and Crawl Space. People were very responsive, and a truly great group has taken shape. Members are: Saya Moriyasu, Troy Gua, Sharon Arnold, Laura Ward, Amanda Manitach, Damon Mori, Margie Livingston, Thom Heileson, Ryan Molenkamp, Etsuko Ichikawa, Joey Veltkamp, Anna Callahan, Susanna Bluhm.

Amanda Manitach

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Etsuko Ichikawa

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Sharon Arnold

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Joey Veltkamp

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Laura Ward

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Troy Gua

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Ryan Molencamp

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Anna Callahan

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Margie Livingston

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Saya Moriyasu

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Thom Heileson

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Susanna Bluhm

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We wore mustaches at our first meeting.

{Troy Gua and Margie Livingston}

A lot of us hadn’t met before, so we introduced ourselves and our work. It was really great to see the variety of paths that brought each of us to this art community. Among us there are several high school dropouts, a former professional chef, a former engineer.

{Amanda Manitach, Joey Veltkamp, Sharon Arnold, Thom Heileson, Anna Callahan. Joey Veltkamp’s apartment was not on fire. I’m not sure why this photo came out like this!}

We’ll take turns hosting the studio visits, and the hosting artist will decide on the topic. We’ll talk about each others work, stuff we’re thinking about and reading, projects in early stages, etc.

Sometimes life as an artist can feel rather solitary. It can feel like you’re working alone in your studio in a kind of void. While that sensation is probably my favorite part of being an artist, I also feel the need for my work and my art practice to connect to a community that functions in a world. I think I’m in art not just for the making, but also for the being. It has something to do with the role I play as a worker in our culture, and the way I want to relate to other people.

This gathering felt more like a reunion than a first meeting.

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FLOATING WORLDS

Gallery4Culture, Seattle Washington, October 2006

“Floating
Worlds” refers to popular “Ukiyoe” prints of Japan in the 1800s.
Moriyasu interprets the prints, buddhism investigating the absurd
optimism of heaven and travel.  The escapism of landscapes and heaven
take us away from the here and now.  The popularity of Asian landscapes
that grace landscape painting, dishes, lamps and consumer items speaks
of our desire for that “other” more perfect and less complicated
place.

Sponsored in part by a 4Culture Grant

Price available upon request.  Photos by Saya Moriyasu.

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How do artists live?

I would love to go on some kind of massive research expedition to explore this very question. I want to know details about how other artists are making ends meet and making things work. I don’t know if it’s for commiseration or inspiration, or purely because no one ever talks about it. It was an unmentionable even in my grad school program, this “how to survive” issue. Is it because you don’t? Or at least not by doing art?  I’ve heard “There’s always teaching,” but really there isn’t. Teaching art at the college level is extremely competitive, and in order to get a stable teaching job, MFA graduates must first be willing to (typically) move anywhere in the country to adjunct part-time at near-poverty wages.

{Jennifer Dalton, How Do Artists Live? 20-image slide show, detail, 2006}

Unless they are independently wealthy, artists have “day jobs,” right? As I’ve waded through several career crises in the past ten years, I’ve gathered that some day jobs seem to be more valuable than others, regardless of the income they yield. They have a higher romance factor, thereby enhancing the perception of the art career. Like: Zookeeper, Baker, Fireman, Roofer, Hair Stylist.  Then, other jobs seem like they would actually hinder an artist’s standing: Therapist, Nurse, Accountant, High School History Teacher. Is manual labor somehow better for the artist’s reputation? Is it the same for men as for women? Would it be cool to be a mailman delivering mail, but uncool to work in the post office proper? Does anyone know what I’m talking about?

How do you pay your bills?

Has having a child helped or hurt your art career?

Do your parents give you money?

Is there a day job you’d like to have, but haven’t pursued because it wouldn’t “look good?”

Do you like your day job? How did you get it?

{Jennifer Dalton, How Do Artists Live? 20-image slide show, installed at Winkleman Gallery, 2006}

Alice Wheeler on Seattle, the wild west, the physical space of a woman, and Feminism.

I [yes, finally] listened to Jen Graves’ podcast of her interview with Alice Wheeler. Wow. The interview is more of a monologue, but it’s one that is wholly worthwhile. She said so many things that no one else seems to be saying; yet lots of people must be thinking about them, right?

