Big Bernie.

Here's some pictures of the finally completed Bernie, standing in at 9' 10" tall and weighing an easy 850 lb.

Here's an earlier picture of Kenny and myself maneuvering the head into place (also note: the day before install he had no eyes, no hands, no feet and no neck.)

All finished up, Bernie lays down for a nice trip over to the Bethel where he was soon to be installed.

My excellently efficient work crew who helped lift and carry and transport this massive sculpture (from right to left: Michael Ponce, Brandon Huebsch, myself, Dan Green and Josh Green).

Here's a picture of Bernie being fawned by some local ladies.

And here he is in hall is glory:

An old poem

Careful Complacency

//

Please place complacency carefully in the place adjacent to where your sub basement used to be.

Usually the used look that ensues civility in so serene in its own placidity that the dim witted seem geniuses who've been struck dumb accidentally.

I have a reason to believe that there's reason to leave,

the legion of lesions that you are yet to receive,

are seasoned in the easements of the next lines reprieve.

We're all so quick to deceive but you'd be quick to perceive

that through disbelief you'll quickly achieve

that very much needed sigh of relief

so long as you recite all the words that the righteous repeat

and yes, you maintain the right to retreat.

Just be aware;

that there are people out there, who will eat your soul like a treat

cause we're all sides of beef who've just recently learned how to speak,

and we've yet to outgrow that mammalian wont of eating the weak.

So to speak, so it goes

it's all part of show

that we star in for reasons god only knows

//

Gridlock

So I've been, ostensibly, off the grid for about a week now. That turn of phrase however, doesn't hold the weight it used to. Way back in the day (1998?) when someone said they are going "off the grid" it generally meant they were leaving their house for an extended period of time, possibly to some remote-ish location, where the mere thought of connectivity with the outside world was a complete joke. Now it doesn't matter where you go; the entire united states is pretty close to one big wifi hot-spot; everyone has a cell phone; most people have cell phones that have the entire internet on them; everyone has a laptop that's wifi capable... so if your off the grid you have to be making a serious concerted effort. And if you're someone who has a blog, a twitter account, a facebook account, a digg feed, subscriptions to multiple RSS feeds, a Tumblr profile, etc, etc, (you get the idea) and all of a sudden you stop posting, or even slow down your posting pace, than you are making a bold statement about your distaste for the social medias as a whole; because we all know that it's probably easier to stay connected to all of these things than it is to escape them... even for a couple days. So when I said I was, ostensibly, off the grid, I meant more that I was only writing/checking on my blog/twitter/facebook one to three times per day.

I think the main issue for me is the fear that these social networks are each chipping away at our sense of reality. The more we immerse ourselves in them the easier it is to become dependent on them. The opiate of over-connectivity. We develop connections and create relationships which are based entirely on the exchange of digital typefaces viewed on liquid crystal displays. What happened to steadfast, three dimensional, reality?

....

Well despite the overarching hypocrisy I'll be posting with renewed vigor once again (including daily updates on the state of Mr. Glove).

Photo Shoot

Man do I love messing around with Macro Lenses.

The work table.

Here's a quick look of just some random old and new sculptures I have lying around on the shop table... It's a bit messy at the moment...

Glove and Death

Oh that foolish and terrible "zac" (and do not deign that my lack of capitalization is an accident) thinks I am incapable of autonomous movement! I am capable of such and much more. Allow me, dear reader, to relate my harrowing tale and the sad state of affairs which has brought me mysteriously back to the place I started:

You see, dear reader, my fanciful journey began along the humble roadway known as Route 17 in the north western quadrant of southern New York (two hours north of Manhattan). I was being ferried carelessly from my home on "zac's" shop table to some sort of outing, some field work or what have you, I'm not really sure where we were going but I'd heard it involved bagels and large steel mailbox and I will say no more (the mere thought is unnerving). Whilst on this journey, sitting in the back of that horrid pickup truck I decided to make my daring escape. You see I noticed a large passenger van just behind us with Colorado plates and with that in my sights I caught a slip stream with just enough gust to carry me into the open side window of the van. From there I remained hidden inside the van until our arrival in Boulder Colorado.

While In Boulder Colorado I managed to spend a little time at UC Boulder, eventually meandering my way through the sea of litigations which buffer the admissions process and became a full matriculated student. During the time spent there I received my undergraduate in literature and quickly was invited to become an adjunct teacher for a semester. During which time I taught a class entitled "Life's a bitch and then you die" which actually focused on the pains of the afterlife (Dante's Inferno was the course's foundation).

