Results tagged "Arts"

It’s been a trying, kinda sweet crazy couple of hot days around here. For one, I don’t think I’ve spent this much time indoors since — well, ever. And being inside, when it looks so nice outside is kind of like having a constant slideshow of beautiful places wrapping your house… which is beginning to close in and feel like a shoebox. Don’t go out there though. Because if you do — your face will melt off. Yep. Right the F off. And it won’t be funny. And while the tension of crying babies and whining 3 year old boys has yet to leave us mind blown and bouncing on the bouncy bounce while sucking our thumbs and crossing our toes — it is comforting to know that it is actually safer to stay in. Not to mention, we don’t actually own a bouncy bounce. And I’m using this imagery in an attempt to be a complete cliché in accordance with the melting references.

Oh come on... it's not THAT hot.

It’s within these days, that feel like years where clocks tick backwards, when I begin to think about how small everything is. And not really in a negative — needleinahaystack kind of way, where you realize that there are too many people in the universe, so how can anything you do possibly be considered interesting… but more in a tipofapinstuckinacushion sense that makes you realize that it doesn’t matter what you do, because at the end of the day its really nice to have your own little world. And I mean little in the scope of private and secluded… where no one else can feel the fear behind your eyes as you let the 3 year old finally watch Toy Story 3 where the loved characters are faced with certain melting death in a garbage incinerator… as you glance back in forth from the giant tv screen to his eyes to see if he’s as scared as you think he should be… holding your breath and trying not to squeeze the other baby too tightly… holding holding… and release as he turns to you laughing when they are all suddenly saved by a giant excavator claw being driven by toy space aliens…“Mom. This is so silly!” – turning back to the playdough and letting the cherry popsicle melt all over his bare chest… which I allow because it’s so much more innocent than a melting face.

And then there was a relatively tiny ounce of panic later in the evening when the power finally went out. Just in time for the jumbled cluster fits of what we like to call bedtime. As Mr. Sal and I yelled “NO!NO!NO!” from opposite ends of the house — running up to each other with our mouths wide open in disbelief – US!?! NOW?!?! WHAT?! But we’re cleaning up dishes and running the pre-bed bath. Trying not to swear as the battery backups and fire alarms start beeping incessantly. How can any of us possibly sleep in this heat. Don’t open the fridge or freezer — everything will MELT. Where are the flashlights. What about the baby. Someone call the power company. Do our neighbors have power? We have neighbors? Did the power just go out here? What about 100 miles from here? What about other people. We haven’t left the house in days. Are there any other people anymore? Is this the end? Where are all of the PEOPLE? SOYLENT GREEN, SOYLENT GREEN. But it’s important not to seem frazzled and isolated lest we spook the 3 year old…. who is already wandering about in the almost dark muttering about needing new power. Because that’s what we need. New Power.

But as we wait it out. The New Power in place. Watching each other bounce off various walls… testing our patience levels because he HAS to make that noise over and over again. He NEEDS to make that noise. Because that’s the noise that fork lifts make, SILLY. How can he possibly play with ANYTHING without utilizing the obvious auditory PROPERTIES. And this isn’t annoying AT ALL as we wait — feeling it out until the temperature drops to a reasonable number where all things remain solid… The doors can once again OPEN and we can all… GO OUTSIDE.

Because, clearly, I have no idea.

It all started last week when M emailed me about a job opening at his web company. And no, this isn’t going to be some story about how I was offered something fabulous that sent me off into a personal struggle over life and overall existence which left me pale and useless–Languishing under the dining room table… clutching a bottle of chardonnay, thinking that if only there were an appropriate way to use the word “ass-hat” in a sentence. And in no way is there anything wrong with that.

Because, what I didn’t know — and what I thought no one else knew is that “Doing It Yourself” is a trend that has evolved into something way beyond anything anyone could have imagined… AND it’s not in a galaxy far far away — it’s right here in front of us… Mostly on M’s website where he employs (for real dollars) creative thinkers to blog about their DIY projects — all very interestingly COOL and retro — Like unannoying hipsters that somehow make it possible to exist without a carbon footprint, still give the appearance of having a lot of money while never running out of time to accomplish EVERYTHING in 24 hours. Remember — these are the unannoying ones that you really want to hate but can’t. Not the smelly ones that are trying to smell. Regardless, if you know where I’m going with this, and I think you do, M’s website is out there — blaringly awesome and completely lacking in all things ass-hat. And I would provide a link to M’s website, but after reading this — he may want to be saved the emotional state of having offered the position to me. Which is where my quagmire finds me entering a picture that I have no business even looking at.

