That I’m from blue collar stock seems a disingenuous claim when I explain to people that I graduated from a private high school (Walden Preparatory School) and that I attended a year at SMU (an outrageously expensive college) as well as an additional year, through the SMU study-abroad program, in England.

The fact is when I was fucking up in high school, my mother’s aunt paid may way into a private school for over-privileged fuck-ups. I certainly was a fuck-up. But my parents were scraping by for a living. And when my great aunt dipped into her savings to help me out, it wasn’t from some huge reserve gathered from a life financially well lived. Nope. My great aunt Lillian ran a hat shop over on the unfashionable west side of Dallas. However, she was a classic frontier woman who took no shit from anyone. She remembered coming to Texas from Oklahoma with her folks in a covered wagon. And, in her twenties, she drove with a woman friend from Texas to Alaska, because she’d always wanted to see that part of the world. I guess that would have been in the 1930s. That’s a hell of a road trip, even now. She was a pretty interesting woman. And when she offered her meager savings to help me out, I felt very humbled and ashamed. But I was able to purchase my high school diploma. In fact, I was able to graduate a year early.

Some years later I attend SMU. There was an uncle, on my mother’s side of the family. Uncle Adolphus. He had set up a family scholarship in the SMU school of Theology. Once I realized I did not have to study theology, I signed up at SMU. I was the poor boy at that party for a couple of years until the scholarship money ran out.

A decade and a half went by. I wanted to complete my undergraduate degree. My mother’s sister offered to hep me out. And so I applied to UTA (University of Texas at Arlington). My application was accompanied by transcripts from six previous institutions of higher learning. I had been taking scraps of education here and there over the years.

In 2003, at the gnarly age of 40, I finally received my undergraduate degree.

All my educational achievements could never have been realized without family resources. My parents were never rich. Nor were their parents. But it used to be that education was affordable. And it used to be that a life’s work was a clear way to generate the sort of savings one could easily call moderate wealth.

It is important for us all to understand that much of our successes in life are because people who cared, helped us. Very few folks “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.” This is a myth, and one mostly favored by the rich when they are tweaking their own personal narratives. The implication being: “What can’t the poor get it together? Jeeze!”

It’s so clear to me that the aid which has been given to me by my family no longer can be generated by the lower middle class.

Think about it. A woman who ran a hat shop–a fucking hat shop!–was able to amass enough savings to own property, plan for her retirement, and yet still have funds left over to help out a fucked up imbecile great nephew. Who can envision something like happening in this day and age?

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The above is a preface to the fact that a caring relative gifted me with a new truck, once she learned that my old one was suffering problems which I wasn’t able to afford to fix. I would have preferred that she’d just given me the money to fix the old truck. It’s still serviceable. But I’ve learned that it’s foolish (rude even–or so I tell myself) for one to dictate the terms of a large and altruistic gift.

So, to swallow the pride…. I gotta fucking new truck!

I dropped by C4 Workspace in the evening last week. I’d planned to capture some video on a project I’ve set too long on the back burner. The problem was there was a table read underway for a theater piece. It was an, um, musical. My utter contempt for musical theater is no secret. This is an adaptation from a locally produced kitschy, intentionally bad feature film. No huge surprise that some would see it as ripe for morphing into a kitschy, intentionally bad musical. Now don’t get me wrong. I think it will be a huge success. People will indeed turn out and watch it. Most likely they will love it. But then again, people are imbeciles. Broad cornball comedy where the bulk of expository dialog is conveyed via the singsong delivery of bad puns, the wiggling of eyebrows, and the slapping of thighs, is, in my opinion, a tiresome waste of time. Just because the low budget productions (stage and film) of Rocky Horror and Hedwig can amaze and amuse is no reason to assume it’s a simple game to play.

After the eighth tedious rhyming couplet wafted into my distant corner of the C4 space, I had to pack it up and get the fuck outta there.

It’s odd, but as I seem to lack both the musical theater gene as well as the sport gene, I seem to exist in a no-man’s land of no men, neither fancy boy nor he-man.

I should point out that I do have a soft spot for a few musicals. In fact the two mentioned above I find enjoyable enough to have seen multiple times. And then there is American Astronaut, which I still haven’t seen all the way through. Only a few clips on YouTube. What I’ve seen is a perfect interdisciplinary multi-genera mash-up. It’s a punk rock interplanetary western. I can groove on that.

The Billy Nayer Show, a punk band fronted by Cory McAbee, is at the heart of American Astronaut. I’m listening to this great song right now off their more recent film, Stingray Sam. It’s a great pop song. Even the truncated and flatly recorded live version here rocks all manner of awesome.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=833X4reI96k&feature=youtube_gdata

So, unless you’re some genius autoharp-playing post punk rocker and filmmaker, give it some thought before subjecting humanity to another god damn musical.

I find it inexplicable that when a filmmaker has access to 2.2 million dollars he or she thinks that what the project really needs is to be shot in 3D. And, conversely, it seems that when a filmmaker who only has access to a budget of, um, say, 2.2 dollars, he or she snaps to attention and shouts out: “I know, let’s make a musical!”

A pox upon the both.

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The other week I helped Deborah move a couple of her lights from her studio to the mansion in my neighborhood where she’s been house-sitting. She had a photo shoot planned for an art project. She wanted to do the shoot in the house instead of her studio at Blue Star. Her studio and her temporary mansion home are maybe six blocks from one another. But her car is dead. And the lights also come with stands. And, besides, I can never say no to her.

After we unloaded the lights, she invited me in for a meal. Late lunch, or maybe early dinner. Deborah heated up some lentil soup and pulled a leftover salad from the refrigerator.

When we were cleaning up, I happened to peek out the kitchen window.

“Hey,” I said. “There’s a girl taking her clothes off across the river.”

Deborah dried her hands and came over to look.

I can’t recall how many times I’ve happened to see young willowy women unconsciously undressing in public for some sort of fashion (or, perhaps, “fashion”) shoot. I assume it’s because I tend to live in urban, arty areas. This is one of the reasons I like professional models and performers…I find their lack of self-consciousness a very liberating and beautiful thing to witness.

Deborah, who’s almost as big a voyeur as me, stationed herself beside me. We soon fell into critiquing the photographer who, from our point of view, was shooting some damn lame images.

Next Deborah fixed some coffee and we headed out to the side porch. And as we talked about this and that, we occasionally looked out to see what was happening with the fashion shoot.

It just seemed rather boring and uninspired.

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The counterpoint to watching some half-assed photog making a mess of things on the right bank of the San Antonio River was brought to me the following day. Deborah’s own photo shoot went quite well. She showed me some of the images she took of a beautiful young tattooed woman (tattoos being a current theme in her portrait work). The images were beautiful, moving, and just so damn breathtakingly subtle in their eroticism.

In Deborah’s work the model is almost totally nude. She’s on the left bank of the same stretch of river that the previous day’s hack photographer was working. This is art; this is beautiful; this is good. In short, Deborah’s images are the sorts of images one would expect from an artist shooting a model who is presented as both vulnerable yet comfortable in nature.

Deborah Keller-Rihn is creating a new and very strong body of work.

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Later that day I had my own shoot. Artist Suchil Coffman-Guerra wanted me to help put together a video presentation of her most recent version of her installation / performance piece, Retro Kitchen Goddess.

Suchil showed up in a U-Haul around 1:30 in the afternoon. It was bad timing. The city has been tearing up the street in front of C4 Workspace. It’s a fucking mess. But, coincidentally, Suchil knew one of the contractors working on the historical house next door. She was able to slip her rental truck inside the construction zone, and we quickly unloaded.

