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Films Used to be Dangerous
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From the Inside Locking Out

It has certainly been a while since I've done this, so I'll jump back in with a topic that more than likely take a few blogs because of my inherent ability to not be able to shut the fuck up.

As a very visual creative, (and I'm sure there are a lot of others that will identify with this) you meet a lot of people in your life that leave you feeling that you've just met someone that is the complete opposite of you as a person. In terms of everything. Politics, religion, diet, recreation, attitude, language, basically everything. To be honest, this last year has been one of the worst for ripping aside the veneer of tolerance for differing opinions. It happens a lot anyway. Really. Most of the time.

Always.

Over the years I've received a lot of offers from people to collaborate on art projects. They are often genuine people that I respect and admire, and they mean well and are legitimate offers made by people wishing to connect and bridge artistic philosophies in the hopes that the end product will acheive a depth that would be unattainable as separate solo efforts. Maybe the outcome would be explosive and exciting. If it could ever be started. If it could ever be finished.

If only I gave a shit.

The underlying philosophy behind the concept of an individual visual artist's work is a deep understanding of self. From everything we, as artists do, from the abstract to the technical and precise, it is through our own personal lens. What we create is what we have internalized, processed, and experienced - those understandings of things come together through our creations. In terms of visual arts (paintings, drawings, engravings, sculpture, etc.) they are very personal journeys. A solo meander through the humdrum existence that is human life - pausing, reflecting, breathing, and appreciating the little things that provide an undercurrent for the glasses through which you view everything.

It is for that very reason that collaboration would never work for me, and maybe many other artists. It goes from a solo meander appreciating the beauty and the mistakes inherent in the human condition to an annoying road trip with someone that refuses to fucking shut up while you may be in the midst of a cathartic moment or breakthrough. Trying to enjoy a peaceful drive with someone that is sucking down Doritos and sounding at the same time like they're trying to pull start a gas powered woodchuck - or someone that has to pull over every 15 miles to take a piss. Or, just an asshole that laughs incessantly like an anxious donkey at facebook and tries to show you memes while you're driving and trying unsuccessfully to listen to Bach. You just can't make a coherent piece from an odd couple like that. Unless there was a clone made from myself deep in a bunker somewhere in the Sonora desert that I haven't met yet, I won't be collaborating with anyone.

It is possible that even though I'm a self proclaimed expert on being an introvert, that I'm wrong. After all, I am an artist first, then a bunch of other stuff, and humanitarian, well,....last. There are plenty of collaborations that do work - just not in my life experience. That is part of the underlying philosophy I mentioned earlier. All the things in life - beauty, neglect, tranquility, abuse, mistreatment, love, fire and ice lead us to where we are individually up to the moment to make us who we are. Some of us are lucky enough to be able to express it in a way that others are able to relate to.

In the next one I'll explain my way out of this.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

Monday 01.18.21
Posted by ian styer
 

Moon On the Beach

As old Moon exhaustedly wandered towards the morning beach to the east, he ran the reeds and the tall beach grass between his fingers as he passed, wetting his aged and gray fingertips with the dew from the previous night.

That previous night.

As he lazily kicked the loosely clumped sea sand in his path, the haze of the slowly rising sun caused him to relive the tumultuous sight of the sea from his home above a few short hours earlier. The images slowly flickered into place like an old film, and he pieced the events together in his mind as his feet sank deeper into the sand.

Was this real? Or could it have been brought about by decades of keeping watch all night? He had hoped against all hope that it was a dream and that the ending was all in his beleagured mind.

As he staggered down the small hillside to the beach, the gentle lapping of the waves were the only constant that kept him from complete madness in that moment. His recklessness had certainly caused enough pain and death in the past, but there was something unsettling about this particular incident that he couldn't hide from; it was definitely something he couldn't exactly remember, yet something that he should never forget. It rattled in the back of his mind like a pebble in a shoe, and all the possible endings antagonized him as the sun started moving higher in the morning sky.

