I’m going through some sort of clumsy phase and there seems every reason to warn folks to avoid my proximity.  However, if you’re looking for me, you can doubtlessly track me down by the trail of blood.  A couple of days back, while cutting up some mangos for a fruit salad, I realized I’d nipped off a hunk of myself from the side of my thumb.  And yesterday, as I was emptying out my laundry basket to sort my clean clothes, I sliced open another region of the same thumb with a razor-sharp protuberance of wicker.  My momma never warned me ’bout this!  So, I guess it’s a good thing that yesterday I wasn’t setting off Jumbo Magnum Poppers, Tijuana Tremors, Howling Hornets, or even the lowly sparkler … or else this sad, lacerated thumb would be little more than a charred stump.

I kept a fairly low profile during the 4th, though I did head over to the Blue Star Art Complex to take in a few shows at some of the galleries.

There was a person wandering around the parking lot in a giant inflatable red suit.  Very festive.  The piece was by Jimmy Kuehnle, I believe.  Perhaps that was him inside.  You could hear the chugging compressor in there with him to keep the thing pumped up.  It must have been pretty hot and sticky surrounded by all that plastic.

Estevan Arredondo, one of the Creative Capital alumna, had a solo show at the REM Gallery.  Playful, abstracts shapes — rather organic.  Sort of two dimensional amoebas.

Cruz Ortiz had some sort of puffy taco show at the Three Walls Gallery.  The Puffy Taco Plate Company, was the name of the show.  There were simple iconic signs.  And a catapult stood in the middle of the space.  Did if I arrived too late for some puffy tacos?  I do know that I missed objects being flung against a wall by the catapult. Could those objects have been Puffy Tacos?

The big show at the main gallery was one of the reasons I went last night.  It’s been hyped for months.  David Rubin, the contemporary arts curator over at the San Antonio Museum of Art put this show together.  There were some strong local work.  However, I was absolutely dumbfounded by the transparent vapidness of a few of the pieces.  The truth is, Rubin has only been in San Antonio since 2006 — give him a few more years and he’ll surely encounter a wider range of local artists.

I was pleased to see Luis Valderas’ excellent video piece he projected in front of the Alamo for the Luminaria Arts Night earlier in the year.  There was also huge, stunning photo by Ansen Seale, using a camera he created that uses some sort of pixel-tracking technology that allows moving images to appear still, while still images appear in motion.  That’s a bad paraphrase of how he described it.  His photos are fascinating, beautiful creations.

I was grooving to George and Catherine Cisneros’ installation that was one part vertigo and three parts nostalgia (I need to go back and enjoy it more without the noisy crowds — the important audio component was sadly drowned out last night) … anyway, I was pulled from a slight hypnotic trance by the applause from the next room over.  It was for some dancers from the Modacolab Dance Company.  I rounded the corner just as Amber Ortega-Perez was hurrying by.  I asked if there were any more dance performances.  She said there was one more, a piece she choreographer.  I followed the crowd to the far side of the gallery and watched the final dance piece of the night.  Very well done.

All in all, a great show.  It’s up through August 17th.  Make sure you visit the last gallery room to see a separate solo show of Alex Rubio’s fiercely colorful paintings — his stuff helps to wash away some of the more precious trifles of the larger group show.

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Earlier in the afternoon I met with Patty Delgado, a writer for the San Antonio Current.  Actually, she’s an intern, working during her summer break from NYU.  She’s managed to muscle her way into writing — no making coffee and reloading electric staplers for her.  What is it about the San Antonio Current lately?  It’s being taken over by very young, super-cute, brainy women.  (This is, indeed, a good thing, as I’d rather Ashley Lindstrom tell me how she made a Betty Crocker berries-and-cream pie than to be subjected to another of Ron Bechtol’s gassy and elevated excursions wherein he places himself center stage amongst the shitaki and calamari set.)

