WWW. Exhibit @ SixTHreeFouR Studio March 23- June 30 2014
Posted by Kim Barry
Spring is here and SixThreeFouR in the East Liberty neighborhood of Pittsburgh is presenting WWW. by Kim Barry from March 23, 2014 thru June 30th, 2014. Please contact firstname.lastname@example.org for an appt. to visit her studio space, interact with the installations and view work available for your own collection.
|DETAIL WWW. INSTALLATION
|DETAIL WWW. INSTALLATION
|DETAIL WWW. INSTALLATION
|FROM LEFT: WWW. INSTALLATION, DREAM MAP IN THE BACKGROUND
|TECHNICALLY SPEAKING 2014
BRAKE SHOES, PRESSED BOARD, ACRYLIC, AIR GAUGE
|FROM LEFT: I'M BR 'OK" E , TECHNICALLY SPEAKING
|BURIED CHILD 2007
|DREAM MAP INSTALLATION - PAPER DOLLAR BILLS, PASTE, LADDER, PENCILS, PAPER CLOUDS
|SHIN I AND II 2014 WATERCOLOR ON PRESSED BOARD
|DREAM MAP INSTALLATION
|DREAM MAP INSTALLATION
|FROM LEFT: I'M BR "OK" E, TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, AND SHIN I & II
|FROM LEFT: SHIN I & II, WWW. INSTALLATION, AND YOUTH IN CRISIS
|YOUTH IN CRISIS AND MY GIRL LIBBY
|LOOK UP INSTALLATION
|DETAIL OF LOOK UP! INSTALLATION
|BASEMENT STUDIO SPACE OF SIXTHREEFOUR
|PLAY NICE, SHARP EDGES INSTALLATION
|DETAIL OF PLAY NICE, SHARP EDGES INSTALLATION
|DETAIL OF PLAY NICE, SHARP EDGES INSTALLATION
|DETAIL OF PLAY NICE, SHARP EDGES INSTALLATION
|BASEMENT STUDIO SPACE, AVAILABLE PRINTS IN BACKGROUND
Breaking Bad Installation 2013
Posted by Kim Barry
| tags: sculpture mixed-media installation conceptual
"Breaking Bad" Art Installation 2013
Some things held sacred and in secret, simply box in with a hypnotic carnival of illusions defining life. With one drop of a mustard seed of truth and faith, the sacred and secret illusion breaks down. If you have the courage to allow the collapse, align with the mustard seed, and resist the urge to keep or rebuild your given box, then you are truly free. No more living in cubicles or pixels.
"Breaking Bad" 2013
Mini version of a Lifesize Public Interactive Installation
Solid Black Cube, Mustard Seed, 4 Sided Black Cube with Hypnotic Colored Pattern exposes the inside, Puzzle Pieces of the inside and outside of the Cubes, Metal 1940's Sailor Man
the sacred black cube
the mustard seed falls on the black cube
impact of the mustard seed begins to reveal the inner illusions
Alternative Angles and Pictures of
"Breaking Bad" original art installation by Kim Barry:
for more info :
Kim Barry Blog
...A Glass Half Full....
Posted by Kim Barry
| tags: alchemy installation
So ....the Glass is Half Full or Half Empty .....But
no matter the amount, who, these days, is asking "What's in it?"
In many a microcosm of work, worship, and play, turning the pure to poison and the poison to pure can be veiled in the redefining and rationalization of terms, costs, and benefits.
..... A Glass Half Full....
New Work by Kim Barry
|30 4" Glass Cups, 2" water, various amounts of mysteriously evolving substance
DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES ON THE PERFECT DOSING :
A Rotting Idea
Posted by Kim Barry
"A Rotting Idea"
Acrylic and Screws on Drywall
How old are you?
How old are YOU?
Wait…. How old are you?
I hear it a lot. I never satisfy their demand with an answer.
What point is there in it?
Does it tell them ANYTHING? Quite the opposite.
Not replying, expresses so much more about what I believe in. There is nothing in believing in and providing a numerical account of my time. Attempting to gain any info at all about me from receiving a random number is retarded.
Seems to me when people open up this Pandora’s box, everything in our naturally, connecting conversation becomes a scene from Criminal Minds. I have friends from nineteen to ninety. The last thing I find interesting to talk about is how old they are. Self-consciousness sets in for both of us. Where connections happened sharing new thoughts, beliefs, and stories, the subject of age builds up a wall as fast as you can say, “Humpty”.
“Oh if only I was your age…” (self pity, regret, shame) or
“When I was your age”…. (a know-it-all attitude- professor/student dynamic) or
“ I am too old now….” (the belief in age is so strong it becomes a prison) or
“Oh wow I am sooooo much older/younger than you!” (assumed power over the other in the value of youth to the young or experience to the mature) or
“Shouldn’t you be acting differently at your age?” (the boxing in of a life, thanks for the judgment call xo ..l.. )
Oh wait…. my favorite--- “Oh wow! You look so good for your age.”
What the does THAT mean? What does any of it mean? Nothing.
It’s a paralyzing conversation in any direction.
I do the courtesy of bringing the conversation back to what has interest, opens up new ideas, and builds connection. Some interrogators are very stubborn. "But why?" they ask. "What are you hiding?" In this demandingly open culture, any sign of privacy holds an air of criminal activity thanks to all 800 cop shows on TV nowadays. “If not that, then why else would she not answer my request?!” they suspiciously think to themselves.
That’s not it.
I simply do not believe in anything that limits or diverts action. In its purest form, healthy action begins with a thought, morphs, translates, blossoms, and ends. I follow the children. Children are open-minded, imaginative, and free to express original thoughts, language, and movement. They have not yet accepted learned limitations, protocol, and rules of conduct. In short, they lack the stagnant bureaucracy that adults are so good at searching out when they lose faith in their own head and hands. The youth are our future --not because of a number in time but by how they think and what they “do” purely out of a need for a solution to a perceived obstacle in their path. They find the most innovative ways when not muscled by adults to overvalue dead routines of tradition over their own. I try my best to keep that mentality.
All too often it’s an older generation’s ego demanding that the new give holy validation and reverence to their own past actions. Children don’t look to bronze each action they do for their future generations to do nothing but worship and slave over its maintenance. They learn to do that by big poppa. They are just as happy in destroying that which they spent all day building. Insider tip, the young successful adults never let that go and quickly surpass most others wrapped up in striving for acceptance in dead circles. I wish I had this conviction earlier. Conversely, those who uplift in holy reverence dead thoughts, dead language, dead conversations, and dead actions of others are playing with suicidal spirits. Children, as we grow into adults, should be able to value what their parents did then take it and run with it to new corners of the universe. They destroy it even and make new without the threat of insult or injury. They move based on their natural instincts without fear of becoming a renegade, a rebel, a turncoat, a terrorist. It’s actually very natural, very responsible, and sometimes quite heroic.
If anyone is offended, well, I hate to break it to you but uh….. it’s how nature works. It is constantly renewing itself for the better. Maybe thinking “old” means you no longer work with but against nature and as your movement stiffens by resisting natural change, you allow youth to fade from you mentally, spiritually, and physically.