While Suchil was setting up her art work in front of a neutral wall, I headed over to Deborah’s place to pick up a couple of lights. I also roped Deborah into coming and helping me out.

I had another helper. Rod Guajardo, a local filmmaker whose web presence I’ve been following for maybe nine or ten months.

Rod had made a comment on FaceBook (or maybe he sent me an email–I can’t remember). He’s seen that my shoot with Suchil was listed on the C4 calendar. If I wanted help, he was offering it.

Now Rod is, as best I can figure, a filmmaker, yet in the sense of a hobbyist. Having said that, I should point out that he’s better than most folks in town who call themselves professional filmmakers. He has embraced the new paradigm of DSLR filmmaking. He has a great eye, a clear sense of rhythm, and clearly a of love of experimenting with the media. His blog is a must for DSLR filmmakers.

http://foursandyfeet.com/

Rod’s a very gracious guy, thanking me for letting him come on set. He wanted me to know that he welcomed the chance to learn from me. But, really, I want the opportunity to learn from him. He does damn fine work. I hope to wrangle a PA position on his next production.

For Suchil’s presentation, I decided to use my DVX. The problem came with the lighting. I do believe a couple of soft boxes might have given me what I needed. But that wasn’t an option. Probably I should have staged Suchil’s pieces about ten feet away from the wall. But, because the cement slab of C4 is all wonky, it would have thrown the three major pieces into strange angles. Therefore, we were stuck with setting the pieces against the wall, and thus forced to deal with the shadows thrown by our lights.

Ultimately, Suchil’s way-cool art coupled with actress Rebecca Coffey’s amazing performances pushed the questionable production values somewhat to the back burner.

Before I get to Rebecca, I should explain Suchil’s installation. And please keep in mind that my interpretation is my own.

There were three major pieces. A refrigerator. And two kitchen counter tops. They are full sized. And best of all, they are damn light, as they are constructed of fabric over wooden frames. There are domestic items such as a blender, an electric mixer, and an ironing board. All these are embellished with crafty elements such as cloth, sequins, bows, yarn, etc.

Neither words nor pictures do it justice. Trust me here–it’s really fucking cool.

And then we have Rebecca. She’s an actress I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. She’s connected with the Overtime Theater. And though I’m sure she’s a powerhouse with the more traditional method of working with a memorized script, I have to say that as an improvisational artist she is phenomenal! (In fact, the Rebecca’s of the world is why I hate ensemble improv comedy–because when someone this clever and quick has to work with some lesser performer the whole endeavor immediately turns to shit.)

It was a great intersection of Suchil’s wonderful domestic art and Rebecca’s brilliant and nuanced dance of words, expressions, and impeccable timing.

Yes. It was quite a pleasant way to send a few hours. Now, I need to edit the work and see how it comes together…..

[Written Friday the 13th; posted 08/17/10.]

Friday night and I’m feeling at loose ends. There are two events happening in town to which I have a bittersweet reaction.

The 48 Hour Film Project is currently underway in San Antonio tonight. This is the fourth year this international franchise has operated in San Antonio. I’m proud to have run the San Antonio 48HFP for the first two years. Year three, the reins were turned over to the very capable Michael Druck. And this year Dana Fox (a young woman new to me) is proving herself to be a real powerhouse. I was at the kick-off ceremony tonight at C4 Workspace where the teams got their instructions, and then, at 7pm, they were released to the wilds to script, shoot, and edit a short film.

I have mixed feelings about these sort of film races. It strikes me as a sad way to squander resources to make what will almost certainly be a glaringly inferior film than what one could fashion with the same resources, yet given a week or more of preproduction–and ditto on postproduction. But, I can’t argue that it’s a hell of a fun way to spend a weekend. The problem of being a city produce of the 48HFP is that, if you’re also a filmmaker, you feel a sting of sad loneliness–everyone else is being creative and having fun. and you….you’re running the show.

Perhaps I would have done it as a filmmaker this year. But I don’t have the money for the entry feel. Hell, I don’t even have the money for rent. And I’m a bit dismayed that no one asked me to be on their team.

And there is also the Creative Capital artist development retreat happening this weekend in San Antonio. Creative Capital is a New York-based arts funding organization. This is the fourth year that San Antonio has been on their list of cities. I was chosen to attend the second year (2008). It was an incredible experience which I shared with about 20 other local artists.

Last night (Thursday) I walked downtown with Deborah (who also attended in 2008). The Office of Cultural Affairs hosted an alumni meeting where attendees from 2007, 2008, and 2009 could share with one another where we are in our careers. It was actually very cathartic and quite fun. But as Deborah and I walked back to our King William neighborhood, I felt envious of the 2010 group. They are about to get fired up and generally reinvigorated in their sense of importance and legitimacy within the creative community. And me? I’m back to generally floundering about. Lost and dejected.

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I’m drifting away from this blog.

Mostly I seem to be scrambling about working little jobs that bring me a little bit of income, but not enough to live on. Also, I’m spending significant pro bono time working on event planning. I hate this stuff. The truth is, I’m not so adverse to doing stuff for free, but I hate being roped into doing things I’m not particularly good at.

Take the whole fundraising concept. If I knew how to make money, I wouldn’t be divesting my book collection to second-hand shops and an auction house. This upcoming event–Noche de Recuerdos–that Ramon, Deborah, and I (AKA, Proyecto Locos) are planning is a sound concept. But it will cost money. And how are we trying to raise these funds? Selling raspas. Great fun. But the money is damn dinky. And then there was our fundraising screening of the great San Antonio film, “Viva Max!”, which so few people get to see anymore (it has no current active distributor). We’d hoped for a hundred people. But only 25 showed up. I think we made a profit of seven dollars. And, of course, the three of us aren’t making anything off this. We’d like to. But unless we get schooled by some fundraiser guru, we’re going to be beat-down and no less impoverished by the day after the big event.

And speaking of my current excursions into the lands of pro bonery, I have yet again answered the call to sit on the Luminaria Steering Committee. I love Luminaria. I think it’s certainly a good thing. But because the nature of the committee work is all about fighting to make all the artists happy with as little compromise as possible, well, it’s pretty damn thankless.

[However, here’s what’s keeping me stoked about Luminaria 2011: Susanne Cooper. She’s running Luminaria 2011 (along with the great Richard Rosen). For Luminaria 2009 Susanne was co-chair of the dance committee. And, as I, co-chair of the film committee, was trying to place three multi-media dance films with live performances on a stage suited for dance, Susanne expressed excitement with bringing film and dance together. We bonded. The both of us wanted to push these sort of multi-disciplinarian presentations. And for Luminaria 2010 we saw our vision played out on Stage 7 to great success. I’m hoping 2011 will see these sorts of multi-disciplinarian acts become more prevalent. Today I might be dragging my heels….but Luminaria 2011 is gonna be damn fine. Fuck yeah!]

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Okay. Here’s the deal. In two or three months I’ll have a large manuscript ready for review. I’ve never been sure just who reads my blog. I do know there are very few people. But if you’re a writer or a serious reader of fiction, please let me know if you might want to give feedback on a novel I’m working on.

If you’re familiar with writers such as George Saunders, Thom Jones, Denis Johnson, that’s certainly a plus. I don’t know if I really like these guys, but I think I write somewhat in their style. I should point out that my work is a bit more fun to read than these guys.

