I’m volunteering at a three day documentary workshop at URBAN-15. It’s been brought to town by NALIP (one of the very few film organizations I’ve ever belonged to which I can give unqualified praise). Kathryn Galan, Executive Director of the National Association of Latino Independent Producers, came into to town to run this event. There are different pay levels for the weekend, but none over $150 dollars. It seemed steep to me at first, but after hearing that a two day grant writing seminar happening downtown earlier in the week cost about $450, I had to change my opinion.

The workshop is being given by Fernanda Rossi, the “Documentary Doctor.” She’s fucking amazing. Clever, quick-witted, and unbelievably energetic. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when we get into the nuts and bolts of creating trailers to use for seeking funding.

Last night we began the event with a screening of Gemma Cubero del Barrio’s wonderful documentary on women bullfighters, “Ella es el Matador (She is the Matador).” (The title comes from this great scene in the film. One of the Matadors has been knocked over and trampled by the bull. She’s rushed to the hospital. Two doctors are looking over her injuries, which turn out to be not so bad. One of the doctors scratches his head. “A bull? She got in the ring?” To which the other doctor, a woman, responds, rolling her eyes: “She’s the Matador.” Gemma Cubero del Barrio (one of the two women who made this movie) was in attendance. She talked to us about the film. It’s been showing recently on POV–I believe it’s coming soon to San Antonio PBS. If you see it listed or otherwise available, make sure to see it. Even if, like me, you have little interest in bullfighting, or even, understandably, an outright revulsion. It’s solid storytelling, and the women Matadors provide interesting insight into this world.

This morning I returned to URBAN-15 to help set up for the first day we’d be working with Ms. Rossi. I was up in the performance space when Fernanda came in. She seemed very unassuming, almost mousy. George tried to set her at ease by making a few jokes (as is his nature). She either wasn’t listening, or chose to ignore his comments. She was extremely focused and professional. She wanted the chairs arranged just so. A table over there, at an angle, a little lectern there. Don’t get me wrong, she was very gracious. But you know, all business. So I was somewhat pushed off balance when the session began and she turned on the charm and charisma. She was sure and confident in the manner in which she built rapport with the audience. There were between 25 and 30 people, and she connected with us all.

There’s an actor I’ve worked with on several occasions. He has energy and charisma, but he can’t pace himself. I’ve watched him, on multiple occasions, burn himself out before the first scene was ever shot–you, know, playing and monkeying around for the cast and crew. Fernanda knows how to pace herself. When she’s “on,” doing her thing, she’s Kryptonian to the max. Otherwise, it’s more Clark Kent, hanging out over at the water cooler.

Make sure to get her book: “Trailer Mechanics: A Guide to Making Your Documentary Fundraising Trailer.” Again, her name’s Fernanda Rossi. It’s only $22.95 (though I picked mine up today for twenty bucks). Find it on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Trailer-Mechanics-Making-Documentary-Fundraising/dp/0976458101/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1257651524&sr=8-1-spell

Check out Fernanda Rossi’s website:

http://www.documentarydoctor.com/

During our lunch break were were given presentations by representatives of LPB (Latino Public Broadcasting), ITVS (Independent Television Service), and KLRN (the San Antonio PBS affiliate station).

After Ms. Rossi was done for the day (about five), we broke into groups at talk with “mentors”–production and distribution professionals brought in just for this event. I felt very lucky that I was able to meet with Hector Galan. Hector’s a producer and filmmaker based in Austin. You can check him out on IMDB and you’ll get an idea of what he’s done. But the truth is that Hector, like so many people in this business, has involved himself intimately and importantly in projects you’ve probably seen, but in which he was never credited. He’s the real deal. A man who everyone respects and no one (no one I know of) speaks ill of. I’d seen him at various events, but until tonight I’d never spoken with him.

When I pitched my idea of a documentary about the Jumano Apaches of far west Texas and their hopes to become recognized as an indigenous people, he was encouraging. He gave me some interesting and insightful feedback. But there was also another person sitting in on our small group’s pitch session. She works for a Texas arts and cultural organization. In a lull between me and Hector’s conversation, she said that my idea sounded like something her organization might be interested in. Of course I asked for her card. Back home I looked up the organization. I couldn’t quite see how this group would be interested in a film project. Still, I’ll certainly be keeping in touch with this woman.

We had people show up who were from Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, Austin, Albuquerque, Missouri, California, and New York. I only wish more San Antonio filmmakers had understood the importance of this event. Without even stopping to scratch my head, I can think of five local filmmakers who would have benefitted enormously from this event…yet they never even showed the slightest interest.

There were people with projects on Bob Wills, Salsa (the foodstuff, not the dance), the Texas border wall, the Pope visiting New York in 2008, a specific type of Caribbean music I’m not familiar with, Native American land rights in New Mexico, and loads of other topics I can’t remember.

There were two women who were from Houston (if I recall correctly). They had some killer footage–clearly they knew something about production. There was another woman (I remember seeing her at the NALIP national conference earlier in the year) who has never made a film before. But her passion, clarity, and professional demeanor make me think she’ll make a great film very soon.

This November began fairly well. It’s not as chilly as it was last year. In fact, I still haven’t got my water heater fixed. I guess I’d better get that dealt with next week. My luck can’t run this golden much longer.

I’ve entered the National Novel Writing Month contest again. The idea is to generate 50,000 words in the month of November. I’m currently up to speed with 9,606 words. In fact I’m 1,546 words ahead of the game. This means I almost have a free day to goof off. But I’d better be careful. I’m only five days in. The last time I did this (was it three years back?), I began to slack and drift and then I realized I would never be able to catch up.

This weekend is a NALIP-sponsored documentary workshop. A three day intensive event. My challenge will be to find time this weekend to keep my workd count up to par while still keeping up with the workshop.

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Tonight I dropped by El Tropicano hotel–there in their wonderful ’60s-era bar, all bamboo, Mai Tais, and live parrots getting all vocal and obstreperous. Janet Vasquez, with the San Antonio Film Commission, was there to herald in the first of several mixers for the Film Commission’s annual 48 Hour Film Experience. I believe there are about 12 teams already signed up. However, this first mixer was a small gathering. We had, if my count is correct, 13 people.

I’m playing this year, on a team with Pete Barnstrom.

It should be fun.

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I finally finished watching “American Movie” this afternoon. It’s on Netflix’s free view for members. I remember when this came out because the subject of this documentary, Mark Borchardt, was appearing on the talk show circuit. I recall watching him on David Letterman.

It’s a painful film for filmmakers to watch. It’s about a self-important loser who wants to be a respected filmmaker. And people like myself know a lot of Mark Borchardts. Often, we fear that we are Mark Borchardt.

