#I DID NOT INCLUDE THE RENDER PIECE ON PURPOSE. BECAUSE IT'S SCARY. IT TAKES TOO LONG

[vpofcookies]

Since my life has been. crazy busy lately. Have some old wips that I should probably finish sometime!

[uniformbravo]

ramblin abt my ocs (a lot)

i think im starting to care abt my ocs again, which is good bc it seems like every time i go hard in a fandom for a while i get extremely apathetic abt my own characters (bc the ones im obsessed w/ at the time seem to outshine them in every conceivable way and make them look painfully boring in comparison), so im glad the current wave of those feelings is finally starting to wear off bc god

anyway i’ve been thinking about some old ocs lately (like from when i was 13/14) and i wanted to look into them some more so i pulled out the notebook that had their story, which was coincidentally the one that silan & sythra are originally from and wow it turns out there was actually a legit explanation for their alternate eye colors?? 

i know i’ve gone back to find this story before too (quite recently actually) so idk why i didn’t already know this, i think i literally just keep forgetting every time fkdfksjd

tbh it’s probably because it doesn’t apply anymore because ok their original story had a whole cast of characters with super powers (i’ve talked abt it a little before), and originally their Thing was that they could read each other’s minds, which is kind of still how they work now but the other thing they could do was share their literal sight? here’s the actual description from the story

If they are apart, they can do something called sight division, where they can choose to see what the other is seeing. It’s like because their eyes are opposite colors, they can match their missing eye with the other’s and share the sight.

like it makes sense and it’s a pretty cool idea tbh? and idk how i forgot about it but somewhere down the line their psychic relationship developed past the point of something like sight division even being necessary, like

in may 16th, the story i transferred them to after this, the link’s concept changed from simply being able to read each other’s minds to being a constant connection between them- it’s not a conscious decision they make to “read” what the other is thinking, they’re just always there in each other’s heads, aware of what is happening with the other person at all times 

but even then the story would often have them mentally speaking full sentences to each other as a means of communication, whereas now it’s evolved even further past that; the current idea is that they are two separate entities that share the same mind space, constantly influencing and being influenced by each other’s thoughts, feelings, natures and personalities to the point that the line between the two of them distinguishing who’s who would be more accurately described as a gradient

so the concept of “sight division” has been rendered completely obsolete at this point because why would they need to share their sight when they literally know exactly what is happening with the other person at every waking moment of their connected lives

the reason for their eye colors became merely symbolic at some point between the original story and may 16th (i probably just forgot about the sight division & didn’t ever go back to check tbh) and the idea i’ve had ever since was that it was just a physical manifestation of their mental link; sythra’s eyes are originally blue and silan’s are originally brown, but because of the connection it’s like they have a little piece of each other within them, ergo the switching of their left eyes

that’s the explanation i’ve been using this whole time & i thought that’s how it always was, so reading the original concept kind of blew my mind & made me a little sad that i can’t use it anymore bc honestly??? good post op

anyway i rly want to do more with silan & sythra bc i feel like they have a lot of potential and i’ve had some cool ideas for them in the past, so maybe i’ll develop those more hmmm

i think i’d have to migrate them into another story separate from may 16th to really explore them, though. which is kind of a scary thought because may 16th is my baby, but. i think that time in my life has passed and it’s time to do something Bigger with these characters, because at this point they deserve so much more than Shitty High School Romance In Which Sythra Is Pretty Much Shoved To The Side To Make Room For The Main Relationship Plotline Where The Most Mediocre Dude Ever Shows Up & Steals Silan’s Heart By Being A Complete Dick To Him Wow (But Like, A Handsome Dick)

and ok that’s being a little harsh because that’s only the original draft- i’ve been salvaging it & rearranging it to make it leagues better, but the thing is, in the process i’ve only come to realize that it needs to become something bigger; my ideas are evolving it past that original high school romance setting, and while that setting will always hold a special place in my heart, i want to let this story and these characters breathe and grow to their full potential instead of caging them with nostalgia, you know? i think i’ll remember may 16th as the high school romance au, that is how it will live on in my heart

