Maintenance Required: recent work at Glenview Mansion

For the better part of the last year I have been walking and driving around Washington, DC documenting broken fire hydrants, and documenting my journey and observations. On display at the Glenview Mansion - through July 28 - are 14 recorded tours in parts of Wards 2, 3, and 6, composites of broken hydrants, and a few sculptural renderings of hydrants.

The work has been brewing in the back of my head since May 1, 2007, when The Georgetown Library and Eastern Market were heavily damaged by fire. In each instance, nearby fire hydrants were either broken or had low water pressure. Little was done to address this issue, until early fall when a large fire in Mount Pleasant summoned a four alarm fire that raged for hours because of inadequate water pressure from several nearby hydrants. That fire destroyed an apartment complex, damaged a few nearby buildings, and was too close for comfort for the DC Ward One Council member who lived near the fire. Within days legislation was enacted to find and replace the broken hydrants within the district.

Soon hydrants were labeled with "out of order, maintenance required" collars, or "in order, maintenance scheduled." Early on, the former seemed to be everywhere. The latter seems a recent edition in the posted signage, seemingly appearing on the scene late last year or early this year.

In the last two years, the city has moved relatively swiftly to replace or repair close to 1/5th of the districts 10,000 fire hydrants. I have to give them kudos. Yet, I still see these labeled fire hydrants throughout the city. So, I thought I would document them.

The walks and drives are also reflections of this city I have lived in for almost five years, yet I still feel like a stranger within it. Coming to DC in 2004, I associated it with monuments and government. Five years later I know that it is much more than all of that, and that there are far more things to see and do, but I know the millions who flock here annually only experience the well known. For instance, no one comes here for The Building Museum, but thousands flock to the (reminiscently Fascist) World War Two Memorial, or traipse through the overblown FDR memorial. Lots of things get missed in the whirlwind tours... kind of like fire hydrants in the landscape. You don't notice them until you need them. Sometimes when you need them, they are out of order.

Dirty Diapers

As new parents, my wife and I have been exploring the variety of brand options available for our daughter's diapers. To date we have explored Huggies, Pampers, and a generic brand from Costco. For the last month I have noticed the different designs found on these garments, but did not really start thinking about their significance until today.

To be blunt, designs on a diaper are dumb and a waste of ink.

Huggies depict images of Winnie the Pooh. Pampers have a variety of characters from Sesame Street (baby versions of Bert and Ernie, Big Bird and Snuffleupagus, Cookie Monster and Elmo. Costco simply has a smiling monkey with some miscellaneous patterns. Apart from the quantity of diapers typically available from Costco packages, whereby increase in volume reduces price per unit, that illustration of a random monkey does not have all the trademark issues that Pooh Bear or the mini-muppets have, which further reduces the cost.

As I was changing a diaper this morning, I looked at that design. My daughter was not looking at it. She stares at the ceiling, blank walls, and sometimes the various things hanging on the walls. She does not make a conscious effort to look at the diaper. I'll wager that once she has greater motor skills in her neck she still will not make an effort to bend over and look at the commercially familiar or mundane generic characters illustrated on her diaper. To add more fuel to the fire, those banal and insipid illustrations are covered by whatever garment she wears. So, if the intention of the smiling cartoons is to inspire happiness, the intention is cloaked under onesie, pants, or dress, eliminating any potential function. Unless the function is to provide some sort of happiness for the parents, or possibly some reminder to the parents that their child's development will not be complete without box sets of Sesame Street DVDs, or perhaps Winnie the Pooh dishware, allowing the child to see Tigger at the bottom of the Cheerio bowl, look at Piglet when spooning up peas, or to drink milk from Eeyore's head.