It’s hell of a documentary, and I think it deserved the 1999 Grand Jury Prize for Documentary at Sundance. But, again, if you are out there making movies which are funded from your back pocket, this film might break your heart, your spirit.

And here’s the big problem. No matter what a fucked-up jackass this heroic loser of a filmmaker Mark Borchardt may be, his work shows promise, and probably he’s a better filmmaker than you are.

I suspect that “American Movie,” (by Chris Smith and Sarah Price) will be a painful watch for wanna be independent filmmakers, but a rollicking laugh-fest for everyone else.

Definitely check it out.

And then, check out the real deal. Filmmaker Chris Weagel has been generating these brilliant video blogs about his fucked up friend, Garrett. Head to the Human Dog Production’s website and wallow about in this amazing salad of Americana. “American Movie” hints at this world, Weagle’s “American King” delivers.

http://human-dog.com/

Ah, Halloween. The day when folks with facial tattoos can walk the streets with their heads held high; however, those goth kids can’t elicit the usual disdain from the public, not even if their lives depended upon it (the one day out of the year we all find them so adorable!).

Tonight, for Halloween, I’m laying low with the lights off. Just a few candles, the glow off this laptop, and the slow flash off a battery charger parked at my elbow. I wish my friend Kat had called me up as she has in past years, to sit on my porch with me giving out candy to the thousands of kids who surge through this neighborhood. This is hardcore, and if you can’t stock up with about fifty pounds of candy, don’t even bother. So I’m not. It just isn’t in my budget. But as I have the inside lights and porch light off there’s little reason anyone would come up to my door. Besides, where’s the appeal? There are five houses on this short block alone who have lights on and loud music and sound effects blaring. They’re shoving out the candy.

Tonight it’s the deadline for Luminria artist proposals. I got a call earlier in the day from a couple who said they might drop by before midnight to drop theirs off. This means either, a.) their social life is more pathetic than mine, or, b.) midnight’s just when things begin happening for them. By three-thirty this afternoon we were up to 22 film proposals. I know of four that will be put their stuff in the mail slot tonight at C4, and two that were mailed today. I’m expecting at least 30 in all, hopefully more. I’m not certain, but that sounds about how things were for 2009.

I’ll probably walk across the street in an hour or so to my neighbors’ porch and help pass out some candy. It’s an excellent opportunity for me to mooch off their party snacks. Usually, for their Halloween parties, there’s a pot of chili simmering in the kitchen. They’ve decorated their house in an Indian motif, complete with some K-Tel Best of Indian Tribal Chants on the sound system. Across the street, the other neighbors have a cowboy theme. Boot Hill and such. They’re blasting the best of Marty Robbins. I hope their country and western repertoire runs a bit deeper…though it certainly could be worse.

At midnight, when November begins, I’m aiming to get a jump on my novel for National Novel Writing Month. The plan is to write just over 1,600 words a day for the entire month.

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Well, I did it. I hung out some with my neighbors, mooched some tasty chili, and saw loads of kids in cute costumes soliciting goodies.

It hard to see, but this is a bag of barbacoa and a can of Big Red (for those from out of town, this is the San Antonio breakfast of champions–especially for those suffering a champion hangover). I wish I could have gotten them in a better shot.

Here we have a family of Shriners.

Spooky old mansion across the street from me.

The cowboy house next door.

And the Indian camp across the street from them.

And this scene which might have seemed somewhat politically incorrect had only Chip still been wearing his Indian costume.

I hope everyone had a safe and fun Halloween.

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I’ve been toying some with shooting in the RAW setting on my camera. These are larger, uncompressed files. This is the first camera I’ve owned that allows me to shoot in this format. I’ve seen it compared to digital “negatives.” You have much more latitude for changes if you’re working with an image editor.

I’m way behind the technology here. My background is photography using film, and that was over twenty years ago. It’s digital video (not digital still photography) in which I have experience. I was quite taken aback when I discovered that my new Panasonic Lumix shoots in it’s own proprietary RAW format. It’s called RW2, and there’s no program that came loaded on my new laptop that can read this flavor or RAW. The work-around is a program which came with my camera. I loaded it up, and it’s working fine. But this is a pain in the work-flow department. I’ve gotten used to iPhoto to capture and file my photos. But iPhoto and RW2 don’t play nice. I expect this will be remedied in a few months, but, what a pain.

Here are a couple of images I shot today in RAW. I’ve massaged them more subtly than I usually do, using Silkypix (the program that came with my camera), and GIMP (an open source image editing program along similar lines as PhotoShop). (Who comes up with these names???)

I don’t know if these images possessed enough dynamic range to really benefit from the incremental and nuanced tinkering I subjected them to. But I do like them, both for completely different reasons.

Thursday I put my pick-up into service. Todd found some old school lockers listed in the free-cycle website. We’ve been wanting some lockers at C4 so we can secure our stuff. The lockers were at a private school way up on the north side. When we arrived one of the staff came to help us carried it out. To my pleasant surprise it was local writer and filmmaker Deon van Rooyen. I don’t think I’d seen him in about a year. It’s a small town, and most all of us are enmeshed in interconnections, even if we don’t always know it.

Earlier in the day I enjoyed a nice leisurely lunch with Jorge Lopez. He talked about his upcoming film projects. I don’t know how many people caught his piece of flash fiction published by the San Antonio Current. I’m so jealous. Please, check it out:

http://www.sacurrent.com/arts/story.asp?id=70610

I was feeling a bit seedy, so after a putting in a bit of work at C4, I headed home to lounge around and get some reading done.

Just around dusk, Carlos Piña called. He was over at the Blue Star brew pub shooting a short scene for an upcoming webisode (this project is, I believe, how Carlos is releasing his sequel to his San Antonio punk rock vampire feature, “Blood Rivals.” I could hardly say no, because, a.) Carlos is a damn good friend, b.) Blue Star is only five blocks away, c.) he said he’d buy me a beer, and Blue Star makes a tasty stout, and, finally, d.) the actor he was working with is Gabe the Babe. They were all good reasons, but I really wanted to meet Gabe the Babe. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch his real name. Gabe the Babe is his wrestling moniker. Those who have seen the excellent short documentary–“Lucha,” directed by Justin Gallegos–that came out of the Film School of San Antonio, AKA, the media program at Harlandale High School, will probably remember the most charismatic wrestler who was interviewed. Gage the Babe’s schtick is that he considers himself to be a real sex god, even though he’s a bit chunky and somewhat goofy-looking. Cocky, narcissistic, and hilarious.