Because I don’t know how to DIY. I mean, yes. There are the graphic design projects, thousands of them… but without going into too much technical detail about doing something because you DO IT vs. LOVE IT — those don’t count. Then there was the manic phase a few months ago where I swallowed a pile of colored felt and coughed up a mini-pile of homemade brooches. That was fun except once I did it, it was done and I was over it. DONE — and staring at myself in the mirror all ARE YOU KIDDING ME? While the world danced around me giggling – -  it was a phase, a phase! (sung in a high pitched whisper)

But there were a few seconds of insanity where I saw myself running around reusing absolutely everything — from old glass bottles to burlap sacks (because you just KNOW I have tons of those laying around). I thought  – BRILLIANT. While I’m busy dying my own homemade paper, that I intend to eventually repurpose as mulch to grow my heirloom seeded lavendar plants for eventual use in, not only perfumes, sashes and recipes — but also for medicinal purposes… I can balance my baby on my head and let the almost 4 year old scour the floor for scraps to be put into our next green reusable project (photographed and photoshopped for online publication). THEN, when I’m finished antiquing for door pulls, wooden knockers and tiny little minted push-pins — I will find the time to sit down and write about all of it — sharing it with the world while I sew clothing for my children. Because that is what the job entails.

And while I am flattered and floored by the idea of working around such amazing people and MY HEAVENLY DAY — some pretty awesome stuff, I realized that by not knowing how to DIY — I might not fit in the picture just yet. YET, people, being the challenge and the, AHEM, operative word. And so I’m starting small… trying desperately hard to not look like an ass-hat. How would you use it in a sentence?

Anyone can call themselves anything, but it doesn’t make it so…

To begin with, I’m a Designer — a title that I’d like to think that I earned while climbing the somewhat thankless rungs of a career that requires a certain amount of skill that, on occasion, borrows from bursts of talent. To say this talent is consistent is a brilliant lie — no one is perfect and being “right” about how things should appear is one of those “grey areas” that we can all role our eyes at while pretending that we don’t really love Rob Lowe and {TOTALLY} can’t wait to read his auto-pilot book about being a man-slut. Regardless, along this path I’ve had the occasion to design a laundry list of things — for a laundry list of people and companies that have either led to pride beaming successes or unfortunate and mismanaged disasters, but each experience has led birth to something concrete that I can walk away with. AND, while I typically win in the end, I’ve worked hard  — sometimes designs are easy and others impossible, but they all deserve the same respect — anything less would be unheard of. Many times I’ve felt that falling into this career was by way of not being very good at other things. Starving, for instance, wouldn’t ever work for me, so being a traditional Art for Art’s Sake Artist was a little out of the question… I really didn’t have any hope when it came to a money management role (obviously — let them eat cake!) and, by way of a complete lack of interest, all things politics, law, religion and science were totally out of the question… that’s not to say, however, that they aren’t {TOTALLY INSIDE}. Because, when it comes to knowing right and wrong — what works and what doesn’t… what SELLS and what DISTURBS, it only makes COMMON SENSE that when putting IT OUT THERE, some things, you just shouldn’t do.

{IN OTHER WORDS, YOU SUCK.}
{THIS DESIGN IS BAD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS WRONG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. GO AWAY. DO IT OVER. OPEN APPLE Q. GET A LIFE. STOP. DON’T EVER DO THIS AGAIN. POWERPOINT. WRONG. ANTI. AMATEUR. THROWING UP. GET OUT. JUST LOOK AWAY}

BUT, aside from my vast expertise as a full-time resident of the Hamptons and self-proclaimed design guru, who am I to critique the work of another, right? Where is my license to point out the obvious — Another new free Hamptons publication, The Daily Dan… Published and produced entirely somewhere else by another “local-yet-not” publication, Dan’s Papers — Aimed at making life between Westhampton and Montauk look ridiculous. Obscene. Absurd. Retarded. And, they employ an Art Director – Photography Director, Designers and probably a whole swarm of freelancers — all of which I’m sure have EYES. Because, yes… When I step out of a fake pool with an airbrushed body and horribly photoshopped jewels, overlaying typography that drips and oozes with amateur monkey brains… I {TOTALLY} know that you need to see what’s INSIDE. AND — I will tell you how to buy a husband, live on a mere $1.3M — WHO TO CALL WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK. Because I need you to know all of these things… while my legs and hand get chopped off at the water line and my head might not even be my own… I’m not questioning your intelligence AT ALL… Or blaming you for picking up the magazine — while the gooey airbrained contents barely stick to the pages of Über-gloss and canned editorial, leaving slime and stain on your hands as if a crime was committed. Because this is {TOTALLY} what you need to understand life in the Hamptons.

