Gibberings
Dad told me never to use XTREE when he wasn’t in the room.
July 18, 2008 ~ 10:06:05 PM * -07:00ST
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Log # 334
New on Etsy: Twilight in the Roachfields (What I Did on My Summer Vacation)
Now available for purchase: www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=9974267
Picking up pets offworld was generally frowned upon by the Company, as there were no quarantine facilities beyond the Oort.
Foreign mammalia carried strange strains of crippling flu, shed itchy fibers on cockpit upholstery, and left crumbly little fewmets in secret places, fewmets that became apparent, and airborne, as soon as a ship hit ohgee.
Loneliness was somewhat alleviated, yes, but at the cost of vacation time squandered on bad worlds, stocking up on exotic feed.
ABOUT THE PIECE:
Oil on collage, 5 x 7″
This was painted, over the course of a year, on a canvas that has been worked and reworked, sanded, gessoed, sanded again, glazed, rubbed, painted, scraped, and painted again. Dozens of layers of jewel-tone copal resin give the colors depth, like a stack of stained-glass windows. The duotone triadic harmony of the purple and green make the colors jump and glow. The surface shines like a candy glaze.
This painting will be shipped in a reinforced, padded envelope, and inside a sealed plastic sleeve to prevent contamination and dampening.
At some point, I may ask to borrow this painting for a gallery show. If this happens, I will pay for all shipping costs, the painting will be displayed with a card that credits you as the owner, and the painting will be returned to you at the end of the show.
Hit the jump for larger images.
by
Eliza Gauger on March 2nd, 2008 ~ 06:06:55 PM
Slotted into Artwork, Etsy, Future, Paintings, Space |
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Log # 292
“that vomiting bat would be a much better mascot”
I have been interviewed for io9.com, a new Gawker sci-fi blog for which I designed the mascot. In this interview–which was conducted entirely on a cellular phone, typing on an IM program, while I stood in a laundromat–I bitch and piss and moan about the state of modern science fiction, I throw some props to my “influences”, and then a bunch of Gawker commentors ruin everything because “boobs. check. likes sci fi. check. plays games. check. where do i apply for marriage?”
Yeah well. I have news for you. I got my breasts replaced with gigantic, fat, wiry-haired testicles. This is why I can draw. Girls can’t draw. They can only take self-portraits, and make little cartoons of cupcakes and smiling kittens and pretty goth ladies, using a dip pen and menstrual blood.
Not me, though. I paint manly. I paint like James Earl Jones with a handlebar moustache.
For posterity, I would like to record the journey that wee Miss Io9 took before finally being slapped up on the site. It all started in a coffee shop on Telegraph avenue…
This is the original sketch page I whipped up after getting the initial commission:
Here’s what we want: a stark, photorealistic face of a mutant child who can see the future, probably with the aid of cybernetic implants in his/her brain. Think of Alia from Dune
(http://data-allocine.blogomaniac.fr/mdata/2/4/2/Z20040203205313330324242/img/dune_film_alia.jpg), sort of smiling in a creepy, I-know-the-future way, but crossed with the cute/icky aesthetic of a Mark Ryden
(http://markryden.com/paintings/index.html) or Trevor Brown (http://www.pileup.com/babyart/_top.htm). The child would be sort of sexless and robotic, with a swollen head — the result of cybernetic enhancements or surgical upgrades, some of which might be sticking out of its head.
Here’s what I sent in after first cleanup. It was specified in the first description that the kid be smiling, and I cleaned up the details of the implants and backpacks. I sure do like backpacks. The one on the far left–now known as Xartreuse–is the strongest design. Right off the bat, this disqualifies him from being chosen for the final. Why? Because that’s the golden rule of commercial illustration. Clients will always, absolutely and with no exception (except when there’s an exception), pick the weakest design in a group of thumbnails. The corollary to the golden rule of commercial illustration is that you never ever submit any design that you can’t handle taking to its final state. Even the worse of the bunch has to be at least okay, or you’re going to hate yourself throughout the entire project.
Predictably, the io9 crew eliminated Kid 1 on the first pass. This is no fault of theirs. They are intelligent people with style and taste. It is simply The Law.
Following a request to make the kids “spookier”, these were turned in. The righthand design (now known as “Xerulean”) is the weakest in the group, and true to form, it’s the one that the io9 folks like best. At this point I made a heartfelt, very polite recommendation that the lefthand design be favored. Since Annalee is as smart as she is kind, she managed to convince her overlords at Gawker that this was the right choice, and I was saved.
Here’s the first color test. I usually lay down a green or blue or purple as a base when I’m going to be creating a flesh tone. I like my characters to have a hint of the undead about them. This design is still a lot goofier, meaner, and uglier than the final splat.
Closing in on the final design, here. Major changes were made following a request for increased “prettiness”. Gawker was iffy on these antenna, earphones, and the shape of the squinted eye. They also didn’t dig the blood on the implants.