The weather had shifted dramatically. I was running the AC in my car this afternoon. But we were hit with a cold front, and it was pretty fucking chilly out on the Blue Star’s patio. Gabe proved to be a babe after all. A great guy who was very engaged by Carlos’ improve style. He was portraying a financially-strapped self-involved “playa” who shows up to a date only to be stood up. My favorite line was when he’s bitching to himself out loud and how this woman should never have screwed him over because he’s “gonna fucking blog about this, dammit!” And when Gabe said “LOL” I almost lost it.

I took some photos of both Gabe and Carlos.

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I’m getting sick of all these mother fucking mosquitoes! I have a big ol’ mosquito bite on my face. My face!

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A fellow artist is talking about applying for a travel grant to India. I might be able to tag along in a collaborative fashion, shooting video. That would be awesome. This means I need to get my passport renewed. The problem is, I can’t afford it. I can’t afford to pay my rent which will be due sometime this weekend. I need to learn to prioritize. But I also need to renew my passport…so I can get out of this reactionary country (not to say that India is a progressive wonderland, but it does promise to be radically different than, say, the Super Target at the Crossroads Mall).

Also, there is talk about bringing TED to San Antonio. These satellite TEDs are called TEDx, and I need to talk some with Jennifer Saylor, who was involved in the production of the TEDx in Asheville, NC. The folks who are talking about TEDx San Antonio want my input in regards the local art scene. Man, I know at least a dozen local folks who I have always thought should be at TED.

Don’t know TED? Check it out. The archived videos are addictive. And if you don’t enjoy learning from and being inspired by these brilliant individuals, well, I guess you just have no soul. Please report for disposal. I understands the Nova ovens are always running.

Perhaps my friends know me too well. When Veronica called me at ten-thirty Wednesday morning she apologized for waking me up. And I know my voice didn’t sound sleepy, because I made it a point to answer the phone 110 percent chipper and go-getter. But she knew my game.

She wanted to know if I could fill in for her because of a scheduling conflict. She’d agreed to give a presentation to a group of high schoolers about the San Antonio chapter of NALIP. I’m not sure if the other members of our film group know just how much work Veronica, our president, does to promote NALIP. And seeing how I had no plans other than sleeping, what else could I say but yes? The dog and pony show was scheduled for noon downtown at the Radius Center. This left me plenty of time for a few cups of coffee and reviewing the second half of a short story I hammered out the previous night. Even without sugar, the coffee was much sweeter than Tuesday night’s prose. Got some tightening to do there.

As I was backing my truck out of the drive, my neighbor Ray Santisteban, who was driving by, pulled over to the curb. (For those readers who aren’t plugged into the San Antonio film community, Ray’s one of our greater success stories. He’s a damn fine filmmaker who is guaranteed to win any grant or festival I try for.) He’d just turned in his Luminaria proposal, and wanted to know if I’d had a chance to look it over. I said I’d received it, but hadn’t yet read it. He gave me a quick pitch. It sounds pretty cool, and I’m looking forward to seeing the finished work. But I had kids to talk to downtown, so I got back in my truck and headed down St. Mary’s.

(As an aside, I’ll give a last minute Luminaria plea. All you San Antonio filmmakers who read my blog, get that ass in gear! The submission deadline is Oct. 31. It’s the simplest form, like, ever. Okay? And all I want it that little piece of paperwork. Things like work samples, well, we can wait on that. Get your foot in the damn door. This is a chance to have hundreds, maybe thousands, see your work. This sort of stuff looks great on a resume. Essentially you will be able to say (if accepted) that a film you proposed was accepted into a prestigious city-wide arts event. And here’s a little secret from me to you: we’re hungry for content, and this means you have a high chance of getting your work in. Also, there is the matter of the $200 artist honorarium. A pittance, to be sure, but money for filmmakers is a rare thing in this city. Get cracking, man! And if you have any questions, call me. What’s that you say? You don’t have my number. Damn. If you are a San Antonio film person and you don’t have my number on speed dial then you’re like, um, fuck, you’re like Mark Trail without a snake bite kit. Quick, right now, key this into your phone: my cell is 210-482-0273.)

Frank, who runs the day-to-day operations at the Radius, did a kick-ass job setting the place up for those students. They’re with the Kipp charter school on the upper west side. This was something like a career day for the kids, with an emphasis on technology. They’d already been to Rackspace and KLRN.

AV equipment had been set up. I went into the office which NALIP shares with a couple other arts non-profits and selected about 25 minutes of short films from the archives. When Martin, my contact with Kipp, was ready, I made with the chin music, you know, the balloon juice, and blathered generic platitudes about the wonders and thrills of a life in film and video production (making a point, of course, not to mention myself as an example–don’t want to scare the kids off). And then we watched some movies. Let’s see, we screened Emileigh Potter and Sergio Ramos’ great little documentary on one of this city’s preeminent contemporary artist, “Alex Rubio.” Emileigh and Sergio, high school students, made this at Say Si, an after-school arts program. Next was “El Gran Machin,” directed by Aaron Richmond-Havel. This came out of NESA’s cinema program–NESA is basically San Antonio’s performing arts program. Then we watched Ya’Ke Smith’s feel-good super-short piece, “Change.” This was followed by Eric Fonseca’s “Funeral March for a Marionette,” which I believe won best film at the San Antonio film festival. We closed with Jessica Torres’ pro-education PSA, “Escuela.” Jessica did this through the Jefferson high school media program, and it got her a nomination for a Texas Emmy. The kids–and there were about 45 of them–responded well to all the pieces. I hope we got a few of them hooked to want to make their own movies.

Afterward, while walking to my truck, I realized that I had feed more then enough coins in the meter, and I really should take a stroll down the new Museum Reach of the River Walk. It has been open to the public for months. So, seeing as I was standing on Lexington, the street where the River Walk used to end, I went ahead and took the steps down to the river. Now, I had my camera, so I was stopping pretty often to take photos, so this kept me moving fairly slow. The truth is, I didn’t make it all the way to where it ends…the Witte Museum, I believe.

At least I made it down to the stretch where Carlos Cortés’ wonderfully designed grotto can be found. Not only is the artist Carlos Cortés a great guy who does wonderful work, he’s also my neighbor. It’s been bugging me that this guy lives across the street from me, and I can’t even check out his newest and biggest piece of public art. Now I can hold my head high. I’ve seen it. I’ve loved it. I’ve photographed it.

Here are some photos of my Museum Reach excursion:

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My second Ray Santisteban encounter came mid afternoon. Having hiked along the river, I drove back to my neighborhood and stopped at the Pik-Nik convenience store on S. Presa so a mess of 60 cent tacos. I saw Ray’s SUV parked at the launderette next door. I decided against walking over to say hi. He’d probably think I was stalking him.