Continuing east, he became less and less aware of where he was - reminded only by the occasional natural landmark that he knew was pointing him home. He rubbed his craggy brow with his hands and noticed an unusual silhouette atop a jetty that always seemed to have pierced the sea defiantly. The silhouette on top was a strange shape - almost that of an old, over-sized wooden shoe.

He approached the jetty and the silhouette with the sand seeming to pull his feet down with each step. As he got closer, he noticed a shimmering silver and gold net entangled in the sharp rocks and next to that, a basket half-filled with dead herring - some slapping against the rocks and some trying to survive in the small collection of tide pools.

The sun line glaring in his eyes off the water forced him to squint as he cast his eyes toward the silhouette he first noticed from the beach. It was a strange sort of trundle bed fashioned into a giant wooden shoe, and his fear at this moment was unbearable as he noticed the side of the shoe had been blasted open from the force of the water against the rocks.

He circled around the side of the boat to find the bodies of three young fisherman cast from their boat recklessly onto the rocks.

Old Moon fell to his knees on the jagged rocks and ran his old gray hand along the painted letters on the side of the boat. 'WBN'.

His head fell into his hands as he remembered.

He named them Wynkin, Blynkin and Nod.

Friday 05.15.20
Posted by ian styer
 

The Beast of Times

There are are a number of nice things about the self isolation recently. Not only has it given me plenty of time to create a lot of artwork, but all kinds of artwork in all kinds of forms.

The beauty of it has been (and given the duality of art, I will explain the beast as well) that with all of this time off, I have been living the art life. I have a drink, I create something. I cut up a few trees into firewood, come inside and work on some more art. Its a strange time in my life (that given the reason that this situation has come about I actually hope to never experience again) where art has literally become my life. I can work on whatever I want, whenever I want to. I have been grinding, drawing, painting, and whatever other method I develop during whatever hour I'm awake that I have. I have practiced social media distancing and basically ignored my computer for the last 5 weeks and couldn't have less of a regret about it. I hate technology because I don't understand it, and the truth is that you would have an easier time stuffing a wolverine into a pillowcase than teach me anything about it. I am truly loving this situation.

This is where I realize the beast of it all.

If you've read my previous installments, you know about my time at the Art Institute of Seattle. If you know me at all, you know what I thought of it. I went there the year after I graduated high school, left after the first year, and have worked ever since. I started as a maintenance man at my dad's engineering firm, then a video store manager, and for the 21 years since a graphic designer. Of the jobs I've had my two favorites were as a maintenance man and my time in the video store. It actually makes sense when I truly think about it. In maintenance, I was happy to build and repair things, sweep, change lights, deliver paper and run a forklift because all of those things never took up any real estate in my mind. At the store, I could discuss my passion about film with my employees and customers. I always had the art machine running, but it was at the back of mind. On my lunch breaks I would make amusing cartoons depicting the shortcomings of the 300 engineers at the office and the maintenance crew would have a laugh at the silent expense of upper management. It wasn't until I got into a career of something art related that I realized the problems that can come from being a passionate fiery ball of crazy artistic energy.

You are constantly firing all barrels at once burning everything out and consuming every thought with artwork. I think its brilliant - they will hate it - Have I done this before? - Man, am I in a rut - this is truly unique - this is formulaic and tired - groundbreaking - pedestrian. Morning to lunch. Through lunch. Through the aftrenoon. Into evening. Keeps me awake all night. Cripples all function during the next day. The beast is not the artwork itself, but the inside of your own head. Twenty one years of this, and I realize the art that I've made those late nights, early mornings and every lunch break were and are my escape from the design terror I suffer most of the time.

I am enjoying art as I did as a child, but as an adult I realize that things will never be like this again. I'm getting to emotionally visit a place that like a dream, I haven't seen in 35 years and I know that at some point I will wake up and my art and creativity will be forced back into being a panic room activity.

However, there is a gem in all of this, in that my 6 year old niece has been visiting often (and even though she can squeal REALLY loud) she loves coloring pictures that I draw and working on painting at the same table I work at, and sharing art with a little person will always help keep me in touch with reality.