A problem we face in society is not allowing a bad idea to die when its initial good has lost its purpose. Older generational mentalities have been amazingly adept at giving life support to ideas gone zombie. They fully invested in the early, televised ideal of the nuclear, materialistic, white collar, church-going, family valuing, big insurance, big banking, big business, profiteering medicine, and legal drug dealing circles while wearing WWJD t-shirts. They birthed and raised pharmaceutical companies, nuclear power plants, a $400 billion army, Monsanto, Dow Jones, Wall Street Reaganonmics, and the oil industry, They created lots of ideas—that turned into things- some at the beginning were ideal in purpose, but many were based on fear, image oriented, and in opposition to the best in our human nature and the bigger, natural world. The Ideas became money generating, familiar, and institutionalized (I loathe that word). These Ideas created a perceived, safe economic resource for “jobs” for themselves, their future children, and the future of their children’s children’s children’s children. But their children’s children’s children’s children look like monsters now and are lashing out by literally going postal from knowing their future is being forced into a really bad past idea gone rotten. The same old ideas that need to die in order for their purpose to shine and grow for the benefit of themselves, their community, and nature. This overly controlling action shows the worst in lack of faith while simultaneously forcing an outward, perfectionist version of morality onto everything and everyone else outside their Barbie Highrises. Quite frankly, I think it's super controlling and egomaniacal to think your personal idea is so freaking great that it not only stifles one generation, but the 2,3,4, and 5 generations from newer ideas and growing realities????
Makes me think of my own grandma. Total control freak. I love you, Grandma, just calling a spade is a spade, here. My mother, living in her mother’s ideals, still swears by doing things the "old fashioned" way for everything!! Sometimes it is right on. Sometimes it is soooo not. I am the only young person that knows how to change a knob fuse from in 1910’s and any call to updating the home’s electricity is not only suspicious but hazardous! Ok. Sure. I’m going to go up in the roof now and patch another slate shingle.
This is an old story. It was first marked in the 1960’s, by our feisty, spirited forefathers of real, uncertain, honest faith. They took on the stiffening, contradicted world through their struggle against being euthanized in every way- mind, body, and soul- but the obvious in their day of youth. What they learned was that new action is the most dangerous act you can put out there when people value old ideas, their own ideas and death.
We want change but don’t want to change. We want the image of change not real change. And adults have been following this mantra really well.
Children have no fear and know they will be happy with or without what most adults would have a nervous breakdown over- healthcare, for example.
What is healthcare?
It began, I suppose, as a virtuous mission to care for the well being of others while striving to learn new techniques in bettering lives, social health, and awareness. Right?
By my definition, healthcare is caring for the health of the all encompassing "us"- top to bottom. It is no accident that it is has deformed into an institution of sickness profiteering.
Remember hearing, "Oh you should be a doctor when you grow up! You'll be rich!" ? Enough said. That statement we’ve heard for 4 generations and has attracted more of a financial incentive to enter that collective conversation than a primary care incentive. Case in point? Ask a doctor if foods do a body any good over the prescribed drug they just wrote. And what was a splint the country doctor fixed up for little Olaf’s broken arm for a dinner and cookies is now a $3,000 debt for the ambulance alone. $10,000 for the splint. Hmmmmm. That’s a rotting idea.
Currently, and generally speaking, it is a dirty circle economy of raving vultures surviving off the causes and effects of toxic food, stress, depression, natural accidents, legal drug dealers. It has become profit driven through the “Maintain Sickness. Do Not Cure. Do Not Report Real Causes” rule of thumb from hospitals, Monsanto, the FDA, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies. All the CEOs of these “ideas gone instition” are in it for the money and that’s why they are on top setting the current tone. All the little people within each institution go along with it. It lost its idealism and integrity long ago. My grandmother said she saw this coming while she was head nurse of a prestigious hospital in upstate New York in the 1940’s. “They’ve lost the “care.” She would say to my mother.
Why does this happen?
“I NEED A PAYCHECK, KIM, so shut up with all this idealistic talk. It’s just a job!!! I can’t fix the world and I just don’t know what else to do.”
I reply, “It’s just a job until it gets you, too.”
If someone walked into a hospital with a true cure for anything, the Hospital administration, the doctors, the pharmacudical companies, and every Sickness Research Center and Donation Non-profit would be fighting to shoot him first and burn the evidence. Why?
A massive economy has been created here!
Fear of change.
Loss of control.
Over belief in Money.
Under belief in a Phoenix rising from its ashes.
What would we do with ourselves????? We fixed ourselves out of this specific work idea, familiarity, stability, 5 Mercedes, and a Martha Stewart Living subscription!!!!!
It would be an economic crisis in America!!!!!
This is just one example of how this mentality has distorted so many opportunities for our “youth” to work with nature in THEIR time to truly make for a faith based progressive world. I find it funny when hearing the words, “faith-based,” “conservative,” and “suspicion” all expressed in the same thought. There is no fear or doubt in the concept of faith.
In lieu of the healthcare industry, we could insert the oil industry, the real estate market, the meat industry, the banking industry, the for-profit federal government, and the conformity based federal education as further examples of ideas gone rotten from loss of faith into dependence, greed and deformity.
Generation X saw their former Flower Power parents buckle to their own ideals and initial actions only for many to fall into their own nuclear parents fearful world. 800,000 lawyers and doctors were born in the 1970’s after college kids put down their signs and shaved their Afros. And let’s be real here, maybe only 1% of the population of that generation really got it, believed in their actions and purely acted on it. But even those who made the impact and those masses beginning to get it, still receded into a safety-first mentality. And then the money became really, really nice. Those initial actions did not die, though. The thoughts and ideas were whispered into the ears of the babies. Parents, who had gotten timid, quieting hoped their kid would have the balls to create a better world.
Just by having kids, you are expressing trust that things need to naturally change. Why do we stifle and instill fear in them when it becomes their turn to shine? Hey you in the WWJD Tee, well you tell me, buddy.
I see so much progress in the children of the 1980’s and 1990’s. They have friends of all colors and creeds. They have begun to free themselves socially, sexually, individually, and collectively like no other generation prior. Their parents are those who truly kept the faith and not surprisingly, whose children and grandchildren have been at the forefront of creating acceptance of these new ideas, healthier lives, and alternative sustaining work to the one way pyramid living of the corporate world. I am in awe of them and they have my utmost respect.
Even with this progress, many times, I hear parents say, “You can be anything you want as long as you fit an already solidified and respected profession that was created one to three generations ago. The frontiersmen of America were allowed to be creative back then. Now we just need money and sustainability from you, ok? Furthermore, you can fix this dilapidating system from within even in your own little way but the institutions, themselves can never really change or put to rest or it would be anarchy. In other words, pretend to change- don’t change. Maybe just change the drapes, k? ”
By the 1990’s everything that had been building in the last century was stinking of toxins in cannibalistic thought and motivation with a Wall Street, bottom-line focus. Need I say more than this- that era birthed Nirvana. Enough said. Punk hadn’t done anything but create piss in the streets and cut lips. Though I love Sid Vicious forever. XXX u rager!!!!, The Hippies prior had tried but disco, drugs, and David Bowie were just too much a temptress to deny. In truth, I couldn’t deny that concoction of colorfulness, either. And everyone knows that, to me, David Bowie is what I like in a creator of the universe.
But it was the 90’s. An entire youth generation was in grunge. I looked like shit in a XXXL flannel, cutoff jean shorts, unbrushed hair, and military style ballet shoes. We were all depressed and angst ridden before Reality Bites made it cool and fashionable. Children know when their hands are tied. They express it only for adults to drug them into stopping their new action from being expressed any further, and then the adults wonder why so many children are 10 times more depressed, hopeless, and go frigging postal.