Back home I had my tacos and caught up on some TV, via Hulu.com.

And, eventually, I realized it was time for the monthly W-I-P (Works In Progress) at the Jump-Start Performance Company. I hoofed it the two blocks to the San Antonio River. And there he was again. Ray was out walking his dogs. He nodded to me, genially. But now I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m some weirdo monitoring his movements.

I crossed the river at the low-water crossing foot path and made it to the theater just as the doors to the performance space opened.

It was a nice night. Three works. We opened with Doyle Avant. He’s an amazing writer. Maybe the best in town. And he presents his work in monolog fashion. I hesitate to compare him to Spalding Gray, but, hell, why not. I love Spalding Gray. Not only is Doyle clearly an inspired and gifted writer, he is also a hell of a performer. He has an strong voice, an impeccable sense of timing, and incredible recall–I’ve seen him do these sorts of performances maybe four times, and he has never stumbled or stammered. He’s the real deal.

Next was Anna De Luna. Many people have seen her do comedy sketches with Marisela Barrera–and they are absolutely wonderful together–but, Anna, on her own, creates powerful and poignant personal work. I don’t know if she’s yet staged a serious one-woman show, but the work she presents at W-I-P gives us a hint how extraordinary an Anna De Luna one-woman show would be.

The final performance was the Push Pens, a one-off collaboration between Dino Foxx and Cros. This they gave us a melange of poetry, hip-hop, and narrative. The two forays into rapping still need some polish. The music was too loud and microphones were too hot. But these are just technical issues. They piece really shined when each did a heart-wrenching monologue. Great writing, and smart and nuanced acting.

I’m always amazed how few people show up for the monthly W-I-P. It’s only five bucks, and you get to see truly good work.

As I was walking out of the Jump-Start, I saw Deborah walking toward me. Her studio is in the same complex. She had just finished her Luminaria proposal and she assumed I would be at the W-I-P. She handed me the paperwork, and we took a seat on a bench over by the outside staircase and talked about where things were headed with our current projects.

So, I had a nice, perfect San Antonio day, played without a plan and without a clue.

The problem is, I’m flat broke, so I have to find a plan and put an end to this giddy and unfocused drift.

Who’s got a job for me? I’m serious. Clean your gutters? Walk your dog?

Damn, it’s freezing. The Oracle of the iPhone tells me it’s currently 57 degrees. And that’s too cold for me. It doesn’t help that’s it’s been coming down with rain most all today. I’m doing my best being proactive. I’ve turned the oven up to broil with the door open. And I’ve lit a full metric chingos of votive candles to give the illusion of heat.

I guess it’s been something of a productive day. This morning I met up with Ramon and Deborah at our favorite taqueria on Fredericksburg Road. The three of us hadn’t gotten together in more than two months. We caught up on one another’s projects. We shared crucial chisme from the art world. And we talked about our future ideas and potential collaborations. Just like old times.

Next, I headed to C4 to do some work. Well, not real work. I set my computer up at my desk and decided to write a short story. This was “Final Monday,” which means that the monthly free writer group would be meeting tonight at Gemini Ink, San Antonio’s premier literary organization, conveniently located about a block away from my office at C4. The problem was, I hadn’t managed to motivate myself over the weekend to write something new. That HAD been the plan. But it fizzled. So, I hunkered down this afternoon, and in about three hours came up with a concept and hammered out a little 1,200 word short story.

Here it is:

http://erikbosse.wordpress.com/2009/10/26/little-altars-out-the-passenger-window/

It was originally titled “Ghost Tracks,” but I realized, as I was posting it to my blog, that that was kinda lame. “Little Altars Out the Passenger Window,” seemed a bit more poetic. It’s loosely based on my work making a little video altar of roadside memorials last year titled “In Memoria / Wind.” I’d link to online video, but it looks like I never posted the piece. Anyway, I was shooting a little shrine beside the railroad tracks near Brackenridge High School when a woman, driving by, stopped to talk to me. The shrine was for her sister, who died on those tracks. I decided to move the action to the Ghost Tracks to open up the metaphor a bit. Maybe this story is worth some further polish.

When I read my piece at Gemini Ink, I found myself hitting that wall that always seems to be there. When I finish reading, there’s a bit of lingering silence, followed by generic comments (some which are even occasionally helpful). But no real statements to make me think I’m going down the right path. Sometimes I wonder how useful this process is. The truth is, I keep doing it because it forces me to produce. Also, there are often writers who read wonderful stuff. Actually, tonight was a good session. Enough people showed so that we were broken into two groups. All of the four other writers in my group delivered very strong work…and I’d like to think that my work was up to their caliber. I’m glad I was able to add my voice to a night of solid, impressive prose work.

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While I was printing up copies of my story at C4, Drew Mayer-Oakes dropped by. He said that the San Antonio Film Commission had been approached by someone who wanted to know if there was any office space in town to rent for post production work. I knew Drew had visited C4 before, but things at C4 are always in flux. I showed him the current configuration of the space and encouraged him to talk to Todd or at least send film editors in the direction of C4. Even if things seem, at first glance, not to be a good fit, I would like people to know that C4 Workspace is mutable, malleable, and as accommodating as a community space can be.

One of the things Drew said as I was showing him around was: “Back when I freelanced, I would have loved a place like this.” Something like that. And, truly, that’s why I’m renting space at C4. It’s a great place for freelancers, free-agents, and creative types who can work out of an office that fits in a rucksack.

Check it out, man:

http://www.c4workspace.com/

Speaking of Drew and the San Antonio Film Commission, I hope to see a packed room at the downtown library for the October Film Forum. It’s tomorrow (Tuesday) night. It’s free and the topic is screenwriting. Drop by at 6:30 to network. The program officially begins at 7pm.

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We just had a nice weekend for film events in this portion of Texas. The Austin Film Festival as well as the Sequin Film Festival. Both are excellent. But, as I was broke, I couldn’t even justify the gas to either event. Instead, Saturday, I rode my bike downtown for an al fresco screening of Murnau’s silent classic, “Nosferatu.” It was put on by Rick and Angela of Slab Cinema fame. Other than their Thursday night screenings in HemisFair Park, they have also been working with Marisela Barrera and the Main Plaza Conservancy to present the CineMundo monthly series of foreign films at Main Plaza. The music which accompanied Saturday’s screening was provided by Mombassa Code, and they gave us a free-jazzy score with occasional sound effects. The weather played in our favor. Cool, but not yet too chilly. A few mosquitoes, but that only added to the blood-sucking theme. In fact, there was a line I don’t recall from previous viewings. Hutter, our protagonist, wakes up after his first night at Count Orlok’s castle and he writes a letter to his wife back home. “I awoke this morning to two mosquito bites on my neck, strangely very close together.” Ha! How naive!