If you’ve picked up the current Current (the “summer guide” edition), you’ve already seen Patty.  She’s the model on the cover, holding a vente copy of Mao and a big wedge of watermelon.  We talked about the Josiah Youth Media Festival.  I gave her some contact info for a few of the local teen filmmakers whose works will be screened this coming Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.  And god knows what nonsense of mine was picked up by her recording device.  I guess I’ll have to wait until Wednesday to see if I come off like an ass.

There’s a gallery reception you’ll not want to miss. Friday, July 18. 6-8 p.m. Head over to Centro Cultural Aztlan on Fredericksburg Road. I’ve a piece in a group show with a shitload of great artists.

My piece is a video installation on roadside shrines, often referred at as descansos.

Come check it out. It will be the one surrounded by work from much more accomplished folks, such as Terry Ybanez, Joe Lopez, Luis Valders, Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, Alejandra Gomez, David Zamora Casas, and on and on.

I’m currently seeking donations for the Josiah Youth Media Festival. I decided we needed a banner to promote the event. It will be hanging in the King William district at S. Alamo and Sheridan next week. Because there was no more money left in the budget, I explained I’d have no problems raising the $500. Well, um, we’ll see.

So, if you see me in the next few weeks, don’t be surprised if I pull out a little receipt book and beg a five dollar donation from you.

You can also donate via PayPal. There’s a button on my website.

www.eyewashpictures.com

And feel free to give more than $5. Email me, and I’ll send you a receipt suitable for the IRS. It’s tax deductible!

Thursday I headed out for a long leisurely twenty mile bike ride to Mission Espada and back. At the halfway point on my return, I realized I had broken a spoke. Damn. The third time in two weeks. No doubt because I’m too fat. But the truth is, I’ve lost 20 pounds in the last month and a half. I headed home slowly, trying to ignore the minor wobble. When I dropped it off at the bike shop, the owner muttered that it might be a factory flaw — he’d try and get a new wheel under the warranty. So, instead of waiting a day or two for a repair, now I have to wait for an indeterminate period for a replacement.

Could have at least given me a loaner.

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I’ve been hunting for roadside shrines, those memorials which mark a fatal accident. I’ve a little video project planned for the Contemporary Art Month group show at the Centro Cultural Aztlan. Opening, I believe, July 18. It’ll be about a minute and a half piece on a loop. Nine shrines will be arranged on a grid. I shot six over the weekend. I know where two others are. And George Cisneros gave me directions for about four he knows of on the westside. I’ll try and get them soon.

The ones I took care of Saturday are all on my various southside bike routes. One is just past Mission Espada on Villamain, where the road curves and crosses the railroad tracks. This is the location of the fabled Ghost Tracks.

A quick overview. At some date in the past (never specified) a school bus broke down on the tracks and a train slammed into it, killing all the kids. So, nowadays, people park their cars on the tracks, kill the engine, put it in neutral, and they wait. Eventually the car mysteriously begins to roll off the tracks. Seemingly uphill! And if you dust the back of the car with talcum powder ahead of time, you can see the handprints of the spirit children who pushed the car safely off the tracks. Forget that no one can find newspaper records of a tragic school bus accident, or that the hill is an optical illusion that actually slants downwards, or that all that the talcum powder does is to reveal the latent handprints from every time you shut your trunk. Check, check, and triple check. All forgotten. Let’s buy some baby powder and head down to the Ghost Tracks!

It’s the weekend, and summer, so all the tourists and ghosts hunters and giddy teens were creating a logjam at the curve where the road crosses the tracks. I must have seemed quite the fool, what with my video camera facing the wrong direction. And as I rolled off two minutes of a tinsel Christmas wreath attached to a tree with a rosary and crucifix dangling in the center (the site of a true tragedy), I turned around and watched a young couple cover the trunk and back bumper of their Nissan with an entire plastic bottle of Johnson Baby Powder. They then drove across the tracks, made a u-turn and came back around, coming to a halt on the tracks. They shut off the engine and waited.

