fresh violators

I had a very Felliniesque group encounter the other day at the "Costcos" when I went to buy another set of shelves for MJ's workroom.

Standing in line, I saw 50-inch flat screen TVs being wheeled out in all directions by middle-aged Mexican men with iPod shuffles clipped to their shirt pockets; women, wearing variations on a theme of tan espadrilles and pencil skirts, escorted brown leather club chairs and sets of pots and pans behind the men—sure sign of more newly filled safe houses.

Suddenly, I heard a southern-sounding woman slap a boy that looked to be about four years old--her son? She slapped him in the face as he sat in the cart. It was not a loud slapping pop. Instead, it was muffled in tone. The hit sounded and looked like one might smack a puppy for peeing on a rug. Why, hit the boy, I wondered.

At that moment, I saw him try to lick her arm. Lick it like a puppy or kitten. The woman screamed and smacked him again while the man walking next to her yelled threats at the boy. His son? The child, dressed in a camouflage outfit, remained silent. And the man and woman looked around, as it to check and make sure no one had observed either them or the boy. Then they saw me watching them. Quickly, the man and woman headed for the exit while the camouflaged child silently kept trying to lick his mother again. He tried to lick her fat, pink, non-tattooed forearm. Pretty soon, it looked like he did it just to make her scream. One lick for each smack on that blonde, butch cut head of hair.

Playing PA, I thought he has a mineral deficiency, celiac, pica, or is just plain neurotic from having to endure such horrible, screaming, ignorant parents. I last glimpsed them was as they walked out the door, just ahead of another 50-inch Visio TV destined for one more quiet scared street in El Chuco.

Sin and Saints: Elm Street Guadalupe

Sin and Saints: Elm Street Guadalupe
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

Several weeks ago, (or, as the silly always say, way back last year) Jim Tolbert posted a lovely photo of the Elm Street Guadalupe on his blog. And as I am in the business of seeking and photographing all things OL Guadalupe here in the land of the lost, the Judge and I went to locate this Guadalupe so that I too could photograph it. We wound our way around the central El Paso neighborhood until we discovered this gem. I particularly love how the artist used metallic paint for her aura/hallowedness and that the wrought-iron fencing is painted to match her and the background.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not the best at writing on a daily/weekly basis. In fact, after I publish I continue to edit my blog entries. However, I can explain what I have been ruminating about recently, which is about how several iconic mural/graffiti images in El Paso were destroyed in 2008, which happens to adjoin what Jim has been blogging about lately (tagging.)

Now, I am a fence sitter on the subject of tagging/graffiti/street/urban art. But I have read enough by sociologists, urban archeologists, and rhetoricians to know that blanket statements such as, "all taggers are gang members" (of a more troubling criminal kind) is incorrect and too black and white. And while I do not like seeing slap dashed tags scrawled by "gangs" of ego-centric energetic "kids," I will say that this is something that happens in urban environments. It also happens in small towns, covered bridges in Madison County, and hidden caves in France. Nor, is this activity specifically an ethnic, gender, or age thing. Suffice it to say, graffiti is an act of writing, an act of opportunity, an act of rebellion, and above all, an act of communication.

Tags, just as billboards, have an audience, with their messages arranged in a particular way for a particular reason. They exist to persuade (mostly anti-establishment, anti-status quo.) Its delivery method, while silent, screams, "Listen to me! I exist! I have purpose and I am here." This is not really so different from the Elm Street Guadalupe, except of course, that a tag is written without permission. Tags are a form of unsanctioned speech where permission to exist was not first given. And as a tangential audience to these speech acts, we may not believe, and we may not approve. We may become angry that a wall supports scrawled utterances. Nevertheless, one or many people exist behind such statements on silent rock and plastered walls. Are we ready to listen to what they have to say?

Selected bibliography on the Visual Rhetoric and Rhetoric of Graffiti

Barack Obama is a work of art [Television broadcast]. (2008, November 5).
Denver: Columbia Broadcast System. Retrieved December 5, 2008, from
http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=4385596n%3f

Bearman, J. (2008, October). Street cred. Modern Painters, 20(9), 68-73.

Benjamin, Walter. "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction."
Marxists.org. Feb. 2005. 25 June 2007.

