ISSUE no. 25 [2015] / AN TAGONIS T PIE CE no. no. 368 / D welling s
Dear Reader, When we think of our home, we think of how we live, work, play, and the comfort comfor t we experience in our humble safe haven. But what happens when the delicate balance becomes interrupted? Citizens for the Arts (CFA) and the Antagonist Art Movementʼs latest project examines examines the hardships and a nd the emotional ramifications of losing oneʼs home. Disasters in mother nature, such as typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines, devastating devastating earthquakes eart hquakes from around the world, economic strains such as foreclosures, and even areas wrought by the sieges of war and protest are all too familiar in the news. This project aims to strengthen awareness, and in turn tur n discover discov er alternative ways individuals can help one another in times of distress.
This is not only the theme for this issue but also an art show happening in Sydney, Australia at the 107 Project space during October/November 2015. For the zine form, we will focus on writers and artists.
Ethan Minsker EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
EDITORS
LAYOUT & ART DIRECTOR
Ethan Minsker
Eric Wallin
COVER ART Jeramy
Marissa Bea & Kristin Brzoznowski
Fletcher
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mixture of fiction and nonfiction. We also cover news of the art world, from street to gallery. Back issues can be found at
STATEMENT of PURPOSE THE ANTAGONIST MOVEMENT Why: We want to
“Psycho Moto Zine archives” at Antagovision.com To learn
change the art world by creating the next movement. movement. How will we do that? By casting a large net—creating venues that allow artists to experiment, pulling artists out of their solitary existence and creating a community. By fostering otherwise overlooked concepts and individuals, and ignoring an artistʼs artist ʼs background regardless of education, social class, or location. By unlocking hidden potential. What will this do? Change everything. Art changes the social fabric at large. PSYCHO MOTO ZINE - is a branch of the Antagonist Art Movementʼs Mov ementʼs press and has been in existence since 1988 under the original title East Coast Exchange. It acts as a venue for our writers, artists and editors. In an attempt to create new forms of art and writing, we highlight the obscure and unknown artists, draw focus to subjects passed over by by the mainstream media. This is a not-for-profit publication. Artists/writers donate their time to create this. The content is a
more about the Antagonist Movement, Movemen t, look us up on Wikipedia. So, if you enjoy what you have read, please take a moment and look up our films and books. Find our catalog listed at the end of this issue. There are digital copies of each for $1.99 on Amazon. We believe the price shouldnʼt hinder you, so we do our best to have a cheap alternative to the hard copies. We are passionate about each project, mixing love and attention to detail to create a unique work of art. Our goal is to make something the large entertainment companies fail to do, which is create inspired works that cater to like-minded individuals. All the money we generate goes back to creating new art projects and supports a large community of struggling artists. Questions? Comments? Stories? Suggestions? Contact us at Antagovision.com, email us at
[email protected] or
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TRAILER PARK DAD
ANONYMOUS
A few years ago now, when I was around 18 or something, I
found myself living back up in Queensland in a friendʼs dank, mold-ridden garage. My father Jed and I were still getting to know one another, another, after aft er a brief time I lived with him when I was 17, in Cannon Hill, South Brisbane. He was, at the time, going through court hearings for more time/joint custody of some of his other children c hildren so, needless to say, say, was a bit preoccupied to deal with some trashy teen from his first marriage. Our relationship was vague vague at the t he very least.
My full brother Matthew was living there around that time also, and had been in prison not too long before I arrived (or so I remember). The hurt he put himself through fighting for Jedʼs attention and the ramifications ramifications of his own own actions had morphed from youthful confusion into anger and showed in his 3
brow, brow, which, facially speaking, was his most prominent feature. He was a short, stocky build with wavy brunette hair and piercing green-blue green-blue eyes, eyes, and had a temper that matched matc hed that of God's in the Old Testament. Very Very short fuse and not the Matthew I remembered.
Things became a bit too much after Matthew had a conniption which resulted in a fist fight with Jed and then Matthew promptly moving in with his then t hen girlfriend, Jenny, Jenny, in Pacific Pines, Gold Coast. I stayed and found myself watching my fatherʼs kids from his second marriage every second weekend while he went off womanizing and wasnʼt particularly interested in that because I barely knew my father fat her let alone his other spawn. I moved into my own place shortly after af ter..
Thereʼs a lot that happened between then and living back bac k up in the ol' QLD, but thatʼs another story for another time…
So anyway, anyway, I found myself back up in that festering, f estering, pus-ridden boil on the ass-cheek ass-c heek of a dystopian nightmare more affectionately known as Queensland, and decided Iʼd check in on the old man. I called him and he said heʼd pick me up in town, and so he did, and drove me to some caravan park on the other ot her side of Mt. Gravatte. My father, living in a caravan park in the ass end of Brisbane…classy, I thought to myself as we arrived. His caravan wasnʼt the worst in the park, park , but there was a beat up Mitsubishi 4x4 up on blocks out front, which whic h screamed Jed. He was a grease monkey, as my mother would call him whenever I'd ask about him. A no good, womanizing, grease monkey.
