los angeles experimental artspace curating sub-avant-garde

los angeles experimental artspace curating sub-avant-garde

Monday, March 24, 2008

dreams are our weapon hope




dreams are our weapon hope

dream as a definition is many things:

1.a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep.
2.the sleeping state in which this occurs.
3.an object seen in a dream.
4.an involuntary vision occurring to a person when awake.
5.a vision voluntarily indulged in while awake; daydream; reverie.
6.an aspiration; goal; aim: A trip to Europe is his dream.
7.a wild or vain fancy.
8.something of an unreal beauty, charm, or excellence.
9. to have a dream.
10. to indulge in daydreams or reveries:
He dreamed about vacation plans when he should have been working.
11. to think or conceive of something in a very remote way
(usually fol. by of): I wouldn't dream of asking them. –verb (used with object)
12. to see or imagine in sleep or in a vision.
13. to imagine as if in a dream; fancy; suppose.
14. to pass or spend (time) in dreaming (often fol. by away) : to dream away the afternoon.
15. most desirable; ideal: a dream vacation.
16. dream up, to form in the imagination; devise:
They dreamed up the most impossible plan.
joy, mirth, gladness,

the following are some of the dreams attached to the circle
during DREAMTIME zero-point's 3rd of 13 moon series

the beginning...

i chose these pieces
and tried to accurately place
the words as they were written

they are anonymous

the water was rushing in
on a ship and i was stranded in the hull.
as i began to drown
i noticed that i had grown gills,
and swam to the surface
only to descend again
to a new life
as a new creature.

all this climbing
these winding
long roads
steep staircases
does eveyrhwere
lead to nyc?
i have been
hovering over nyc
in my dreams since
98. and i've never
even been.
dream of stairwells
and rooftops and all
my neighbors there.
dream scheme to get
me out of this hot
town to another.
i want wet warm
sweet coastal love.
living in wood and
treehouses and full
plates and wine
stained glasses.
i want my face
stained with
happiness
from my
lovers face.
i want
this loneliness
to fade into
a city of my
possibility.
my owned
heart.
my
self.

i dreampt i was at
a punk show and
the band started by
playing the first set of
chords from some really
early era song,
then there were some
rad lyrics
i don't remember them...

b-movie dream

it
looked familiar.
it was
clearly mine
but i hadn't
been there before.
it held
many of my
things. suddenly
my bicycle
is missing, stolen
by a bunch of
flower face kids.
how will i get
to the garden
now? will i have
to steal someone
else's ride? all
of the panic and
terror over take
me and pulsate

there was
a midget chasing
me -- and a bunch
of my friends - he kept
trying to get us to go
on a scavenger hunt and
drink a potion - we
told him no - and i
said i was bigger
than him and he
couldn't make me -
he kept trying to
scare us and i
was laughing
at him

i dreamed my legs
were all purple from bruises,
and i couldn't remember
how i got them, but it scared
me - they didn't hurt but i
was afraid i might die from it

my dream is to create a
platform from which other dreams
can take flight. these dreams
are those which uplift others
and connect us to our
better selves

to have
only more
of what
i only
am.
only.

health & happiness
for my beauty &
myself etc.

may happiness appear in
both romance & music &
let the love over-vibe all
shades of pain.

i dream of the
connections between
us eliminating the
need for the word
"evil" to exist in
our collective
vocabulary, to
be eliminated
from the
lexicon.

i'm in my parent's dining room,
daytime, and hear a
shotgun accompanied with
a scream from my mother
and / or sister.

everyone was a zombie - souls eternal
but dead walking
an old friend
still had his soul
and he protected me

i was an
animal
i was
eaten
then
born as
a
human

dreampt of hanging upside-down from the rung of a fire escape ladder on the top floor of a brick
high rise in nyc. after testing the rungs for stability & hanging for a moment, the ladder gives way
and i fall, expecting certain death due to the height of the building. but in mid-fall, a caucasian
guy flies to my rescue, robing me in a white quilt-like gown (and textured like styrofoam balls),
which seems to slow my descent. it is understood that the guy was an angel, who then brings
me to this ritzy blue-blood party where an older, sophisticated woman comments on the
fashion forwardness of the white quilt gown. i laugh inside at the comedy
of it, and that's all i remember...

i hope that all the vulnerable
creatures will be free from
suffering. only when mankind
realizes that they are not superior
beings, will this happen...