Chia, Adeline. "Spray paint art." The Straits Times [Singapore] 21 June 2007. 12
July 2007.

"Critical Mass." Visual Resistance. Visual Resistance. 25 Apr. 2007.

Currid, E. (2007). The Warhol economy: How fashion art & music drive New York
City. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

D'Amico, Daniel J., and Walter Block. "A Legal and Economic Analysis of
Graffiti." Austrian Student Scholar’s Conference. Grove City College, Grove
City, PA. 5 Nov. 2004. Art Crimes. 11 Apr. 2007.

D'Angelo, Frank J. "Sacred Cows Make Great Hamburgers: The Rhetoric of
Graffiti." College Composition and Communication 25.2 (May 1974): 173-180.

"Ghost Bikes." Visual Resistance. Visual Resistance. 22 Apr. 2007.

Hermer, Joe, and Alan Hunt. "Official Graffiti of the Everyday." Law & Society
Review 30.3 (1996): 455-480.

Drapes, Carolyn Rhea. "The City :: Urban art, stickers, stencils, murals, and
painted building texts." Flickr. 26 Apr. 2007. 26 Apr. 2007.

MacGillivray, L., & Curwen, M. S. (2007, February). Tagging as a social literacy
practice. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 50(5), 354-69.

Lachmann, Richard. "Graffiti as Career and Ideology." The American Journal of
Sociology 94.2 (Sept. 1988): 229-250.

McLuhan, M., & Fiore, Q. (1967). The medium is the massage. New York: Bantam.

Montoya, Isaiah. "Graf in Hush Tones." The Border Observer [El Paso] 6 Apr.
2007, sec. American Sprit—Fine Arts: 26-27.

Rafferty, Pat. "Discourse on Difference: Street Art/Graffiti Youth." Visual
Anthropology Review 7.2 (Fall 1991): 77-84.

Schlecht, Neil E. "Resistance and appropriation in Brazil." Studies in Latin
American Popular Culture 14 (1995): 37-68.

Shannon, Joshua A. "Claes Oldenburg's The Street and Urban Renewal in Greenwich
Village." Art Bulletin 86.1 (Mar. 2004): 136-161.

Walker, William. "The Lessons of Guernica." Toronto Star [Toronto] 9 Feb. 2003,
sec. Business: B01.

Starbucks graffiti: Jose

Starbucks graffiti: Joe the barista
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

This little sign inside the Kirby Starbucks got me thinking about all the Red team's political speechifying and how it refers to people by only their first name and their day job title as presumed last name. What are we now? A legion of the "guy you call when your toilet backs up" and nothing else? I find it manipulative, condescending, and idiotic. I do not know about where you live, but here in El Paso we call each other the normal way, like Jose, Rosie, Chuy, Maria, Susan, Mark, and Rita.

People in their daily lives do not refer to one another as Jose the Barista, Rosie the nurse, Chuy the CPA, Maria the teacher, Susan the lawyer, Mark the restaurateur, and Rita the piano teacher. It would take forever to have a simple conversation. People! It is not normal. It is condescending. And while I know it's just political speak, those people need to understand that our identities are not exclusively tied to how we make money--It is only the portion that allows us to do what we really like--painting, writing, Freestyle and croquet playing, and even talking to our friends.

If the Republican Party can only see us as moneymaking robots, concerned with only coin, then they do not see us as individuals with souls, families, lovers, children, and interests outside the act of earning a buck. Instead, they see us as easily frightened rabbits—afraid of change, ready to follow orders, ready for them to make our decisions for us. Moreover, if we as a country elect someone who thinks of us in this manner, then I guess we will get what we deserve. To but monetize us, see nothing but dollar bills standing at the ready to pay for their past recklessness, hubris, and failed domestic and foreign policies, is perhaps the saddest thing that I will take from this election season. And it was done before. It was called U.S.S.R.

I am glad all the speeches begging and scaring us for votes ends tomorrow. Because I want and need change, which I hope we get soon. Like tomorrow night.

Doniphan graffiti

Strangely, a wonderful collection of local (and regional) graffiti artwork hides within a chain linked used car lot on Doniphan Drive near the Artcraft bridge. Years ago, I was able to take a few pictures of this collection when it was just an empty lot. Back then the street art was vivid and bright; I snapped pictures with my new toy--a leaky plastic Chinese-made Holga, a medium format film "toy" camera.