It seems late in the season, but I swear I saw two bats flit by overhead. How fitting.

“Trick or Tweet,” the 2007 48 Hour Film Project short from the iChingao! team screened before “Nosferatu.” Director Jessica Torres was in the audience with her parents. Pocha and Payan were also there. A nice cheap night in downtown San Antonio, surrounded by wonderful people.

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For those who’ve seen my short film, “Operation Hitman,” you’ve seen part of my neighborhood. The two houses shown in the opening scene belong to my next-door neighbors and the family who live across the street from them. Not only are they all excellent people and perfect neighbors, but they also kick ass during Halloween, often working with similar themes.

I woke up Sunday morning (well, maybe it was the afternoon), and as I was filling my coffee press pot with boiling water I glanced out my kitchen window. An enormous tipi had been constructed in front of the house where I’d shot “Operation Hitman.” Well, I had to take a picture. Sure, I could have shot it through my window or off my porch, but I needed to do something else. So, I put on a pair of pants, grabbed my camera, and walked outside. As I approached, Jerry greeted me. “How’s it going Erik!”

I lined up my camera for a good shot and replied in a loud voice:

“It looks like someone  tipi’ed your house last night.”

Yes, my stupid and inane pun went over well. I don’t often let fly with puns, maybe because my father used them so often. But I do like a good pun. I might not laugh, but I’ll almost always smile.

I understand that Dina and Bradley, across the steeet from Jerry, will be working on a cowboy motief. We’ll just have to wait and see.

It’s been a strange week with freaky weather. Tuesday I holed up, watching a bunch of Gloria Swanson silent films via the Netflix “view now” option. Man, she was a real master of low-key nuance. She could convey a whole series of internal events with just a couple of movements of her eyes. Interesting that such a sensitive and natural actor would enjoy working with such a stodgy director like DeMille who was a “big picture” man, figuratively a well as literally. I understand many actors hated him because he never gave them direction. But maybe Swanson enjoyed the freedom to insert her own interpretations. Clearly she was a strong personality, making intelligent decisions concerning her career even while in her teens. I get a sense she never put up with anyone’s bullshit, yet no one ever seemed to have called her an asshole.

Wednesday was more productive. I managed to wash a load of laundry and get it up on the line and back down during a sporadic break in the rain clouds. I also managed to sneak in a fifteen mile bike ride deep into the south side without encountering rain. But after that early afternoon period, all bets were off. It came down heavy now and again while I was at my desk at C4 sending out pleading requests for Luminaria film submissions, and also revamping my website. The skies, however, decided to smile on me as I drove to URBAN-15 for a Luminaria steering committee meeting. But once I made a break for the door–just as the meeting was nearing a close–the rains were hammering down. I was already running ten minutes late for a meeting with ST Shimi at Joe Blues over at Blue Star. As I scrambled through the URBAN-15 parking lot towards my truck I was pulling my jacket over my head to keep the soaking to a minimum. And that’s when my bike bag holding my laptop slipped off my shoulder. Shit. I picked it off the ground and ran to my truck. What should have been a four minute drive to Blue Star took quite bit longer. The rains had my visibility down to maybe fifty feet. The other cars on the road were crawling. By the time I hit the Blue Star complex the rain had stopped. But, dammit, the water, in the parking lot, was about ankle deep. I slogged quickly and made it to Joe Blues no worse off than any other submerged rodent. Perhaps I should have asked if they had some cocoa, but I’d recalled Russ raving about what a wonderful dirty martini they make. I got one of those. And Russ was quite correct. It warmed me up much better and much quicker than hot chocolate.

My plan is to do a short experimental film with ST Shimi hooping (dancing with a hula hoop) on the limestone blocks of the low-water crossing between the Blue Star Arts Complex and my neighborhood of Baja King William. Shimi seems down with it. And I hope Siggi Ragnar is still interested in bringing his expertise, aesthetic, and aerial camera into the mix. This project will serve several purposes. The two most important purposes to me will be: a.) a stand-alone experimental film, and, b.) a polished work-sample to accompany my future proposals for “River Quartet,” a larger project, for which I hope to find funding.

It was great spending some time talking with Shimi. Even though I’ve never really spent any time conversing with her, I have seen many of her dance and acting performances, as well as her work hosting the W-I-P, and other events at the Jump-Start Performance Company. Also, she’s a “friend” on Facebook, and we all have had those moments when we feel we know someone quite well who we have never spoken to. That Shimi’s smart and funny was no surprise; but I learned that she, like myself, has very clear opinions about much of the San Antonio arts and cultural scene based on her personal experience. She’s very plugged in. Anyway, I’m looking forward to working with her on this film, and I hope it leads to further projects, as I have always loved collaborating with massively intelligent and creative people.

Other than this river project, I also have, in the works, in the hopper, my Luminaria proposal. “The Confrontation Box.” I was playing with this idea last year, but I was overwhelmed by the paucity of my technical skills. I needed to hard-wire a proximity sensor to trigger a randomized digital video player which would play off a computer or DVR onto a monitor or a digital projector. However, I’ve scrapped some of the tech bullshit. The plan previous called for the audience (one at a time) to stick his or her head into this box and activate a TV screen of close-up video footage of an actor laying down some shit on you; in essence, confronting you with his or her ideas…perhaps concerning your shortcomings. Very intimate. You pull your head out–the sensor programs a reset. When the next person sticks in his or her head, a randomly selected clip begins the confrontations afresh and anew. So, this year, I’m making it damn simple. I’ve got a box. And in this box is a monitor, a DVD player, and speakers. You stick you head in. The video is on a loop. Twelve actors confronting you with six different scenarios–demanding, bitching, confronting, whatever–and the whole piece lasts maybe three or four minutes. The audience (taken one at a time) can peek in for this intimate experience for seconds or minutes. Leave when you’ve had enough abuse. And, even if you are enjoying the experience (you insignificant worm), please don’t stay beyond a single three minute loop. There are others waiting their turn. Or so I shall hope.

So, in the next week or two I will be contacting a dozen actors who I know can do an effortless job playing mean. I can only hope that Evie A. Armstrong is available. That woman can play a harridan and still have you fall in love with her. And, well, I know of others. You know, some of the quiet, closet bitches…and of course those who are more overt. This city’s acting community is fill of you guys and gals. Yeah, you’ll be hearing from me.