My episodic roman a clef is currently slated to be titled “Tunnels Under the Tower.” It’s a first person narrative where the protagonist is never named–however, it’s safe to say he calls himself Erik. All this stuff is at least 50% autobiographical. The book–it’s a novel, but I think it best to call it a “novel,” as it’s really a series of interconnected short stories, somewhat in the manner of “House on Mango Street” (the brilliant work by my famous neighbor, four houses down, who never seems to remember me). This “novel” of mine is divided into 40 self-contained short stories which will all be interconnected into a cogent narrative. I have 33 of the story / chapters in various states, from polished to very rough. It’s a daunting thought to polish all this stuff, as well as hammer out seven new pieces. Currently I’m at 61,000 words. I expect the finished work to top out at about 85,000 to 90,000 words. It will cover an eight month period in 2010 from March 6th to November 21st. I’ve hit upon these two seemingly arbitrary dates to bookend the piece because of two stories I’ve already written and of which I’m quite fond, and one riffs on the fall of the Alamo, and the other concerns the final visit of John F. Kennedy to San Antonio, before his ill-fated trip to Dallas the following day.

I printed up 175 pages of the current draft of the manuscript. And as I’ve been thumbing through the pages, it occurred to me that there are some damn fine sentences in there. Also, more than a few killer paragraphs. Beyond that, I have absolutely no clue as to whether or not the individual stories work (and I guess I need to start thinking of them as chapters). And as for whether or not the collection will function as a single coherent text is so far beyond the grasp of my objectivity.

Anyway, around early November I hope to have a solid first draft to let other people look at. If you have any interest, please drop me a line.

[Friday.]

This week I’ve been opening C4 while Todd and Debbie are out of town on some sort of vacation. So I’ve been getting up damn early for me so that I can get the doors open by 8:30. In the morning. Oh, yeah, and walk the damn dog.

I only really need to be there until nine-thirty or ten when Key arrives. And, really, that’s enough time for me to listen to Democracy Now while getting some work done. This morning, while enjoying some cheap tacos from Benny’s on Roosevelt, I made a few changes to a press release as well as polishing up the previous blog. As for the press release, I sent a copy off to my sister–she’s a quick and impeccable editor.

Around noon I headed home and watched my newest delivery from Netflix. Jim Mendiola’s Come and Take it Day. This is a feature film he shot here in San Antonio in 2000 or 2001, before I arrived in town. It features Jesse Borrego. And, really, it’s a solid and engaging movie. I’m curious why I’ve not heard other people talk about it much. It’s not that Jim’s an ass or anything. He and his wife spend most of their time in Southern California, but they come back every few months. And, really, they seem to be universally loved.

I recommend it. It’s a very low budget work–a small and personal movie. But it has a nice pace. And it’s a smart script. It does a nice job of capturing the San Antonio I know and recognize.

After watching the film I checked my mailbox. Great! My external controller / timer / intervalometer had made its way to my mailbox.

It took me maybe thirty minutes to make sense of the overly simplified instructions. But it works a charm with my Panasonic Lumix GH1.

As I was trying to come up with a good test scenario, my sister called.

Thank god! She pointed out a couple of clunky stylistic problems, two or three typos, and an hugely embarrassing error where I had mistakenly replaced one famous name with another, similar famous name.

It’s good to have people watching your back.

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I mounted my Lumix on one of my tripods. I attached my Nikkor 50mm lens with adapter. The composition was tight, intimate, and somewhat domestic. I opened the window above my sink which looks out onto the street. The sash weights were no longer working, so I was holding the window open with a bottle of honey. I had the aperture open all the way, and I decided to place the focus on a burnt-out match sitting beside a Mexican coin on the window ledge. The screen, the street, everything else was out of focus. I set my new remote device so that it would take a photo every five seconds–300 in all. I pushed the start button, and headed out on a bike ride.

For some reason the Mission Trail is seriously fucked up today. First, when I arrived at the area of Espada Dam, I was met with a barricade keeping me from proceeding on the trail. The wooden foot bridge over a creek feeding into the SA River was closed off for repairs. This means I had to take the low water crossing, which is a paved road for cars that crosses the San Antonio River. The spring rains have been so strong that the river has been running damn high. The paved road, as it crosses over the river, has been submerged under a couple of inches of water for over two months. I guess I’d go that way.

I enjoying taking the low water crossing when it’s dry because I can get some serious speed on the down slope, and that’s fun. But when it’s wet, I don’t care for how the water is kicked up by my rear wheel all over the back of my shirt. And that’s why I was going slow across the water. But, FUCK!, the submerged bit of pavement had grown a thick layer of moss or algae or something. It was insanely slippery. When I realized my front wheel was taking me quickly to the right, even though I’d not turned the handlebars, I realized what was up. I was damn lucky that when I got off and placed my feet on the road, I didn’t slip and land on my ass. I had to inch along, taking half steps. I really wonder how the cars manage when they cross. It was fortuitous that I was wearing sports sandals.

A short distance ahead, I saw some Park Police hassling a group of picnickers,

And a mile down the road, when I stopped to enjoy the cold water from the public fountain at Mission San Juan, I was rather dismayed that the water was shut off.

Not a good day for biking on the Mission Trail.

Back home, I pulled the SD card from my Lumix and dragged the files into my computer.

I had played games with stop motion and time lapse before, but I recently learned I was doing it all wrong and making things hard for me.

I placed my 300 photos into a folder. And then I fired up my QuickTime Pro (this comes bundled with FCP–you might have it and not know it). You get QuickTime to open the “Image Sequence” where the photos are. You can now play the sequence as a movie. That’s pretty cool. And you can then export a QuickTime movie, in the frame-rate and resolution you desire.

Here are two different ten second clips shot inside my place. Not much going on, but it’s just a test. Soon I want to start visiting downtown during sunrise as well as sunset so I can get some nice shadows racing across buildings. As basic and rudimentary as these two clips are, I’m intrigued with doing a series of small, quiet, domestic pieces–something like “the unseen life of an empty home.”

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHHjjtINMu0&hl=en_US&fs=1]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5ERrtq4pPA&hl=en_US&fs=1]

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[Saturday.]

The other day I was trying to look up information online about the shooting here in San Antonio of the film Viva Max! The sad thing about copyright issues is that one can’t, via the internet, get a solid overview of a subject, as many source materials are not available (and by that, I mean for free). Now I could get in my truck and drive to a library and, free of charge, research to my heart’s delight. But put the same information for free online? Fuck no! What a mess….

I did find an essay by Gary Cartwright, one of my favorite writers. It appeared in Life magazine back in 1969. Cartwright was describing the showdown between the production company for Viva Max! and the Daughters of the Texas Revolution. Now Cartwright isn’t above injecting a certain hyperbole into his work, and therefore I’m not sure just how accurate the piece might be. If Google is slowly becoming the source Of Record, it might behoove more writers and news agencies to begin providing their material absolutely free and as easily accessible as clicking a mouse.

Another interesting source was the website of Susan Ives, who is apparently involved with the San Antonio Peace Center. She quotes from Frank Thompson’s book Alamo Movies. Well, I think she quotes from it; however, she doesn’t use any discernible punctuation or formatting elements for me to be sure where her writing ends and Thompson’s begins.

I’m pretty sure that all the material below is in Thompson’s words. He’s describing a scene in San Antonio before the shooting of Viva Max! began:

Ustinov liked to tell the story of the official dinner that kicked off the production.

“One of the city fathers suddenly got up and said, ‘I should tell these fine visitors the true story of the Alamo.’ And I thought, ‘Oh, my God … ‘”

“And so we got the story of the Alamo and he ended by saying, ‘… and they drew a line in the sand, and do you know not one man crossed the line! They all perished!'”

“And I said, ‘Can I ask a question? If they all perished, how does the story come down to us?’

