Titus O.

I should mention, in the off chance some random soul has stumbled here to this site, that my very good pal and mad genius painter Pete Fagundo, (affectionately known by many as “Dooood”) is having a show this weekend. I’m giving a talk, I’m told. I’m so going to just wing it…

here’s the info.

Artist/Gallerist/SAIC painting faculty Dan Devening wrote this insightful press release:

For the past 10 years, Peter Fagundo has rigorously integrated his home life and studio practice to create a single, self-supporting entity. The most recent result of that ongoing project is Essential Transmutation Frequency, a one-day, site-specific installation of new work in a special setting.

On Sunday, July 19th from 12 – 5 pm, Peter opens his home studio to present paintings, works on paper and photographs in the context within which they were conceived and produced. He is working from a platform that–for the first time–acknowledges the tradition and history of painting; this new work arrives directly and unfiltered. By defining a “frequency” that allows the material and form to arrive without ambiguity or deflection, these pieces are rarified through careful tuning of the simplest elements. The work in Essential Transmutation Frequency confronts his medium and his life head-on.

Expanding space, opening space, activating space; “painting” without paint, but melting plastic; intuiting the right-feeling gesture, arc, relationship, body scale; playing with gravity, tension, innate properties, etc…going against “taste” but grappling toward rightness, a certain Quality, perhaps…

I was really into a number of bands from Australia when I was in high school in the mid 80′s, and even later into college. There was no particular reason I was into bands from Oz, save they seemed disproportionately skilled at crafting really catchy New Wave tunes. And, I became obsessed with (Midnight Oil singer) Peter Garrett’s bald head – I spent an entire printmaking class in high school using it as subject, which seems really weird in retrospect. Was I anticipating shaving my own for a few years, as I did during years of Zen training?

Maybe it began with “Unguarded Moment”, the Church’s first minor blink on American radar, no doubt due to MTV. The only record of theirs I really got into was “Heyday” a couple years later – 1985? I had it on tape; it was good to drive around to, but not timelessly great. After that, I didn’t care about them at all. Kinda pretentious, aren’t they?

I saw Icehouse’s “Hey Little Girl” on MTV, and I loved that song. But they may have really hit their peak earlier, still calling themselves Flowers, with “We Can Get Together,” a near perfect nugget of New Wave pop gold. The video sums up an entire (brief) era of design and fashion. Like most other half-way decent “new wave/college” bands of the time, they turned quickly into power ballad shlock meisters. But discovering that one song on youtube blew me away.

Later, Midnight Oil was a fixation, as mentioned, before they turned into national protest anthem writers. When I first heard Power & the Passion, something pivotal shifted in my psyche.

I suppose it’s worth mentioning that INXS was never more than a band I didn’t change the radio/TV when they came on.

Later, early in college, there was one great record from Hunters & Collectors – Human Frailty. With the wonders of youtube, the loss of thousands of abandoned LPs years ago becomes slightly less painful.

About the same time, that first Crowded House record was much loved – the bass player is the brother of the singer in H&C. And speaking of brothers, there was Neil and Tim Finn of Split Enz, another fave, who are actually from New Zealand I think; Neil formed Crowded House in Melbourne, home of H&C too. I met them all later when I lived there, sharing a house as I did with artist musicians who all lived on the dole, smoked too much weed and embodied the classic bohemian existence. God, it was a good life.

I ended up in Melbourne my junior year in college, when it came down to deciding where to study “abroad”. My main options in art school were Italy, New York, or Australia, and to me it was a no-brainer. I wanted to go as far away from Reagan America as I could get – even though culturally, Europe would have been stranger. The president of KCAI had become pals with his counterpart at the Victorian College of the Arts in Melbourne, and they concocted a literal student exchange. I was the guinea pig.

They sent some shockingly handsome, charismatic con artist kid who in his one semester stole $5000 of tools, wrecked a girl’s corvette, slept with a number of guy’s girlfriends, and even got my girlfriend’s English roommate pregnant (like him, she also turned out to be kind of a slut, so the paternity was probably murky). By the time I returned 12 months later, he was legendarily loathed. When I got to Melbourne, after a few weeks the head of the department I was in admitted that they felt bad because I was such a committed student and nice guy. They had sent who they did simply to get rid of him. It seemed typically Australian to me at the time – practical, irreverent, humorous, and a bit lazy. I saw the 80′s come to a close somewhere in the desert outback. I had an absolutely fabulous time in my year down under, but couldn’t wait to get home in the end. People said I looked different, at best only like the old Titus’ cousin, complete with mild Aussie accent. I can’t believe its been almost 20 years since I was there.

I thought the Oscars were weirdly timely and enjoyable last night. Subdued, respectful, intimate, but still totally global. That is our moment: hovering quietly, expectantly in disaster, hoping for a smooth landing crafted by our national Sully Sullenberger, Barack Obama.