a dream is
a dream
because -
flying on a
small chair to
another dimension,
i met the others
but eventually
i left, went
back to the earth
dimension and became
paralyzed.
until i
woke
and could not
move. until the
sun rose next in
the sky

a powerful magician
leads me through solid stone
we were walking inside solid
stone, two evil ones tried to stop us
on our journey, but we just kept going.
the sensation of walking inside solid stone
through solid rock, was different than air, we
moved slowly, like through really heavy water,
but nothing could stop us, and i could feel
that i was protected and safe.


the end...

pretty amazing.
gratitude to all participants

DREAMTIME was created.
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13 moon series ethos


"art is time"

zero-point's 13 moon series full art experience:

co-curated by mark ferem, dana bean & christie scott

a one year project to inspire and celebrate the creative nature of the human spirit

through themed rituals consisting of music, visual and oral tradition,

interactive art and collaborative mash-ups

to create community

and build on a cultural narrative of peace and integration with our various environments.

we will create full art experiences:

utilizing the arts platform from musical ensembles to poets,

visual totems to interactive organic audience participation.

we will ferment and propagate compassion / awareness

as we return to the source of creativity,

the conscious convergence of zero-point 'energy'.

zero-point energy embodies the idea that all is one.

we will build on the 13 moon natural cycle of time,

zero-point will host 13 shows,

one every month in a sense ceremonial with nature,

because we must

harness the collective ether,

inspire positive change,

take back the lexicon and framing of language through collaborations,

create our own myths as storytellers,

learn anew to daily make a more livable space

where our spirits gather to restore the nature of our consciousness.

zero-point invites you to participate in your own evolution and transformation.

zero-point is a new arts warehouse in sodo (south downtown) los angeles

run by previous proprietress of il corral christie scott and soundman stane hubert.

zero-point is interested in hosting/fostering experiments in the expressive disciplines.

visual arts, music/sound, and word-based arts form the three ring 'circle acts',

the structure for the new & multi-media 'art circus' - salon style rowdiness.

zero-point press

Zero-Point is the New Il Corral

Rowdy 'Feminine Oddities' Show Inspires Old, Old Ideas

By Ron Garmon

In the two years it lasted, Il Corral was little short of a civic miracle. Hidden behind a routine length of vine-covered brick just off an ill-lit stretch of Melrose, the now-defunct club was less a rock venue than an irregularly-scheduled Temporary Autonomous Zone. The giddy avant-basement experimentalism of their scene was compressed into 40 Bands in 80 Minutes, a splendidly punky documentary documenting little of the chummy human tumult that attached itself to the space. Sure, you can hear well-crafted pop or prog-nosed rock whilst posing by the bar at any leading-brand Westside clipjoint, but how many of these invite patrons to swing across the floor on a rope?

Halcyon daze, to be sure, and unlikely to see revival anywhere near Hollywood anytime soon. Despite tolerant neighbors, effective DIY security, and dueling norteño decibels from two nearby dance halls, some residual hillbilly-moonshiner’s sense of the possible told me the place was impermanent at best. Like Al’s Bar, Zamakibo!, and the Garage, Il Corral joined the ranks of the padlocked, closing late last year in the usual white-noize Yuletide blizzard, only to reopen as Zero-Point last month in the even less-trendy precincts of South Downtown. Again hidden in plain sight (on the second floor of a barnlike warehouse off S. Central), the space is well-suited to partners Christie Scott and Stane Hubert’s announced ambition of inviting artists from various media into “three ring circle acts” and “salon-style rowdiness,” like the one-off multimedia “Feminine Oddities” show last Saturday night.The seeming idea was to hurl burly-q hoofers, girly punks, femme-flavored art, and a platoon of miscellaneous beautiful women – including Playboy model Foxy Natalia – into a crowd of downtown bohos and await the combustion already well underway by the time we arrived. My date, a pink-haired model who occasionally suffers her nude body to be painted with leopard spots for Art, did her innocent best to blur the line between spectator and exhibit, as intriguing images on the walls subtly raised the ambient sexual temperature. Debra Haden’s spread-legged, fish-netted Medusae jostled with Bryan Barnes’s bosomy death’s-heads and Mary Macker’s goth moppets for attention, as inhibitions relaxed and patrons began to paw and nuzzle discreetly. Indeed, my girl and I were on the verge of indiscretion ourselves when a peremptory feedback skronk redirected our attention to the ad-hoc performance space.Fallopian, an all-girl punk act from the disaffected proletarian hellhole of Santa Monica, set up an overamped clatter sounding less like every trick in the chickpunk book than the book itself stuffed into an elderly, sputtering woodchipper. These tubular belles, delectable in thrift-glamour couture, didn’t stint on audience by-play, even mixing in a little self-promo. “Hayley Duff loves us!” shouted the guitarist, bidding the rest of us follow her example. The audience yipped and bawled in delight, naked of inhibitions and earplugs as an old-timey mosh pit, but infinitely better looking.My date and I exited and walked around the block in a self-generated marigasmo haze, returning in time to see Fallopian’s boy groupies laboriously wrangle the band’s designer gear to the pavement. Upstairs, red-haired Foxy was shaking her well-made kewpie ass at a battery of photographers, as poses of other kinds had been long since abandoned by the congenial crowd. The über-hip governors of the place were beaming as the Hollywood Pin Up Girls strutted out. This “retro feel-good cabaret” consists of a gaggle of undeniably lovely ladies tripping Fosse-like to canned chestnuts like “Le Jazz Hot” and David Rose’s “The Stripper.” It was cheesy and about as un-serious as gallery showings get, but it worked like Wonka. As we edged to the door, the wolfish leers we saw plastered all over the room told of the power of art to stimulate ideas.2008-02-07the article online: zero-point oddities