When I was a child, disposable diapers were just coming onto the market. My parents had the misfortune of fumbling with cloth diapers - plain, white, cloth diapers. They have since been recycled into burp rags. The only cute thing on the diaper was a baby's bottom (either mine or my brother's). While this certainly caused for a gray existence - this absence of commercial happiness - they did have the distinct advantage of knowing that if some stroke of yellow was protruding from my blue onesie, it was most likely a soiled diaper and not the feathers of Big Bird.

220. 221. Whatever It Takes.

My wife and I recently celebrated the birth of our daughter. As a result, next semester I am dialing back on my teaching load.

This past semester I taught four courses at four institutions (The Corcoran, American University, George Washington University and Prince George's Community College). This felt like my most grueling semester to date: 16 contact hours, 6 commute hours, 3 required office hours. Grading and prep were mostly manageable and I doubt I ever eclipsed a 50 hour work week from teaching. However the semester was interrupted by a convention in LA (Feb), interviews at two schools (Mar), and odds and ends participating in 5 exhibitions. (Meanwhile, I am getting work prepped for a sixth exhibition in July.)

To better define "dialing back," in the fall I will be teaching one class at one institution (two if I can find and accept a Saturday course). In essence, it will feel like a sabbatical. The rest of the time I will be Mr. Mom.

Significance: studio time!

Car Hit. 12th & U. Help to find other vehicle.

First, I am currently in an exhibition at 12th and U streets with the PostConceptualism group. Check out http://www.internationalartaffairs.com/IAA2009/2009_Agenda.html for more info.

Second, my car was struck while parked on 12th Street NW, between U and T, this evening between 4:30 and 5:30. According to one witness, the car was an SUV that was trying to (rapidly) back into a spot behind my car. Instead, it was successful at smashing in the rear driver's side fender.

APB: custom burgundy SUV with a damaged rear passenger bumper and fender. Any leads on Make, Model, and Plate Number would be greatly appreciated.

Baby Blues: Body Image Edition

With a child soon to be delivered, Gretchen and I strolled through Babies "R" Us the other afternoon, gathering necessities for the nest. Most of these products are bunk, catering to the conceptions of the mother and father to be. Most things are unnecessarily fluffy. The stereotyped color coordination with child's sexual identity is in overdrive amongst the merch. Finally, when it comes to clothing, it caters more to the visual identities and associations of Mom and Dad than it does to the actual needs of the child. So, while it is extraordinarily cute for the kid to be dressed like a miniature version of an adult, in the end it seems a little ridiculous and overpriced for something outgrown in six weeks, worn twice for "special occasions," and mostly spit up on. While I could possibly forgive the allegiance parent places upon offspring regarding team affiliation (in this store's case, the regional proximity to the Baltimore Orioles), it's simply stupid.

All of the above aside, I was struck dumb by the insidious Disneyfication of a swath of kiddie furniture. Specifically, Disney Princess and Fairy Chairs were probably the most concerning. Despite all the princesses having the exact same mouth, they all have the same body shape. And, regardless of how poofy those shoulders are on the gowns, all of them are "Twiggy." What impact will this have on present and future expectations of body image for impressionable minds? Pushing the button, what is the consequence of the flirtations and seductive gazes of the fairies? Maybe I am looking too much into it. And, maybe I am just sick of Disney and its never ending perpetuation of kitsche branding and marketing that takes the kids of the last generation and makes them the enabling force to provide the next generation with the same watered-down fairy tales and contrived histories.

The other thing that got me thinking - why does every product have to feature some wild animal as an anonymous, glazed-eyed, smiling companion? The example below was pulled from Babies "R" Us's website.
I knew a lot of frogs and turtles in my childhood. Not one was happy to see any human. Though I never crossed the paths of elephants, lions, or aligators as a kid, I'll wager if I had that I would know not to amble over and pet the creature. Once again, marketing playing on the associations of parents. Frankly, I remember thinking, as a six year old, that the smiling aligator teaching me how to brush my teeth in the dentist's office was hooey. And, as excited as I was about my sandbox when I was little, the fact that it was shaped like a turtle was irrelevant. In fact, I know I once ondered how it could be a sandbox when not shaped like a box.

