Jason "Sturd" Weinstein and I had embarked a week earlier on a three country voyage around the Southern Cone. Our route was clear--We had started in Buenos Aires, moved across the water to Montevideo, and were soon on our way to the sunny shores of the Brazilian Coast.
Unfortunately, Montevideo paled in comparison to Buenos Aires. We found the food mediocre, the city somewhat slow, and we had little time to meet any locals. In fact, the most exciting event of our few days was a semi-accidental foray into a brothel/bar/live sex show (we did not partake of any local delicacies). Luckily, we also had the opportunity to hear an amusing song in a stationery store. The chorus, if my memory does not betray me, said, quite simply and poetically, "I'll break your face." Luckily for us, we had narrowly escaped true empathy with the potential victim of the song, having wandered somewhat slurrily through seedy parts of the city, trying to pick up young ladies in cheap discoteques and retrieving money from an ATM at unwise times of night.
And so we now found ourselves, slightly worse for the wear, sitting in a Montevidean cafe, having missed our bus, forced to wait hours until the next mode of transport. A mysterious testicular pain, slight hangovers, and a true boredom with our adopted city left us stranded, quite uninterested in discovering any new nooks (or crannies) of the town, forced to amuse ourselves over countless coffees and through depthless clouds of smoke.
We began to write in our respective Moleskine journals, as was our habit, proudly displaying the amount of ground that we had covered--(for some reason we had been engaging in competition as to who had filled more pages in their journal, which, to be sure, led to numerous collages, poems, songs, and drawings of questionable worth).
At some point we began to sketch each other, both gazing upon the other's visage, pretending to all (if anyone was looking) that we were the real deal, veritable artists truly enthralled by our own work, sucked into the miraculous creation appearing on our pages. This, in reality, was not the case, as we were in essence a couple of talentless losers trying to fill up too many hours of downtime. Nonetheless, the fruits of our labor were not really all that bad, and we were in fact quite proud of ourselves and the art we had created.
As you can see, I photocopied the portrait which Sturd had drawn of me, as I was quite found of the likeness. My drawing had unfortunately not been received quite as well. Upon looking at it, Sturd's brow furrowed and he remarked, "I look quite neckish, don't you think?" Neckish or not, I was happy with both my own work and the work Sturd had done of me.
I declared myself the winner and immediately commissioned a full-scale version of the piece, to which my travelmate readily and enthusiastically agreed. He became very excited by the idea, and in fact immediately upon arriving home in New Jersey, went to work getting in touch with his weird artist great-Uncle, from whom he requested supplies, advice and a painting space. All wishes were granted, and within a short time, my friend Sturd had completed a work of majestic proportions and skills. Unfortunately, the realism of the original sketch--the wispiness of the facial hair, the receding hairline and long, spiky hair, the eye color, the general facial structure--was somewhat compromised in the transfer from sketch to oil painting. But no matter! The painting was glorious, and it was mine, and it was a gift from a great friend! I immediately stuck it upon the wall. It has remained with me ever since.
Of course, the sense of gratitude and indebtedness that I felt upon receiving the painting was enormous. I knew that I would need to return the favor and spit up some of my own creative juices...but what would I do?
I eventually came up with an idea that turned out quite successfully, and which made big waves in the Art World...or at least in my world, and Sturd enjoyed it greatly. I found a big piece of wood, approximately 6 feet long, one and half feet wide, and an inch thick. I fashioned a sturdy stencil with a likeness of Sturd's face, and after painting the wood completely bright yellow, stenciled my pal's face five times along the length of the wood in a majestic and loud crimson. At the bottom I stenciled in his name.
It took months to get this piece to Sturd, due to its great size and weight, but the gifting and receiving finally occurred to much fanfare. The gauntlet had been tossed, the tables had been turned, the die had been cast. It was Sturd's turn.
Some time went by before a new piece saw the light of day. Sturd would occasionally murmur something about "working on a great piece," and I began to think about making a flash cartoon of him with my newly purchased computer. I quickly dropped that idea, professing my ignorance in all matters flash, but Sturd plodded along, occasionally ripped from his studies by artistic insight, until finally I got an exciting phone call.
"It's done. The piece is done, but I don't know if I can bring it to you."
"Why the hell not?"
"It's too big to get on the airplane. I don't know how I can pull it off..."
My heart expanded and sank at the same time...Too big to get on an airplane! I wondered what Sturd could have made me. Still, I would have to wait, and wait I did...
Within a few months, Weinstein appeared in the area, having driven from Michigan to New York. Somehow he had been able to coax the artwork into the automobile through delicate folding and careful packing. He unveiled it to me in the Meatpacking District of Manhattan, sliding it out of his small car doors, propping it up against a scaffolding pole.
I gazed upon the new work. It was amazing. He had blown a photograph of me up to massive proportions. The natural colors of my skin and hair and already bright shirt had been manipulated beyond recognition. This huge photograph lay atop a bed of magazine covers, all displaying faces of famous folk. My body and face ruled over their dominion of fame.
"It's a commentary on the postmodern creation of the character. On fame. On creating an myth."
I was speechless. Unfortunately, I was so dumbfounded that I was dumb, and I didn't take a picture of it (the big works are stored at my parent's place in New Jersey), but looking at the photograph below one gets an idea of the final project. Imagine this photograph, blown up and proudly displayed, sitting on the magazine cover bed. Amazing.
Once again, the tides had turned and I knew that I needed to immediately begin planning a new piece. Sturd's birthday (February 26th) offered the perfect date for completion and presentation.
I have lately been quite interested in the work of this guy Rob at www.cockeyed.com. In addition to a number of other interesting experiments and artistic endeavors, Rob is a master of paper mache. His website is great, and includes detailed descriptions of how he makes his art.
And so, I jumped into the exciting world of paper mache. The process is messy and can be a bit of a pain in the ass when undertaken on the kitchen floor. Still, it's fun and relatively easy, and the results are great.
I started on a Friday afternoon, fashioning Sturd's head out of crumpled newspaper and masking tape. I whipped up a flour-water mixture (making the mistake of using whole-wheat flour on the first application), ripped some newspaper into strips and got to work.
Over the course of the next few days and a number of paper layers, I created a basic Sturd head, smacked on some paper lips, nose and ears, and let the whole shebang dry. The unpainted version wasn't incredibly exciting:
After a trip to a local art store (Can you show me the way to some cheap paint?), I got home and got to work painting. This being the first time that I was painting in many years, I had a bit of trouble getting the colors right. Sturd originally came out African American:
After some time, he came out right. I found the eyes to be particularly shiny and life-like:
Saturday night arrived, and I carefully boxed up the head, wrapping it in newspapers to ensure its safety. My roommate wrapped the box for me (she's good at that) and I prepared to present Sturd with his newest acquisition.
Unfortunately, I totally forgot to bring the gift on Saturday and had to give it to him on Sunday (which probably turned out better anyway). We met up in a bar in the East Village--Sturd, his girlfriend Liz and I. I gave him the box, he slowly opened it up and peered inside. He delicately removed the head from the box and looked at me in awe.
Ahhh....success...
So once again, responsibility has changed hands, leaving me free to pursue non-commissioned works and pinning Sturd beneath the iron grip of the knowledge that he soon will need to return artistic favors.
Good night. More to come soon.