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Los Angeles Times - January 10, 2008

Words from the 'bathroom blogosphere'

Mark Ferem documents the best of bathroom-wall scrawls in his new book.

Elina Shatkin

MARK FEREM has made a career out of crawling around urinals -- and he's not a janitor. Inspired by a Rainer Maria Rilke quote ("For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror") scrawled on the bathroom wall of a Houston dive bar, the native Angeleno began a small photo essay on the subject. Thirteen years later, his obsession with latrinalia has led to dozens of trips around the country and a 160-page photo book on the subject, "Bathroom Graffiti" (2007, Mark Batty).

Where tagging and street graffiti obsess over marking territory and artistic self-aggrandizement, the "bathroom blogosphere," as Ferem calls it, is devoted to a more interactive form of self-expression. "I used to think bathroom graffiti was invisible, and I never really paid attention to it. But seeing that [quote] got me more interested in it as a ritual. Why is it that people use this medium to acknowledge these moments in their lives?" Ferem says.

Christie Scott, one of the organizers of now-defunct punk club Il Corral, has an idea: "It's a pure democracy. It's anonymous. It's complete expression with no censorship. You have the same power as anyone else who can mark a wall." During Il Corral's reign, graffiti and stickers dotted the entire club, but the nexus was in the bathroom and adjacent hallway, where patrons first began marking the vivid orange walls as they waited in line to use the club's only toilet.

It was one of Ferem's favorite haunts. For the best of latrinalia, he recommends cafes Insomnia and Karma Coffeehouse, the Hollywood outpost of Thai restaurant Toi, Echo Park dive bar Little Joy and another all-ages club, the Smell. Though he hasn't noticed a distinct difference in graffiti varietals from city to city, the sheer quantity of L.A.'s bathroom graffiti continues to awe him. The nastiest bathroom in L.A.? That distinction belongs to Al's Bar, circa 1995. "The men's bathroom was crushed with graffiti, layer upon layer. It was like a time capsule," Ferem says with palpable regret.

Scott, whose years at Il Corral turned her into a de facto curator of latrinalia, will celebrate the art form at the launch of experimental art and performance space Zero Point. Guests will, of course, be welcome to mark up the bathroom walls. But a curated exhibit of Ferem's photos of bathroom graffiti, printed, framed and under glass, will also hang in a gallery area. "Maybe next time when someone goes into a bathroom," Ferem says, "they'll perceive it in a different way."

'BATHROOM GRAFFITI'

WHERE: Zero Point, 1049 E. 32nd St., L.A.

WHEN: 9 p.m. Saturday

PRICE: $5-$10

INFO:www.zeropointspace.org

see the article online: calendarlive.com


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LA WEEKLY - December 27, 2008

go: SATURDAY, Dec. 29

Bavab Bavab, +dog+, Hop-Frog Kollectiv at Il Corral

It’s the final show at Il Corral, a place that has for three tumultuous years presented some of the most aggressively interesting — and occasionally just plain aggressive — new music in 21st century Los Angeles. Since January of 2005, all manner of noise has sandblasted the performance space, not to mention the rowdy neighbors, area muggings, assaults by key Satanists and the sweaty limitations of a confined venue. It’ll reincarnate in 2008, moving to a new space, Zero-Point, in SoDo (South Downtown). So enjoy the shrieking cacophonous bilge of +dog+; the minimalist noise pop of Bavab Bavab (the duo of Il Corral proprietress Christie Scott and Il Corral soundman Stane Hubert); and the mystical rhythms of postmodern primitives Hop-Frog Kollectiv. They wave goodbye as if in reply to Col. Troutman’s “It’s over, Johnny!” by channeling the spirit of John Rambo: “Nothing is over!” (David Cotner)

see the article online : laweekly.com