Monday 04.27.20
Posted by ian styer
 

Splendid Isolation

I'm putting tinfoil up on the windows / Lying down in the dark to dream / I don't want to see their faces / I don't want to hear them scream / Splendid Isolation / I don't need no one Splendid Isolation...

The late, great Warren Zevon predicting the future from 30 some years away.

The majority of the things I'm seeing and hearing about in the news and social media is the disruption to our daily lives and the minor inconveniences we're suffering due to the COVID-19 quarantine is mostly a lot of fluff. Humans are social animals, and we enjoy seeing our friends in person, but let's face a number of uncomfortable things here. Over the last few decades, visits have turned to phone calls, presents turned into gift cards, letters turned into emails, and now emails and phone calls have turned into texts and facebook posts and messages. There are a lot of impersonal typed words and for that I have no words.

The most difficult thing that I really actually want ALL of society to think about is the actual dark side to this, and much to the dismay of our collective ego, it isn't about our trivialities at all.

What this is actually about is the fact that we have a number of our very own elderly relatives - vibrant, talkative, relevant and viable human lives that are confined to very small prisons living in fear of something that has an elevated chance of taking their lives. Not only that but it also will rob them of their chance to say goodbye to the ones that love them.

I apologize for starting with such a dark topic, but one of the reasons I want to discuss the loneliness and passing time is that it was always my older family members and friends that have played a key role in my life as an artist. My parents did always impart to me the importance of doing things that I enjoyed and were and are supportive of my art and music. I come from a highly creative family and I knew from a young age that art and music were not only things I could do on my own, but things that I would be able to do for the duration of my life. During strange times like the one we find ourselves currently in I see the importance more than ever.

Some of my best memories growing up were watching my great grandma and grandpa doing their latch hooks and needlepoint work, or quilts, and all of it stuck with me. More than ever I appreciate the creativity and work that was put in by a generation that could make their own clothes. They would sit me at the table with every crayon and pencil in the house and a pad of paper and offer words of encouragement. I was usually at the kitchen table where my grandma was making amazing food (the best in my life) and grandpa would put game shows on tv until I was done drawing and we would go work in the garden where they grew all of their vegetables. As I got older, I realized that they were not only creatives in the sense we identify creatives, but they were also creative at life itself.

They were and always will be a massive and meaningful part of my life - creatively, and as a person. I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with them while I had them here.

All you need for art is a blank surface, a pen or brush, and a light source. It hasn't been suspended yet. Neither has laughing, waving, calling, celebrating, being grateful, thinking, or praying. Practice social distancing, but not mental distancing. Whatever it takes, stay connected and send hugs, good vibes, or whatever method you have to reach out safely to the ones you love, you won't have them forever. Give grandma a call or wave at her through a window - it will be a bright spot in her day which is worth a hell of a lot more than being able to eat your pizza in public.

Monday 04.13.20
Posted by ian styer
 

Birthday Gallery

Its my birthday today and I’m feeling positive and healthy, and I hope that all of my fellow friends, freaks, misfits, outcasts and wild ones are too. That being said, my head is in the clouds even though outside its beautiful outside. So, I’ve decided to post a gallery of past pieces for you to enjoy. I will see all you next week!

black barlow.jpg
COLOR BARLOW 1.jpg
joker combined.jpg
TINTED BARLOW.jpg
xeno final.jpg
joker to paint.jpg
joker to paint.jpg
frank.jpg
17.jpg
jason postcard.jpg
18.jpg
the kraken.jpg
the mummy.jpg
Monday 04.06.20
Posted by ian styer
 

Surrealism

Wow. The world is a different place than it was a month ago. Everyone is worried about their loved ones, their health, the future, financial uncertainties and so on - and rightfully so. This is a modern day plague and it doesn't give a fuck who you are. However, I, much like I'm sure you are as well, am sick of hearing about it. So here is this.