The 1990’s youth saw the rottenness of their grandparents and parents’ laid down limited options in, by then, had become destructive action as a good economic path for their lives. To pappy and grandpappy’s credit, it seemed a good idea at the time when THEY were young, but the bads were now outwaying the goods. What else for the children to do but dive into the closest coffee shop and play slacker? The youth with any heart knew how jacked up the institutions were. Those that took the “I-will-fit-in-even-if-it-means-losing-my-soul-to-make-money” pill and proceeding to build up the marketing industry of the 1990’s, the revamping of reality tv and MTV, well, there is a special place in hell for you guys between Dahmer and Kujo. Woof woof…….
Faith-based living is not expressed by doing whatever hurts yourself and others. You cannot be a compartmentalized coward and say, “Well, I was just doing my job. Jesus will forgive me when he comes down any minute now to clean up and take my irresponsible, littering, wasteful self to heaven where I will habitually litter there, too. Hey maybe making a really, really big mess will make him come sooner. But I will keep telling my kid that I am trying to make a better world for him here.” A rotten idea. Ummm… my Jesus would rather you learn to do it for yourselves. He’s not a janitor. That’s why God invented children. They see the world new again and translate old ideas into new ideas for the better no matter how retarded the last ones were.
Faith based is trusting that each moment that unfolds is a gift to put to good use, even if we may be hesitant on a step or two. We keep walking and trusting and it all will be ok and what dies a natural death is for the better.
Could faith be a sign of youth? Yeah
How about language?
What’s the magic of generational language?
Every generation has a language. Every language dies with that generation. What if there was someone who could jump the generational languages. Learn each one of them as they go. Would they live? Would they die? You start with one generation. Learn that generation’s language and that’s symbolic of learning that language changes, ideas change, actions change and its all for the better. Unless you allow fear to be the language and that’s regression. So there’s that. So as long as it is loved based, child like, faith based circles of new youthful language- what if that is the fountain of youth?
What if our own words were what killed us? What if our own thoughts were what aged us? What if we could reverse it with the reversal of our own heads—in our thoughts—in our words? Words are magical. I think its true.
It’s so effing late right now. Maybe I am in a dream or maybe you all know this already and bored with all this stuff that is only new to me.
I have been doing an experiment for some time now. I find that those who tune in to the ever evolving language of the youth, seem to be in a more optimistic, open minded, youthful in body, mind, and soul.
It is the language of new ideas, open doors, new sounds, new movements, and yeses.
Those that stopped new ideas, language , and movement after high school, college, or upon entering the job market--- Well, at the very least, you need a new haircut, k? Oh wait….. I think it just came back in.
For many, pure ideas stopped with the utterance, “Grow Up”
The concern for others’ perception of you is what really “grows” as your beautiful, free, spontaneous being gets squeezed into a one page resume that must always look top notch, look loyal, and look consistent. Your image of what you do becomes more important than your honest, spontaneous action in being you. Your thoughts become routine. Your dress becomes routine. Your routine becomes routine. And all to often you reply- “Oh, I am too old for that.”
You believe it.
Your body follows suit.
When thoughts stiffen
The body stiffens.
When the spirit of a person is smothered,
You can see it in the eyes.
When the stress takes over after a time
The weight gains
The hair grays
The wrinkles tell the story of what is going on inside
This can be reversed.
And I am not talking plastic surgery.
I was older at 18 to 25 than now
It’s all in your spirit
When you are weighed down by “life”
And the no’s out way the yes’s
It’s all seen
When you start letting the yes’s to out way the no’s
And just start letting go of all the crap they all throw at you that doesn’t truly matter
Really doesn’t matter
It doesn’t exist
All the prisons start unlocking
And there’s so much fear that is thrown at us.
If you don’t pay all your bills at exactly the right time, at exactly the right time,
And your credit score is not perfect perfect perfect
And your job history isn’t perfect perfect perfect
And everything you do isn’t perfect perfect perfect
Oh my you will lose all of it
You are going to be homeless
You are going to be jobless
No one is going to love you
It’s so sad and people believe it
Is this the idea of living we have been handed down to value and protect at all costs?
I’ve been saying this since 2005—Throw away your television. Throw it out!
That’s the number one way it gets in your head. And it’s so sad that people pay to get brainwashed into prisons. It just blows my mind. Maybe tv started perfectionism in a way.
Like that weird commercialized sense of perfectionism like the reality never matched up to the commercial whereas it should really be the reverse.
So many ideas gone rotten when they have outlived they stay and have been on life support for the singular incentive of money.
Let us let the children do what they do best. Maybe we will allow ourselves to think the same way someday. Let's forget numbers and routined, prescribed deadening language and keep the youth in our heads. Maybe we can start with a 21st century "markingartmakingfunmakinglove" mission in creating abundance and taking care of each other rather than the 20th century's mission of just making money. There’s my idea. Oh, and when this idea goes rotten, please throw it away.
Derivatives called Love
Posted by Kim Barry
| tags: conceptual love possession control COMMERCE humur Political
Photograph by Kim Barry
What's braver than giving love to those you simply care for without their permission, possession, or prudence- without their reaction, return, or regard? No war hero metals compare. Too many have lived too closely to life without it and the dark places that are created when the heart is not fed. What then is braver than creating a life, a reality of faith that materializes into spaces that magnet those that need it, want it, give it, and spread it through the basic religious action of coming together and leaving isolation at home. It has the power to instantly transform our thoughts, words, actions, interactions, and lives-
Forever and for better.
Imagine there is no contract, no expectations, no false guilt-driven, blood draining, future unmutually decided commitments drawn up as terms and compensation for the illusion of it from one person to the other. An illusion, it could only be. In that light, it is not love, but a series of desperate, controlling ropes attempting to tie up one's life to an imaginary buoy of safety and, then ..... Crap!..... they quickly realize they don't want to drift in their web of stinky seaweed alone.
As that definition of love is generally understood, many people run screaming from me like I'm Baby Jane when I say I love them -- off the cuff -- no pretense, just an "is" thing. With what that word's heavy balls and chains seem to mean by most people, I'd be more appropriate in my approach as a medieval torture device.
Even though the great myth makers through the ages preach of a truer, free love, we seem to only understand and like our familiar prisons, don't we, no matter the draft? We either consider this "free love" as effing everything in sight like blind, emotionally crippled bunnies or kidnap someone off the street and proceed to remake the film, "Boxing Helena." - how romantic...... Clearly, I don't go on many dates. I hear people convincing themselves with their language that love is a daily grind of limiting conversation of should's, "sacrifice", and a constant questioning of what is allowed and approved by the other, their family, their friends, the dog, the mailman, and that all knowing seer of critical, self imprisoning thinking, Rush to a Limpball, as they tune-in in perfect, commuter time for the latest fashionable, fascist thought. It comes down to what effing color their undies should be today. And everyone can agree it is acceptable, nay, desirable, if you choose the exact ones like the store mannequin. No wonder we now call the dark things, light, and the light things, dark, and take prescribed drugs to suppress the natural urge to questions that are constant bubbling up from retarded living.
I hear people making love into being a cash call on the premise that who loves you the most, spends the most on you. And the idea of mutual respect, understanding, and honest conversation to begin with? Well that' s just silly. It's a one way street. Cut and dry. He gets me my blingy bing and it's Open Sesame for my magic doors. Sounds like more of a business profession to me. Could this be why the honest side of that conversation is illegal? Too many nervous breakdowns would arise with the Stepford Wives if the mirror was unveiled in plain terms of business first, love zero. If you are looking for that zoo, we got a bunch of gorillas on Wall St. in just such a conversation with many a funny-money,farmed raised, Material Girls and the boys can't get enough profits in their penises. Kinda funny to watch but they like to steal wallets from viewers and newbie players. You have been warned. No wonder, those on the freedom trail comprehend love as more of a dark crystal of life-- ready to suck their life force out by way of staring at its luscious boobies for 10 seconds. as they momentary come to and think, "Wait... Did I pay for that boob job, too? Where'd my credit card go?! Eff."