“There was a moment of embarrassment among the Texans and he said, ‘Well, now that you ask, there was one man did cross that line — a Frenchman, by the name of Rose.’

“I said, ‘Is that the origin of the Yellow Rose of Texas?’ Ahh … that was not the happiest of evenings.”

I must admit that I’ve not really looked too deeply into the Yellow Rose of Texas lore. It’s supposed that the song is about Emily Morgan (AKA Emily D. West), a “free woman of color.”

The Handbook of Texas online is, of course, a good starting point to read up on Emily:

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/WW/fwe41.html

But I was more intrigued with this “cowardly” Frenchman. Moses Rose. Or, more accurately, Louis (Moses) Rose. And even though there were others who left the Alamo before the battle, such as Juan Seguin, Rose was the only one who left “after” Travis supposedly drew the famous line in the sand. Rose was apparently the only one who didn’t cross. He was allowed to sneak out a window at night. This melodramatic scene, which plays so heavily in Hollywood’s retelling of the story, comes from this lone witness.

There are some who maintain that the story of Travis drawing that line with his sword must be true. Why would Rose make up a story which would put him in such a poor light? The patriotic Texas narrative allows Rose to be a truthful man, though certainly a coward.

Personally, I think it’s time to make Moses Rose a hero. Perhaps next year, on March 3rd, I’ll promote a celebration–Moses Rose Appreciation Day. That’s the day he made his escape. He is quoted to have replied, in his later years, to the question, “Why didn’t you stay?” with the simple honest “By God, I wasn’t ready to die.”

I think we need to applaud those who decide to walk away from the battlefield, turning their backs on the insanity and immorality of war.

But that’s just me. I’ve never understood the concept of nationalism. Especially the extra creepy Texas nationalism. I’m with the Chicano revisionists who see that the sanctification of the Alamo is little more than taking an advocacy position of a bunch of anglo land speculators and filibusters who desired to carve out territory from a sovereign nation so that they could build a colonial state utilizing slave labor.

The irony–if we metaphorically extend this narrative–is that these anglo Texas “nationalists” of today are terrified, absolutely scared shitless, with this notion of outsiders coming into their territory. They know (perhaps more on an unconscious level) full well that their white Texas ancestors (whether they be related to them genetically or philosophically) were the illegal aliens of the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas. In a weak moment in Mexico’s economic and military history, the Texian’s wrested the land away from the still young independent Mexico. And, following the Civil War, the Texans were enraged by these northerners, these god damn carpetbaggers, coming down to tell them how to run their affairs. And this brings us to the present with this paranoia of illegal aliens. You see, there’s an historical precedent. Illegal aliens can indeed take over Texas. It’s happened before. These wetbacks (who may well have taken a tumble into the Red River or the Sabine or perhaps the Gulf of Mexico), these scofflaws of the laws of national sovereignty, have names well known to history: Travis, Houston, Bowie, Crockett, et al.

If it happened once, maybe it can happen again.

(Written Sunday, July 11–posted several days later.)

Last night was the final night of the three day Josiah Youth Media Festival (the student film festival sponsored by URBAN-15 here in San Antonio). I’ve been the producer of this event–though my official title is Project Manager–for it’s full four years. After the screenings and awards ceremony, I was hanging out with George and Catherine, the founders and directors of URBN-15, as well as their board president, Hector. Also present were Nancy and Marcus, who, along with George and Catherine, created the Josiah festival. We were all pretty exhausted. Well, I know I was. We discussed what went smoothly, and what didn’t. There was wine. And I didn’t get home until about three in the morning.

This means I was in no condition to baby-sit C4 Workspace today. Someone had rented the space to practice some dance routines for a bunch of teenagers. They were blaring music….but only the first twelve or so bars, and then, start again. It was too chaotic for me to do any work. And I should have brought headphones, because I was trying to entertain myself by catching up on some of the Astronomy Cast podcasts. There was a point where I thought I’d learn what that horrible piece of music was. It was one of those corny pseudo hip-hop travesties with auto-tune vocals. I knew I’d heard the song, but that sort of overly polished two-dimensional crap all sounds the same to me. I ate up some time downloading the free iPhone app, Shazam. It lets you identify almost any piece of music, that is, if it’s being played loud enough for the microphone of the phone it hear. And, well, it was pretty fucking loud. The song was “Sexy Bitch.” (And Wikipedia mentioned something about a PG version recut as “Sexy Chick.”) Fortunately I had no caustic chemicals or sharp objects within reach, or I fear I would have done myself harm. Three grueling hours of that damn song, and me with a huge red wine hangover! I bet it’s on heavy rotation as a form of torture to those poor bastards in Guantánamo.

Back home I slapped some Tex and the Horseheads into my turntable. I’ve successfully booted “Sexy Bitch” from my head.

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Nikki Young (and her crew and associates from PrimaDonna Productions) pulled off another killer series of free movie-making workshops for the Josiah fest. This was yesterday morning and afternoon.

I’m always saddened by the low turnout for these workshops. I know that I personally learn some important stuff each year.

This year Nikki decided to arrange the workshops into three different roundtable panel discussions and presentations.

I was slated as moderator for the second panel. I hope I kept things on track. But it’s hard to tell if you’re doing something like that well because you can’t really pull back enough for self-analysis.

Lee Hurtado did a great job moderating the first panel. And the third was run by our Film Commissioner, Drew Mayer-Oakes. Drew’s a great public speaker. Very laid-back, with a subtle, wry sense of humor. He did a great job keeping the tone of the discussions to appeal to the large age range of workshop attendees, which was something like 8 to 21.

Some photos from the workshops:

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For the final night of Josiah, we had young filmmakers in the audience not just from San Antonio. We had a college student from Chicago. A college student, as well as a high schooler from Austin. And we had Marco Bottiglieri, a high school student from Dallas, who arrived with his lead actor. Marco won both “best narrative,” as well as “best in show.”

Also, Remington Dewan drove down from Austin with his parents. We were all so excited. Remington won best of show two years ago with an amazing narrative, “First Day at the Firm.” He did this when he was either 13 or 14. When he walked up to the door at URBAN-15 I asked why he didn’t submit a film for this year’s Josiah. He said that his DP was over 21, (One of the stipulations of the Josiah Youth Media Festival is that all key crew members must be 21 years of age or younger.) We were all so honored that, even without having a film which was screening, he came to be part of the event. I only wish some of our local young filmmakers would display such humility, generosity, and this sort of etiquette and general sense of esprit de corps.

And, speaking of a certain lack of esprit de corps, I was dismayed as to the low audience attendance for all three nights. Yes, I understand that many people are otherwise involved during the summer. But we had too few representatives of our local youth media programs–students and instructors alike. And, I felt a certain personal affront. Of the hundreds of my friends (not to mention the more generic “friends,” such as found on FaceBook and such) who I personally invited, I believe that two showed up. Two.

Here are photos of award-winning young filmmakers!

Julian Moreno-Pena. Second Place, Experimental. Shadows.

Lena Ozuna flanked by fellow filmmakers Emmanuel Gallegos and Roger Vega. Second Place, Narrative. Dolly Wants a Minion.

Kathy Tran. Founders Recognition, Animation. Aspiring Bear Artist.

Marco Bottiglierand, with actor Mike Kimmel. First Place, Narrative. Best of Show. Custody.

My bank account’s almost depleted. Not a good thing. It’s the beginning of July. I need to pay both apartment rent as well as office rent. I’ve received a letter from my internet provider threatening me with disconnectivity. I have about $1,350 in outstanding invoices. Time to start making a stink, I suppose.

