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It’s July in NYC and I’m bored.

So when I was doom scrolling and saw an open call for art from O’Flahrety’s, an art gallery that could easily pass for a dive bar at 55 Avenue C in NYC I thought what the hell. I gave them a big greasy porcelain jug proclaiming “Up With Finks” on it and a stinky finger on the back, it sort of captures my mood lately. Come down to the opening on July 14th at 8pm for a hot and sweaty time.

If you squint it might actually look like the east village of 1994 when I lived in a squat with five other people just around the corner. Ahh, the good old days.

Until I see you at the opening

Here is a mixed tape to listen to, so you can hear what I’ve got playing in the studio this month. Enjoy. Listen to the July Mixed Tape

Ad Nauseam

Earlier this week I was interviewed for The Large Glass, an art-talk-show-cocktail-hour. Check out this rambling conversation about life, art and some things I’ve been making in the studio. It was fun.

I adore Janis Joplin

My mom didn’t sing lullaby’s to me as a kid, she played Janis Joplin on the record player, and I am so glad she did. Listening to this version of Summertime led me to a gorgeous poem by the fantastic writer Jericho Brown. Dig this…

"Track 5: Summertime: As performed by Janis Joplin."

God’s got his eye on me, but I ain’t a sparrow. I’m more like a lawn mower . . . no, a chainsaw, Anything that might mangle each manicured lawn In Port Arthur, a place I wouldn’t return to If the mayor offered me every ounce of oil My daddy cans at the refinery. My voice, I mean, Ain’t sweet. Nothing nice about it. It won’t fly Even with Jesus watching. I don’t believe in Jesus. The Baxter boys climbed a tree just to throw Persimmons at me. The good and perfect gifts From above hit like lightning, leave bruises. So I lied—I believe, but I don’t think God Likes me. The girls in the locker room slapped Dirty pads across my face. They called me Bitch, but I never bit back. I ain’t a dog. Chainsaw, I say. My voice hacks at you. I bet I tear my throat. I try so hard to sound jagged. I get high and say one thing so many times Like Willie Baker who worked across the street— Repeated, Please. School out, summertime And the living lashed, Mama said I should be Thankful, that the town’s worse to coloreds Than they are to me, that I’d grow out of my acne. God must love Willie Baker—all that leather and still A please that sounds like music. See. I wouldn’t know a sparrow from a mockingbird. The band plays. I just belt out, Please. This tune Ain’t half the blues. I should be thankful. I get high and moan like a lawn mower So nobody notices I’m such an ugly girl. I’m such an ugly girl. I try to sing like a man Boys call, boy. I turn my face to God. I pray. I wish I could pour oil on everything green in Port Arthur.

Brown, Jericho. "Track 5: Summertime: As performed by Janis Joplin." Callaloo, vol. 32 no. 1, 2009, p. 72-72. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/cal.0.0298.

In the studio lately

I’ve been working on some new things including some paintings, prints and drawings. Here’s a peak at what’ve been up to lately.