Let's get better with ourselves and each other- whatever that may be. Why? Because we are just chasing derivatives called love in the hope of finding the real thing, right? We wouldn't continue to be miserable pricks if we were just satisfied with our twisted veil of the word if we wanted just the derivative, right? The real power juice is all around if you plug into it and let it out of yourself. Surprise, jar, and inspire it out of someone else by saying those words, mean it, feel it, and then walk away when possession will kill it. I call it practical use in freeing up a perfectly misused, misunderstood word that if used properly, would change heaven to earth and earth to heaven. It's a magic word unfortunately held prisoner by dark crystal forces of controlling, capitalist, cunning. Use your best case imagination by coming to every person and situation with the belief that you are ok and the world is ok and this new person is ok, too. I don't need to own or be owned to share what it is I want and desire- love. It works best without cages and ropes, unless
your into that thing, then have fun but try to come out occasionally for air. We'd all like to see you now and again
Posted by Kim Barry
A Sign from Traction Ave
The world will lean to your inner will if you leave the gate open, take out your Iphone earplugs, and get out of your bullet proof car to see what's going on outside your own four walls. It's scary. You are left vulnerable. I know. I get it. Even with a loose grasp on the practical side of life, I have needed a few rituals to define some form of structure to what seemed to a life set to a Bob Dylan song for better or worse. I was simply comforted by my Tuesday ritual of morning coffee, a ham, egg, and cheese on a bagel, and hunting down the latest column of FreeWillAstrology in the local paper. The bit of foreshadowing would relieve my doubt in constant risk taking choices. I have lived on a knife's edge for so long now, it's quite comfy once decorated with a pillow or two of signs. A good thing when then single resource you have is imagination. Not many have woken up one day, gone to the store, bought some dynamite, and blew up as many past realities as often as I have and walked away with no net. I call it self sabotage or growth depending on the day. In the end, it's all making sense if you are true to yourself at every moment. Of course, I think Ben Franklin and the Green Presidential Mafia we commonly refer to as, currency, do not approve and boycott me often.
Case in point of how this world of signage works?
These two words kept popping up from January to April like the gopher in Caddy shack with the impression I was Bill Murray.
I had no choice but embark on a chase to the death for no particularly known reason for either of us.
I wake up on a May Sunday morning, or what you prefer to call 11 am. As one pathetically addicted, I reach for my Iphone to check in with Facebook. It fits into the mindless, automatic morning actions between scratching the netherlands and finding the bathroom. So, what do the magic words of wisdom from the FB oracle have for me today? After being holed up in my windowless, tin roofed can for months, needing a spark of adventure, and quite frankly, my thought being anywhere else is more enticing than one more day of listening to everything that lands and echoes from the roof and seeing NOTHING.
Bob Odenkirk at the Echo 1pm Today-- First up on the newsfeed.
Seriously?!? Weird and convenient wrapped up in one. There is now no excuse. I must go. I read no further. I was out the door before you could say B.O. one more time.
Crap....how much were the tix, again? eff it.
So there I am in line to a "IHaveNoIdeaWhatShowThisIs" as I begin to notice that I am the only adult
without a half pint sidekick. Oh.... Crap..... This is a kid's show. And I am the lone adult. Thank god I am a female. It lessens the creepy factor a few notches. Maybe I should grab one off the street? They are sporadically walking by. An opportunity for impromptu mentoring and staying Incognito, maybe? Potential Win Win 'til the Mama comes. Scratch that.
But I was meant to be there and meet rad people, who were on their own journey towards their own dreams. My own signs of where to go began to teach and refine in a direction of what I really wanted without anymore guilt of not following advice from those that would like to see me spending more time revisiting a corporate suit that has now officially disintegrated from the power of my will. Those who valued that suit on me felt so much more comfortable discussing me in the traditional, "She'sDoneGoodBecauseWeUnderstandItAndSheHasAFatHouseToProveIt" conversation. I imagine the current conversation is simply,
"How is Kim?"
"Oh, she's doing."
"Who knows. A naked plaster-cast called Fat Man and Dream Maps."
Somewhere in the world, I smile. "Yep."
Once I let go of questioning my limited understanding of "Why should I?" in following my instincts with self criticism or judgment of reason, and thought, "Why not?" it opened so many more wonderful doors to walk through that I could never have foreseen carving out myself. The signs are just the magic markers of life.
The signs eventually lead me to someone I can't say anything but "yes" to--, and in his company, jump off railroad bridges into water below. There is nothing like looking into the eyes of the one you love, trusting them completely, and letting go into empty, open air if for no more than 3 seconds. You realize everything is so much better when you don't strangle your own life away with thought controls, verbal "no's" and decision making by a mantra of "I don't see the end result before I start so I won't and neither should you."
We all think about being somewhere, being something, being left to our imagination. But many of us want to see a clear paved road the exact way we are comfortable imagining it with easy-to-read, neon, directional signs if we are to actualize the real journey. The highway to the end result is clearly defined and in sight from the starting line There is no need to panic of the unknown. Richard Simmons is cheering us to the finish line with fat free cookies waiting. Why? He promised you would be there and win before you even took one step forward.
And if he ain't there,......
and the cookies aren't fat free ,......... and the path isn't glow in the dark?!?
I need everything in my cozy, not the real way, but my way. I will just buy the cookies at Ralph's for discount by way of my super Hummer tank that kills everything in my path to get me fat as shit.
I will find my happiness in what is easy- what is easy to comprehend--- what is easy to control and expect, though painfully nearsighted and limiting to my individual potential and fulfillment. Hey, I need my constant cookies in my life at all costs but can I live my dreams too? No? Oh then I 'll take the cookies, ignore the signs leading to my deepest heart's desires, and bitch the rest of my life.
Binkies have a huge cost and mommas know. There is method to their madness in trying to ween you off of your first but the binkies keep getting biggerr. No wonder people are paralyzed. It's an impossible expectation and reversal of how the nature of life works.
The secret is that your imagination is the real power. Know your heart's desire and the universe will bend to your thoughts if you have the balls to follow its way and not your own. The signs just make the ride more colorful, just like magical markers are supposed to do. And leave your binky at home.
Thanks Bob Odenkirk
Posted by Kim Barry
Acrylic, Spray Paint, on Canvas
I unloaded another's pack of life force and laid it down one more time. Being an Aries, I am perceived as being able can handle big loads. So, I am noticed, sized up, packed up, and shipped to fill in where another intends to conquer as their diplomat. Being a Dragon, my personal load is in manifesting many grand adventures for myself and those around me. So, people get inspired and take notes. Most of the time, I am comfortable and very happy with my purpose. It is lonely, though. I have been misunderstood, studied, teased, admired, seduced, resented, celebrated, drained, undermined, stalked, and dismissed.
I get passionate for life and encourage other to get passionate for theirs. THIS IS IT, FOLKS! Right now. Make it happen and make it fun. Nothing fires me up more than entering a hole in the wall bar where everyone is having the same conversation of "if only" as if the god of "If Only" was torturing their minds not to realize they have all they need this very moment to begin. My guess is if only the table of folks bitching could take off their "We Need A Savior Glasses" and trust their guts (and each other), they would get their individual goals done by collaboration with present company. I mean, there is a reason each one has found themselves sitting around this table with each other. The god of "Here's Your Opportunity That You Are Clearly Ignoring" is sitting in the corner blacking out from his fifth whiskey shot that is dulling the pain from banging his head on the table in frustration at them.