And here’s the final design, as it appears on io9.com. One headphone removed, all trace of antenna gone, and the airbrushing effects, never my strong point, have been gone over several times for extra shine and surreality. The forehead jewel has been turned into a HAL-style camera lens. And so, it was done. And I sawed my face loose from the Wacom, severing the leathery ropes of sputum that had formed over my long days of Photoshop. And then I shot myself.
by
Eliza Gauger on January 14th, 2008 ~ 06:05:15 PM
Slotted into Artwork, Digital, Future, The Internet |
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Log # 283
New on Etsy: Red Sky Over the Vault (original oil painting)
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=8748447
No sound but the grinding glass under our tread. The desert’s glaze is cracking, sliding away like the ice caps did, turning back to sand.
5 x 7″
oil on canvas
by
Eliza Gauger on January 5th, 2008 ~ 11:23:41 AM
Slotted into Artwork, Etsy, Future, Mutants, Paintings |
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Log # 160
No Money
I l
by
Eliza Gauger on June 14th, 2007 ~ 05:16:49 PM
Slotted into Future, Photography, Seattle |
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Log # 158
Unhallowed Metropolis: Communion
by
Eliza Gauger on May 12th, 2007 ~ 02:59:19 AM
Slotted into Artwork, Digital, Fashion, Future, Games, Photography, Unhallowed Metropolis |
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Log # 149
Dave vs. Goliath Update 2: Wassco Ahoy, Bambi Bye Bye
Some quick updates, since I’ve been busy and haven’t caught up with the SA thread in a few days:
1. Goldman’s “Goodbye Bambi” logo has been removed from his site, following a post by goons. There was much discussion on SA about the hair trigger of the Disney legal team, and the Disney “piracy hotline” was called. As reluctant as I am to reinforce Disney’s megalomaniacal grip on ancient intellectual property, I think the ends justify the means in this case.
2. The giant Todd Goldman evidence repository located at Mike Tyndall’s site is now being mirrored at ThirdProject.net.
3. What the fuck, can’t he even spell “weenie” right?
4. Stickypig has suggested to me that Goldman is pulling the biggest performance art stunt ever devised. It is, in fact, more difficult to trace five images to create a shitty cartoon, than it is to simply draw a new one. Does this say something profound about the “remix culture”, or is Goldman just a psychopath? Goon Mythrandir has a similar hypothesis:
It’s no secret that he’s an asshole, but I just realized that everything I’ve heard about this guy doing– from his art thievery down to his bullshit interview comments and asshole behavior when cornered– is complete douchebaggery. Which got me thinking; maybe he’s actually a brilliant artist, and his real “art” is that he’s become the ultimate despicable character and wants to see how the world reacts.
It’s the only logical explanation for how someone can be “the perfect asshole;” down to the most mundane detail of their lives. That takes effort, and a real asshole would need to have at least a couple redeeming (or at least neutral) qualities. I’ll bet he even has an “asshole” way of making sandwiches or starting his car or something.
5. Kelly states that he cannot discuss details of the case, and will not speak to the press at this time.
6. The Consumerist is on board.
7. Kelly also confirms that Chris Wass of Wassco (original artist from which a great deal of Goldman’s tracings have come) has been contacted about all this, and should not be sent any more email on the subject.
8. Goldman is now altering existing designs on his site, such as changing the face on this clipart fat kid, (original can be seen on the magnet, new face [taken from the Boys Are Stupid image] on the sticker) presumably to make them “different” enough to pass as original work in court.
9. The comment thread at Table of Malcontents is alive and simmering with rage, albeit with the absence of commentor “Totally Wrong”, lone defender of Goldman, who had his IP traced to davidandgoliath.com.
10. In the case of Rogers vs. Koons, (thanks, goon ruth232) we find hope for a reasonable outcome, should Dave vs. Goliath go to court: The Court found both “substantial similarity” and that there was access to the picture. The similarity was so close that the average lay person would recognize the copying. Thus the sculpture was found to be a copy of Rogers’ work.
11. On April 26, Kelly closes the thread and says there will be an update on the weekend or the following Monday (April 30). But…no update yet. We’re rooting for you, Shmorky.
This list has been added to the megapost, and crossposted to my LJ.
by
Eliza Gauger on May 3rd, 2007 ~ 11:21:19 AM
Slotted into Artwork, Comics, Depressing, Digital, Future, Hate, Paintings, Pirates, Table of Malcontents, The Internet, Wired |
1 Comment »
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Log # 138
Caller IQ
My cell number is in the Chicago area code. Primarily because my nighttime minutes start three hours earlier than other west coasters, but also because I was simply in the area when I opened the account.
People usually do not take me seriously when I speak about the ignorant rabble that infests the otherwise fascinating and artful city of Chicago. But having recently seen Idiocracy and being haunted by the similarity of the future-stupids to modern Chicagoans, I will elucidate.