On a positive note, I received a confirmation call today for a little gig I’ll be working later in the month, providing tech support for some sort of extreme cage fighting event. (I think I’ll make a little red velvet-lined box to hold my anticipated souvenir bicuspid.) However, when asked for my day rate, I responded with a figure I thought mid-level for San Antonio. The affirmative response from the event’s promoter followed so fast that I can only assume I priced myself woefully cheap. Oh well, I need money more than I need self-respect (the oft-echoed whore’s tearful lament).

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Back on First Friday (the monthly arts event and ad hoc bacchanalia here in the King William neighborhood on the southern fringe of downtown San Antonio), Deborah Keller-Rihn, Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, and I decided to have a little fundraiser. The three of us have worked, off and on, under the collective name of Proyecto Locos since late 2005 or early 2006. Our little tag line (which I think I came up with) is: “Proyecto Locos: Promoting Art and Culture in Unique and Unexpected Ways.”

Actually, Friday was our fundraiser for a fundraiser (and when I mentioned this to ST Shimi, she thought it “very meta”…though, sadly, it’s not so much a post-modern bit of self-referential playfulness as it is a reflection of the perennial poverty of the Locos).

The grand 2010 Proyecto Locos event, sponsored by AIT-SCM (The American Indians in Texas at the Spanish Colonial Missions), will happen in late October at the casting pool at Woodlawn Lake. Noche de Recuerdos will feature local artists who will create illuminated floating altars to their loved ones who have passed away.

And one of our fundraisers for Noche de Recuerdos is the August 7th screening of the classic San Antonio-shot comedy, “Viva Max!”

But to provide for the overhead of the “Viva Max!” fundraiser, we realized we needed a fundraiser for the fundraiser. Deborah suggested selling raspas (snow cones for those living north of the 30th parallel). Her art studio at the Blue Start Art Complex always received hoards of visitors during First Friday. Sounded good. A cup of shaved ice and syrup for two bucks. We’d call them Raspas Locas.

Just after noon on Friday I picked Deborah up at her studio (currently I’m the only member of the Locos with a working vehicle). We dropped by Triple A Salvage on South Presa. I was hoping to find some cheap raspa syrup there. They have all sorts of over-stock and close-out items from food suppliers. It’s not as cheap as it used to be. But if you are in desperate need of 500 plastic sporks but refuse to walk into the hoity-toity restaurant supply companies, of which there are at least four in this neighborhood, Triple A is for you. I like it most for people watching. It’s fucking hardcore. I swear people in there who are loading up on ancient seven pound bags of Cool Ranch Bacon off-brand goldfish crackers, along with a 500 count cardboard box of “fancy” catsup packages, are actually shopping for food to feed their families.

We did find some little plastic cups as well as some colorful straws that terminate in those tiny spoons.

Next we headed to get the shaved ice. I knew this would be the easy part. A couple of years back I’d been pricing dry ice for a Halloween display which never happened. The best place was what I keep referring to as a raspa dealership. When I first visited, I saw several people come in and buy huge bags of shaved ice, stacked onto hand trucks.

Luckily I was able to remember where it was. It’s on Colorado, not too far north of Guadalupe. The large plastic cooler on wheels we’d borrowed from URBAN-15 was soon stuffed with shaved ice. And, later, when I had to carry it up to Deborah’s studio, I guessed it was about 60 pounds. It cost 6 bucks. The people working there were very helpful. When we asked about the syrup, we were steered clear of the gallon jugs lining the front wall. They were cheap, but flavors no one wanted. I made an inspection. The best (and by that I mean “worst”) was “spicy pickle.”

We got two jugs of the better brand. Coconut (blue) and strawberry (red). Deborah then selected one of the cheaper ones–pineapple. It was yellow. She, an artist, wanted to have all three primary colors. This would allow our customers to decorate their raspas as artistically as they might be inclined.

We stopped for a late lunch at the Malt House. This is a famous westside eatery, which I have never before visited. It’s a place for basic burgers as well as Mexican food. You can get a damn good burger, with fries and a drink for under three bucks. And add to that the great ambiance of such a great iconic time capsule.

Next we drove to the Primrose Apartments to pick up Ramon. We all were crammed into the cab of my pickup.

Because of hurricane Alex making landfall the other day at some place not far south of Matamoros, we were suffering the occasional thundershowers in San Antonio. But we hoped people would show up and by raspas.

Up in Deborah’s studio, I had my projector plugged into my laptop. I was projecting on the wall the short documentary Proyectos Locos produced back in 2006, about the Dia de los Locos parade in San Miguel de Allende. Ramon had set up his recent satirical painting of the movie “Viva Max!” on an easel. And Deborah was setting up the raspa station.

The night started out slow. It looked like it would just be the three of us eating up the profits. I mean, we were making some mean raspas!

Here’s a shot from Blue Star, looking towards Jump-Start from Deborah’s staircase:

Also, I had to skip out around seven to watch some of the shows at the Jump-Start Performance Company. It’s basically one flight down and maybe seventy feet from Deborah’s studio. Jump-Start was putting on their second annual Off the Grid show. A free event where the company members stage various experimental works in odd places within the theater. As a big fan and advocate of Jump-Start, I’d have been there anyway. And if I didn’t have raspas locas responsibilities, I’d have stayed for all the shows.

Here are a photo of the Push Pens show:

Mainly I was there because the great ST Shimi–dancer, performance artist, etc.–had asked if we could reprise our Luminaria collaboration. The piece was titled “River Hoop.” I had made a short film of Shimi dancing with a hula hoop. And for Luminaria it was projected on the “dance stage” as Shimi danced with her LED illuminated hoop. It was great! The film–without Shimi–screened at Main Plaza with different music. The original “music” was composed by me. And so for Off the Grid, Shimi provided me with two pieces of music. She wanted an intro, to set the piece up. And then the main bit. The music for the dance sequence was a bit over seven minutes. This meant I needed to extend the picture edit by about two and a half minutes.

I kind of like the new edit. But it still needs work. What I was most keen on during Friday’s performance was not my fancy new edit, but Shimi’s seamless and sexy live dancing. She is, as always, a mesmerizing presence.

Back upstairs the raspas sales were picking up. Deborah is a great salesperson. She has this amazing knack of connecting very quickly and personally with people. When you’re in her presence you feel so very special. This is, of course, why I’m so besotted by her. But I digress.

By the end of the night we’d recouped our 25 dollar expenses. And we’d made something like 30 bucks. But as we have everything we need (save some more ice–and that’s damn cheap), we’re all set for two more Raspas Locas events before the “Viva Max!” screening.

Speaking of “Viva Max!,” here’s a photo of Ramon’s painting. The work itself will be sold to raise money. But we will also be selling a limited run of prints.

I love this playful and absurd work.

I’ve been scrambling around with too many projects vying for my attention. One came back to my attention yesterday. An email politely asking when my edit of this particular (and, I should add, pre-paid) video would be ready for the client to view. There are two short pieces involved. And I had only captured to my hard drive footage for one of the pieces. It took me almost an hour to track down the tape which had the content for the second piece. The problem is that I’ve become so poor that I can’t afford to order the professional tape stock I trust. And therefore I have, on more occasions than I care to admit, used tapes with material from other projects if they still have room on them. I guess I got lazy, because this footage I needed was not labeled on the tape. But I eventually found it.

The plan was to finish this job today. But now it looks like I might not be able to finish it until Monday.

Tomorrow I have a morning NALIP meeting. And later in the day I have to suit up in that goddamn tux and go shoot video AND stills for a neighbor’s wedding, And I have yet to have confirmation on my pay rate. I think I’ll just keep a tally of the number of times I mutter, sotto voce, “fucking tux,” and charge ten bucks for each squelched outburst (which, in this case, I suppose becomes an inburst).

