Jasper Goes Punk Rock with Kid Anthem

So, if there is anything Jasper gets more disappointed about than people ragging on Columbia’s art and music scene, it’s when he himself misses something great about it. Case in point is the local punk rock band Kid Anthem’s debut EP, which was released back in October of last year. It’s possible he even heard about the band, but had a unfair knee-jerk reaction against a genre that seems fraught with easy musical crutches of speed and shouting, with an emphasis on sloppiness over tunes.

This was totally not the case with Kid Anthem. Featuring a slate of experienced scene member and a modus operandi that leans more towards anthemic than anarchic, Kid Anthem cherry picks from the best of the punk and alt. rock tradition. Jasper hears echoes of Bad Brains, Social Distortion, Bad Religion, Superchunk, and lots of other bands that we don’t know enough about to name check. Big guitars and propulsive drumming dominate these songs courtesy of Eric McCord (Pop 39)and Chris Shirah (Burns Out Bright, Ye Mighty!) respectively, but there are also some surprisingly wicked bass lines weaving in and out of these songs (played by Thank God drummer Troy Thames) too. Throw in some dedicated background vocals giving the group a touch of Phil Specter pop, and it becomes clear that this is a group taking the term “power trio” seriously.

Even after a couple of listens, Jasper was amazed at the way the group seems to even-handily divide time between big choruses and hooks with moments where the band opens up some space and plays with one  another.   Some people are always going to be a little turned off by punk rock. But if you have an open mind and want to hear a band right here in town taking the musicality of punk rock quite seriously, check out the EP here. It’s free!

-- Kyle Petersen

Jasper says, "Arms be bound with rope and shame"

One thing about Jasper, he gets his hands dirty. Sometimes he comments about the art he sees and hears, but sometimes he’s got his hands down in it, making something. So sometimes we’ll write about what we’re doing.

So: I’ve been cutting up Jesus. Will I go to hell for this?

I’m working with a collaborative of artists –visual artists, filmmakers, performance artists—on a show called Saint Sebastian: From Martyr to Gay Starlet. The one-night-only gallery show will be Sept. 1 at Friday Cottage Artspace downtown (1830 Henderson). (Yes, we know, we know: same night as First Thursday.) The event was planned in conjunction with SC Gay Pride on Sept 3; the idea was to add an art element to the week of events.

 

 

The show, conceived by Alejandro García-Lemos and Leslie Pierce, explores the quirky iconography of Saint Sebastian, martyred twice (the first time didn’t work—Saint Irene pulled all the arrows out), his eyes always raised to heaven but his body writhing across this history of Western art in masochistic ecstasy. How does a Christian martyr become a gay icon? What is it about his story, his image, the representations of his martyred body? (The publicity art—which juxtaposes a male pin-up with stained glass, by Leslie Pierce—captures, I think, some of the weirdness of this icon.)

There’s a great image of Sebastian in the Columbia Museum of Art. The Virgin and Child are pure Byzantine, blue and gold and flat, but Sebastian is looking over the Virgin’s shoulder like the Renaissance, naturalistic, a real body, the cords of his strong neck.

The Sebastian show will include visual art, performance art, photography, film, a small souvenir chapbook of original art and poetry, a DJ, a cash bar, and a couple of boys standing around with arrows.

I’ve been writing poems about Sebastian—some about the image and history, some responding to specific works by the other artists. The interactions and collaborations have been rich and rewarding. (Note to self: there should be more interdisciplinary artist collaborations. Such a great way to generate new work.) A film visually responds to a poem which responds to a print, the film incorporating a voiceover of the poem and the imagery of the print. A photo documents a performance art piece which uses a poem which responds to a print (the poem projected—performance art into film—onto a male body).

I was asked to turn a small room into a poetry chapel. I’ve got icons, prayer cards (with a prayer to Sebastian.) Among other things, I wanted some prayer banners. My partner found some huge folk religious art canvases at a local auction—interesting because the artist was painting traditional Christian images, but clearly had a special interest in the textures of men’s bodies—the veins on arms, the carefully painted chest hair on an apostle. (And that carefully draped loincloth across the fisher of men, looking so like a wardrobe malfunction about to happen, the hand of Jesus so carefully positioned there, as if he’s about to rip it off.)

So for the banners I cut up bodies—Jesus, apostles, thieves on crosses. Something wicked and vaguely erotic about it. Disembodied arms. An arrow (real arrow) in the side. Wrists bound with golden rope. A prayer. “Arms be bound with rope and shame.”