Silence is Golden

Friday night, at DAR's Constitution Hall, Gretchen and I attended a performance by the Kodo drummers. There were between 15 and 20 performers, each playing a drum that looked like an ancient relic that needed to be played with sticks the thickness of some branches. Some drums measured four feet in diameter, and produced rumbles that sent a wave of energy into the seats of the auditorium, tickling the sternum. Gretchen is 33 weeks along, and our daughter had a fit during the first part of the performance, oddly enough keeping in beat with the drums.

In high school I had several friends on the drum line, and issues pertaining to sticking (height, angle, uniformity) were of some concern. During the performance on Friday there was as much uniformity, structure, and composition to how the drums were played as to the sound produced - a ballet with batons. However, apart from the ceremony of sticking, or the rhythmic beats, there was an awakened awareness of the importance of silence amongst the audience.

I seldom recall attending a concert where an audience did not respond with vigorous applause when the music stopped - or attempted to cease - for even a moment. Most conspicuously this occurs during orchestral performances where a section of the audience is unfamiliar with the movements, and they begin applauding during a decrescendo, only to realize that some oboe is struggling to be heard above the din of wrapping hands, and that the specific piece has yet to cease.


In one piece, seven snares were placed along the floor. The center snare (4) would begin playing, gently. Each note was a whisper of sound. Then, each drummer would alternate in: 5, 3, 7, 1, 6, 2. Slowly they would disappate - perhaps in the same order, perhaps in reverse order, perhaps in an alternate order, leaving the center drummer (4) to remain tapping. They might move their sticks from the edge of the snare to the center, and then back to the edge - changing the pitch of the sound. They might crescendo and decrescendo. The noises produced were similar to locusts in summer, singing in the trees: one starts, others follow, and eventually they stop, for a moment, before one begins the cycle again.

After five or so minutes, the applause began upon a decrescendo, as drummers moved sticks from the center to the edge, and the drummers on the wings disappated. Drummer 4 (in the center) kept playing (like that struggling oboe), and eventually enough audience members figured it was in their best judgement to be pateint and not slap their meat hooks together.

Four stopped drumming. A clap from the audience was followed by a second and third. Then #6 started drumming, and stopped nearly as suddenly. The approbation of the audience stopped. #3 answered #6. Other drummers also responded, each in turn. The thunder of drumming continued without synchronicity and without order - like hail on a car's roof top. Eventually the individual beats fell in synch, and slowly dissapated, decrescendoed, and ceased. At the end, the audience waited for silence, and only applauded once the drummers had lowered their sticks.

In art history classes the theories of John Cage - regarding randomness and silence (or the space between notes) - always creep into the lectures surrounding Robert Rauschenburg or the influence of Black Mountain College. Rarely do I see or hear of it deomnstrated (unless articles about iPod-wearing pedestrians crossing against the light and being creamed by city busses are not indicative of the value of listening to or for random noise apply). During this instance, it was beautiful to witness the value of Cage's theories bear fruit.

I'm Frozen in Middle English

The last time I designed anything in Flash the US was more than a year away from invading Iraq. Ahhh... those were the days! Flash 5.5.

Trying to design a web page in Action Script 3.0 (after being away from the program, for the purpose of web design, for the better part of the decade) is about is pleasant as drawing a heavy line from wrist to elbow with a dull razor. There is no question something is going to sink in, but the result is going to be mostly painful and eventually drain the life blood from you.

The analogies for Actionscript 3.0 (on line and in books) is strange. Yes. I get that this coding involves logic. And that I get to name things (like text blocks, or movies). However giving me an analogy about Bob and Tom and how Bob has black hair and Tom has brown hair does not help me program a button in frame 1 to goto and stop in frame 2 onMouseClick.

I have been, as the gamers call it, pwn'd.