Eventually, mid semester to be exact, I was accidentally placed in the briefcase of a traveling Evangelical who preached the Gospel of Trebufette the Blind Ox-boy to Carni and Circus folk at various locales along the Mississippi river. I found the mans sermons to be ridiculously abstruse and riddled with holes but the tenants upon which it was founded were imbued with rich moral fiber of which I heartily approved.

However I could no longer stand the man's countenance and was forced to again derail my path. I managed to get caught up with a group of New York bound Hop-heads who were intent on stopping at every rave and music venue they could find. Eventually these bewildered maniacs made it the state of Ohio where they were (rightfully/thankfully) arrested for possession of narcotics. The state trooper in charge realizing that I was a helpless captive took me into his own possession. He was going to, I assumed, restore me back onto my journey in a manner befitting a man of the law... I, of course, assumed incorrectly. You see instead of sending me off somewhere he simply placed me atop a beer bottle which sat on the rail of wooden fence at the edge of a vast field and began to slowly walk away from me. I simply thought that this was some strange way of releasing me into the wild. When he reached about 200 paces, however, he stopped walking and turned around and drew a large police issue Magnum revolver and began to slowly set up for the shot. It was at this moment that I realized that this man was not a member of the standard American police-force, but rather a symbolic figure of death brought down to restore the cycle of my torment and misery. He fired the trigger and everything went black.

You see, dear reader, I assumed that was the end, just as you likely did. Much to my dismay I was not greeted by a host of scantily clad angels or a divine garden or pearly gates atop a sea of clouds or anything of the sort. In fact I was treated to what felt like a single nights restful sleep and upon re-entering the world, I was back hanging on the wall at that very same welding supply store where my naive eyes first looked upon my hated captor, that awful "zac". And whom do you think the first face I would see is... none other than he. And I tell you, I had never before believed in the Law of Infinite Returns, nor understood it's precepts, I tell you that now it as clear as day to me. And this is my cycle of infinite returns, this is my 7th circle of Dante's inferno, my recurring nightmare, my terrible fate.

-Glove

It's better to have a glove thats lost, than to never have gloves at all.

It's been three days now and my glove has not turned up. I was fairly confident that the glove itself was incapable of autonomous movement, however I am thoroughly mystified as to how it could have disappeared. You see I may toss him errantly around in the shop leaving him on Clifford (my welding machine) or on the floor or on a chair, but he always turns up. I really am at a loss here people... I've been using one of the multitude of other disheveled gloves lying around, but it's just not the same. I still cling to the hope that he will return, and until he does I will leave a candle burning in the window of my blog.

Here's a picture of what I made today for my buddy Larry:

The Playlist

While I'm listing things I might as well get into music, because music is a quintessential part of everything I do. It's hard to be in a bad mood when listening to light bubbly reggae and it's hard to be unproductive while listening to some base-heavy old punk song. So in tandem with my recent list of books, I will now issue a list of my top six songs/artists/albums and their associated work mode/mood altering tendency.

1. Mozart - Well I gotta start this list off with the classic of classics. Inspirational, productive, whatever he's always a good choice.

2. Offspring (Smash) - Now I've been a fan of Offspring since I was like 10 years old and I still really thoroughly enjoy them. I'm not talking about anything they've done post 1996, the old stuff is what does it for me. If I have to weld or grind or do some single task for a long time, I blast some old offspring and power right through it.

3. Tom Waits - If I need some deep intellectual inner thinking I'll turn to this moody bastard. Of course he can be depressing and dower but damn if he doesn't bring out the rawest and most human qualities in his music. Good for the figuring out process.

4. The Amelie soundtrack by Yann Tierson - Okay so if I'm ever getting on a roll and stuff is starting to flow I'll throw this on. It makes everything feel so epic and climactic and beautiful that working to it makes me feel like a conductor in a scrap-metal orchestra (see also my entire dumpster divers sculpture which was built primarily to this soundtrack).

5. Steel Pulse or Black Uhuru - These are just two of my recent favorites, but if I want good vibes and a relaxed atmosphere to get through the tedium of difficult work, I'll put on either one of these guys or just one extensive reggae mix to zone-out to (but not too zoned out, just enough to get the job done in a calm and easy way).