The plague that tore through Europe went on for about 4 or 5 years in the middle of the 14th century decimating the population at a time when the world was an absolute shithole. Their living conditions were dismal, people that had enough money to own a horse were probably envious of the living conditions of said horse, no indoor plumbing, no electricity. The only art you could find were either creepy Jesus or other people from the bible, or a grisly display of warriors beheading each other while their dogs ran around their horses' feet baring their teeth at all the wild hogs that might be for some reason present at the battle. And the only way you could see these masterpieces was in a church or a palace.

A hundred or so years after this terrible affair, and we are in full blown renaissance times. Art and science start to flourish, and the human race begins to place even more importance on art. Everything from meticulous portraits of people that weren't creepy Jesus to whimsical pictures of girls surrounded by cherubim suspending strategically placed crepe paper over their naughty parts.

So, here's my theory on a couple of things:

1. People that were naturally talented with art became REALLY REALLY good at it. Aside from all the pesky dealings such as surviving sickness and making it to the golden age of 40, and otherwise successfully evading beatings, murder, and all the other fun trappings of lawlessness in 15th century Europe, you could focus on your craft with attention to uninterrupted detail that we could only dream of in modern times.

2. There was a bright side. I would imagine that the 2/3 of people that survived the plague emerged with an appreciation of life. Say what you will about people, but when the wood and forged iron hit the rut, we do pull together.

Step back and look at this isolation. Think about the masters of 600 years ago, painting in the dim and flickering candle light, or at their easel, outside on a beautiful day. Then look at the things you're hearing us complain about now. Did any of them sob on social media about not having any toilet paper? No - most of them didn't have a fucking toilet! They weren't distracted by Karen memes or The Tiger King, or any of the flat out asinine brain garbage we entertain ourselves with. If you think we aren't distracted, just imagine Michaelangelo setting his chisel down alongside the unfinished 'Pieta' to see how many likes his progress pics got on Instagram. Ridiculous. Did DaVinci take a break from the 'Mona Lisa' to clear his head with a biscotti and double tall chai latte at Starbucks? Of course not.

Art is one aspect of entertaining yourself off the grid, and its something we can share of ourselves with the others around us. We're still here, and we can still share. Unfortunately I'm seeing social media being wielded as a depression weapon, and a lot of complaints about things we are truly blessed to be in everyday possession of. In modern times, we like to take things personally, but this isn't about me OR you. This is about all of us.

Hopefully some of you will appreciate the little bit of humor I'm trying to get across.

Please friends, listen to the CDC guidelines and stay home and stay healthy. I promise to be here on the other side of this, if you do.

Love to everyone.

Monday 03.30.20
Posted by ian styer
 

Art Appreciation

Its always easy to freak out when you're standing at the edge of the great unknown. We're faced with something that may affect or kill us or someone we know and we don't even have to engage in any kind of risky, self destructive behavior to be targeted by it. This is something we can be afflicted with just by being the naturally social animals that human beings are. We shake hands, we hug, we hold, we gather. We walk close and strike up conversations with strangers in line at the grocery store. Its just what we do.

I think that is the source of the underlying terror of the outbreak and the uncertainty that a lot of people are feeling right now. We aren't terrified of not being able to enjoy a bar steak and Long Island Iced Tea at our favorite restaurant so much as that feeling of isolation from the daily routine of what we are naturally accustomed to and constantly in search of, which is companionship and human interaction. I constantly suffer from anxious depression and I'm also an introverted empath. That's a fun little cocktail to sip on from the moment you wake up after 45 minutes of sleep to 19 hours later when you spend 4 hours trying to sleep. I'm somewhat used to feeling isolated. Its what I do.

I'm saying to take this time and use it wisely. Create or absorb the work of creatives and find something inspiring.

One of my favorite things to do when I have a particularly difficult day, is I take a walk in my woods. Especially this time of year. The beauty of seeing the leaves twist in the breeze and the rays of sun passing between the maple trees and firs forming broken golden triangles from the ground to the sky. I take my shoes off and feel the grass and soil directly under my feet. I think about the microscopic ecosystems frantically at work everywhere around me and the mites and microbes generating energy and all the miniature machines constantly finding ways to survive in the changing season.