And while the opportunity to share the real Hamptons with, albeit, the people that already LIVE HERE, has officially been snuffed out like an obnoxiously cheap cigar, I can only react from the sidelines — turning my nose up and looking away from the waste and disaster as the contents start to leak out all over the summer’s beginning…  Because someone obviously doesn’t care about looking good — especially the powers that be at The Daily Dan.

Now with added personality so that your bugs can accessorize too!
Those crazy toy makers. The minds on them.

Leave it to me to get all juiced up about a local art heist.

You too can own a Pierre Bittar

And you should see the actual events playing out in my head…

Feb. 16th – “Southampton Village Police and Federal Bureau of Investigation officials are now investigating the theft of a dozen paintings, which have a combined value of more than $250,000, that were reported stolen from a village estate last week….The housekeeper at a Captains Neck Lane home called Southampton Village Police shortly after noon on Monday, February 7, to report the burglary, which police believe occurred between 1:30 p.m. on Saturday, February 5, and its discovery on Monday. The house is owned by the widow of the late Bear Stearns billionaire Paul Hallingby Jr….” [via 27east.com]

[IN MY HEAD] – A Steve McQueen combined with Pierce Brosnan character, but with slightly less of a puss… international gazillionaire has arrived, incognito, Hamptons bound to do some gazing among the summer mansions, cherry picking (if you will) as he goes, the paintings and pieces of art that he has longed for his entire life. The completions of his world wide collection. He isn’t moving quickly — doesn’t have to with nothing short of a fortune backing his hobby. Not to mention, he has found it quite easy to make off with the paintings in broad daylight as the home owners are long gone for the winter season… only guessing at the passkeys to access the houses, swooning the caretaker into submission while he thanks her for coffee as he exits with priceless works stuffed in his otherwise meticulously catered pants… but then…

“…Works by a medley of French and American artists, including Frederick H. McDuff, Jean Duffy, Jacques Martin-Ferrières, Howard Behrens, Pierre Bittar and Cecil Everley were among the paintings stolen from the living room of the house….”

Martin-Ferrieres

Behrens

Everley

[ME] – Eeeewwww. And my fantasy comes to a halt so abrupt, I have whiplash. Suddenly, Dustin Diamond, turned porn star (I hear) but once the geeked out ruler of the post-modernist tween generation, aka Screech from Saved by the Bell, is the Villain…. Manifesting a pathetic quest for bad French and American art… like really bad….  Heavy oils and muddled replicas of real art. Okay — so maybe it isn’t all that bad… the Everley would look nice in my dining room. And perhaps the Ferrières, I could live with that… but the Bittar – ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  If you’re going to steal something – MAKE IT WORTH THE EFFORT. As it turns out, Diamond’s head is skinny enough to fit through even the slightest of door jambs — taking ques from Mr. Gadget and Gumby. His only goal is to make it to the next international art expo where he can pedal his hijacking as “corporate works” — a desperate effort to change careers before the mid-life crisis sinks in. Not to mention — he picks his nose… IN PUBLIC…. and then…

Feb. 23rd – “A caretaker at a First Neck Lane home notified Southampton Village Police last Wednesday, February 16, that someone had broken into the home sometime between noon on Monday, February 14, and noon on Wednesday, and stolen “numerous” paintings. Detective Sergeant Herman Lamison said this week the artwork is valued at about $20,000 so far and involves about nine paintings and lithographs, including works by Raymond F. Lawrence, Herbert Meyer, and Sir Edwin Lauser. Det. Sgt. Lamison said there are no suspects yet….Police believe the thieves entered through a first floor window on the south side of the home that was found open with muddy tracks leading into the living room.” [via  27east.com & Southampton Patch]

Meyer

And that’s the last straw. I can deal with bad taste and art that smells like cigar resin and mothballs. I can handle skinny heads AND oils that take decades to dry. But when you’re ready for some serious artnapping…. keep your disgusting and lead-giveaway muck boots OUT OF MY MANSION. Especially on the south side. I MEAN REALLY. And look where I had you — all dressed up and hanging with the likes of McQueen and Brosnan. Here I thought you were real and I was ready to let you swoop me up — take me away on your plane to your private island in the south pacific where I can watch you fish for our dinner while I sun bathe naked except for the GIANT sun hat that defeats the purpose of nudity.