god i dont even know what i would do with chris in a new story though?? he is Truly the most mediocre and the only reason he was a prominent character in may 16th was because of his relationship with silan; if we’re gonna take that relationship away though then what is he even here for. his motivations include 1. Playing Sport and 2. Ignoring Every Emotion Especially The Gay Ones like god what an uninspired character what am i supposed to do with him. i mean i have been working on him lately but deep down i really do think he’s a boring character and i probably care about him the least out of all my main ocs hgjdgkdjksdg I FEEL BAD BUT

literally the only thing that has ever made him interesting to me is his relationship with silan like he has a fun dynamic with him and pretty decent development as a result of his interaction with him but as soon as he’s on his own he’s just sUch a boring character im snoring i need to fix chris somebody save him (read: me)

that’s the big problem here, i think. if im going to transfer these characters into a new story that’ll focus primarily on silan and sythra (or at least a lot more than may 16th did), chris would just be a huge distraction like he was in may 16th; if silan is what makes him interesting then he’ll just end up immediately latching onto silan and stealing the focus away from sythra bc chris only exists to be with silan, right. so the options im looking at here are 

omit chris completely because he’d just be an unnecessary dead weight on the story or

find another purpose for him, give him new depth that doesn’t conform to a romance, reinvent him as a compelling standalone character who could fit right into any given setting- discover what defines him and build on it until he feels like he could be his own protagonist

....obviously one of these requires a lot more energy & dedication but. i cant just abandon my boy. my dumbass mediocre af shit boy

aaaaaanyway i’ve definitely gone on for way too long Oops i didnt mean to shit on chris for so many paragraphs hghdghsdgdj but im kinda glad i did bc that was smth i really needed to admit & come to that conclusion so That’s Cool. if anything u at least got to see a bit of what my brainstorming documents usually look like (theyre a mess)

but uhh ya Cool Glad We Could Have This Talk

[deanmiles13]

AND THE AWARD GOES TO... My time on Hollywoods dime.

The Musicians Wanted ad in the back of The Rocket read: 

Guitarist looking to join up with like minded individuals. Influences include Iggy and The Stooges, Sonic Youth, and The Cramps. 

That was all I needed to see. This had to be my guy. I was looking for musicians, having just left Rancid Vat and Alcoholics Unanimous. 

AT SMEGMA STUDIOS WITH RANCID VAT 1992

My own project, for the 1st time. 

Actually, I had another “project band” in Tucson called Butchers 4 Piece. 

I wanted to start a “Dirge” band. Pre “Grunge” The Melvins were pretty much as heavy as you could get. B4P was my need to play heavy guitar and write with my best buddy Abel. We picked on every clique in the scene with the lyrics. 

Having heard the Melvins on tour in 87’, I was blown away. We were in Riverside CA with a band called Twisted. 

The band I was in, Opinion Zero from Tucson, was gonna be on Alchemy Records, which is the label the Melvins 1st album was on.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mascara_Snake

 SO, these Twisted fellas say… “Hey, you ever heard of these dudes, The Melvins?” 

“Uh…. NO. What kinda name is The MELVINS!!!” 

The sound that came out was a methed out, metal riffing, band that stopped on a dime and then went into a heroin paced dirge that was heavier than Black Sabbath.

I loved it!!! 

Song titles likeThe Heaviness of the Load, Big as a Mountain, Over From Under the Excrement. Man!!!

Anyway… 

I was hoping to get back to doing a HEAVY band again and this ad just spoke to me. The Rocket was a Seattle-Portland Rock magazine, in newsprint form. 

It was the Bible for what was happening throughout each month in Seattle and Portland. Feature articles on local musicians and all the club listings and personal ads! It was priceless, in that sweet spot we had going in the 90’s. 

I get on the old land line phone and end up gettin a hold of this “Jerry” guy and we make plans for him to come over with his guitar to jam. The day comes, he shows up with his guitar, amp and a 6 pack.

We set up in the attic at 27 N. Thompson, where I was living. We make small talk and then I’m propose…

“Lets play a Cramps song!!!” 

I can see this makes him a slightly uncomfortable and he shifts in his seat and says 

“Which one?” 

“Anyone!” I replied. 

He starts to play Goo Goo Muck or Human Fly, and it’s not really all there. Already, I can see the ad was more of a description of bands he was INTO and not really his ability level or influences. 

No worries… 

We jam a bit more, and in my mind, I figure I’ll just keep on looking. After wrapping up our best attempts at a jam, we talk some more. 

