Blu Destroys the Planet in Buenos Aires

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Italian muralist, and probably the most influential political cartoonist in the art world, Blu just destroyed the planet in a huge explosion in Buenos Aires. It just so happens that we are just living on a jigsaw puzzle, and we are going to float into the universe, and nobody is going to remember that the Earth was there.

All images via BA Street Art, a great blog run by good people.

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From The Citrus Report

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Coffee with 40x Caffeine

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A Bay Area scientist has gone and done the most irresponsible thing a scientist can do: created coffee with 40 times the caffeine of regular drip. The drug is called Black Blood of the Earth and is the creation of Funranium Labs’ Phillip Broughton. He says via email to SF Weekly:

“It is my job to make sure people work with radioactive materials and radiation producing machines (i.e. x-rays and accelerators) without hurting themselves or others. On campus, I am specifically responsible for the machines, radiation detection instrumentation, special nuclear material and…well…weird shit. When something strange is found in storage closet or research applications start wildly exceeding the imagination of the regulations, you call me.

An example: the personal papers of Marie Curie are a treasure, but Marie & Pierre were a bit messy in their work. All of their lab papers were soaked with radium solutions. They are a special collection that the library must curate, but they’re also contaminated to high heaven with radioactive material. Tricky, but fun for a given value of fun.”


From The Citrus Report

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Stacey Rozich

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Fine artist and illustrator Stacey Rozich makes work inspired from many different folk and indigenous traditions that is very unique.  There is just something about the beastly shamanic figures that pulls the viewer directly into the scene.  Many of the images conceal emotions and angst behind beautiful renderings of mask and costume.  Her precise use of color and gesture articulate these emotions perfectly.  Not every image is so heavy, some are friendly and whimsical, some make you think, while others make you laugh.  Stacey’s unique ability to connect with her viewers on a personal and emotional level, are what sets her work apart. —Ronnie Wrest / The Citrus Report

What does a normal day look like for you right now?

I’m sort of in an odd transitional state right now: I just finished up design school here in Seattle and immediately (literally at 7 am the next morning) I caught a flight out to Georgia, then went to Los Angeles and now am back. I’m still reeling and trying to gather my brains so I can get started on a mountain of work that has been waiting for me. Since my days are trying to re-adjust themselves, I’ll give you what I’d like a normal day to look like for me. Wake up around 8 am, fix myself a little something to eat then get to some e-mailing. Probably check out a few of my favorite blogs (Forme-foryou.comNomealone.Blogspot.com, Design Sponge, among others), watch a couple kitty videos and then see whats on the project roster for the day. If I’m on schedule with my work I’ll allow myself to go out that evening and meet friends for a drink or watch a movie. If I’m off, well, you can bet I am not leaving this table until I am finished or I am in big trouble.

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You obviously welcome being busy, but is there a limit? Do you like having multiple projects going at once?

The last two years of juggling a really intense school program with still trying to stay relevant in my personal work was tough and really showed me what a busy schedule would do to my life. Luckily, after some snappy outbursts at roommates, family, etc. I have perservered and found a good balance to work and not being a lunatic. I think I might be addicted to the busy, if I find I’m not as busy I actually get panicked and don’t know what to do with myself. It’s interesting how the psyche can adjust to one pace of working and can go into malfunction mode once it’s diverted. I do enjoy working on several projects at once because it really pushes me to expand my inspiration and creativity to different places I didn’t even know I could go.

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I know you put a lot of research into work.  What are a couple traditions that have inspired your work lately?

While I was in LA, I set aside to have a museum day where I went to the Getty and the LACMA. At the Getty I was totally enthralled with the pre-Renaissance era religious imagery of Northern and Central Europe. It is so ornate and beautifully patterned, and I love how all of the figures in the artwork all look so sad. On the other end of the spectrum, at the LACMA they had an exhibit of indigenous Pacific Islander artifacts and that also got me running around snapping photos for inspiration. It was a whole different take on cultural traditions, this one deeply rooted in tribal spirituality portrayed in minutely detailed wooden carvings and (real!) chained human skulls.

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Some of your work provokes strong emotions, is this a part of your plan or is some of it personal reflection?

Well, I am honored any time someone approaches me with a certain emotional reaction (luckily, always good ones). Truthfully that is never what I set out to do, I think that is why I am still so pleased and humbled when a viewer does take away a personal feeling that my work gave them. I think a lot of it personal. I’ve always had an imagination in turbo-drive ever since I was a kid but it was always very private for me. This constant internal narrative has shaped me into how I operate today and how I approach different pieces that translates itself into work that is evocative to others.

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I read that you are a bit of foody…top three meals?