Okay. Do you hear me? I’m sitting here in Southampton — 40 miles shy of the end of this island, just WAITING for something like this to shake things up. It’s March — things are slooowww… so COME ON — STEAL SOMETHING GOOD. And… there’s no reason to get all MESSY about this adventure… Simply wipe off your shoes — TAKE THEM OFF, even. And, if you don’t mind, can we switch the marks a little? This is the Hamptons — think Rauschenberg, Lee Krasner… And if you’re not into local, stop embarrassing yourself by stealing the unheard of… KNOW WHAT I MEAN? Let’s up the game, huh?

Love and Hugs,

Ry Sal

PS. please note that the artwork featured in this post may not reflect the actual stolen artwork. I really have no idea, but Charlie Sheen overload has become tedious and boring. Send ice cream immediately.

Related articles

• Pick a Rental, Any Rental: It’s March! Which means now’s as… (curbed.com)
• Art Thefts, Part Deux… (curbed.com)

How was that title, huh? Self explanatory AND completely nonsensical. Love.

And how GREAT was it to sign onto Twitter this morning to find out that America’s Next Top Model starts up again tomorrow night — TOMORROW NIGHT AT 8PM. Which means that there are no excuses in getting the 3 year old party like a rock star till 8:15 child into bed BEFORE 8PM. NO EXCUSES. See. Yesterday, when I told you that I had ALL KINDS of great things to blog about… I was TELLING THE TRUTH.

Oh whatever, HATER. I can just HEAR the jealousy in your SMEYEZZZ. Lover.

Related articles

• “America’s Next Top Model Cycle 16: Official Promo” and related posts (tvfanatic.com)

And while the picture is a little creepy — she was really just looking for some gum. Because nothing says Welcome Back like a good hunk of Big League Chew.

Not far off from the ill-fated woman in “The Ring” but totally not without holiday cheer…

We spent the past few days bouncing around the corners of New England, and while the weather had us all confused with ideas of gardening and snow boarding at the same time… We really just slunk around with face masks on without getting anything accomplished. I do plan to go on and on  (and on) about our little get away, but for now the only really important issue that was resolved was this blog and the continuance of. That being… da-ta-ta-da! It will continue.

Because I haven’t felt very good about blogging lately. I haven’t felt the need to talk about very much about pretty much anything… and this whispering guilt of the whole thing not being what I started out to accomplish in the beginning has had me feeling rather guilty. Yes. Guilty about myself. (insert sniffles and crocodile tears) Guilty about starting out to have a blog about a design firm that doesn’t exist anymore.. Guilty about having a great deal of interests and hobbies that I never write blog posts about… And while we’re at it… Guilty because I don’t fancy myself a very good “writer”. Guilty because I am not a very active participant in the blogs of others AND guilty about the whole sharing “thing” that surrounds writing a blog. But then when I answered the knock at the door, Cher gave me a good Moonstruck slap in the face.

“SNAP OUT OF IT!”

And while Dorian, Johnny Cammareri and I have found comfort and appreciation in things like this blog post over at Pajamas and Coffee as well as a social media confusion article in today’s NY Times… I have decided to STOP THE INSANITY (ew) and let go of caring about the rest of it… the number of readers, the hits vs. the visitors, the readers vs. comments… Not to mention the TIME is takes to do any of it all together! I mean if ignoring your child to write a blog post is a crime, then take my lifts and call me BERNIE!

In the beginning I didn’t care. I didn’t even care in the middle… but somewhere out there among the blogosphere I started to make comparisons and question my intentions… What, EXACTLY, did I think I was doing? And what would be so EARTH SHATTERING about SHUTTING HER DOWN? Because that’s what one does to things that make them unhappy, right?

So… while I sit here, weeding through pictures of our trip and continued house remodeling adventures that I plan to share with you… I hope that you will stick around, because there really is a lot to blog about…

OBLIVIOUS
adj.
1. Lacking all memory; forgetful.
2. Lacking conscious awareness; unmindful.
Usage Note: Either of or to can be used with oblivious: The party appeared oblivious to (or of) the mounting pressures for political reform.