The sets in that opening song and dance number oddly mimicked the trash aesthetic that’s so dominated art the last couple years, but I liked them nonetheless. They were well considered. The anticipated song montage was less painful than I expected – though the second number with Beyonce almost ruined the whole show. Those brown tights were a very bad idea – not at all bootylicious.

I liked that there were only a couple steps up to the stage, with the presenters standing at a modest podium a few feet from the seats.

The backdrops throughout the night were dark, understated, and downright beautiful – deco-noir-futuristic, straight out of Blade Runner. The multiple screen arrays almost looked like they’d been designed by Terry Gilliam – the steam punk aesthetic is really working its way through the culture. Most women’s dresses looked crafted to match the sets; generally somewhat tastefully Ingres-esque, a mixture of the diaphanous and the heavily formed, all slightly deconstructed.

I heard that it was the cheapest production in years. If so, I hope they keep spending less money.

The narcissism factor seemed especially in check – no memorable run-on thank you lists, no crying jags, no starlets I especially wanted to see yanked off the stage with a hook.

Then again, there were no real enjoyably cringe worthy moments, or people you could really love to hate.

But who needed such melodrama with Philippe Petit balancing the Oscar on his chin, and allowing us to bask in his irrepressibly joyous aura?

someone sent me some images from Trich’s latest mailing extravaganza. Wake up and smell the, uh, genius.

“Mentored by Siros.

Inspired by Caravaggio.

Collected by Art Lovers.”

Seriously? Are these people even from Earth? It’s like “Coneheads Conquer the Artworld”.

Hey – collectors only, ok? Lookie-loos, stay home!

A press release states: “The exhibit will feature paintings and sculptures on loan from the collections of Bill and Heather Esping, Brad Johnson, Mark Murphy, R. Keith Nordin, H.I.H. Princess Sarvenaz Pahlavi and Jeff and Jan Rich, as well as the private collection of SGA Enterprises and a private collection in London.” Despite any royal titles, these alleged Trich owners all seem to live in Dallas.

Beware, pseudo-art buying public. I get thankful emails from people who keep encountering Siros, and instead of just listening to his own estimation of his and Trich’s lofty art world standing, they look online, and find only these woeful stories (Siros did say I’m costing him millions.) What happened with these other people remains a mystery. You can fool some of the people some of the time…a fool and his money…a sucker born every minute…etc. Are they aware of their use as fluffers in Siros’ Madoff-ian ponzi scheme?

Maybe, as incredible as it may seem, they just liked his art, in which case, what can you say? Carry on. Enjoy.

Hey Eric, here’s a perfect Caravaggio for your tutelage,  right there in Fort Worth. But he must know this. Suddenly, the “inspiration” is so clear!

In the press materials I’m told are blanketing Dallas, there are also some full-page testimonials by other satisfied Trich collectors. Never seen that before, but ok. One of them is from Kevin Shook, who had signed the letters threatening to sue me before as “president” of SGA Enterprises (New York, Los Angeles, Dallas) and London-Tokyo Investment Group (the empire needed to be global.) These are the front “companies” concocted to push Trich, and now the largest purported “collectors” of his art in their own press materials. I get the impression he is Siros’ main (only?) co-conspirator in the dissemination of Trich’s product. What a reputable, independent recommendation…

But SGA is movin’ on up. Their address used to just be in a run down apartment complex in Uptown Dallas. Now they share a suite in the upscale Highland Park Village shopping mall with any number of other hazy, acronymed companies, doubtless without signs on the door. I love Google.

Shook has a profile on Rebuild the Party.com (how am I not surprised he’s a Bush-ite? Oops – its down now, two weeks later), and had some criticism for a Frontline report on Iran (homeland of Siros, and one wonders, Shook?) It also reveals that the “International Canadian Academy – Kobe, Japan”, among his 2 educational credentials – listed above his blurb, one presumes, to impress upon us his art authority – is a grade school. This short CV doesn’t include a law degree, so it’s even less clear why he was chosen to act as the muscle behind the legal-ese-y letter speciously threatening to sue me before (signing it “K.R. Shook,” which really does sound scarier than Kevin.)

Hey Kevin – what about my freedom of expression? You and Siros didn’t seem to find it all that precious…

Another page comes from Nancy Harte, whose only presence online is a series of new age/astrology/wicca/kabbalah Dallas-area-hook-up webpages – including one devoted to Ken Wilber, of course. Says Harte: “As for the young Eric, I saw that twinkle in his Irish eyes. I was frozen by his natural talent, raw passion, the combination of realism with pop and the bolt of energy in his work…One can’t help but just to be amazed by his intellect and innate talent played across his canvases with confident sporadic placed instinct.”

Huh-wha?

They’re all obviously having a good time together in this art star fantasy (with shows to date at a community college, a branch library, a golf charity auction, and a church). Whatever. Go crazy. I’m sorry I burst the party bubble, but it seems tenaciously able to regenerate itself.

Good luck with the glossy mailers and death threats, Siros. How is all that workin for ya?