Sunday is the final judging for Josiah. This is when we roll up our sleeves, look at the numbers generated from last weeks first round of judging, and fight it out. Decide which films are getting the big bucks. The numbers will be revisited. And until we can achieve unanimity, we don’t move onto the next category. We discuss, advocate our favorites, and reassess until we come to an agreement. It’s a process that has worked well for this particular festival in past years.

Busy weekend.

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Today, after making some headway on the video edit job I’m behind on, I headed over to Bihl Haus Arts. This is a gallery and an arts nonprofit center on the west side. My friend Deborah worked there as curator for some time, helping Kellen, the director, build up programing and visibility (essentially, an audience). From the hard work of the board, staff, and docents, Bihl Haus Arts has steadily been climbing as an important destination to find great art. Bihl Haus–the physical structure, the building–is an historic nineteenth century stone house around which has been constructed an apartment complex catering to the elderly–Primrose senior apartments. At least half of the arts and cultural events at Bihl Haus pull from work created by the residents.

However, for this show, “Ancient Guardians of the Sky, is an installation by David Zamora Casas,” a respected local artist who is still much too young to be able to apply for residence at Primrose.

David is a queer Chicano artist. I’m not sure if he’d approve of such a basic three word designation. It seems to be a good beginning to approach his work. This is how I described the show in an abbreviated paragraph on my FaceBook page:

“Bihl Haus Arts is outrageously decked out as a cozy fever dream. The entire space is currently a David Zamora Casas installation. Tonight the place was packed with David’s fans. One had to be cautious and not turn around too quickly, so as not to get one’s eye put out by an artfully placed dildo.”

For about thirty years San Antonio Chicano artists have been elevating the altar (during various Dia de los Muertos gallery shows) to a high art. This is why San Antonio Chicano artists are so comfortable in that art sub-genera of “assemblage.” Franco Mondini-Ruiz is internationally known for this. And David Zamora Casas seems fast on his heels. However, David is still primarily an artist of two dimensional work. It’s just that when you give him the opportunity to create the environment in which his work will be hung, he gets all horny to tart it up as insanely opulent as a quinceañera party planned by manic psilocybin aficionado.

It’s a great show. I wish I had brought the lens that came with my camera. But all I had was a short zoom lens. Here are some claustrophobic shots.

And here we have a photo of Pocha y Payan. You might know them from their work to be found on:

www.aztecgoldtv.com

Here they are shooting a portion of one of their many wonderful projects.

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My friend, Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, is currently living in the Primrose apartments. He’s either 69 or 70, and clearly fits the age criteria of Primrose. However, he rarely involves himself with the Bihl Haus arts programs. I’m not sure if there are some personal politics, and this is a boycott. Or, maybe, it’s that he has been involved in the arts and cultural world of San Antonio for over 50 years, and feels he’s paid his dues. Perhaps he just doesn’t like being around a bunch of old people unless he has to. (The fact is, Ramon’s 70, going on 14.)

During lull at the David Casas show, I headed over to Ramon’s apartment. He wanted me to see where he’s going with his lampoon of a painting of General Max from the film Viva Max!

Ramon, Deborah, and I are planning a fundraising screening of Viva Max in early August. Ramon will also be auctioning off some of his paintings. He told me he wanted to do a portrait of Peter Ustinov (the actor who portrayed General Maximilian Rodrigues De Santos) in the character of Max. For those not familiar with this great movie which was released in 1969, here’s what I wrote to a friend who’d not seen the film:

“Viva Max! is a comedy about a washed-up Mexican General (Max) whose girlfriend suggests that his men ‘wouldn’t follow him into a whorehouse.’ So, in attempts to impress her, he decides to march north to Texas and retake the Alamo with his small army of lazy soldiers. They follow him, true, but only because his second-in-command (played by John Astin–Gomez Addams of the Addams Family fame) threatens to shoot anyone who disobeys. It’s an incredibly funny and clever film.”

But I digress. Back to Ramon’s portrait. I suggested that he make it real corny. “Put Max on a rearing horse, looking all romantic. You know, that famous painting of Napoleon by David,” I said, meaning, of course, Jacques-Louis David. Ramon nodded, thoughtful. “I like that,” he said. “And I’ll put the Alamo in the background.” I nodded, and said, “Make sure to put the Mexican flag flying over the Alamo. Oh, and maybe you can have some of those bothersome old biddies, the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, cringing underneath the hooves of the rearing horse.”

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Ramon’s still placing the final touches on the piece, but it’s pretty much as I suggested. And if we can’t get at least $500 for this painting, than there’s no justice. It’s way cool!

It’ll be photographed and placed online most likely by Monday.

Thanks to Max Parrilla for the complimentary tickets to the San Antonio Opera’s staging of Rigoletto. I happened to be at the right place at the right time when he called a mutual friend in search of a specific type of adapter for a data cable. The mutual friend didn’t have the item, but I did. So, I drove the little piece of plastic and metal to the Municipal Auditorium downtown…and so I got a couple of free tickets!

I invited Deborah, and we had a pleasant evening of angsty, 16th century unrequited love (sadly, a poignant topic for me).

I was a bit taken aback to see only about 500 people in attendance in a 5,000 occupancy hall–and on the opening night, no less. I also found myself a bit perplexed at how few people I recognized at this upper-crust art & cultural event. This seems to happen to me on those infrequent occasions I attend the ballet and the symphony in San Antonio. However, Friday night I did spot artist Terry Ybañez, as well as actress (and singer and dancer) Anna Gangai (you might know her from Erik Bosse and Russ Ansley’s 2008 Luminaria short film, “The Prometheus Thesis”). But the bottom line is that I just don’t seem to travel in the tonier circles.

An amusing aside concerning the Municipal Auditorium (which I learned is a temporary home for the Opera until the renovations are completed at the Lila Cockrell Theatre): last week I met with a promoter of an upcoming cage fight event which will be staged at the Municipal Auditorium. It looks like I’ll be working that night as a paid member of the crew. I just hope I don’t get tossed into the cage. Because without a metal folding chair and a wily and buxom confederate to catch my adversary’s attention, I’m afraid I’m not much of a fighter. But I was pleasantly amused as to the diversity of events being staged at the Municipal Auditorium.

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Saturday night I attended wedding number two of the three I’m slated for this month. I was hired as the paid videographer. My friend Ramin, who was working the wedding as the still photographer, brought me in.

It was fairly standard fare. This means a damn long day. The real pain in the ass was that it was a Catholic wedding. This means that because I’m not fucking holy enough to stand on the stage, um, I mean the altar, I have to set up my camera at a crazy, oblique angle. This is made worse by the fact that the bride and groom spend almost all the time facing the priest. We get a great view of that holy guy, but the real important people–you know, who everyone came to see–well, they’re showing us nothing but back, scalp, and ass.

Catholic weddings need a good stage manager.

And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

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Sunday was the big day of judging the works submitted to the Josiah Youth Media Festival. We had seven judges this year. Catherine and George Cisneros (artistic and musical directors, respectively, of URBAN-15); Marcus and Nancy Neundorf (the parents of Josiah Neundorf, the brilliant filmmaker who died tragically young, and for whom the festival was named); Janet Vasquez (tireless supporter of the arts in San Antonio, as well as the Location Coordinator for the San Antonio Film Commission); Amanda Silva (actress, filmmaker, one-time host and producer of the Silva Screen, a local TV show spotlighting San Antonio filmmakers); and myself (and here, for my bio, I’ll use the short form as used by Drew Mayer-Oakes, the San Antonio Film Commissioner: “Erik Bosse is, um, something of a man-about-town”).