-- Ed Madden

 

If Art and Fashion had a Baby

An artist sits at one of those checkered tables at Cool Beans and sips on a Red Bull while sketching waifish silhouettes. At first glance, this Lexington native seems to be focusing on her drawings carefully with reading glasses. But sitting across from her, you notice the absence of lenses and that in fact you are looking directly into the framed eyes of Katherine Elliott. Without any lenses, and without a filter, this graduate of NYC's Fashion Institute of Technology is a control freak when it comes to aesthetics, likes to use the word 'vomit' in various contexts, and is not afraid of cockroaches, well at least not anymore.
"I use to be completely terrified of cockroaches and of any other creature like them,” she explains “until I was hypnotized. And it really worked!"
Elliott describes her first confrontation with a cockroach after the hypnosis as calm and easy: "I stared at it and said to myself, that is a huge flying cockroach."
But while her fear has transformed into fascination, the thought of finding a roach in her boudoir still disquiets Elliot: "I still don't think I would want to touch a cockroach, but at least now I'm painting them."
Since the hypnosis last May, insects have been appearing in Elliott's art. And while beetles and roaches have become a motif in several of her works, Elliot does not let them take on lives of their own. She is still very much in control of what the insects are allowed to do and how. What dictates the tone of her painting are Elliott's moods, two of which can be distinguished in her oil paintings "Happiness" and "Demeter."
Inspired by the devastated divine mother, "Demeter" is painted in muddy greens and browns. In it, insects act passively as filthy wallpaper in the background while desperation and loneliness are personified in the expression of Demeter.
But in "Happiness," beetles are welcomed to the spotlight as they crawl all over a woman’s body. Judging by her serene brow, the pretty subject is quite alright with it. "Happiness" showcases the twisted and delicate of Elliot's art, a psychology of hers that pushes spectators to the (rose-colored) edge.
Elliott is edgy and not just in her art. She is loud, funny, and makes voices when telling stories that will engage the crap out of you. For some reason, though, she did not fit in with the other kids growing up. But there are no sob stories here. There is always comedic relief with Elliott, such as when she describes her dim schoolgirl years. "Some days I would wear a bright pink wig to class," she says. "It was really cute, with side-swept bangs and layers. And it also had a built-in scalp so that it looked real. People would tell me ‘take off that wig, Katherine,’ and I would reply, ‘No, it's my real hair,’ and then I would point to the scalp."
Elliott's best school memories spurt from the two years she spent at the Governor's School for the Arts. There, she focused on painting and graphic design, honing skills she had first developed years before at the Tri-District Arts Consortium at Columbia College.
At the Governor's School, the young artist was particularly inspired by her art history teacher, Dana Howard. It was in Howard's class that Elliot was first exposed to one of her favorite artists, Edvard Munch."I have a soft spot for Munch's work, especially for his etchings and drawings," she says.
Elliott uses "creepy" and "elegant" to describe the etchings and drawings by Munch that she loves so much. This vocabulary is not surprising with the young artist, as anyone might find Elliott's own paintings to be eerie and chic.
Perhaps because of her FIT background, Elliott's waifish figures and subjects are mostly inspired by fashion. Model-like and almost skeletal, her subjects maintain an exaggerated modern beauty. Elliott's leading ladies evoke an angular and nymph-like aura similar to that of unhealthily thin fashion models. "I have always felt that curvy women are the most beautiful," Elliott explains, "but in my paintings, I choose this aesthetic. She’s not supposed to look pretty in the real way."
When asked why fashion and not art, Elliott's answer is simple: "Well when I was in high school, I got this crazy notion that I would never make money doing fine art." And so Elliott decided to devise a career in which she would make clothing that was "artful and fun." It was a practical decision and, while the young artist thought she would be able to take advantage of her background in art, Elliott soon realized that her time behind the drawing board would be minimal and that sending e-mails, fitting models, and the long hours would in fact be the bulk of that career.
"I think if I was living in the ‘70s right now, I would have enjoyed myself in the fashion industry because there was a lot of freehand drawing involved," she says. "But nowadays everything is done by computer, and there isn't a real need for fashion illustrators, something that I would have been interested in."
Six years in New York City led to a bachelor's degree in fashion design, unforgettable rooftop photo shoots, summertime internships with Derek Lam and Bill Blass Group, as well as a position with Calvin Klein's women's collection. But it wasn't for her. Elliott ran out of money and returned, reluctantly, to her roots in Lexington. It's the best move she has ever made: "Well now that I've moved to Columbia, I really love it down here even though I thought I was going to hate it and vomit and cry everyday!"
Though she is still a baby in her career, it is exciting to watch Elliott's first steps. Her debut gallery showing took place during August's First Thursday, where she showed a ceramic slab piece, meant to look like a castle, for the “Vessels” show at the Anastasia and Friends gallery on Main Street.
When asked what other avenues of artistic expression she is involved with, Elliott responds with a litany of projects and ideas. She embroiders, plays with clay, designs a line of women's pastel-colored accessories and purses under her line of Rive Gauche Craft, and she orchestrates fashion photo shoots, too.
"I've been known to throw together a tripod," she says as she takes my car keys and gently places them underneath her Nikon camera, which sits atop books at a Cool Beans table. On the day of this conversation, I was told to "dress up." Elliott would take pictures of me, herself, and of us together.
"There is something wonderful about directing and appearing at the same time!” she says.  “It puts me in ultimate control."
While her photo shoots are casual, friendly, and spontaneous, Elliott takes them quite seriously. Except for a few photographs with her handmade lambskin clutches, the shoots are not done for marketing. Most of the time, they are simply manifestations of creativity: "It’s sort of like an excess vomit of creativity that I have to channel somehow, and so I'll just grab a camera and go.”
-- Karina Salehi
Director of Advertising
Jasper Magazine