I used to be that banging head as I sat amidst the immense but latent beauty, talent, and value I saw and continue to see in people that refuse to see it and set it in motion for themselves. Passive encouragement with strangers in good conversation to full on sherpa mode with lovers and everywhere in between with many friends.
After one conversation with a certain Swedish Explorer, the word came to me as a metaphor to make a point.
So, an explorer wants to conquer a mountain. He is equipped as a leader with ego and entitlement, but to his credit, plenty of both. So, he searches out the sherpa who not only can pave a way, but carry the packs, clothes, air packs, food, and dude's 20 cases of Smartwater up the hill all the while knowing it's the Explorer's Show. As they arrive at the top, the Explorer asks for the flag from the pack and sets in the mountain (not before the sherpa digs the hole, of course) And the world rejoices! How did he do it? AmazinG!!! As the sherpa wisely smiles and is happy to help. But in the story, the sherpa does this as a means to provide for his own and take care of his lady love.
Point? An explorer has a sherpa or a prize- not both in one
It begins with a conversation. I say,"Wow, you are amazing at _____________ . (Their value noticed and celebrated.) The attraction sets in. Then comes the question to myself and from them "How can I help?" Because I am totally digging their --- scene, project, music, film, ..........just not anything that has to do with accounting, sorry Mr. Accountant. It is just how I am wired. I enjoy helping to create something I believe in. And when it comes to relationships, most of us ladies raised in refinement were taught never to seem to shine too singularly bright as to give the impression to overshadow your man, otherwise you seem over ambitious and (dare I say) unfeminine. A true lady is the silent backbone, private muse, public trophy, charming attache, saintly sacrificial, vixen behind closed doors, and mom. I fall way short beginning with the silent part these days. But, in the past, and this is where is gets bad, next thing I know I went from the "beautiful muse princess" to "pack mule" by following bad advise. From dinner dates at Le Frou Frou to a barn shed. From being my own person to theirs.
Uhhhh......... hold up.
I know we are "sacrificing" for the sake of our, oh wait your thing, but when did I become your personal every girl that doesn't even get a date occasionally let alone help when I have a vision of my own from time to time? Now I am supposed to make your visions come true as you play the latest video game the never has an end? Then look like a supermodel for the event after a full day of creative construction?
Damn. I'm the Sherpa.
Truth. I let the balance slip. I forgot a major key point. If you have to encourage what's in someone that they themselves constantly take for granted, the universe will promise that until they value it themselves, they will continue to take everything that comes their way, including you, for granted.
Oooo hard lesson for an Aries when I was used to see my potential Shining Knight in the diamond in the rough stage. I wave my magic wand of love and inspiration and there he is. My personal hero.
There is beauty in taking the journey together from start to finish, but unless both value each other equally, the romantic version of that story is gone when you find you are weed whacking a path, like Kathleen Turner, through the jungle while Michael Douglas over there is 20 feet behind picking daisies, watching my ass and asking when we are going to eat next?
After having these experiences, I have had people look me in the eye and argue their principled resistance to investing in a lovely experience for a first date while simultaneously trying to get the cheapest version of one with me and with that amazing offer, the hope of a happy ending. UHhhhh. Wow. Shall I just move right in with my housecoat, 40 extra pounds, and 5 kids including him? What a charmah'!
Truth. Until now, I hid behind the strongest voice I could find in my immediate surroundings because a)I wanted a champion b) I truly didn't believe in my own abilities alone and c)accepted very little in return for all my action because I believed so much in theirs. I was a partner in my eyes, an assistant in theirs, as fast as I was a girlfriend. Why? I love the creative in all forms and I crave love and purpose with a beautiful, talented, sexy man. Hey, I make no apologies for wanting it all. But I was impatient I did not allow for my abilities to be duly noted and celebrated in their eyes before giving them away like Santa's presents every day of the year until I was empty. After setting that kind of tone, no wonder they looked at me like I was the chick from Misery when I finally went Coo Coo for CoCo Puffs from neglect.
I always had a man present to give me an illusion of security and strength in our actions so I could still feel feminine in striving for vast dreams. I took care of myself in their eyes so I didn't need the care factor from them. I pretended they were my champions but did not allow time to reveal how as strong their conversation was with their own visions and their intentions with me. They only championed themselves in feeding their own egos while dulling my own. At one point, arguing jealously, that it was me and not my abilities someone was after when an opportunity for me arose from outside our own bell jar while lowering our standard of living daily. Gee that's NOT dehumanizing or anything. So I continued to hide behind them in the fear they were right. I believed that in the end, I was most valued silent and pretty on an arm with a hazmat suit hidden under my evening gown when I had to clean up the next issue that arose but of course never letting on I cleaned it up.
A Sherpa in an evening gown.
Three (or ten) times is a charm and now
I want a champion.
I want to enjoy giving again on two way streets.
I want to feel grateful for not being taken for granted.
I want to feel my full conversation with life only shines stronger with him present and championing the cause and prizing my presence
the empty space has brought in so many new adventures to breathe in
I'm no longer The Sherpa.
Remember That No One Ever Kicks A Dead
Posted by Kim Barry
"Welcome to LA" 2010
The war of words is alive and well and leaving bodies on the streets of LA as we speak. So many think badly, treat each moment for the worse, and finish it all off by acting out the worst case scenario as a result. Why? I blame in small part, all capitalistic fear based television- specifically 800 CSI shows running 24hr 7 for the people that never leave their house and tune in, which, sidenote, raises the chicken or the egg question. And the million kids learning that dissecting Bobby is just another form of science lab.
Last night, as I walked down Sunset Blvd., with The Sultan and Adam O, we came upon a pretty girl in lace stockings, a metallic mini, heels that wouldn't stay on her feet or in her hands, a belly full of beer, & a head full of want. The former and continued desperation to be accepted by her very recently abandoned company, was killing her and we surmised quickly that could be a literal reality on the street alone in her condition.
So we stopped
(She almost hurled a shoe at Adam like a beat up kitten, only to realize he was another little fuzzy meow)
She cried, "I wanted so badly for them to like me, but they make me feel like I am nothing."
Having entered many rings of conversation, I have become quite used to adjusting mine to temporarily adopt another's out of etiquette around new voices, to fit in or impress, or out of panicked politeness when in circles I find myself wherein secretly, I am desperately searching the perimeter for the effing catapult hidden in the host's closet behind the "Clean It Right, Clean It Fast" book series on blue ray.
I thank my mother for this gift of verbal veils that has been mastered from years of being thrown into so many different worlds of society and interest as I grew up. Wake up to elementary school with the future Gangsters of America, church with the WASPS, stopping off at the JCC for Tuesday basketball night, can't miss theatre practice for "Hedwig- The High School Years", then later jumping out the window for a little late night graffiti in the mills, or at least hang with the boys after they do their thing.
Many languages are hidden inside my American English here. To survive, I tuned into their channel. Some channels I liked more than others- those certain channels created a double O-mom for a hot minute. But it all worked out when, graffiti bffs, Schwontz, Walshman, and Wing Ding, promised I'd be home before 2am. That puts any fourteen year old Mom's worry at ease. But for all the interests, I couldn't help but become a watered down version of myself. Sometimes you tune in too well to others' reality, you forget to keep your own channel alive, well heard, and respected in its value.