Oh boy, I’m going to put away the Sweet Tarts I’m eating and think about this. Number 1: Fresh shucked oysters on Hood Canal, about an hour and a half outside of Seattle. Surprisingly being in the land of incredible shell fish, a lot of restaurants around here can really screw up a good thing.  When you get it straight from the source it’s incredible. Number 2: When I was in Georgia, my boyfriend and I visited his brother and his family and he is quite the self-taught chef. He hand-made fettucine and marinara sauce which you’d think would be a pretty standard meal. But no, oh no, it was light and fresh and one of the most amazing meals I’ve ever eaten and I don’t think I could ever recreate it. Number 3: Anything my father cooks outside that the whole family can enjoy on a warm night on the deck. It seldom ever gets warm enough to eat outside here so anytime we can it’s memorable.

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What are you working on right now?

Simultaneously working on Earth’s vol II artwork, work for a solo show at Portland’s Compound Gallery opening August 6th, finishing up a large commission for a collector in Malaysia and putting the final touches on a few graphics for Upper Playground t-shirts.

What else do you have planed for this year?

A few big projects I can’t make public quite yet, but they will be amazing, wonderful and very exciting. Aside from branding my work onto useable/wearable commodities, I’ve got a few shows in the works, commissions and — fingers crossed — a trip of the International variety. You can always stay in touch with me here: http://blog.staceyrozich.com

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From The Citrus Report

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A Trip To The Moon

Today, we look at the amazing, pioneering 1902 Georges Méliès film, widely considered the original science fiction movie, A Trip to the Moon / Le Voyage dans la lune. Because we have always been major fans of turn of the 20th Century film and especially most forms of experimental French films (the most pretentious sentence ever written on The Citrus Report), we have been studying the career of Georges Méliès . And A Trip to the Moon is still our favorite.

The full synopsis:

“A Trip to the Moon (French: Le Voyage dans la lune) is a 1902 French black and white silent science fiction film. It is loosely based on two popular novels of the time: From the Earth to the Moon by Jules Verne and The First Men in the Moon by H. G. Wells.


The film was written and directed by Georges Méliès, assisted by his brother Gaston. The film runs 14 minutes if projected at 16 frames per second, which was the standard frame rate at the time the film was produced. It was extremely popular at the time of its release and is the best-known of the hundreds of fantasy films made by Méliès. A Trip to the Moon is the first science fiction film, and utilizes innovative animation and special effects, including the iconic shot of the rocketship landing in the moon’s eye.”

From The Citrus Report

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Notes From A Quiet Crucifixion, Part VI

On hiatus for a week while preparing for his Noise Pop performance, Jason Jaworski’s Notes From A Quiet Crucifixion series is back with a new installment of images, text and songs.

*     *     *

It was the same in this moment as it had been the night previous. I wrapped my forearm in the blanket I had been using these several nights to keep myself warm and with my hand shielded with fabric I shattered the pane of glass in front of me, easing my right forearm into the the square space of fractured glass, releasing the latch and hook from its place and with careful footing, began to enter the room.
I knock and call out for awhile. There is no one here. I am alone. A farmhouse in West Germany- laying down on what is, for the first time, a comfortable surface for me to sleep on. I take my shoes off for a brief moment and see in them things that would have made me shudder a week ago but now seem normal to my situation- large gashes from my feet’s flesh rubbing up against the wall of my shoes at a constant forming blisters and those blisters having been broken and that flesh having run together with the lining of my socks to form a strange consistency of part lint, part dead skin and part coagulated blood. I clean my feet the best I can and sit down once more, my hands running on continuously and continuously running through. I can see my breath in this space. I lay down on the floor, bag underneath my head acting as a pillow but resembling much more the harder surfaces of a sea animal’s carapace. I stare for a moment, studying the undulation of my breath and the immutable space which separates myself from the ceiling and the sky shimmering starless beyond me.
It is not long before images and dreams start to swim within me.

*     *     *

I see the people around me see themselves and I see them as if they were here but know that they are not. They are staring at me and staring at me they begin to come into the room that I am occupying. I see other things, distant things and distant memories once far from myself but now encroaching towards my inner self and coming inside myself. It is a curious thing to be alone for so long and to have no interaction whatsoever with the world around you in a verbal realm and instead experiencing everything through the lens of your eyes. Everything that I saw today was burned into my memory- things wild, boring, banal and mundane, beautiful things and lonely things- from the crowd of trees that I see above me as I fall asleep shivering, to the moments of inarguable grandeur of a sky converging downward with hands of cloud dripping and gripping through the rays of a morning sun’s chatter, to those distant stars and their imagery blinking back at me through thousand’s of years’ late light- a silver trigonometry shaping algorithms and equations that I cannot read coherently or decipher, but whose words and conversation I hear and experience fully.
The night is one of those things that makes one think of the world outside of themselves. The sun is gone, having traveled to some other hemisphere and as the earth turns, one’s thoughts gravitate to those plains of persons and people that have affected oneself. I think of my mother a great deal, the parting conversations we had and how long ago it all seemed. Those days were a different life and everything that I’d experienced then was from then and everything I was seeing was being sought out and kept from me. I think of my sister, arms flailing and running around with veins impure and filled with a poison that would later provide the means and basis for a schism between her character and herself. There is no heroine to heroin and this truth is something I will learn later but is a sentence that fits in now with this paragraph and this sentence closing out said paragraph.