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It’s Friday night. The rains have given rise to hordes of mosquitoes. Some have managed to sneak into my house. And just when I gave a little yelp of satisfaction from having slain one of the little blood-suckers, I spied another in my peripheral vision as she slyly prospects her way towards some nether region of my ample, unguarded flesh. This is driving me nuts. I have neither bee-keeper suit nor can of Deep Woods Off. Dammit! These domestic mosquitoes have succeeded in chasing me out of the house…maybe this is a good thing; otherwise, I would have pissed the day away watching silent era adaptations of Jules Verne’s adventures on Netflix online.

But I got out there and took in a bike ride to Espada and back, dodging the thick mud-slicks which had flowed across the bike path from the recent monsoons. It was in the upper sixties, and that’s pretty damn chilly for me. I had a strong wind at my back for the ride out. That means the northern cold front is still pushing into town. I took a break behind Mission San Juan and walked along the levee. About a dozen snowy egrets were ambling about in the flood plain, poking about for things to eat. There were also three huge blue herons down there who were being more vocal and playful than I tend to expect from the species. They’d occasionally take wing (alone, or in groups of two or three) and make a large circle and land back at the shoreline, crying out with their nasal coughs. Quite a sight.

Back home, after a shower, I remembered what had chased me out earlier. Fucking mosquitos! I grabbed a coffee can full of coins that sits on my kitchen counter. I bid adieu to my mosquitos and headed to the HEB on Nogalitos, because I was pretty sure I’d seen a Coin Star machine near their self-serve pastry racks. I’d finally used up all my loose cash generated from the Fort Worth book show, and I was kind of afraid to look at my bank balance. And so I plundered my piggy bank. Not bad–my Café Bustelo can had been stuffed with over 47 dollars in change.

Now that I was flush, I made a pit stop at my neighborhood Pik Nik and order some 75 cent tacos. I went home and had my late lunch while answering a couple of lingering emails and making a phone call concerning a potential paying video gig (the only hint of such work in over a month).

It was getting dark and beginning to cool off, but the mosquitoes were not yet affected (below a certain temperature mosquitoes don’t feed, but that magic threshold hadn’t yet materialized). I got in my truck and drove to the Dollar General Store. I needed a couple of 9 volt batteries. I hate 9 volts. They are inexplicable expensive. And, even though I know they make rechargeable 9 volts (and I believe my little battery charger can accommodate them), I have never seen them for sale. (True, I could order online, but when I have the money, this never occurs to me.) The only reason I use 9 volts is because of my pair of wireless lavalieres. If I’m using both, that’s four batteries in all. Each lav has a transmitter and a receiver. I’m playing around with only one this weekend, so I’ll be okay with two batteries. When I walked into the Dollar Store I was all turned around. They’d rearranged the shop. The place was now stuffed. The aisles are too damn tight. And not just for fat bastards like me. I doubt the place could pass an inspection. Surely these new tightened aisles can’t be ADA compliant. But on a high-note, there’s a new young employee, and she has the coolest sea turtle tattoo on her upper arm.

Now I’m back home and the mosquitoes have bedded down for the night. All I have to do is make sure not to turn on the heat tonight.

Oh, right, I don’t have heat.

Damn. I’d better figure this out before I get too deep into November. Winter’s coming.

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In 2007 I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). It’s a silly grassroots approach to writing advocacy. The premise is that during November wanna-be writers can commit to hammering out 50,000 words. Yes, this is short for a novel, but it’s also a doable goal for people with honest bill-paying day jobs. Now, I have to display some serious chagrin in the admission that I was unable to make the 50,000 work goal two years ago. I had a nice novel concept. And I hope to finish it–maybe I’ll get back to it next year. I sort of stalled in my daily word count in the second week and wasn’t able to catch up…I think I managed about 28,000 words. And even though the manuscript shows promise, I haven’t added to in since.

I didn’t doing anything for 2008. I was too depressed watching a dear friend of mine fighting for his life, and this sort of creative stunt nonsense seemed beyond puerile.

This year, however, puerile doesn’t seem like such a dirty word.

I’m taking the NaNoWriMo challenge.

My project will be “Presumably the Remnant of an Ancient Infection,” a collection of interconnected short pieces which build to a cohesive whole.

I’ve been working, in a half-ass manner, for maybe six years on this project. I’ve placed over a dozen short pieces on my blog/website. And I’ve generated quite a few other unfinished works attached to this project. Added to that, my stalled 2007 NaNoWriMo project, “The Cucuy Club,” is part of that same universe.

My plan for November is to walk away from these hundred or more pages already written about this realm and start from scratch. Strap in and hammer out at least 50,000 words from this quasi-autobiographical surreal magical realistic slipstream universe. I mean, why not? It’s the San Antonio I live in every day of my life as it is. If I start fresh, there will be (I’m hoping) a tighter integrity of voice and narrative focus throughout the whole.

So, here’s hoping I don’t crap out (like 2007). I plan to be posting some highlights. And if any of you who’ve stumbled on my blog are planning to do NaNoWriMo this year, drop me a line.

Well, things are looking up. It looks like Ashley Lindstrom is back writing at the SA Current. Things had gotten pretty grim recently. The only reason I continued to look at our “alternative” paper is because of Greg Harman. I suspect that Ashley’s just picking some work for hire, but I have to admit a weakness for her writing. This isn’t the admission of a guilty pleasure, because I do admire her work. But the thing is, she’s ginning out the chick non-lit with no apologies. Bitching and biting, yeah, this comes out around the edges; yet the words still flow all sparkly and sweet like champagne poured over a strawberry smoothy.

Who else could reference a blow job in a review of the San Antonio Classic Theater’s presentation of Oliver Goldsmith’s “She Stoops to Conquer” and still float off into the pillowy clouds as inoffensive as a commercial for bathroom tissues? Well, I suspect I could, but, naw, it’d come out downright creepy. My challenge to Ms. Lindstrom is for her to find a way to slip the term “rim job” into a review of the up-coming production by the Magik Children’s Theatre of “If Your Give a Moose a Muffin.”

Let’s look at Ashley’s review of Mary Harder’s transvestite vampire film, “Donato, King of the Vampire Drags.” The title of the review? “There Won’t Be Blood.” Check it out:

http://www.sacurrent.com/film/review.asp?rid=13997

It’s a nice piece of writing. And contrary to one’s first impression, this is not a bad review. Well, not completely. I hazard that Mary can find some pull-quotes from the piece. Ashley remains buoyant and playful throughout this piece. I can only hope that someone like Ashley is around when my underground feature film, “The Halitosis Chauffeur’s Impacted Molar Is Removed,” gets a broader release.

Welcome back, Ashley! You’ve been missed.

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Friday night I headed over to the Radius Center for an inaugural mixer of a new San Antonio group, SAFAM (which stands for, I believe, the San Antonio Film and Arts Movement).