I saw this happening in her world at an epic level. Seems she was editing herself into circles of conversation that could end a Ted Bundy story if she didn't wake up and begin setting her own tone STAT. These are the circles where the one who wants acceptance the most, gets the least and ends up in the center as entertainment in the game "Kick Our Dog."
"But you walked away," I pointed out to her.
She looked up.
It hit her.
That alone as a statement of self worth.
She stood up a little taller.
She felt a little better.
She realized she had taken the jump out of a bad but familiar scene
into open, empty space
leaving the opportunity to enter a better one with us.
What If There is No Enemy? Then it's just the Fear Talking
Posted by Kim Barry
What If There is No Enemy?
Acrylic on Canvas
My mother locks doors. She locks windows. As soon as something cannot appear at her immediate recollection, the first envisioned and, clearly logical, explanation is that some hoodlum ran through the house at warp speed moments before and grabbed the one and only treasure on my mom's mind at the moment- a key, a folder, and my personal favorite, a Hummel.
Because that happens.
I wonder if the simple act of locking doesn't create the exact "Last Door on the Left" scenario one would think they are actually attempting to avoid. Maybe not always in the physical sense, but the in the way that the supposed enemy has achieved the goal- getting in your head, scaring the shit out of you, and your actions and thoughts are a reaction of their power over you. And now you think like them. Yeah, they won and didn't have to lift a finger from their various Dr. Evil Dens.
Fear. It's the four letter word that is our nourishment. We have taken way too much of it with our daily morning jo-- so much so-- that we actually celebrate and create our livelihood around it. Economies, communities, and societal interactions are based on the idea of fear as we ignore the growing results that include but not limited to...
Rings round eyes
Wrinkles in face nooks and corners
Panic stricken eyes waiting for the next explosion of events to come true
Only preparing for the worst case scenario as insurance companies and banks reap the profits of our nightmare imaginations of the "what if."
No wonder we kill the happy people who encourage us to enjoy each moment that unfolds.
We are miserable, self limiting, locks hopped up on serious caffeine.
I'm scared. You're scared. And we have spent too much time, stress, money, and preparation to have someone tell us it could actually be ok. "Screw that guy, I will lose my investment in despair!! It's my effing pension!!"
Everyone is out to get you, so get them first.
If you open up, people will take advantage of you, steal, lie, and betray
Keep yourself protected. Those who don't protect themselves deserve it when others strip them of their lives.
Attempt to "save" others with your mantra but don't ask yourself if that same mantra actually brings joy to you or others.
Do not let people know what you really want. They will use it against you. Then take that which is valued by others.
Though you desperately need help, never let anyone see you sweat or else you are WEAK
Oh, and Dad is trying to kill you.
Gee, I feel so warm and fuzzy. All this, while we market the Beaver Cleaver commercials that run in between all 300 versions of Law & Order, CSI , & Judge Judy running 24 /7 on 800 channels.
This is not easy language and I rebel in every environment. I don't mean to. It's just a trigger habit. But considering the language surrounding me, good thing for this survival technique.
So, I unlock doors.
I leave windows open.
I let my dog breathe a little by a revolutionary act of letting her walk around on her own a bit. She is vocal in her need for this and if someone doesn't get it, they can try walking her on a leash. It's like trying to walk Jackie Gleason. Really.
Most of all, I don't look for limits and road blocks to excuse myself from the game.
I began young by combatting fear by reaching out, no matter how many times I got knocked down.
Do Not Lock Things
and look for the best in everything and everyone.
But goddammit, if those fear voices don't remind me just how close to the surface they hide and are ready to scare the Benny Hinn out of me when doubt of good in the world enter my perception. It brings me back to the post traumatic stress disorder I received at the ripe age of six after my sister conned my mom into having the family celebrate her birthday at the premier of "Poltergeist"- that was, in her 12 yr old lawyer argument- a comedy. Real effing funny. To this day, I will never sleep in a room with a tree at the window or a clown on the rocker.
It's a struggle to embrace perceived failure, a let down, or a hazy moment when you have been taught that God punishes when you misstep. It creates a fear of living and resentment towards those who try.
But what does it mean to eff up?
What if it's something that makes you better?
What does it mean to be let down by someone?
What if its just two neutral conversations not meant to match up and it's a good thing for both- forcing it would be the real tragedy?
There is no honesty in hiding in corners, acting like a Vera Wang wedding dress at a "Graffitti on Your White T-Shirt" Party. It just means you are too scared to engage. It's easier to wrap yourself up in the faux safety of faux self righteousness and self appointed judgement.
I remember playing rockstar to tracks of Stevie Nicks, Chrissy Hynde, and Debbie Harry on my mother's bed at eight years old, envisioning my future self in their current shoes, while simultaneously, petrified of the future public scrutiny and my having to deal with my perceived value of hiding the all too familiar story of family crazy behind the curio cabinet.
There are no fans
There is no scrutiny
People love the real
There is nothing pure
What is pure is mess
It's fine and so are you.
And no one likes a wet, white drip anyway
I feel better already
What if there is no enemy? Then it's just the fear talking.
Maybe I should inform Cheney and the boys so we can move on to better things.
Now go be that which you want.
West Eleven Opens Its Doors for The Brewery Artwalk Mar 31 & April 1, 2012
Posted by Kim Barry
West Eleven is proud to open its doors as part of The Brewery Artwalk Spring 2012.
Come visit, in person, the paintings and installations, the stories, and me.
When: March 31 & April 1
Time: 11am- 6pm both days
Location: 642 Moulton Ave w-11 90031
Added bonuses- over 300 artists live here. You get to walk through many of their studios, see live performances, and grab food and drink from the restuarant, Barbara's.
See you then.
I'M BR OK E
Posted by Kim Barry
I'M BR OK E2011Acrylic, Stencil Templates, Screws on GypsumKim Barry
I have a knack for finding value in the hard to reach places. I see it long before most are being spoon fed the cheap, mass produced, rufi laced version, sometime after. It comes in all forms of nouns and verbs. I don't need the centerfold interview or highlighted mention in the latest "IT" magazine to learn and know its value when staring it in the face. Viceversely, I sometimes see sugared coated poo a mile away but always hope it's, at least, Mr. Hankey. Putting it on the line all the time can create more than a few sightings of him.
Value, as of late, has been a shaky word in my vocabulary. Everyone is constantly having devaluing conversations, negotiating yard sale issues, and bargaining their ideas at a penny to the original dollar. "It's a recession," they all say. "Oh, times are tough." And "We are so broke. I can only do so much."
It's thrown me off. I had always demanded worth in my action and encouraged others in theirs'. Events in 2011 shook me to the point of seriously considering throwing it all away and resigning myself to a reality of bargain basement living. WHY? Though I was speaking value into my actions, everyone around me was speaking louder as they were auctioning off my latest move on ebay. "Why are you focusing on creating this idea when Widget World will pay you a whopping $12/hr and healthcare for simple, safe monotonous movement and you can count on it?", they'd say. Gee, I don't know, cause I value the concept of what I can do as more? Those not willing to agree and support were eventually dropped off at the next Yum Yum Fauxnuts for their own job application.
The residual energy of their words was harder to shake. Am I delusional? Am I setting myself up for trading in the 401k and, in return, receiving a bed at the shelter in 6 months? Paralyzing panic set in when I was alone with myself- no longer fighting against the others. My inner voice traded to their side and beat me up over every decision I had made and could make. So, I did what anyone losing their grip of their world would do. I got strep throat from my ever helpful bud, Danni, and slept for three days straight. So did my beagle, Rory. She looks for constant excuses to lay sideways.