Isn’t it comforting to know that we have an of or to choice? Life comes with so few choices.

Because, although I’m oblivious OF many things, I’d like to think that being oblivious TO that fact kind of evens everything out. You know, like a green tea smoothie with a side of bacon. Mr. Oblivious does a nice job summing it up with Up, which on any given day might just be the story of my life…juxtapositionally (yes, that’s my word) speaking.  But then again, maybe my oblivion is under an influence… (via Mr. Oblivious, of course).

The time has come!

My sister Annie and her longtime love, Rob, are getting married on Sunday. So — let’s all think fun, lovely thoughts about romance and bright lights in the city… About family and looovvvee and all things happy matrimony… This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Please raise your glasses… To Annie and Rob…

The other night I found myself sitting on the couch watching CSI Miami. Will was in bed, and most of the stuff I had wanted to read was read… I also seemed to have been suffering from a repeat of a dreadful cold that I thought was long gone… TV, I decided, was my only escape, which is unusual because even if the television is on in the background, I rarely pay attention until I am fully ensconced in decompression. But there I was…and bear with me because what happened next is rather complicated…

I had missed a good 20 or so minutes of the show — and having not watched an episode in a few years, most of the characters were strangers to me with the exception of David Caruso, the little angry Irishman… not so appropriately named Horatio — well dressed but wandering aimlessly, mourning Hamlet… but I digress…  Having missed most of the plot, I was caught up in the serious glances that tend to be the meat within the storyline… Horatio was calming a teenager while the others were running about trying to uncover traces of gunpowder and the source of an unusual smell. I was a little sidetracked, trying to keep up with all of the different innuendos and references to other episodes, but when I started to grasp the plot, I was hooked.

A murder (or possibly two) had taken place and a teenager, that Horatio affectionately nicknamed ‘Son’, was in custody. Apparently one of the victims was a guy (let’s call him BOB) that had been pretending to be a younger and more handsome guy, while flirting online with the same preppy chick that Son was. When Miss Prep (allegedly) arranged to meet Bob in person, she was STUNNED to find out that he was really old and unattractive… you know, because online stalkers are normally super good-looking, right? She then, according to Son, contacted him online and told him that the ugly old guy was bothering her and would he be so kind as to KILL HIM FOR HER?! To which he immediately agreed (of course). So, yada yada — a few minutes later we have a dead guy (and possibly another dead person, I mean really — how much of an attention-span do you think I have?)… And while all of this communication was taking place via the internet, it was very surprising to the ACTUAL REAL LIFE preppy chick in question when the Crime Scene Investigators of Miami showed up at her house and started suggesting that she was having online affairs with the two men… The father of the girl became anxious at the suggestive accusations and they immediately tested him for gun power — of which was POSITIVE, but only because he had been shooting armadillo earlier that day (of course). Sheepishly, and without emotion, the girl’s Mom was all “What’s going on Carl” (I think that was the Dad’s name) and then they cut to a commercial. It was at this point that I finished the container of sorbet and started in on the Halloween candy.

I’ve got you now, right? You need to know what happened… HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY do anything else without knowing? Well… it all turned out very simply but not without SHOCK when the preppy chick was being held back by her Dad screaming “How COULD YOU!!?” as her Mom was being led away in handcuffs — EXPOSED LIKE A SITTING DUCK — her double life of pretending to be her daughter online so that she could attempt to have relationships with, sight unseen, younger men, was finally over. You’d think that she would have been a little relieved to have this all out of the bag, but no. She remained rather indifferent to her arrest, suggesting that finding love — no matter how blind and deceitful was so important to her that she wore the guilt like a badge and then asked if it was time to go home. “Oh no”, whispered Horatio, “You have committed MURDER”, (or something like that).To which she was shocked by the reality of it all.

I have no idea why I am sharing this with you, aside from the fact that it’s been stuck in my head for the past couple of days. Was it the bad acting? Was it the seemingly sweatless cast in obviously very hot weather? Or was it the Mom’s “oh whatever” attitude about committing serious crimes over the internet? As far as I can tell… she would have been way better off simply living another life instead of skulking around online like a creepshow… but then again, wherein lies the entertainment value? And all the questions and anger… fiction vs. reality — tv show vs. the news… mentally disturbed vs. wrong & right… Either take the remote control away from me, or let me live in La La Land… because the anxiety exists anyway without pointing out the obvious…