This is our chance to rediscover the beauty within ourselves and around us. In the age of instant gratification, we've gotten so used to not being told 'no' that I think we've forgotten what its like when the world says it to us.

No matter your beliefs, Earth is the ultimate functional work of art. It supports all of us. It always displays its beauty even after we've killed a large number of our own species intentional or not, it gives us the resources we need to live our lives, and a great deal of inspiration to draw from and wonder about. Its always there for us and our interpretation.

In times like this its easy to panic and start pointing fingers and fall into the mob mentality.

Unplug and go outside. Or stay inside. Look at the different textures of surfaces and start thinking of all of everything going on around you even when it feels like you're isolated. Appreciate the light as well as the darkness, and if you need an example of surviving quarantine, look at your dog and ask yourself, 'Does he care that he can't sip his caramel macchiato in an uncomfortable chair in a room full of people?' Nope. Just like the world, he simply needs you to keep a level head.

Appreciate the art of life.

Take care of yourself.

Monday 03.23.20
Posted by ian styer
 

Critical Thinking

For a lot of us, art is our demon and our savior. Whether we create it through painting, drawing, singing, playing, dancing, sculpting or acting it will come from either a place of great happiness, extreme pain, or all 473 million places in between - and whatever the case and wherever it comes from it is unmistakably you. However it comes about, it is the direct result of having immersed yourself entirely in an abstract location in your brain and processed it into an expression. Some people will see this expression and relate, some may be affected, and some will be confounded and not know how to process it themselves.

This is where we come to 'Everyone's a critic'.

Actual criticism is never a bad thing. A lot of times, hearing it can help you improve your work in ways that will make what you are trying to accomplish more understandable to others. I see it this way - actual criticism of art is usually from someone that honestly wants to connect with some or all of your work and is unable to; in the arena of the arts it is a chance for you adopt, adapt, and improve yourself and your work. Other times, it can be a simple disconnect between artist and audience that can't be salvaged. Everyone goes through the journey of life alone and each individual experience is unique. Some will relate and appreciate your work with unwavering devotion, some will appreciate a percentage of it in varying degrees, and some will disregard what you have to offer entirely.

What you do with this criticism, like the art that you create, is entirely up to you. However, an important skill to learn and possess is being able to differentiate between actual criticism, and jealousy based insult. There are terms you will hear hidden in the terminology your critics use that will help you know the difference. For example, if someone is having trouble processing your work you may hear them say something similar to "there is a lot here to like, except..." or "next time, maybe try..." those are honest criticisms, and you should hear them out. You have an opportunity to have a conversation, which is one of the great results of art - it gets people talking. If someone is speaking and using metaphors and exaggerated comparisons to describe your work, I guarantee that 84% of them are jealous and don't have the courage to execute what you have done, and the other 16% are just miserable fucking assholes that haven't a clue on how to be a decent human being.

That isn't to say that all people that disagree with your vision are out to get you, and this is a tough pill for an artist to swallow. Artists possess concentrated amounts of passion, empathy, and emotion. We have a fire that burns long and extremely hot.

I work as a graphic designer and it is quite common to hear "I like it, but I'm wondering if I can just change the red to green, the size of the font, the font itself, and the shape of the logo. Oh, and switch the orientation of the page for the final. Also, my 8 year old son drew this last week, and I would like to incorporate that into the design package somehow." Okay, so I don't hear that exactly, but - do I automatically think this person is an idiot that shouldn't be listened to? No. This is part of where you have to seperate art from design - this my job. I get paid no matter what, and whatever I came up with just wasn't what the client was looking for. Were they trying to run my sanity through a keyhole? Not intentionally. I'm not perfect, so on a bad day there's a chance that criticism will be met with grinding teeth, but they certainly weren't trying to be insulting.

Art is different. Art is very personal, so if someone disagrees with what you've done, it can feel like they're applying direct pressure to a chamber of your heart. It is extremely easy to fall victim to your own passion and give a reflex reaction. It might be someone trying to gain a deeper understanding which is actually a huge compliment to you.

Until next time...

Monday 03.16.20
Posted by ian styer
 
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