Since starting this phoneline, I have received three to five calls a week from the Windy City. A typical one goes like this:
My phone rings. I do not recognize the number, but know it is from Chicago by the area code.
ME
Hello?
CALLER
(silence, perhaps some mouthbreathing, slurping, or chewing)
ME
Hello?!
CALLER
Hello?
ME
Yes, who is this?
CALLER
Pam?
ME
What?
CALLER
Uh, is Pam there.
CALLER
Huh?
ME
The wrong number. There is no Pam at this number.
CALLER
Uh. For real?
ME
Yes. Goodbye.
I hang up. Thirty seconds later, the phone rings again. Same number.
ME
Hello?
CALLER
(silence)
They hang up.
This is the call I got tonight. The vary slightly, my favorites being the ones in which the urban accent is so strong, the mouth so muffled by rolls of corn-fed midwestern blubber, that I literally cannot understand what the other person is saying. Those calls escalate to shouting matches, similar to the ones that occur between fun-loving American tourists and exasperated ethnic shopkeepers in summer vacation caper movies.
What puzzles me most, is the utter lack of response to my initial “Hello?”. I have never encountered this before. Phone calls–the phone calls I have participated in up until acquiring this phone–open with a universal and linear script:
A. Ring
B. Hello?
C. This is (name of person) and I (am looking for, am calling about, would like to know) (object of phone call).
D. The conversation starts, based on C.
Cell phones modify this script only if the person calling is in your address book, in which case you can skip ahead:
A. Ring.
B. Hey (name of person), what’s up?
C. The conversations starts.
Efficient. Practical. Polite. Universally understandable. It’s the grammar of conversation. Why the silence following my obviously curious “Hello”? Why the complete lack of response to an inquiry about the identity of the caller? Why attempt to continue the call after being informed of a wrong number?
My word isn’t good enough for them, I suppose. Pam must be here, somewhere, just out of reach. I am lying, or perhaps stupid, and she is definitely here. Their fingers stabbed true, their identity and intent is blazingly obvious to all they reach out to, and they owe me nothing. I am the asshole. They just have to ask a few more times, and Pam will appear.
by
Eliza Gauger on February 13th, 2007 ~ 01:47:25 AM
Slotted into Depressing, Future, Hate |
1 Comment »
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Log # 97
The End Times
My father writes to me:
If you got a ballot, sit down and vote now, please. If I don’t vote ahead of time, I forget to do it at all. I can’t believe those bastards actually got a measure on the ballot that would remove the estate tax from estates valued at over $2 million. And the proceeds from that tax go to state schools. How do they do it? Bill Gates’ father was on NPR this week speaking out against it. We can’t let them get away with it.
I finished my first calling stint with MoveOn dot Org. Here is the
comment I left with them:Dad gum this was a depressing experience. I got a young woman who said
her husband made all the political decisions in her household, then
proceeded to tell me that we were fighting Satan in Iraq and that the war
would be ‘without end’ and that Bush was doing the right thing. MoveOn
ought to have buttons saying [Too drunk to have an opinion] and [Illegal
alien, can't vote] and [Duh]. Out of the 34 calls I made I only got ONE
intelligent answer, a lady who had already voted by absentee ballot.But I have to say that that after I got used to it, it became a lot easier,
and I got over my reluctance. The MoveOn software was really good, and I
can start calling again anytime I want to. I think I will.
When a Vietnam veteran says that current politics are depressing, you know something is truly amiss. Go see Jesus Camp if you haven’t. I left the theater making plans to leave the country.
by
Eliza Gauger on October 27th, 2006 ~ 02:06:30 PM
Slotted into Depressing, Future |
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Log # 47
Futureporn
I’ve been cruising YTMND a lot lately, and the site has a crapload of internal references, injokes, and websites that members know about and post about a lot. One of these is LiveJasmin, which is ostensibly a cam portal, but not in that “collection of vaguely horrific blondes and broken img srcs in 2001″ sort of way. No, it’s basically a vending machine-shaped site, organized into Girls, Couples and Boys, that has live streaming cams, often with live audio, for every one of its performers.
I clicked around, fascinated, and found that most of the performers were A) foreign and B) bored as hell. Once you clicked on their photo in the portal, it took you to their little cam page, where you saw live video of them, sometimes live audio (usually key clicking and bad pop music), and a scrolling chatlog of every single person who was viewing that cam at that moment. Above the camgirl was a button to buy a “private session” with her. The camgirls looked universally bored, surfing randomly while they waited for someone to buy them.
In every cam’s chatroom, the gist was always the same: people using broken english to try and command the performers, who very occasionally chimed in with a “lol” or “k” but largely ignored their unpaying audience, and other people hitting on their fellow viewers and ignoring the camgirl entirely.
I can’t quite pinpoint why, but the entire setup seemed so blindingly from the future that it truly made me pleased.