Little did I know that I would be spending more time with this guy, inside of a van, than ANY band I have EVER been in.

 He starts by telling me he is from Portland (Salem actually) and had moved to L.A. for a bit and was just getting back to Portland. He played with a band called Trashcan School, a band I knew of and had read about. 

JERRY LA BUCK AND HIS FIRST BORN.

I was impressed!!! 

I asked what he did for work, he said he ran a security company in L.A. 

He told me, mainly set security for movies. 

Now, this IS “Hollywood” and his resume had titles like, oh…

Chopper Chicks From Zombietown

 https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103959/

Your usual B list movies, I thought, but he explained that movies worked under working titles sometimes to keep people off the scent. You couldn’t say “Yeah, we are filming Rocky 8 but keep it under your lid!” Although that would have been good….

So this all sounded pretty interesting to my ear.

Myself, I had done security before and had actually recently been fired from my job of 3 years. It was my first job in Portland and it’s where I learned Screen Printing. 

My profession, basically. 

It was at Goldsmiths in Old Town on 5th and Burnside.

https://goldsmithcompany.com/our-story/

Anyway, I got fired from there. Can you believe it? 

ON a side note… 

One day I got a call right after this, and it was the daughter of one of the older Vietnamese women that I worked with. She was old school and spoke no english. 

Mooey!!! 

That’s was her name…. 

I loved all 4’5” of her. Such a lovely woman. 

So her daughter called the house one day and it sounds like someone on tour or something.

A foreign voice and kind of broken up, and we are speaking over each other… 

I can’t really think of who I know on tour in Japan. 

It’s Mooey, having her daughter translate to me that she misses me at work and can’t believe they fired me. She said she loved me and I was a good guy. 

Man, I will never forget that phone call EVER.  I tried real hard to learn what I could while I worked with that crew of Vietnamese. What I learned was, that you can come to America after being lost on the ocean for 3 weeks on a raft, and end up owning 3 homes and a small market. That’s just one of the many incredible things I learned. 

Inspiring/Respect

Back to Jerry…. 

He said he wanted to do something similar up here with the movies and security thing. 

He had a few connections with location managers, but what he really needed was security team. 

He had been doing most of all this work by himself. A lot of this was just sitting in a car and watching a trailer or some prop on set. But still, that could be hard work. And he needed help. So, I threw my hat in the ring and said let me know if you end up getting a movie.

 Right away, he had a gig. 

And it was big. 

I wanna say, a 3 month shoot?

Almost all of it being shot in Portland. 

Timothy Hutton, Faye Dunaway, and Murdock from the A-Team were the main actors he said. 

I had no car at the time and Jerry had a 65 Dodge Dart we called the Clam. 

The trunk didn’t latch and had been connected with bungee cords. Every single bump in the road, that thing would start bouncing up and down. It looked like it was talking to you. 

Man, we had barricades and cones and all sorts of stuff in that car.

We had to block off parking spots and various roads at certain hours for shoots. 

(To annoy a Portland that WAS NOT Hollywood friendly)- Pre Portlandia. 

“Go back to California!!!” was the most common one you were guaranteed to hear. 

We had half of Downtown ready to kill us one afternoon. The shot never even made the final cut. 

Another incident we had all lanes of the Marquam Bridge blocked on a Friday morning, at rush hour, just to get a helicopter shot. 4 TIMES AROUND!!!! There was one guy who followed us to the off ramp, down to Old Spaghetti Factory. 

Pretty scary!!! 

I mean SCARY, like when we had to move all the big wigs out of their personal apartments. 

We found dildos, handcuffs and all sorts of stuff. All the crap they were definitely not taking home. 

There were many things I can recall from those long days on my feet, but I’ll just throw a couple at you.

Towards the end of the shoot one day, Timothy Hutton had a tape he wanted the Make Up guys to play. 

It was a tape of prank phone calls. 

The Jerky Boys. 

First time most people had heard that stuff at that point.

Speaking of Make Up, I witnessed nothing short of miracles come out of those Make Up  trailers. 

The magic they can do with the human face.

Speaking of magic and faces… 

I ended up gettin some face time with Faye Dunaway.

I had my Barfly book, by Bukowski, with me and had an angle to get it signed by the time she was done. 

On the last day, it was the day to do it. 

I asked her P.A. and she shut me down. 

NO WAY. 