I woke with a thought. Broke is simply the state of mind where you can't see the value of your surroundings and how they can work for you. The value stamp and devalue stamp get all mixed up. I've seen some people throw their life on the line for their car but think helping their relative a waste. Yesterday, I found a beautiful poem in the dumpster. It was about feet. Ironically, the writer was demanding that we value our own, as she then, threw the argument in the trash. We throw out what should be treasured and painstakingly devote years of cleaning and, consequently, a small fortune in Minwax in preserving what should be laid to rest. Btw, did I use "ironically" in proper context? I hate all forms of that word.
Words can be used to infuse everything with value and can also be used to strip faster than a BMW left in Southeast D.C. This is what makes words a form of alchemy. Once we realize this, the priority list should be made, checked, and revisited to keep us straight.
The single cause of mental suicide is putting your own worth in the hands of others. Trust me, if you don't set it, then know this. Everyone else is looking to get you at yard sale pricing. It's the Fall-mart way. Pay less, live more! Truth- you are not living if you were willing to become one in the mob fighting for the last $2 waffle maker last Holiday. Ho, Ho, ...yer crazy.
So, look around. There is value in everything. Use your head, your heart, and your imagination. Most of all, value yourself.
Even with $3 in your pocket, you are BR OK E.
I am value-ing bed.
West Eleven hosts Your Event!
Posted by Kim Barry
West Eleven, a 1,200 sq. ft. creative house located conveniently off Rt 5 inside The Brewery, the largest artist community in the US. The space functions as my art studio and is rented out for hosting lectures, corporate meetings, private parties, weddings, rehearsal dinners, workshops, and other creative events. The space provides a beautiful, intimate, artistic atmosphere that breaks away from the normal lecture hall or convention room by boasting original art, a boho chic decor, and a creative atmosphere for brainstorming the next great concept for a company or for creating an amazing memory for a special occasion. You would have the option to decorate as you wish, as well.
Huge open first floor area
Balcony with full kitchen, lounge, and full bath
Super fun original art decor
Antique/ hand painted bohemian mix of furniture and decor
Learn more about West Eleven by visiting:
Best Regards & Kind Wishes,
Posted by Kim Barry
| tags: graffiti/street-art mixed-media sculpture installation conceptual performance
"Buried Child" 2007
Acrylic, Ink, Joint Compound, Screws on Gypsum
Maybe I had it easier as the baby of the family. . . ok, I had it a lot easier in learning to do my own thing. When the real life Flying Nun marries the real life Mickey Rourke, pops out a few spawn, and tries to make a go of it as a family Oral Roberts would envy, there is much more crazy to focus on than the daily adventures of the smallest member. I liked it that way.
The freedom to experience the world that was, from my friends & my perspective, a HUGE, twenty city block playground for our taking and, as we grew into teens, the city itself was immeasurably influential. Oh, and we took it by hellstorm.
As an adult, I have reflected more than once on the massive contrast between the breathing room of my own youth versus the restricted realities of many today. When we are children, the impulses and instincts we naturally gravitate towards reveal so much more about who we are and will become than any conditioning and social etiquette could ever dictate or, hopefully, override. I was lucky to have the space to figure it out myself a little more than most though not completely unscathed.
As an adult, I have watched and experienced parents, teachers, television, and societal circles attempt, on various levels, to re-mold and re-create a most self conscious culture striving to fit in before knowing what exactly they are fitting in to with all the best intentions in the world. The goal being the the action, not the place and position.
Even with having a pretty strong will and direct sense of my desires, the first few years of my adult life was a struggle in living in the moment amongst my comrades of this shared reality. For all my conviction, doubt set in as to how practical dreams were. People around me were dropping off daily in to some branded perspective that pushes the real imaginary words of - "safety," "practical," and "social acceptance" AND they wanted everyone to come with them into the Cave of Dull-life. As it turns out, it never seems to stick for me, though, I did give it my best, neauveau yuppie effort, at one point.
Feeling like the Last Mohican, I was lucky to re-enter the magical kingdom of childhood wanderlust by taking a position as an art director for a camp this past summer. The complete imagination, natural confidence, and constant straight forward conversation those children had inspired in me the beauty of life all over again. As I watched and encouraged their instincts, the younger the child, the less of an effect my words had one way or the other. They knew they were doing exactly what they needed to do AND they knew it was awesome. No one had to tell them that. It was like I was surrounded by 30 mini Van Wilders. I dug it.
As children get older, the results of critical, controlling, and re-directive words visibly take a toll as self consciousness creeps in. Many become unsure of their natural abilities of using their own head and hands. I thought- This is how people, when they reach "that age," ask the question, "What do I do with my life? I don't know!!!! Who is going to tell me who I am and what my purpose is? Friends? Parents? Snooky? Anderson Cooper? They have forgotten to be themselves and trust it. Do they know they just unconsciously signed a deal with the devil in order to fit in, gain acceptance from those that think it's needed (eff em. these people are lame. trust me), and prove how worthy they are of praise, envy, and desire for a McMansion and newly plumped up fish lips?
For all my outward convictions, I was caught up, too. Who isn't? But at some point in your life when your true self can't take it anymore and will fight to get out no matter how many meds, therapists, cool cars, and hot chicks/men you attempt to combat it with, there's the rub. There's the choice. You can choose to change and become the real you at any time. Sure there are consequences. Sometimes big. I lost everything materially that was the product of my Great Fake Pyramid. I lost some people's respect, admiration, and envy for things I had attained that didn't really matter. It is not easy to let go when you are dug in, I know. As for me, it was the singularly best choice I ever made.
But, it doesn't have to be so dramatic. Lesson- leave the children alone. They know a hell of a lot more than adult egos care to handle.
Avoid the Buried Child Syndrome
You are beautiful as is.
Conflicted & Compartmentalized
Posted by Kim Barry
| tags: graffiti/street-art performance conceptual mixed-media installation sculpture
"What Have We Done?"
Acrylic, charcoal, canvas, 1970s iron-ons for Chug-A-Mug Beer on Gypsum 2011
So here I am at the beginning 2012, my Dragon year (roar.) — visualizing my own path through this new experience of LA as a more and less romantic, starving artist during what no one in that little box most people have chosen to live through will name---
WE ARE IN AN EFFING DEPRESSION, PEOPLE
We all helped to make a darn good milkshake of an economy for a few years, but the one, two, three people in the universe holding the straws are the big winners. Get it? This is not a difficult concept so why fain shock each time a-----nother story comes out of some dumpy dude who looks like your next door neighbor but , big difference, he owns the rights to the population of India and actually exploits them. Of course he will and is and does while riding carnival ponies in some Secret Owl Camp in Thailand.
Look the real question is, Why is there ever a conversation on the table about one or a few having mass rights over mass people, money, land, water, air, DNA??? Seriously? To tolerate any part of this conversation is mutiny of anything human. It's like resurrecting Hitler and giving him a reality show because your ratings suck and it is sure to be a hit. YEAH. You bank that money until the audience really believes his forum and next thing you know, we have little Aryan youth running around reenacting, one of my personal life changing childhood viewing displeasures-"Children of The Corn." And instead of Malachai, they are looking for you, buddy. At that point, all your money is good for is to wipe your bum bum when you hear the film score suddenly playing in your office. As for me, I am with Linda Hamilton in and under all circumstances. (Yes she is in THAT movie).