I hadn’t realized that I have this idea of what the [contemporary] [female] [American] artist is supposed to be like. I hadn’t ever articulated it or heard it articulated before; at least not in this way. There’s this female artist template, and I’ve been sharing studio space with her all along. Negotiating.

There are conversations about feminism and what it means to be a female artist, but they are usually among feminists, and they are few and far between. If they make it into a larger arena, they seem to be bullied back into specificity so quickly that no response is required from the greater community.

Apparently I’m chickenshit because I can’t find the words to elaborate on my own experience as a female artist, nor bring myself to provide examples for any of the points I’m making. Sometimes it feels dangerous enough just writing this blog. Sometimes I’m struck with the thought that writing a blog about the art scene I’m participating in isn’t really what I’m “supposed” to be doing. I’m fairly certain it would have been safer to be quiet. Ah well, it’s too late for that.

Matthew Offenbacher

{Matthew Offenbacher, Untitled, 2009, from the series “Some new paintings of my cat and other things.”}

When I see a piece of [good] art, I’m usually struck by an excitement of ideas. I’m noticing that I think it’s good, and wondering why that is. I ponder the intent of the artist, and consider the way the piece is presented. I make connections between the work I’m studying and those of other artists.

Sometimes though, something entirely different occurs when I look at art. It happens very rarely, and when it does happen, the objects of my attention tend to be paintings. What happens is: I can not formulate a single cohesive thought, nor can I articulate anything. All I can do is look at the thing/painting and cuss like a teenager. Because it’s so good.

So, Matthew Offenbacher. DAMN.

{Matthew Offenbacher, Medium Owl, 2006, from the series “God, sex, the great outdoors.”}

The thing with Matthew Offenbacher is that when I look at the sheer variety of his creative endeavors, my excitement over an individual work multiplies. In addition to painting, he also writes. Well. In addition to painting and writing well, he gathers artists and writing artists together in a unique and meaningful way. Most amazingly, all of his various projects are top notch.

{La Especial Norte, Second Issue, 2008}

I’ve been thinking about something Regina Hackett said on her blog post about Robert Yoder: “Not all artists can be as successfully chameleon as Bruce Nauman. Many best serve themselves by mining a single vein. Life is short. Art’s best chance of being long is internal coherence.”

Yeah, maybe if an artist is looking to secure the cultural memory of their career with the linearity of an ad campaign. Art that reproduces itself over and over (and over and over and over), simply out of habit on behalf of the artist and the audience, is boring. It beats you over the head with its self-proclaimed preciousness until you submit or run away. If I ever turn into that kind of artist, someone take my paints away and put me to work in a bakery. The best art is that which the artist simply had to do; not because it was the right career move; not because it’s consistent with past choices in materials and methods.  Offenbacher’s varied work breathes the crisp air of necessity, whether it’s a painting or a community project or piece of writing.

{Matthew Offenbacher, Painting With Picture of Its Own Construction, 2005, from the series “Constructivist beavers.”}

This month Offenbacher begins Gift Shop at the Henry.

He’s also a finalist for the Betty Bowen award. And he has a show coming up at Howard House.

And last but not least (and probably unrelated, yet not considered insignificant here at this blog called “Getting To Know You Better”), Matthew Offenbacher is a really nice person. I haven’t really met him; I only attended the Klatch that hosted him on the panel. As soon as he started talking, I was like, “WHO is this sweet guy??” He’s not fakey-polite; he just seems like a genuinely good person who looks for the good in people. It’s refreshing and unexpected, just like his work.

A BOOK ABOUT DEATH

A BOOK ABOUT DEATH is a project by Matthew Rose that hundreds of artists all over the world are participating in. It will be an unbound book, and anyone that comes to its exhibition (at The Emily Harvey Foundation Gallery in New York) can walk away with its pages, for free.

To create the “pages,” artists made and mailed 500 postcards to the gallery. All postcards contain the words “a book about death.”

The geographical scope of the participating artists is vast. Anyone on earth could write a book about death.

I made 500 postcards cut from Seattle’s surviving printed newspapers.