Well, this WAS her last day and Faye seemed in a really good mood. 

As she was leaving, Some people were  getting autographs. I wasn’t too much concerned how we looked as a security team, as I was a fan and wanted MY book signed. 

I put it in the mix of outreached hand and she looked at it with a surprised expression. 

She said she had not seen this. NICE… 

I had the page marked and she thumbed her way towards it, stopping to remark on certain pictures and relate little stories. Everyone was enraptured and I was the hero.

Man, was her P.A. fuming by this time. 

Faye signed it and handed it back to me with that smile. 

NO WIRE HANGERS!!!

I shrunk off a little awkward but victorious.

I ended up working one last movie with Jerry and Buckeye Security. 

This one was awesome. 

It was…  Even Cowgirls Get The Blues.

From Wiki:

According to film critic/historian Leonard Maltin, "The novel was hopelessly dated, and there is not enough peyote in the entire American Southwest to render this movie comprehensible or endurable...K.D. Lang's score is the picture's sole worthy component.”

Directed by Gus Van Sant. 

A legend in Portland. 

Whole slew of stars in this one. Uma Thurman, Keanu Reeves, Crispin Glover et al. 

Totally different vibe on this movie. 

With Gus, you had a more laid back, punk rock, “we are all in this together” feel. 

Most actors made themselves available to chat up and get to know. 

This set was SO laid back, I remember Gus had some Nitrous Oxide delivered to the Camera Truck for the purpose of “cleaning lenses” he said. 

Well, as soon as they gave a brief rundown of the how’s and what not’s, we all made a B line to get a hit from the tit. 

It was pretty sweet. 

It ended up at his house later that night, I heard, for his NO on 9 benefit party. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1992_Oregon_Ballot_Measure_9

  The wrap party itself was pretty cool, because Tom Robbins the author of Cowgirls showed up to the tiny little bar they had rented. 

The premier that afternoon, was a trip as well. It was the first showing ever and in the opening credits he had JUST ADDED a dedication to River Phoenix. 

River was in Gus’s “Private Idaho” and was also in Cowgirls. 

Pretty sad day. 

There were a lot of actors in this film that made cameos and also just NW legend types. 

We had hired a kid to help us on security and he told us he was the son of Ken Babbs. 

His name was Simon Babbs, and he was a total sweetheart. 

His father was joined at the hip with Ken Kesey and these cats were the real deal when it came to being there on the edge of counter culture. 

They practiced what they preached, and also I wanted some of the sacred sacrament. 

This was the guy who turned the nation on as far as I’m concerned and punks is hippies.

Well… I put my request in via the son of the gun who road shotgun with Kesey. 

It came through. Nice stuff. 

Years later, I would end up on the Further Bus with Ken Kesey’s son, buying sheets of acid art (non electrified!), but that’s another story.

ON BOARD FURTHR2 WITH ZANE KESEY 

We also had a dude on our crew that was training to be a fire fighter. 

He and his lady had recently split and he was moping around, being a sad sack. 

This really got to him and his good friend could really notice his mood changes etc. 

He actually felt sorry for this hard working kid and saw his determination to be a fire fighter, to train all day and then come and do this stupid job. 

So this friend put pen to paper. 

He told Aaron’s girl that she was really missing out on a good guy and that if she maybe just gave it another shot, who knows?!?! 

I watched this whole thing go down. I then watched him give Aaron the note, to give to his uncertain lover. 

And that “friend” of his was none other than Keanu Reeves. 

That guy was so down to earth and a genuine, righteous dude. 

I don’t know if this whole thing worked for the girl or not, but I sure know it worked for me. 

It was one of the coolest things I’ve seen. 

Really…. From Bill and Ted to Rivers Edge, that guy may come off like a “HImbo”, but I saw just the opposite. Totally aware and compassionate person.

I would like to thank Jerry for letting me make mad money while getting to zip up Sean Young’s dress when she couldn’t reach it. 

For being able to help Crispin Glover get in character. 

He had asked me for a cigarette and I told him “I don’t smoke! I don’t have any cigarettes.” 

He said “Neither do I.” and walked away. 

It was totally Crispin Glover. 

CRISIN GLOVER AUTOGRAPH.

He later walked past me holding a cigarette very awkward and asked me how to hold one. Weird dude for sure.