The folks running this are great. They are young and ingenuous idealists. As a local filmmaker in his forties said, “Oh, they’re so cute.”

The turnout was impressive. This may have had more to do with Veronica Hernandez, president of the local chapter of NALIP (SAFAM and NALIP both share offices at the Radius Center). That and the promise of free beer. When I first heard of SAFAM (via video clips on Facebook), I was dismissive. They placed Film in their name, but none of the members were known to me or any of the people in the local industry I’ve spoken with. But by the time their first event happened, they were surrounded with film folk. I suspect Veronica pushed this upon them. These wide-eyed youngsters who seem to have more of a business and music industry background, suddenly found themselves cheek to jowl with other local film organizations (who are actually doing what SAFAM claims they want to do): NALIP, TXMPA, CineVeliz, and San Antonio Filmworks Institute.

It looks like all sorts of shit’s going on in this city as far as film and video is concerned. And now we have another organization. But they, SAFAM, claim they are going to raise us all out of the muck. Who knows, maybe they will.

After the initial meet-and-great and networking period, we were all requested to move to the larger space to hear the SAFAM folks pitch their dream.

One of my favorite lines went something like this: “Most of you don’t know who we are. But that’s because we’re only 63 days old [or whatever length of time their organization has been around].”

“What the fuck,” I muttered sotto voce to a fellow filmmaker standing beside me who I’ve known for over five years. “We don’t know you guys because we have never fucking seen you before.” I mean this literally. The images of your faces have never passed through the lenses of our eyeballs and registered in our brains. The filmmakers and the artists in this city have no idea who you guys are. No fucking clue.

Later, as the SAFAM crowd suggested that everyone interested in buying a two dollar red rubber wristband should do so (so that we will be able to recognize one another if we cross paths in, say, Wal-Mart)–and hurry up, because all people with red SAFAM wristbands should stand under their SAFAM banner and point up with whichever arm sported the band. This was a clever marketing photo op. But all I could do was lean over to Joel Settles or was it Victor Payan, and ponder if “this is the way the Brownshirts started out?”

Keep an eye out for future SAFAM event. I suspect they will continue with the free beer motif (the sure-fire way to generate attendance in San Antonio). Also, if future SAFAM events attract the same caliber of cool people as last weekend, you can be sure to engage in interesting and productive conversations.

I know of several projects which were launched Saturday night, if for no other reason than it was a neutral context where film people could congregate and remind themselves that, “hey, I like a lot of these people, and I want to work with some of them.” Personally, I pulled a couple of people into a project I want to shoot in early November. So, thank you SAFAM. And who nows, I may well become a staunch supporter in the near future. But that bracelet idea, it’s creepy as fuck.

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Saturday night was the second and final night of the Renaissance Guild’s ActOne Series. This is their Vol. XIV of this program where original one act scripts are submitted from all over the world. Those which are selected are directed and acted by local talent, primarily those with a history of working with the Renaissance Guild, “San Antonio’s Premiere Black Theatre Company,” one of my favorite community groups. The ActOne Series happens two times a year, so I guess this means they’ve been doing this for seven years. The company itself is moving into its tenth year. I happened to find a seat next to Lee Hurtado and Nikki Young. Nikki’s been involved with the Renaissance Guild since the very early days, and she told me that the very first ActOne performance was staged at the Continental Cafe, and not at its current location, but across the street. The Renaissance Guild’s founders, Latrelle Bright, Danielle King and Paul Riddle, Jr., should be proud to have created such a strong and long-lived company and community. The audiences just seem to keep growing.

For maybe three or four years the RG made their home at Jump-Start Performance Company. This was certainly convenient to me, as it’s within walking distance. But their new home, at the Little Carver Civic Center (just behind the “big” Carver) is a very nice space. And I certainly can’t complain because it’s just a few minutes away by car.

There were eight plays. I knew four of the directors. They were all actors I had either worked with or whose performances I had enjoyed on many occasions.

My two favorite pieces were in the second half. “Finger Food” closed the night. It was a playful farce of a fork and a spoon forlornly waiting at a buffet restaurant, hoping to be chosen, yet seemingly antiquated in a world of finger foods.

The other standout piece was “Stuffed,” directed by Hector Machado. Hector’s a very talented actor, and I’ve had the great privilege of sharing a set with him. He’s also moved into writing and directing. He helped guide his two powerful actors to deliver some wonderful work in “Stuffed.” Charles Riley is amazing. Krystal as the spunky, bratty bitch of a child is a joy to watch. You don’t even mind when it becomes clear that she is doomed. I mean, really, you don’t take your mama’s beloved cat who you inadvertently killed to neighborhood taxidermist (a paroled psycho killer living in his mother’s garage) because “it’d be better to giver her a stuffed cat than no cat at all,” and not expect some black comedic karmic slap-down. Hector did a smart job giving this piece some heavy emotional weight.

The rest of the pieces ranged from good to dreadful (well, I think there were only two which were truly godawful).

I think what bothered me the most was that some of the pieces were just simply poorly written. I don’t know the size of the original pool of submitted work, but I’ll give the RG the benefit of the doubt and assume that what we saw was indeed the best of the submission pile. I hope they get better submitted work in the years to come.

However, each play had at least one or two strong elements, be it script, director, or acting. And we, the audience, are constantly reminded that many of these actors have never been on stage before. Some of the directors and writers are first-timers. Don’t forget that this is community theater. And maybe I’ll stop carping and bitching and go ahead and submit a one-act play to the next series.

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My little success Monday was to get my grant proposal into the Artist Foundation of San Antonio. Hey, look at me, I got it in nine and a half hours before the online deadline! So I treated myself to a late lunch at Tito’s with some cheese enchiladas. (Man, their prices keep going up and up–it might be time to walk away, even though the food’s so tasty….)

I’m confidant that my proposal is pretty strong. But all I need is someone like, I dunno, Mark Wally and Angela Guerra (AKA the Prime Eights) submitting a proposal and beating me…because, well, you know, they’re better filmmakers.

Whatever. It’s all out on the wind. Time to turn my attention elsewhere.

Last Saturday was a great day for art in San Antonio. There were two events in my part of town that caught me unawares. The first was the King William Garage Sale. (True, of little art-importance.) This is a neighborhood-wide opportunity for folks around here to tote their crap out onto the lawns and porches and flog it to the masses. I was wondering what all the racket was that woke me up at the ungodly hour of nine am. I peeked out the window and saw a yard sale across the street at Chip and Becky’s place. But it wasn’t until I was checking up on my Twitter feeds that I saw that Todd O’Neil was busy over at C4, opened for a half day to get some soundproofing done and also to provide something of an open house for the swarms of bargain-hunting pedestrians out for the King William garage sale. I guess I should read those neighborhood newsletters instead of just using them to wrap my coffee grounds.