As I loaded my camera back into my truck, I noticed that they hadn’t moved. In fact, they were having to wave cars around them. Nothing was going to queer their experiment in spiritualism. I took a picture of them, there, waiting on the tracks, and I headed off in search of more roadside memorials.

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My last stop of the day was near my house. There’s a little spur of Roosevelt Avenue that crosses the Union Pacific tracks near Brackenridge High School. It’s a quiet neighborhood tucked between the busier streets of S. Presa and S.St. Marys. Quiet, except when the train thunders by.

There are crosses and wreaths attached to a fence. The shrine is well-tended.

As I was adjusting my tripod, a woman about thirty got out of a pickup and walked over to see what I was up to.

I explained I was working on an art project. That seemed to satisfy her. She explained that the crosses and wreaths were for her sister.

“See that big white house,” he said, pointing to the south. “My mom lives in the house behind it. She gets upset if anyone messes with this.” And older man — her father, I assumed — got out of the truck but the woman just waved he off. “Come back next week. We’ll have all new wreathes.” She nodded and headed back to the truck.

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I finally made it to Second Saturday. It’s something of a response to First Friday over at the South Flores neighborhood where several galleries are clustered around Joe Lopez’s Gallista Gallery and the building at 1906 S. Flores across the street.

I’d previously visited Flight Gallery and Salon Mijangos at 1906, but for some reason had never stopped off at Gallista.

Joe said the coffee shop (Cafe Gallo) was not currently in operation. It’s sad to see these little coffee houses disappear — like Jupiter Java apparently gone for good).

I’ve seen Xavier Garza’s work before. He has a whole room of his Lucha Libre paintings. Also this wall of iconic TV pop images framed onto little wooden TV sets, complete with rabbit ears and channel dials.

Check out his page on the Gallista Gallery site.

http://www.gallista.com/garza/

I also enjoyed the work of LA David. I’ve heard his name mentioned for some time, but had never seen his work or met the man. His studio / gallery is in a building behind the main building of Gallista. Last Saturday the place was lit by red Christmas tree lights. His colorful comic book style paintings were all weirdly color-shifted by the red light, which only made the work more psychedelic. I had to take his picture. As much as I love his art work, it helps to put it all in context of the man’s look. This is classic Chicano bohemian artist.

Central casting couldn’t do any better. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible.

Last week I walked over to Blue Star to take in a few shows during First Friday. Two of the artists I attended the Creative Capital retreat were showing work in galleries over in building c … or is that building b?

Rhonda Kuhlman was showing several colorful fiber pieces at Three Walls. Strips of fabric (from, I believe t-shirts) were woven together and stretched on a frame. It’s in keeping with Rhonda’s interest in using recycled items in her art and craft works. I’m looking forward to Rhonda’s show next month (July 18th) at her home / studio, RC Gallery. The web site promises “recycled work” and “funky folk art.” I was very impressed by the variety and general fresh quirkiness of her work she showed during her Creative Capital presentation. Here she is Friday, making love to the camera.

Next door in the Cactus Bra Space (run by Creative Capital alumnus Leigh Anne Lester) Julia Barbosa Landois was in a plexiglas reliquary coffin. The performance piece / installation was titled Veiled in Flesh. All very Catholic, with votive candles burning and a woman wandering around who would occasionally spritz into the air from an aerosol can of good luck incense. Apparently there were two or three mice in the plastic box along with Julia (which, along with the incredible heat inside the air conditioning-free building, added an unintentional David Blaine element to the whole tableaux). I quite liked Julia’s piece. It was made more striking by the long line of people waiting to get in to take a look, muttering in puzzlement to one another: “What do you suppose we’re in line for?” “Dunno, but it must be pretty good.”