And, thanks Jerry Sandifer for putting that ad in the Rocket. 

If you hadn’t we would have never met and I would have never met Ken Stevenson. 

It’s this connection that brought my wife and I together. Ken would come to mean so much to me in my life and would later marry me and Darcy. 

Jerry and I would eventually live together for a while, 

THIS IS ME PLAYING JERRY’S GUITAR (WHICH I OWN) PLUS THIS IS AT THE HOUSE WE LIVED IN TOGETHER ON SHERMAN ST. IN BETWEEN CHRIS TENSE FROM POISON IDEA AND THE BLOODMEN HOUSE.

We would also play music in a Halloween themed cover band called the Punkins. So, I guess the ad did work… Just took us a while.

Kind of a full circle thing… 

Friends for life my brother.

[nofomoartworld]

Art F City: The Whitney Biennial: Visual Screen Burn Courtesy of America’s Finest

Raul De Nieves, “beginning & the end neither & the otherwise betwixt & between the end is the beginning & the end”, 2016

Out of the ten Whitney Biennials I’ve seen, this is the first one that could have used a vomit warning. But here we are, in Trump’s America, living a future many of us never wanted to imagine, let alone live through. What is the purpose of art in this New America? This year’s Biennial bears no answers. Art doesn’t exist to defend its purpose and even if it did this exhibition was organized prior to the election. Nevertheless, it does bring then-simmering themes to a boil. So, while almost none of the work is Trump themed, as a whole the exhibition reads as a responsive to the challenges the country faces—increasing income inequality across the board, failing institutions, and the rise of hate-fueled violence. If art is a mirror, then this year’s Biennial should scare the shit out of you.

Considered New York’s most important survey of contemporary art making, politics is at the center of the the work of 63 artists selected by curators Christopher Y. Lew and Mia Locks. Thanks to the museum’s spacious new digs on Ganesevort, artists are afforded a lot of more space, given plenty of room for conceptual groupings which flow from one to the next. It’s quite literally a pleasure to look at and leaves plenty of room for the nausea to sink in.

This biennial even includes art that made me feel like a despicable human being for having concluded that the show had merit. Jordan Wolfson’s “Real Violence” a 2:25 minute virtual reality, the first 20 seconds of which consist only of a countdown. Said countdown constitutes my most vivid memory of the piece—namely because it was the only section I could only watch in its entirety. Only a wall label few will read prepares a viewer for what’s on the screen, which is two solid minutes of the artist violently swinging a baseball bat into another man’s head and then crushing his bloody skull into the cement. (The man is actually a super-realistic android.) He does so on a city sidewalk surrounded by high-rises. A verbal prayer from a Chanukah blessing plays in the background.

On the one hand, this could be read as a reflection of larger pop culture trends. Shows like Westworld have popularized themes of violence against simulated humans, and perhaps Wolfson is making a connection to Jewish laws against idol worship through the blessing. More likely, though, this is simply a terrifyingly accurate mirror of the America capable of electing Trump. Religion of any kind seems scary or completely misunderstood. (I heard one attendee mistake the Hebrew blessing for Arabic.) Citizens hungrily consume any and all spectacles regardless of their impact on their health. (Who won’t talk about this work?) And that’s to say nothing of the ongoing feelings of paralysis many of us feel. (The piece was made in 2016, and presumably in development long before Trump became president.)

Speaking to this reluctance to see, I spent the better part of two minutes within the VR environment, turned away from the violence, watching an office worker standing on a nearby street corner who didn’t notice the crime. (Like a victim of abuse, it never occurred to me to remove the headset.) According to the wall label, the man taking the beating occasionally makes eye contact with the viewer, an added level of creep, if you can endure it. I could not.

All of this begs the question, how does a critic fairly evaluate the biennial after seeing a work like that? The piece is essentially screen burn—everything seen before or after is viewed through the image of a man being beaten to a pulp. Is that fair to the other artists? The answer, of course, is no.

The fact is, though, the screen burn I was suffering from wasn’t coming just from Wolfson’s piece, but from the Trump presidency itself. The Trump administration casts its long shadow over every Facebook conversation, tweet and social outing, and unfortunately, not even this year’s Whitney Biennial offers many sunny spots.