We set up a buffet, some tables, comfy chairs, and we hunkered down for five and a half hours of watching about 45 films, ranging in length from 45 seconds to 20 minutes.

George and I had previewed all the submitted pieces, which was over a hundred. We functioned as a filter to keep from subjecting the judges to an additional 6 hours of films of a lesser quality. But George and I, who have seen all the submissions to this festival for the last four years, are enthusiastically unanimous in recognizing that this year is the best crop yet. Through our increased outreach, the bar has slowly yet steadily risen.

I hope the handful of people who read this blog and who also live near San Antonio can make it to at least one night of our three night event. July 8, 9, 10. Each night will be a different program.

These kids kick ass!

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I started my Tuesday off over at URBAN-15, helping Steven add up the numbers from Sunday night’s scoring. Steven Garcia is a recent addition to the URBAN-15 staff. He’s a very capable and competent guy, and because of this, I forget that he’s also pretty damn young. For those theater and film nerds out there, Steven is the brother of the great actress Samantha Garcia….who inexplicably moved away to some place called Chicago.

But around noon I had to head out. I picked up Deborah and drove to the humble westside taqueria where the Proyectos Locos team meet to discus our projects, whether they be individual or collaborative. Ramon, the third member of our loco group was waiting.

The three of us are putting together an event on the westside. This October we will be producing Noche de Recuerdos, a night of floating, illuminated altars on the smaller casting pool of Woodlawn Lake.

The three of us were there to meet our fiscal sponsor. Ramon’s son, also Ramon (some confusion there), runs a small, successful cultural non-profit organization, AIT-SCM (The American Indians in Texas at the Spanish Colonial Missions). He gave us some pointers on how best to retool our proposal so that his board will warm to our proposed event.

We can expect some funding from AIT, but not enough. We–the Locos–have about four funding schemes to flesh out the rest of the costs.

The most important thing to come out of today’s meeting: this event will happen!

That’s pretty cool!

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Later on Tuesday, I headed over to the Southwest School of Art and Craft for a Luminaria meeting–it was titled, in the email, as the “Luminaria Visioning” meeting. I found myself at the table with 19 other people. The full list of invitees was 28.

It’s strange that I was on the steering committee for Luminaria 2009 and 2010, and yet I don’t know who the current board members are. I don’t even know how many. Is it five? Seven? Recently I learned a board member had resigned. When his name was mentioned (and I know OF him) I was surprised, because I didn’t even know this person was a board member. Now I want it made clear that I’m not really interested in who is on the board of this or that organization, but, when I click over to the Luminaria website, there is nothing about the leadership–not the board, executive committee, nor steering committee. The Luminaria website is appallingly deficient of real and important information.

But back to the meeting. It lasted four hours. We got some important work done. Those of us who were at the table were mostly good people with a respect for one another and a respect for the arts. (Hell, even some of the attendees are artists–though not as many as I’d like to have seen.)

The next two weeks are crucial. We’ll be working to interface with the mayor’s office and propose a new leadership structure. But our advice is only useful if it’s embraced by both the major (and his staff) and the Luminaria board.

I had entered the meeting fearful of conflicting agendas (such as giving the sponsors too much power over the programing: the danger of partnering with other art and cultural institutions with divergent notions concerning the presentation of public art and performances: and the desire by some to shift the entire event so that ART is only incidental to a larger schema)–but it seems that we might be able to move this wonderful event into the future without too much corporate compromise and institutional bickering. Luminaria is at a crucial crossroads. It seems that there is enough political and fiduciary willpower to make a spectacular 2011 event happen. My biggest concern is to keep key members from the arts and cultural communities (whomsoever they may be) at the table during all important discussions as we move into the new logistical and leadership structure of Luminaria 2011. As antithetical to my sensibilities are all things capitalistic, I’m enough of a realist to know how crucial it was to have the serious and committed financial sponsors at Tuesday’s meeting. They do need to continue to be at the table. Art and commerce, in this case, need to constantly be reminded of one another’s perceptions and expectations. Things seemed to be basically warm and collegial by the end of the meeting.

But time will tell.

Tonight I was invited by Nikki Young of PrimaDonna Productions to sit on a panel of entertainment folks. We were there to provide feedback to her current crop of young acting students. There were six talented and charming kids who strutted their stuff. The panel included talent agent Brian Potts; actor, comedian, and all-around entertainer extraordinaire, Jade Esteban Estrada; and, well, myself.

I’ve been lucky enough to have Nikki reach out to me on several occasions to give feedback on her young acting students.

This time around, I think that of the six kids, I had only seen one before. Jordan is maybe eleven. She’s come very far. Nikki Young not only shows her students how to navigate the audition process and how to memorize and perform a script to make producers sit up and take notice, but she also connects with her students in a manner that makes them comfortable to express themselves. I’ve seen young people under her tutelage blossom into thoughtful and confidant young adults, comfortable in expressing themselves at a moment’s notice.

The others were equally as memorable as Jordan.

There were two older kids. True (short for Truman?) and Katy. They are both at that awkward period where they’ve recently experienced youthful growth spurts. I was happy to see the interesting ways each turned his and her awkwardness around to an advantage.

Emily, Marco, and Lizzie were all adorable, smart, and very talented. All the kids were delivering material (commercials and TV show scenes) which is the sort of stuff which kids this age do over and over again in commercials and on shows produced by Nickelodeon and Disney. This means that the material the kids were working with was rather fake and corny–but Nikki had done a great job showing each young actor a way to make these lines personal and all their own.

I had a great time! And I need to make a movie just to showcase these great kids!

I’m gearing up for a on-going summer experimental video piece. I think I can keep my head above water for June and July, and perhaps half of August, just on the handful of freelance gigs I have lined up. (I’m getting rather antsy, as there are two gig I’ve finished, yet have not received payment. I’m having to borrow money from family members until these checks come in. That sucks. )

This should allow me to skate by with something like a three to four hour work day, five days a week. Now if I can get back into a sane and healthy groove so as to take advantage of those other hours to get some personal art projects done, I think I might be able to ooch myself back towards a semblance of sanity.

Even though the weather sites are suggesting that the coming days will be fraught with rain and dark skies, I’ll see if I can begin to gather the shots I want.

My Lumix doesn’t shoot video in a time-lapse setting. But I still I want a series of shots of early-morning and later-afternoon light hitting downtown San Antonio buildings so that extreme shadows rake fast and dramatically across iconically old buildings. Preferably with clouds racing across the skies. I plan to begin playing around with single shot photos in a stop-motion manner. It’s not just about shadows, clouds, people, and vehicles being used to establish motion, I also plan to play around with moving, incrementally, the camera (as well as the focal plane). My Bogan tripod has a crank-lift gooseneck which allows for a controlled lifting or lowering of the head 20 inches. Short of having a dolly track, I think I can ape lateral motion with a sheet of plywood. If I drill holes the size to accommodate the feet of my tripod (with the spread of the legs at 2 feet), I should be able to manage to move the tripod, slowly, across six feet of surface. I mean, if the drill-holes are every inch, this gives me 72 set-ups. And if we consider the animation tendency to replicated every frame twice, this mens that we now have 144 frames. And, if we embrace a 24fps editing baseline, that’s a whopping six seconds per skim across a plywood.

But six seconds is a damn long clip. I want to spend the next two months shooting a few short minutes work of cool clips (none longer then three seconds) of stop-motion action (sometimes with the camera in motion, sometimes, static). But, importantly, I want high aesthetics. So, it’s golden hour or nothing at all. And golden hour is that narrow period of time when the sun is coming up, or when the sun is setting.