*

The moon high and distant with incalculable light and shimmer. On golden days in my youth I used to run across the street and travel down the border, crossing over to Mexico and collecting forgotten items while running through a random conjecture of errands both asked of me and thought up from me. As a child my leg was split open when my age had yet to reach two digits. I remember looking down and seeing a red stream dripping crimson with rivulets bold in both color and movement. The sharpening pain that comes immediately upon recognizing a wound, my hands reaching for it and finding a metal nail dug into my joint. We were skating at a construction site a mile out from our house. It seemed like the right thing to do: I pulled out the nail and in agony began to scream. I don’t remember much after that, woke up in the hospital, a mother beside me half-angry / half-hopeful and a father smiling and supporting anything and everyone around him.
I see my father in visions in Germany now. I am under the trees, thoughts of a mother and sister having ran through my head previously. Now: a man so perfect for the woman he met and so distant. The family he has and had raised and his children, one a future junkie and the other a future vagrant, both smiling back at him through the glass of a frame he holds in his hand before sleeping, the photograph we are in having been taken more than a decade ago. What is the womb and why is it that we are constantly chasing it? I see it, the walls of flesh surrounding me; they seem to be less agreeable to me than anything else. With a blade fashioned from a festooned memory, I cut around and free myself, a liquid from my mother washing my body out and the light bouncing onto my eyes being the first I see before blinking. A slap and another and then I come to-

A man over me, hands by his waist, screaming something in German.
I am in the real world now.
A blurred image upon awakening then and a blurred image now upon trying to remember.
He is screaming to me in German while I slowly sift through a rolodex of dream imagery I’d just catalogued and experienced- mother, sister, childhood, father. Light moving quicker now and shadows talking louder. We move in and I come back: gashes on my feet, glass around my torso and a stranger whose house I’ve broken into for shelter and warmth standing over me screaming in a language I cannot comprehend.
I look back at him, still screaming and the light behind him from an afternoon sun perfectly outlining in shadow the flakes of spit frothing and tossing their way outside his mouth and onto and around my person.
I reach for the list of German phrases in my pocket from Frank and as my hand makes its way into the cave of fabric around my waist, his foot, covered in shoe and shoe covered in mud, lands itself promptly upon the portions of my wrist left outside my pocket.
He is screaming louder now and further particles of spit fly from his mouth down onto the spaces around me, their portions and running around resembling the vivisections of atoms with their unique nuclei and electrons and so on spinning continuously and constantly but never on or along the same plane.
He reaches into the pocket I was going for and pulls out the list of phrases gentle in their wording, lines of monologue such as:
“It is cold, is there a place for me to stay here?”
“Can I work for you?”
“I am hungry, I have no food and no money, but I can work an honest job to the best of my ability.”
Phrases similar, about a dozen in that same vein on the paper in ink which now rests in his hand.
The man, realizing that I am not a thief, lifts his shoe off of my wrist and extends a hand.
“English,” he says, “that is all that you speak?”
I nod, wiping fragments of earth and mud off of my palm from his foot.
“Don’t have money, little work. Molly, my wife, is cooking. Can have food, need to fix glass though. Glass you broke, right?”
I confirm that I broke the window through a conversation and dialect much slower and less syllabic than my normal speech, thinking it easier for him to understand me.
He nods and blinks his eyes while I do the same.
Leaving for a moment, he comes back with a blanket.
“Sleep. Food, when ready, I let you know, then you wake up, fix glass and then we eat.”
A thousand words run through my head and I choose two, “thank you.”

*     *     *

From The Citrus Report

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Google Earth can accidently take amazing photographs

This tumblr account by Jon Rafman is completely amazing… Showing how a nine-camera ball on the top of a truck that’s driving down a street can accidentally pick up some amazing pictures that capture real cross sections of the world… Just awesome

From The Citrus Report

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And then… there was Bruce Bacca

Posted from The Citrus Report

Alexander Tarrant has been on this site before, hell, he contributes amazing things to this site all the time. And now he is starting a religion, the religion of Bruce Bacca.

riday December 10th at 7pm marks the opening of the Bruce Bacca Pop-Up Church at 248 Fillmore St., San Francisco.

Like the earth itself, it took 7 days to construct this church and it’s vague system of beliefs based on the 1988 film Die Hard, it’s mythical leading man Bruce Willis, and an exquisitely carved wooden Chewbacca Mask.

Churchgoers will want to bring their cameras to capture the moment they walk the carpeted broken glass gauntlet, wear the wooden mask, and become an indoctrinated member of this temporary system of worship.

Following the dry baptism, available for $10 is the short(er) film “Incident at Nakatomi” – a pious remastering of the classic film Die Hard (1988) in which the image and voice of Bruce Willis has been completely removed. The resulting film is introspective and thought provoking, yet still contains enough explosive excitement to keep even the most discerning action fan satisfied.

The church will be open from December 10th – 26th, and will be performing the civic duty of holding a soup kitchen on Christmas Day.

Posted By The Citrus Report