This context can make conceptual art and formalism lose their resonance. John Divola’s photographs of discarded portrait paintings by students carefully hung inside abandoned spaces look nice enough, but many of the conceits driving the work don’t go much deeper than formalism. Is it too great a luxury now to contemplate how the gaze of the portrait’s sitter makes us more aware of the frame of the camera? It sure feels like it. The same can be said for the work of John Riepenhoff, who makes whimsical sculptures of anonymous figures holding up works the Riepenhoff might sell in his gallery. Haha and all that, but I don’t need to see the legs of an art handler behind a work to appreciate how it got on the wall.

These were outliers in a strong show, though, and work I could see appreciating more in a different exhibition in a different time. Looking through Trump’s lens, I initially read the figure in painter Dana Schutz’s “Shame” as forcefully poking itself in the eye. Perhaps this was too literal a read—the piece was located directly across from Occupy Museum’s horrifying breakdown of the financial ties that run the art world and all student debt. Closer inspection of the painting—gracefully rendered so that even the most layered and manipulated brushwork seemed economical—reveals a head hung between two hands. That, too, worked.

The Whitney Biennial, installation view. From left to right: Cauleen Smith, Torey Thornton, and William Pope L.

Fittingly, a large section of the fifth floor has been colonized by the resistance, which resembles the set of Game of Thrones. Cauleen Smith’s collection of medieval-styled knight’s standards (they’re shield emblems) hangs from the ceiling beside what resembles a pink torture chamber prison gridded with flesh decorations by William Pope L. (In actuality, the medallions are bologna slices affixed with black and white portraits). Both address the subject of race. Smith’s flags, for example, come out of the artist’s dismay for what seems like a never-ending stream of videos evidencing the abuse of black people and are hand sewn with messages like “We Were Never Meant to Survive” and “Stop.” Pope L’s “Claim (Whitney Version)”, is a bit more complicated. The text tells us the bologna corresponds to a percentage of New York’s Jewish population—though the number of medallions is off by at least two, if not more. This known error supposedly points to big data and its nefarious uses visa vi immigration and voter fraud—a message no one would get without a wall label. Still, the fact that the box reads like a prison for random citizens is powerful enough on its own and thus rightly commands a large presence within the biennial.

There’s a toughness to this work, that cedes to sensitivity elsewhere. Samara Golden created a corporate housing structure against the museum’s westward-facing windows that amounts to infinite tunnel of the homeless. Mirrors on the floor and ceiling to create the illusion of endless floors, each lined with sculptures of people wrapped in sleeping bags. It’s heartbreaking.

Mercifully, there are some breaks. Talia Madani’s explorations of light have almost nothing to do with politics, but she gets a mention anyway for having completed the weirdest painting in the show. “Shafts” is a blackened painting in which rendered light shines from the butts of four babies crawling along a Tron-like grid. In the foreground, a father figure holds up a strip of their lost poo, bathed in the light from their butts. Hilarious.

It was almost a surprise to learn that I still find baby shit and butt lights funny, considering the context of our failing democracy. In some ways, I expected only work like Wolfson’s to be able to speak because that’s the volume we operate at now. But the biennial also reminds us that’s too narrow a vision for art or for America. Communication isn’t about how loud you can speak but about showing up, listening, and taking an interest in new ideas.

Carrie Moyer, “Candy Cap” 2016, 72 x 96 inches

It was a suite of Carrie Moyer abstract paintings that truth most clear, and almost inexplicably gave me hope. If the observations made above had any validity—that art that looked inward or focused to heavy on formalism tended to miss the mark—these paintings shouldn’t have made any impact. And yet, there I stood, marveling at the billow of light that seemed to emanate from inside the smooth green and amber swooshes of “Candy Cap” and the thin ultramarine blue washes that still made dense forms in “String Theory and Daisy Chains.” I left feeling emotionally injured, yet somehow more optimistic than I have in weeks, which is consistent with with the shock of watching America turn into a kleptocracy and fascist regime. The highs and lows are more extreme than I could have ever imagined.

Ajay Kurian, “Childermass”, 2017, dimensions variable.

Puppies Puppies, “Liberty” 2017, performance on the 8th floor of the Biennial.

Dana Schutz, “Shame”

John Divola, installation view

John Riepenhoff, installation view.

Talia Madani’s “Shafts”, 2017, 55 x 44 inches

Occupy Museums, “Debt Fair”, 2017, Installation view

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