Their thoughts and fears were gone
Don’t die. Don’t get tired. Write.
This month we printed for Jeffrey Sugishita’s upcoming show at Neo LA and a show we printed for opened, so we got to see the work out in the world and get to experience it again. Esteban went after a day at the print shop and he felt a deep sadness — the artists that the exhibit was about were long dead, their thoughts and fears were gone. Did they make the art they meant to? Am I making the art I mean to?
We printed more than 50 pieces of evidence of the artists, Julius Eastman and Arthur Russel, existing: scribbled notes, letters, sheet music, archival documents from recording studios. But we also printed art by living artists that show how Julius Eastman and Arthur Russel are now still influencing them. Curator Katy Dammers, Elizabeth Cline, Talia Heiman, Mark McNeill, Christopher Rountree, and Julia Ward created the channel from Julius and Arthur to us now. Not just through the archival and academic (which was there and our little academically trained hearts love it) but it was also there in how it felt to see the performers and listen to musicians who created and are now in the room along with Julius and Arthur. The life of art is long and it can travel so well, from one person to another to another, from idea to idea to idea. Better and faster than we can, really.
At the theater’s gallery space, Arthur is still singing deeply and quietly. The projection of Arthur is showing just part of his face, his eyes almost closed. Seeing a show like that makes me feel heavy again but heavy with the kind of sadness that reminds me we are still alive to make art. I know many are not. Omar Hamad wrote: “I tell myself every day: Don’t die. Don’t get tired …Write, and then write, and then write. Write your own death with your own hands — don’t let anyone write about you.”
I read this and I think of Kristen Huizar’s work. We have been working on these, finding the right texture of paper and colors to reproduce a set of 1 of 1 prints she made. One of Kristen’s prints even promises this: I will be the thorn in your fucking side.‘ till the day I die and the afterlife.
I think too of the solo show we printed for Jeffrey Sugishita (featured at the top) — who lost their home and art in the fires. They went back while the flames were still there and photographed themselves.
The day Esteban started work on the test prints he came home talking about these photos. Trying to work through the idea of going back in there before whatever fumes and toxicity and flames were put out, it’s going to kill him we said, he won’t survive. We also said, maybe a person wouldn’t survive unless they take the photos. We don’t know the survival rate if the person doesn’t make the art. His show opens April 5 at Neo LA.
I was at the dentist this week and the hygienist and I embarked on our regular weather chit chat when we both paused to stare blankly at the face of the truth of it all and then she said, “I really believe it is the end, the end, the really, really, really end of it all.” It reminded me that we are no longer in They Live. In that world they have to put on glasses to see it; in this world you have to be putting on glasses to not see it. Then, she cleaned my teeth and we scheduled an appointment for a filling in October. At the end of the appointment, the dentist put her hands in a prayer position, bowed her head, and said, “I’m not worried about you.” And I felt, well, I felt pretty worried and I felt like I was definitely in Los Angeles, and I felt grateful. I put on a playlist and the maps yelled at me how to get home and then I was home, thinking about the boats.
Next week, my book PLUM comes out, which is wild and cool, and kind of nauseating. I keep pulling it back to how cool it is, which it is really fucking cool. I’d love to celebrate with you. We’re doing an in-person event here in so-called Los Angeles and a virtual one, too.
On Saturday at 3pm, we’ll be in Echo Park at The Untitled Love bookshop — you’re all invited and if you’re in LA, I hope you come. I’ll be talking with my friend and the writer of Creatures, Crissy Van Meter. She’s great and we’ll be talking process and art and books will be available, even though they won’t be in stores until Tuesday the 8th, so it’ll briefly be the only place on earth to get the book (unless you pre-ordered and you already have it because they shipped them early! How amazing, and more proof that time is a construct.) We first met Dário who founded and curates the shop when we printed posters for Palestine and he wanted one to hang. If you’ve never been, the visit is worth the street parking and more.
The virtual event will be at 3pm PT on Wednesday, April 9 and you can register here and order the book here. I’ll be in conversation with my editor and friend and fellow writer Kate McMullen. I can and also can’t believe that we found each other — I submitted my book agent-less during an open call, and she read a bunch of the book the first day she opened it there at her desk. Can you imagine? I do.
What else? I’ve been listening to this very quiet, really somber song. Sad songs make me feel right.
And we watched Sugar Glass Bottle by Neo Sora over at Le Cinema Club. We go there sometimes when we want something pre-selected. No choices, just one thing to watch. It was fun and wild and startling. It spends a lot of time in this wonderful third space — it’s a public space, the spot under the overpass, and it’s not exactly a home, but it is one person’s home because he lives there. It is very much not really in the street, though, it feels like a studio. Maybe because of the horizontal space and the lighting. It all feels familiar and cozy, a space you might find in Total Recall or Repo Man. In this third space, on one side are the stairs from the overpass that they’re walking on and on the other is his home and then all this anti-human architecture and neon signs promising gentrification and development: The Overpass, COMING SOON!
We missed the week before that, did you catch it? The 10-minute film Motorcyclist’s Happiness Won’t Fit Into His Suit by Gabriel Herrera? It’s “an absurd re-enactment of colonial antics shot in striking 16mm by a Mexican filmmaker” with beautiful color and motorcycles in Mexico. I’m sure we’ll see it someday, some way. And we can still catch this one, Christmas, Every Day by Faye Tsakas, which documents pre-teens influencers’ rituals with the help of their parents. For sure that’s what we’ll do tonight, after we push send on this one. Join us?
See you soon, make some art, take some in.
At Los Angeles Print Shop we operate on a sliding scale for individual artists, and pay-the-list-rate for those endowed with capital and power — all are welcome and when you’re ready you can reply to this email, or DM us on Instagram.
If you’ve lost art and need it reprinted, or know someone who has, we’re here. You or they may not be ready yet and that’s okay. Take the time it takes. We are pay-what-you-can, even if that amount is zero. You might not have anything to print today, but want to contribute to the pay-what-you-can fund, you can donate here.
It’s also true for new art, art that hadn’t yet existed. We hope you make some. I know we want to see it, we always have, always will.