Here’s some choppy video of still images of clouds shot from my porch.

[vimeo vimeo.com/12354233]

The interval between shots is 30 seconds. This is too long, and thus creates a stuttering image when knitted together. I think a shot every ten seconds would work for clouds moving languidly. With clouds moving fast, I might try a shot every five seconds. As for shadows moving across buildings during sunset and sunrise, I need to experiment with that as well. I suspect a shot every 30 second in this case would be nice. We’ll see.

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Saturday night Deborah invited me out to see a belly dance event up in the near north side. A friend of Deborah’s was dancing. And ST Shimi, a friend to both of us, was also on the bill. The Karavan & Sirocco Dance studios share a space up on Broadway, not yet to highway 410. The space in is that horrendous cultural squalor where one might encounter the duel shit holes of the Revolution Room and the Rebar Club, where the vapors of cheap beer and vomit intertwine into a melange of crappy pub rock and sad desperation. At least dance has entered into this cultural dead zone to help iron out the bland mojo of cock rock gone stale and flaccid.

I’d thought the ten dollar ticket a bit dear, but after learning that there was free wine and eats, it seemed damned reasonable. The wine ran the gamut of red to white. And the food was the standard Texan version of middle eastern fare–canned dolmas, hummus from a jar, mass constructed sheets of baklava, and those scary faux black olives from a can that are artificially “ripened.” But, again, it was a help-yourself buffet, and you can’t judge too harshly.

The evening was quite nice. And not just because I was with Deborah. The dancing, though unevenly ranging from the tight and professional to the loose work presented by beginning dancers, was well programmed. At two hours, it was maybe an hour too long, but the place was packed with family and friends of the dancers. It was a full house. And when you have over two hundred people in an audience who are stoked and enamored of the performances, it’s a nice thing to witness.

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The other day, as I was viewing the entries to the Josiah Youth Media Festival (a student film festival run by URBAN-15 which I produce), I came across one from the northern part of the state. Texas, that is. I was pleasantly surprised to see Nancy Chartier. I’m glad to see she’s still helping out on student projects. She was one of the excellent actresses in my very first short film. It was shot on 16mm while I was finishing off my undergraduate degree (I took the 20 year and six campus plan). “Mr. Ponygraph” was produced in 2002. I was lucky enough to have a kick-ass student crew; three seasoned professional actresses (Nancy Chartier, Melanie Stroh, and Jennifer Wilkerson); and of course some great music, courtesy of Lee Harris and the great Dallas punk icon Barry Kooda. The film has all sorts of flaws. Mainly involving shots we didn’t have time or resources to get. But what a wonderful cast. There is a great likelihood that some of the folks who were involved in this project would rather not be asked to remember it. But we should all be gentle toward student work…even if this particular student (myself) was well into his thirties.

As I look back at the film, I’m heartened to see the playful and heartfelt performances; the solid photography by Adrian; solid audio; decent editing; art design and lighting and on and on. Very fun and tight set. I have found memories of my time making movies at the University of Texas at Arlington, even though, as an old man, I had more in common with the instructors than my fellow students.

Here’s the short film in question:

[vimeo vimeo.com/12479395]

If I could go back, I’d make about four important changes. But we all have to start somewhere. Before I’d directed Ponygraph, I’d worked on maybe four other student projects. Most of them on film–16mm and 35mm. I was usually assigned the role as unit production manager, because, as an older student, I was thought to be more stable and with a high attention to detail. Not true, but I muddled through. I was also lucky enough to have one of my short scripts used for a large class project shot on 16mm. I need to see if I can track down a copy.

By the time I directed my second film, I had bought my beloved Canon GL2. It’s a helluva forgiving camcorder if you know how to use it. And I do. I still have it, but after about six years it started to have some problems and I bought my Panasonic DVX.

For my second student project, I did a very solid promotional film for a video advertising class. It was a recruitment video for the UTA Graduate School. I directed, shot, and edited the piece. It turned out quite well–I impressed myself.

And this all set me off on my current faux-career. I’ve produced (usually shooting, directing, writing, editing) over twenty short films: narratives, documentaries, and experimental pieces. I only wish I had a strong feeling that I was getting better at this work. But I’m really not sure I am.

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I’m hoping the weather reports promising clear skies and warm days this weekend will be a welcomed break from this crazy-ass humidity. My glasses are constantly fogged when I get out of my air-conditioned truck.

Monday I got a call from Drew over at the SA Film Commission. It seems that the CVB (that’s the San Antonio Convention & Visitors Bureau–of which the Film Commission is part) had sponsored a table at a fundraising event put on by the WDC (the Westside Development Corporation). The event was to honor four Westside business and political luminaries. I’m not sure why Drew called me up. True, he said, in full candor, that I wasn’t the first person he called (but nor was I too far down–third. or so he said). Maybe he’s been keeping current on reading my blog and wanted to toss a free dinner my way. Or maybe he thought that because the WDC is well connected to the arts community of the Westside, and that I am also fairly well connected to half a dozen arts and cultural organizations with Westside roots, I would have a good time associating with folks I know. Or maybe no one else he called was picking up their phones.

The event was held in Elmendorf Park, across the Elmendorf Lake (well, pond) from Our Lady of the Lake University. It was tightly-run–whoever produced this event needs a bonus. When I learned that I needed to print up a parking pass, I was a bit put off. But then I realized it’d allow me to park in the University parking lot. And furthermore, I would be able to take a shuttle bus the half mile from the parking lot to the reception area. It all worked out very smoothly.

I did indeed have an excellent free dinner (great savings here for an impoverished artsy guy). Also, I was happy to see many friends from the art world: Deborah, Ramon, Jacinto, Dan, Santiago, Gabe, and so on and so forth.

Our charismatic and appealingly articular Mayor, Julian Castro, was present to receive an award as well as to do what he does best–give a rousing, personal, and seemingly off-the cuff speech, which seemed to connect with most of the people present. I can only assume that as a teen he was on the debating team and well-connected with the toastmasters. There’s nothing pompous about the man. He answers every question thrown his way in a thoughtful and reasonable manner. He is a a damn impressive public speaker.

The video introductions to each of the other four folks who received awards were nicely produced by Ray Santesteban, clearly the most accomplished overall filmmaker in the city–Ray can do it all. I only wish the AV company which did an otherwise excellent job at the event had spent the 20 minutes or so to calibrate the two large plasma screens set above the stage. The color temperature was significantly off on the left (stage right) monitor–it was really bugging me, because I could not look at one without seeing the other.

I didn’t know many of the people at the SA-CVB table. When the award part of the evening wasn’t underway, the musical “entertainment” was too loud to carry on a conversation beyond with the person beside you. The only people at the table I knew were Drew and Dan Gonzalez (and I’m never sure if Dan knows who I am).

Seated to my left was a guy who I’m pretty sure works for the CVB. And beyond him, a friend of his. It just so happened that the very talented and ubiquitous artist Jacinto Guevara was seated at the table behind me–where Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez and Deborah Keller-Rihn (my fellow Locos) were sitting. (As a side note, there was a silent art auction, and both Jacinto and Ramon had pieces displayed.) At some point during the night, Jacinto walked up behind me and the two men sitting to my left. Jacinto, who seems to know everyone, was familiar all three of us. It seems he’d been sitting back there with his sketch pad–he looked up and saw three men with thinning hair, all wearing glasses. And he drew three quick ink portraits of these “Tres Lentes” (three glasses): we were each given an original work of art.

Here’s mine:

It was a nice evening. Hot. Sure. But that god damn humidity was killing me!