Another event was Chalk It Up, an annual art show put on by ArtPace where artists create work on downtown sidewalks in chalk. I always miss this. I suppose I could have headed out when I learned about it, but I didn’t have it in me. How did I learn about it? Twitter. So all you Twitter haters, my recommendation is to choose who you follow. Sam Lerma clued me in about Chalk It Up whilst he was out shooting video for whatever TV station he works for. (Does anyone even own a TV anymore?) In another plug for Social Media, I was able to see a few images from Chalk It Up via the Facebook page of my neighbor, Marlys Dietrick. She’s a kick-ass artist who took part for the first time this year in Chalk It Up. Cool stuff.

My initial goal for the day was to head out to the Alamo Drafthouse for the matinee screenings of the SAL Film Festival. After pausing in the drive-through at Eddie’s Taco House, I drove out to the Alamo Drafthouse. I’m glad to see that Liz Burt is still managing the place. Every event I’ve been to while she’s headed the place has run smoothly and all the employees seem enthusiastic to be working there. Liz greeted me and mentioned that she hadn’t seen me in quite a while. She’s right. They need to move that theater closer to downtown, closer to the pulse of San Antonio art and culture. And am I crazy in thinking that those “W” logos all over the place are new. Yes, I know the theater is in the Westlake Shopping Center. But those capital dubyas are clearly the George W. Bush font. This, of course, reinforces my paranoid suspicion that the sweet juicy pulp of urban San Antonio is surrounded by a desiccated rind populated by soulless reactionaries, who may well be shape-shifting reptiles from Epsilon Eridani IV here to harvest our pancreatic hormones … but, again, that’s just speculation.

My favorite piece from SAL was “Journey of the Opportunist” by Angela Guerra and Mark Walley (AKA, the Prime Eights). It’s a beautiful and moving work of art. It has retro sensibilities right out of the early seventies, yet the work is still fresh and contemporary. It’s a wonderful achievement.

Other stand-outs were, of course, Sam Lerma’s perfect “Trash Day,” and AJ Garces’ lush “Death Rattle.” My only complaint with “Death Rattle” is that the script needed to have been seriously work-shopped. There are a couple of lines from the young protagonist that ring false. Those I suppose I could have lived with, but it’s the voice-over narration which is most problematic. And if AJ wants to put some more work into the piece, I’d suggest he get an older actor to provide this important information. This device worked wonderfully in the film adaption of Jean Shepherd’s “A Christmas Story,” where the author, himself, narrates the point of view of little Ralphie Parker from years in the future. All that aside, AJ has created, with “Death Rattle,” the strongest work to have come out of San Antonio from a filmmaker who makes this city his home. Well, in my opinion. But it’s the one that really counts, right?

Here’s a picture of filmamker AJ Garces (top prize winner of SAL) with Dar and Andy Miller, of the SAL Film Festival.

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Hey, speaking of local film-making, I just found this ad on Craig’s List under the San Antonio tv/video/radio jobs section:

“I need a producer for a documentary that was shot 12 years ago. I basically followed two homeless vets around Austin for a year while in film school there. Here are the requirements—-I need a REAL producer…that means you have the $$$ to have the post-production done (with the music of my choice) and the distribution. This is a rewarding opportunity I guarantee you. If anything comes out of this…I promise you will reap the benefits. San Antonio Hacks, rich kids whose mommy and daddy bought them video equipment, and 21 year olds who think they know it all because they’ve seen Pulp Fiction 100 times need NOT apply. This is a serious project about a serious subject matter. Also….it would help if you are politically conservative because I usually don’t get along with lefties. If interested…let me know.”

I’d planned on writing something snide and snarky about Alfonso Emiliano and his recent histrionics, but the above is much sweeter clover for me to roll around in.

I do believe I know this gent above who is seeking a producer. His name is James, as I recall. Nice enough fellow, for a rightie. Some years back he spoke to me about this project. Seems he made a huge mistake. He cut his short documentary to the music of a Merle Haggard song, and those bastards at the record company wanted thousands, maybe tens of thousands of dollars to give him rights. All I can say is, dude, 12 years later and you can’t cut your original footage to different music? Wow! Here’s my recommendation, in three words: Create New Work!

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After SAL I drove home and caught up on some work. As 6pm approached, I headed to the west-side, to the Guadalupe Avenida. La Gloria had finally arrived.

El Noche de la Gloria, the brain child of CALO (headed by Gabriel Velasquez) was created to be something of the west-side’s answer to Luminaria.

La Gloria, year one, kicked ass! I dearly hope this becomes an established annual event.

It was a west-side arts block party, and the most fun I’ve had in months!

It was quite an event.

Drumming and dancing by URBAN-15.

There was the Pop Yo Trunk area where artists could display and sell their stuff out of the backs of lowriders, SUVs, and even a couple of ice cream trucks.

Pop Yo Trunk, that’s where you could hang out with Monessa Esquivel and Annele Spector. They were handing out postcards for an upcoming Methane Sisters show, June 2010. I’m marking my calendar. (I like Monessa’s PoP Yo Trunk shirt–the cutest grease monkey on Guadalupe Street.)

There was an insanly popular fashion show.

Celebrities of tomorrow.

Celebrity vinyl venders

Performance art.

Music, poetry, and on and on.

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Tuesday night I walked over to the Blue Star Contemporary Arts Center to attend The Colloquium. This was the third iteration of the artist forum presented by Leslie Raymond and Jason Stevens (the couple who are also known as Potter-Belmar Labs). The idea is to invite a brace of artists–each speaks (with visual presentation) for 13 minutes. At the end, there is a seven minute session for audience Q&A. It struck me as similar to the TED Talks.

For this, Colloquium III, we had Marilyn Lanfear, Rex Hausmann, Stuart Allen, Franklin Bryson Brooks & Sarah Jones, and Beto Gonzalez. It was a wonderful series of presentations. I only knew two of the presenting artists (Marilyn and Rex), but the entirety of the work was so diverse and the artists all so genuine and articulate that I was happy to have the opportunity to learn about new artist whose works I will gladly follow.

I hope Leslie and Jason keep this program going. It’s a wonderful environment to get to know local artists.

Hell, it made me aware of Stuart Allen. He’s way cool. And if you love or hate or are indifferent to internet porn, then each and every one of you need to be check out: http://pixlporn.com/index.html

And for those who roll their eyes at work so conceptually fomented (meaning pixlporn), check out the quasi folk art of Marilyn Lanfear. I think she’s a fucking genius. http://marilynlanfear.com/