Self indulgence about the self-indulgent art show - By N.L. Belardes

They pulled the tube out of my friend’s nose this morning. It went all the way down to her stomach—someone had inched it down her throat, crawling like a spider spindling downward into bile. Yesterday, I ran over a tarantula on a freeway. After I smashed it I saw another black shape stepping delicate across worn asphalt.

I saw a man hoe tumbleweeds along a stretch of fence that stood a mile long. There were no cars around. How long has he been chopping at the earth? Where did he start? Who was paying him? How much did he get per chop?

Lightning crawled along clouds—inverted electrified tarantulas. Mountains pointed their chins toward clouds that rolled over their shrubby faces like balloons about to explode.

I wandered Bakersfield hospital floors, a little lost, a little hateful of the smell of blood and urine, and seeing bloody sheets and a tangle of tubes on a floor—rubber gloves too—the nurse missed the trash can completely. It looked as if someone had just died in a nearby bed. The nurse had just left the room. She looked dirty herself.

Later I found myself in a restaurant wondering about spider bites, punk books and art, and safe travels. I ate shrimp. They crawl too.

Some books I pick up once in a while and crawl my way through pages. I don’t use bookmarks. Other books I give more of a focus. I tear through pages as if I wrote them myself. Rarely do authors reciprocate with the same energy I’ve used to tear through and connect to their works. Here’s a list of books I’m currently reading or just finished: Punk Shui, Drugs Are Nice: A Post-Punk Memoir, Futureproof, California Uncovered: Stories for the 21st Century, Farmworker’s Daughter: Growing Up Mexican in America, Perfume Dreams: Reflections on the Vietnamese Diaspora, Mommies Who Drink: Sex, Drugs, and Other Distant Memories of an Ordinary Mom, November Grass, and a few others…

It’s easier sometimes for me to focus on books rather than the ongoing drama of Bakersfield news, art, music, and theatre scenes… in such a small town as Bakersfield sometimes being a part of the art scene is like catering to the friend who needs a moment of respite from tubes annoyingly poking from everywhere—draining fluid and toxins—a bloody bed next door and the smell creeping into nostrils as if you’re covered with fluid.

Sometimes the scene seems so wounded.

I just wander the halls and cover where the scene leads me: music here, some theatre, art. Project Murder is coming up next on my slate in theatre. I don’t know which band I will see next, though I plan on reviewing the Lost Ocean e.p., Night to Life.

I’ve completely ignored the self-indulgent art show. Why? There are a lot of Bakersfield islands: art clicks and social groups—I normally ignore the ‘click’ aspect. I usually go attend what I want to attend. I don’t normally let the hate that I see in people toward each other (bands, theatre, art) keep me from attending one show versus another. Like I told A.S. Ashley, I only report on about 5% of what I know. The rest is really nasty gossip.

Yet I’m not attending A.S. Ashley’s Bakersfield Art Rave Self-Indulgent Art Show.

If you want to attend the show, go right ahead. I recommend it.

Art just left a bad taste in my mouth after A.S. Ashley called me up and told me not to write about Camarillo Gavin: you know that local art critic for the Californian who can’t spell N.L. Belardes? Ha, she wrote, “N.R. Belardes” in the paper recently. Hilarious! I got emails: “Did she misspell your name on purpose?”

Ahhh who cares? It was funny. I just like that people around me are thinking ‘conspiracy’ when the old timer probably just made a simple typo. Yet I can have fun with it, so I shall permanently refer to Camille Gavin from here on out as Camarillo Gavin.

I had expressed my opinion to A.S. Ashley about Camarillo attempting to tear down Noveltown’s projection art piece in her one meandering sentence similar to, “The Todd Madriganalonovich Gallery has already done projection art in Bakersfield…” blah blah blah… so what? We were doing it that night as the Assemblage Show. Her logic was just plain pretentious and faulty. People already make assemblage art. It’s already been done—doesn’t mean you can’t do assemblage again in refreshing ways, so why not projection art? Didn’t matter if we were the first or not. I knew it was being done at Cerro Coso in Kern County.

And, A.S. was creating assemblage art and re-using assemblage art from past shows with completely different theme titles. That’s fine. If he believes in recycling art, then let him. He adds new pieces into the mix too. I just find it funny to use the same art in different art shows with completely different thematic titles.

And we weren’t recycling projection art. It was original. I expressed my views to A.S. about Camarillo’s pretentious statement. I quickly learned however that A.S. polite kisses on the cheek—yes I tried to ignore those creepy gestures (I never reciprocated), were nothing more than a means to try to sway me to do his bidding. I tried to think of such kisses as his way of befriending in his weird artist manner. Was he just being a black widow? A kiss as long as he likes you?

He called me up, told me to not write about Camarillo Gavin or I would ruin everything for the art scene.

What?

I guess what I had told him in confidence had made him paranoid. Was I out to kill the art scene? To poison Bakersfield art? No. I say go to all the local art events. Spend your money on art. Help fill Ashley Ashley’s pocketbooks and help build the reputation of local artists. Even buy the recycled art if you can afford it so people don’t have to keep seeing the same art every two months.

I admit I gave him a piece of my mind. I told him, “I don’t tell you how to paint. So don’t tell me how to write.”

But that was just me being the same me you’ve seen on Paperback Writer all along. It was that simple. Well, after some ugly email exchanges that were laughable, he accused me of being an “isolationist martyr”. Nah, I’m just always the same guy I say I am. I stand up to people who try to control me or use me or who use others.

Is A.S. a user? Maybe all artists are to some degree. We want people to pay attention to what we create. And maybe he was in that instance. But Ashley’s dissing me after I stood up to him left a bad taste in my mouth. I can’t go to an art show where I’m not invited, where someone clearly dislikes me, and then pretend to like his creepy kisses on the cheek. I can’t go to an art show where A.S. seeks media coverage from everyone but me, especially when before he sought a lot of my help. Until I crossed him by standing up for myself.

Heck, I let the guy into my house. I was never invited to his for tea or crumpets.

No way. I’m out of the art drama for a while. That’s just too much for me to wander over and pretend.

I’m glad A.S. is helping local artists and working hand in hand with the ancient Roman Empress of Bakersfield Art, Camarillo Gavin. And I hope the art shows get better, bigger, and that local businesses start to appreciate Bakersfield art and spend big money to fill their lobbies. Those are the pocketbooks that A.S. needs to reach out to.

There may be a show tonight. Check the local paper or myspace. Or google it!

I may attend a future show. But for now, I’d rather drive over tarantulas, help my sick friend and read punk memoirs.

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Saturday, October 14, 2006. You can leave your response.