There was also another nice show upstairs in Felipe’s space, Arte Reyes. Stella Marroquin, Alejandra Gomez, and Carolina Flores. I this photo of a woman photographing a man photographing her, we can see 4 way cool paintings by Gomez.

It’s been over two weeks since I last added to this blog. I know this because when I clicked over to my Flicker account to post new photos, it wanted me to put in my password. And as the default setting is to remember the info for “up to two weeks,” well, I found myself wondering, what the hell have I been up to for two weeks or more?

Mainly I’ve been working on shooting video with Russ of the Northwest Vista recreation of Anna Sokolow’s dance piece, Frida. Last weekend was the end of it all. Well, for us. Jayne and some of her students headed off to Mexico City for a week to work with dance students down there.

Last week I shot for footage of the students doing the piece for the dance department at Texas State University in San Marcos. The administration has done wonders in their fight to protect the students by placing these signs in the restroom. I’ve never seen the instructions on how to wash one’s hands given such earnest poetry.

Here we see Chucho, the pinata perched on the railing. I loaned it for the local performances. Carlos picked Chucho up from a Mexican border town for me a few years back — I needed a pinata prop for a film I never shot. Of course, he wasn’t Chucho back them. Nope. One of the dancers named him.

My last time with the group of kids was for the performance at the Guadalupe last Saturday.

And the weekend before that, was the final shoot date for Sam Lerma’s series of promos for the SAL Film Festival — a trilogy, plus one.

Saturday we shot in the Nightmare on Grayson Street haunted house. Gordon, who runs the place, helped out with a huge artificial scar, which luckily didn’t melt. The place is a huge warehouse with no air-conditioning. “Get those lights in closer to the actors!”

Two more locations on Sunday, and it was a wrap. Some of the more surreal moments during the shoot involved the movie-within-the-movie. The actors were supposed to be making a low budget action film, Organ Trail, (like so many other ill-advised local productions). Sam actually had the actors using real equipment to shoot the film they were “pretending” to make. And the wonderful thing was that even when OUR camera wasn’t running (and by that I mean, Russ’ camera), they shot their scenes still in character. Araceli was yelling in Spanish and groaning under the weight of her pretend pregnancy, Stephen was sneaking nips from his flask, and JJ was elbowing his way in to adjust the lighting.

I had to shoot this picture of the two film crews. Looks like they’re ready to rumble. Hard to spot the real one, eh?

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I’ve been fighting technology. I’d like to set up my web-page with a WordPress template. But I can’t figure out the FTP bullshit. Part of the problem is that all of the useful free software wants me to have a more current operating system … which isn’t free.

Yesterday I began the slow progress of migrating away from the Mac.com account I’ve had for as long as I’ve had this computer. Six or seven years??? It’s a hundred bucks a year and really gives me nothing I can’t wrangle free from other corners of the www. Anyway, so as I was moving info from the mac email to my gmail account, I realized that I’d been getting email to my gmail. And not just spam. Probably connected to my blog on LiveJournal. And that’s how I discovered a few photos of me on Jennifer’s Flicker page — a slideshow for her birthday way back in March. She put in photos of friends who couldn’t make the festivities. Even folks she’s never met before. Like me. How sweet. I guess I should check all my email accounts. Problem is, I’ve lost track of some of them.

It’s all about consolidating all my disparate web pages into one or two sites.

I have my central website. It has links to different sorts of stuff I’ve created, spread over: MySpace, LiveJournal, WordPress, Blogger, my Mac.com homepage, Flicker, Photobucket, YouTube, Blip.tv…. And who knows what I’ve forgotten?

So, I’m slowly moving all my blog entries from LiveJournal to WordPress. WordPress is where I used to exclusively keep my fiction. And it’s been the most stable and innovative of the blogging platforms I’ve used. Time to cram everything on to it. And then shut most all the other stuff down.

So, readers, get used to setting your RSS readers or bookmarks to:

http://erikbosse.wordpress.com/