6. Heart it Races as played by Dr. Dog - This song, originally by Architecture in Helsinki (not personally too familiar with them) has grown to be my current favorite and I often find myself starting or ending (or both) my day with this track. The pure energy that pulses through this song makes it a great track to get the ball rolling.

Thats all for now.

Mr. Glove will be on to complain shortly

-Z

Ten most influential books

Alright you've all gotten well acquainted with Mr.Glove , and I have a feeling he'll be making his presence known regularly throughout the summer, but that doesn't mean that I am not going to post anymore... so without further ado:

A couple months ago I read about a popular trend amongst bloggers to post their 10 most influential books in chronological gut-feeling based order... So I will do just that.

1. Where the Wild things are - Well I don't remember my exact reactions to the book, but I do remember that this was my favorite book read to me as a child and definitely plots a course that I've maintained (both in the books I've read and in the work I've created). So here's my earliest nod to the world of monsters and fantasy.

2. Grunts - Maybe I'm jumping ahead here and skipping over like 8 years or so of constant fantasy novel reading, but I gotta be somewhat discerning about this list. Grunts, written by Mary Gentle (a purposely ironic pen-name I'm guessing), is the tale of a group of inherently evil Orcs who stumble upon a cache of Guns and Ammunition and begin to wreak havoc on elves and sprites and other fairytale creatures. It's replete with gore, violence and sarcasm; I loved it.

3. Brave New World - (Written by Aldous Huxley) Another couple year jump ahead in time, my first dance with the Distopia genre; a genre which I would grow to love and devour. Maybe it wasn't my single favorite distopic story, but it was damn close and it set the pace.

4. Discworld novels and a Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy - okay so I'm condensing and combining a lot in this one. Discworld novels by Terry Pratchette are fantastically well written comedic stories which take place in a phantasmagorical world which rests on the back of four elephants who stand atop a turtle who is floating through outer-space; I must have read ten or fifteen of these. Similarly Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is probably one of the funniest and most brilliant takes on a futuristic sci-fi ever written, and I doubt anyone will argue that point.

5. Choke - Chuck Palanhiuk's book about Sexaholism is sick, disturbing, grotesque, strange, stylish, funny and brilliant all rolled into one. It was also my real first non-sci-fi/fantasy novel that I read for something other than a school assignment. I went on to read most everything he wrote and enjoyed a good 80-90% of it.

6. Stranger in a Strange Land - This tale of a superhuman born on mars with the ability to see and in hear in a completely different and transcendent way, felt more like a book of beautiful philosophy than it did like a futuristic sci-fi. But I enjoyed both aspects immensely.

7. Atlas Shrugged - Well, yeah, I did the Ayn Rand thing and I read em both (Fountainhead first) and I'm not gonna lie, I really enjoyed them. Opinions of the late Mrs. Rand aside, the book is a stellar read and when you look at objectivism in very simplistic terms and ignore the inhumanity of it, well then you have very driving and motivational concept.

8. Blue Beard - I really have a lot of trouble picking one Kurt Vonnegut novel, but Blue Beard does still reign as my favorite. Kurt Vonnegut waxing, well... Vonnegut, about the Art Expressionists movement is right up my ally. But I can't dwell on that novel; Vonnegut's humanist conceptions and curmudgeonly ramblings have grown to be a great treasures which I store somewhere in the depths of my brain or, as he would call it: my two and a half pounds of dog-food.

9. The Wild Sheep Chase - Picking my favorite Haruki Murakami novel is even harder than picking my favorite Vonnegut. His inimitable style is so spiritual and ephemeral that all of his books have sort of melted together to create a strange surreal fabric... it's hard to explain, sort of like any one of the novel's he's written. The Wild Sheep Chase, though not as in depth as Kafka on the Shore or The Wind Up Bird Chronicles was my introduction to his poetic nature and I have been a huge fan ever since.

10. Infinite Jest - What can I say about this epic novel by David Foster Wallace... I dunno. It's unquantifiable. It's like life.... only.... with a (useful) appendix. Undoubtedly the greatest novel I ever read, but I still will not recommend it to anyone.

11th runner up : Voltaire's Candide because he's right "We must cultivate our gardens"

notable mentions: Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of being, Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, Dave Eggar's Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Cervantes' Don Quixote (I really should have figured out how to get this one in there), Goerge Orwell's 1984

I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff

-Zac