Friday, I had a few extra minutes to drive down to the lot, and ask the men minding the cars if I could take pictures of the graffiti. They looked at me like I was nuts and asked me in Spanish why I couldn't speak the language.

Funny. It's always smart-ass Mexican men who look at me and ask in an accusatory manner. Whatever.

I can only explain my heritage so many times. I told them no--who did they think they were talking to anyway? My dad is Anglo, speaks only English and my mother chose not to teach me Spanish. End of story.

However, that does not mean I cannot draw like a Mexican, look like a Mexican, and at times get angry like a...smarty pants American mutt.

Vacant now lost

As a student of rhetoric, specifically visual, I always look for examples of interesting and spontaneous street or urban art. Urban is a misnomer here as I've captured examples such as stenciled scissors, footballers, and graffiti in such major metropolitan areas as Santa Fe, New Mexico; East Lansing, Michigan; and Stevens Point, Wisconsin.

But all snottiness aside, I think a town without occasion to vent while creating and disturbing the status quo leads to a pretty boring place. But then again, that's just MHO. And no, I'm not being jealous of another's ability to create, or vent. I do that quite well already.

But I digress. Sometime last weekend, this example was erased (painted over) by either the owner/franchisee of a gluttony palace (cafeteria) or by the city and its minions. In any event, I'm sorry to see it go, as it exhibited the kind of fun and spontaneity that many admire in street art--and, it was not tagged by gangs and it didn't seem to announce a specific venue or date of any "party." It just said Party with Vacant eyed women. It just was.

But now, it's not, and that's how it goes. Because all along it was ephemeral and not sanctioned. If it had been sanctioned then it would have lost its subversive attitude. And we all know we need all the subversives we can get.

Powerbox art

Yesterday, as the Judge and I were driving in the University area, I decided to stop at the corner of Rim and Mesa and catch this glued up guy before someone ripped him off the powerbox. While I understand powerboxes are property of whatever utility owns them, I think original silkscreens and handmade stickers and stencils are far more interesting than a burred silver surface that is a clean and boring powerbox.

This is true after someone, either from neighborhood, city, or utility company rips off powerbox artwork/graffiti that leaves a mess. Oh, yes I know. There is always the argument that all powerbox art is vandalism. But to me, it is no more vandalism than Clearchannel dirtying up free public sky space with vulgar jumbo billboards hawking $99 DNA paternity services. Yes, they do pay for the privilege of cluttering up free air space, but does that make it ethical or no less a distraction when driving the freeway? Beyond the grand commercial privilege, shouldn't there be the privilege of public art/speak? Or, perhaps all should be removed equally and thus quiet all public free space.

Wyoming Street Railroad Underpass

While the city (or others) try to eradicate all graffiti, whether gang or guerilla artist, other stickers, stencils, et al. remain safe for the moment. Overall, the figurals, animals; stencils and stickers usually make me laugh, especially the inventive and playful (although dangerous) locations they choose to bomb.

Ganesha, the amazing XXX Hindu god

Ganesha, the amazing XXX Hindu god
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

Within the past few days, I've begun playing with SharePoint Services at the university for a graduate course. While not the speediest interface, nor the most flexible in terms of page width, it does provide a lot of collaborative tools that are usually needed for departmental web sites and blogs. In addition, I asked and received information about whether or not my family's own domain could utilize the service where our sites reside. Unfortunately, the sites are hosted on a shared server, and cannot utilize the service.

At the same time, I've been investigating various articles that address Foucault and his thoughts on Visual Resistance. I say thoughts because several critics find the philosopher had a bit of resistance himself when it came to fully devising a comprehensive theory about resisting the visual. However, I have found that the initial chapters from his Archeology of Knowledge to put me on the right track for analyzing urban art and visual resistance.

Finally, I have shot a large number of stickers, stencils, and wildstyle graffiti murals, of which this one of Ganesha is part. I located this wonderful Hindu god across the street from a XXX adult bar on Texas Street near the city's downtown. It was strange standing there, trying to shoot pictures of this and the rest of the mural while men continually exited the bar. Talk about visually resisting my presence! Coming out of the back of the bar, the men hurried into their cars and trucks without looking at me, the street, or the wall.