Point? Short term, self masturbating gains versus long run poo stains of a mass reality that limits our capacity to fully enjoy this experience called LIFE
One thing I find myself repeating in conversation, is this-- "What Happens Above, Happens Below". In Reaganomic terms, which btw, talk about resurrecting what should be dead, think of the concept I am trying to get cross as Trickle Down Societal Trends, Trickle Down Societal Values, Trickle Down Mental States, or if you will, Trickle Down My Money on My Mindset.
In these terms, what does it say about our current, upscale, world-running circles of society by looking at a certain mirror of our Trickle Down Society like , oh, I don't know........ The Los Angeles Craigslist- gig section, for one?
As a very resourceful, fairly intelligent, capable person with an aesthetic eye for everything, I figured as I reach for the larger star of my deepest heart's desire, I can surely lock down some basic, fun, creative gigs in order to survive while meeting some great creative minds- it's LA. Right? Ok yes, I actually do have a small tattoo of "NAIVE" on my forehead- eff you very much.
Well, apparently, the vast Craigslist scope of creativity that generates the actual appearance of money includes the not so adult word of, "Adult." How many blatent, boring, boobie routines, cheap poses, dominatrix, booty shaking scenarios can people really handle? Apparently, it is a bottomless well. I am fully preparing myself to see prosperity preaching churches begin advertising "Pole Up for Jesus" commercials.
THIS IS NOT CREATIVE.
IT IS NOT ART.
IT IS BASE MENTAL STIMULI THAT WHEN, IN AFRICA, A GIRL DOING HER ROUTINE IN THE SAFARI WOULD ATTRACT RANDOM WILD ANIMALS
"Take your pick, Mistress Misty Mooncooch."
"Gee, I don't know, feeling kinda camel today......"
Do these folks reflect on the knowledge that their college graduate darling dears are entering this base mental reality that they have directly and indirectly funded and profited from for generations? It's not just the dirty secret of sex, drugs, and exploitation of all resources and people in Rangoon. Greed over the years has brought it right to everyone's doorstep, right HERE, and we all deal with it or deny with it on a daily basis. It's such a cesspool, no wonder they migrate to SuperSuburbiaThemeparkFantasyLandTown and add gates.
Seems before, during, and after the fervor of Americana created from WWII, a few of America's largest corporations began secretly flirting with overseas child labor, overseas cheap labor, sex trade, and drug carteling while publicly presenting their loyalty to their "Homeland", wearing ducky print pants, and showing the public world their best "Father Knows Best" face. OK, the ducky pants totally rule, but I digress. A couple of years ago, while I was living another life in StepfordWifeLand, my neighbor, Bonny Doohickey, was using these same tactics for her etsy gift bag line. WTF?????
So, I struggle. I struggle to keep my character at a personal, professional, and human level. I have seemingly had it all but not really, and have had nothing and yet, have had it all. I believe I can combat this Trickle Down Depression by, no matter how hard the choice I have to make, and People, I have had some doozies, just do the Spike Lee thing.
These last weeks for me have been a rare time of silence from the outside world. I have thrown out enough positive, outreaching opportunity ammo into the universe to light up Morrisey' and Robert Smith's moods to a Sally Fields level and now, as the dust settles with opportunities of all kinds, I sweep up the crap "creative opportunities" so the real ones will have a place. In the meantime, I have NEVER been able to sit still. So, I read. I reflect. I remember I have this old book from my grandfather's collection-oooooo. yes.
This morning I hit upon a passage that I feel is a good soundboard against the compartmentalized and conflicted value making we create as individuals and, as we come together and interact, create a mass compartmentalized and conflicted society.
Here goes.... NOTE: This is not an endorsement to any specific sect of the human/God relationship from yours truly. Get your own. I got mine. But I do find it a poignant point missed by those that would like to be His diplomats in a circle or two. This is in context to the author's words -a good man, a good monk. Ok then.
"One of the most important functions of religion is to give faith to individuals so that each can believe that, whatever his handicaps, it is possible for him to develop a capacity to serve beyond his seeming capabilities. When people lose this sense of self worth, they tend to slip into the gray human mass out of which collectivist nations are built. Our Lord is quite specific as to the responsibility of each individual to develop his gifts and increase his talents. Lest they should become selfish, He is most specific of all in teachings which stress out duty toward God and our neighbor. A free society rests upon this delicate balance between individual growth and sacrificial love. No society can be Christian without an equal distribution of both. Personal creativity without love becomes tyranny, love without creativity becomes static."
- Austin Pardue from his book "Create and Make New," First Edition 1952
Let's get it right.
Alright, then. I got run. Late for my new job at The G-String and can't figure out these friggin' pasties.
Keep Your Boxes...
Posted by Kim Barry
The idea of sharing the impulsive moments of my life on this blog, while simultaneously, being understood as a serious artist has seemed an act of self indulgence with a side of professional sabotage. People need boxes. People need to sum you and your work up in speed dating time and then they freeze you, Hans Solo style, into that conceived mold.
Every creative person striving towards success is playing a one way laser tag game in the woods with the proverbial Jabba The Hut. Ooooo Jabba liked your last move and (crap!) you are out in the open. Haha! LASERBEAM........ Next thing you know you're making the same work every day as if you've become Phil in Groundhog Day. But it's safe for investors, safe for fans, safe for everyone who wants to quickly understand you and move on.
Enter dark, emaciated, asexual, brooding artist wearing fedora in the corner with perfectly coordinated awkwardness holding a hipstamatic sign that says-
"No one understands, you don't understand, I don't understand. I glue kittens to toilet seats. Understand? Don't talk. I sign."
Second Entrance- angry feminist artist dressed as Bertolt Brecht's costume designer that shoots paintballs from her crotch onto angry canvases and identifies herself with her pet Honey Badger- her animal spirit. Honey Badger don't give a s###. Powpowpow- oh no, wait, Honey Badger just got hit with a paintball! It doesn't give a s###, it gets up and wants another.
But expressing yourself on more than just a sure fire marketing platform and NOT having printwork that includes at least ONE celebrity face somewhere? This is a joke, is THIS the joke, wait..... which joke are we talking about exactly?! WHERE"S THE FRIGGING LASER?!?!?!
Who wants to back some chameleon who follows their instincts, not the critics and investors?
I would and only them. Why? David Bowie
I can't help myself, being myself, whatever part needs expressed for the fitting moment. I have been trapped in what feels like R. Kelly's LA closet this past year with most of my friends, reality comrades, and sounding boards on the other side of the country leaving one lone friend to bear the brunt of my conversation. Presently, she is on life support but it's looking up.
Many a person in my life have lovingly and, sometimes, not so lovingly, indulged themselves in this particular treat of being absolutely real and ridiculous while simultaneously working out the bigger serious issues of the world around us and how we relate to it and each other. I, for one, am up there in the adventures, with the tenacity of a certain Beagle I know with a serious addiction to cat food. To me, that is real truth, real honesty, real living, real art.
I am not speaking of some unattainable ideal. I repeat the tangible- David Bowie. I was first introduced to his ideas, music, clothes, & rockstar attitude (see pic below) at four years old by my coolest of cool oldest sister, Karen. Here is my oldest, dearest friend in the world, Jul, who agrees.
Be yourself, if it true, in all moments, though the outside may only see a potential multiple personality disorder, that is the true reflection of journey and experience. Let's put it this way, God promised me his best impression of DB when we meet up eventually. He's into it, too.
Love you, Mr Bowie- always.
And to those who prefer the cut and dry, stale tried and true, keep your boxes.
To be continued....
In the meantime, enjoy learning more about Honey Badger through the words of Randall.