Poet Cassie Premo Steele responds to artist Bonnie Goldberg

Last year at one of Mark Plessinger's multi-disciplinary arts events at Frame of Mind, the local writer and poet, Cassie Premo Steele, created poetry in response to some of the paintings by artist, Bonnie Goldberg, whose work you saw in Jasper's last message. At Jasper, we love it when artists come together to inspire one another and share their gifts with each other and those of us who are lucky enough to stand and watch.

Here are two of the poems Cassie wrote for that night. For more of Cassie, please visit her at www.cassiepremosteele.com.

 

Look this way

 

Look this way, he said,

as she turned her head

away from him, again.

 

Her own shoulder

makes a better bed

than his ever did.

 

It took her years

to believe it, though.

His hard bones,

 

she thought,

were the best

she could do.

 

Hand on hip,

she finally said

the words: We're through.

 

For Goldberg's Drawing 202, ‘nude female standing.’

 

Your daughter turns from you

 

Your daughter turns from you daily now,

with the grace of a dancer, and somehow

you learn to accept it, that carpet she weaves

and walks away upon each day.

 

You knew this day would come, even

before she could walk and you spent

hours drumming on her thighs and

humming lullabies. You were preparing.

 

You saw flashes of it at two and ten,

her rage slicing the way for her to cut

away from you. You were smug

and thought you knew wisdom.

 

Becoming daughter to mother, we learn cutting.

As mothers, we learn waving goodbye and staying.

The lesson of grandmothering: Crying. Smiling.

Never saying how hard it is to see them leaving.

 

For Goldberg's Painting 145, ‘promises.’

Cassie Premo Steele is the author of eight books and teaches writing and everyday creativity at The Co-Creating Studio. Check her out at www.cassiepremosteele.com

Can you name Bonnie Goldberg's models?

Local artist, Bonnie Goldberg, has built a reputation not just by creating images of beautiful women and men, but by somehow, through that incomprehensible magic that is artistic interpretation, committing the essence of her models to canvass.

Though Goldberg primarily paints women, the portrait above is of two local artists, a man and a woman, who recently performed at a public event.

Can you name the artists above? (No fair posting if you're related to the models or have already seen them identified.) Post your guesses in the comment section below.

For more of Bonnie, visit her at www.bonniegoldberg.com

 

Jasper was in the news again

Thanks to Otis Taylor for officially welcoming Jasper to the Columbia arts scene in Sunday's The State paper. If you missed his kind introduction, we've copied it below. Let us introduce you to Jasper.

Jasper: The Word on Columbia Arts is a magazine that will release its first issue on Sept. 15. The website launched last week and already the writers, in a section labeled “what Jasper said,” has begun posting interesting ideas.

For example, the following was written in a post titled “Sometimes, Jasper is bored”: “Jasper just wishes that his beloved ballet ADs would believe in their audiences enough to know that they want to be challenged — they’re getting tired of the same old, same old. Yes, they love their sleeping beauties and their enamored pirates, but when an audience already knows the score to a show by heart then, honey, it’s time to change the show.”

The post went on to mention area choreographers who would, undoubtedly, make sparks fly if they were allowed to choreograph for Columbia City Ballet or Columbia Classical Ballet.

Jasper, which will be published by Muddy Ford Press, will have a familiar tone when it rolls off the press. Editor Cynthia Boiter heads a staff that includes Kristine Hartvigsen, Ed Madden and Kyle Petersen, writers who had their work previously featured in undefined magazine.

If you haven’t already made the connection, Jasper shares a name with Jasper Johns, a contemporary painter and printmaker who was raised in South Carolina. Jasper, the magazine, will be printed bi-monthly.

Read more: http://www.thestate.com/2011/08/07/1923628/arts-planner.html#ixzz1UeLK7CXg

A poem by Ed Madden

Dream fathers

By Ed Madden

We drive across the bridge, late at night, a hundred feet or so of clattering boards—

no rail, no rim, just jagged planks, and river flowing slow and brown below. The bridge

collapsed last year. I cross it every night in sleep—sometimes alone, sometimes with him—

but always away from home. The bridge's end may veer; each night I go someplace else,

dark cypress swamp on either side. One night my father is the driver and the car.

He opens up the door of his side, and I climb in. I cross the bridge again,

riding in the body of my father.

 

 

Dream fathers and more of Ed’s poetry can be found in his most recent book of poetry, Prodigal: Variations, 2011. Ed is the poetry editor for Jasper Magazine.