We went inside and spoke mostly of his problems, which was the usual topic of conversation with the old man, and ate Mi
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Goreng mixed with tinned tuna and grated cheese. Out of the blue he decided heʼd take a piss in the sink right in front of me, though luckily he turned the tap on to wash it down or Iʼd be double guessing the man… My mind was racing. I wasnʼt sure whether to be angry or impressed. He was like a fictional character from some twisted American novella; novella; a wayward wayward gypsy hick fighting f ighting his way through a whole lot of spaceless time… or timeless space? I wasnʼt too sure.
Regardless, I was confused. I thought maybe that Iʼd I ʼd been switched at birth, that this strange man was in fact not my father but some imposter masquerading as my father f ather.. Our conversation conversation (me listening to him ramble on) went on into the evening and all I can remember thinking to myself was, “Shit god-damn! I need a fucking drink!” When I returned to the comfort of my futon wedged in the corner of that dank garage I called home, I did just that.
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WHERE THE HAT IS
JAYDE ONYX LEI
There are places. Places you remember thoroughly. Places you forget instantly. Places worth visiting. Places worth revisiting. Places worth forgetting. Places made for creating memories. Places made for wasting time. Places made for spending your fortunes. Places made for photos and film. Places made for sun-kissed skin. Places so far-fetched and exhilarating. Places damp and deeply depressing. Places you’ve never dreamed of finding. Places you simply cannot thrive in.
There are an exuberant exuberant amount of places in oneʼs life that are purposed for vastly different diff erent means, as there are a select few places that hold true sentiment. Then, of course, there lies that one special place—a place of great dwelling. A place of love, life, and storytelling. stor ytelling. A place many, many people have built upon blood, sweat, and tears and yet that same place is filled with crazy laughter. laughter. A place of fears f ears and a place of disasters. A place of ancestries and progenitors. A place of love and of life, and of bittersweet demise. This wonderland, this place; the place we called home.
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07734
TARA COOPER HOLMES
In 1994, I was a Senior at La Guardia High School of Music
and Art and Performing Arts in Manhattan. I think Madonnaʼs daughter goes there now. now. But I digress…. That fall, for some reason, my mom took me to buy a beeper. beeper. About.com says that, “by 1994, there were over 61 million pagers in use.” So I must not have been the only one. Was it the novelty of being contactable, anytime, anywhere, anywhere, for the first f irst time in human history? Or was it to prove my my popularity (or lack lac k thereof)? Wow! Look how many people are trying to reach me! I have been vibrating all day! Now I just need to find a damn working payphone that accepts callbacks. callbac ks. Whatever Whatever the reason, beeper in hand, or on pants, I embraced the future of one-way communication technologies mostly used for drug deals.
My beeper was a Motorola Bravo Turbo Turbo 5000 Plus. Ok, I am making that up, but I am pretty sure about the Motorola part. It might have been a lovely transparent turquoise, like a precursor to an iMac, but it was probably just black. It was a small vertical box with a little screen at the top, which could fit about 10 numeric digits. It had two buttons, or it might have had one. After vibrating and beeping my way through social studies, Spanish and gym, I would rush to the t he girls bathroom, my flannel shirt flapping in the air, to check the number, only to find my friend Joanna smoking her 10th cigarette of the morning in the stall. Someone beeped me during math! I would tell her. What a fucking idiot, she would say, blowing smoke through her nose. (I donʼt think t hink she meant me.) Her two knee-high, lace-up Doc Marten boots balanced on the dirty toilet seat as she inspected my beeper. There were numeric codes back then, t hen, where every every number stood for a letter, but I donʼt think I was ever ever that advanced. Back in the bathroom, 7
I anxiously looked down at the little beeper window. It said “07734”. I turned it upside down. “HELLO.”
The next week in my creative writing class, I enjoyed several vibrations in a row from a strange number. Excusing myself from the lesson, I took the t he escalators down, down, down down to the ground floor of my eight-story high school, where there were two payphones for 2,700 students. I inserted a quarter and dialed the number. It was my friend Jocelyn calling from a Central Park payphone, cutting school and having an acid trip. I am bugging out, she said. Ha ha. I hung up, unamused, and traveled back up several escalators to finish the t he day. That night I disconnected my beeper. Several years later, I was one of the last people I knew to buy a cell phone and I still donʼt like returni returning ng calls. call s. 53766 537661 16. Hee hee.
FACTS “United Nations in 2005 – an estimated 100 million people were homeless worldwide and as many as 1 billion people lacked adequate housing.” [1] “More than 400,000 New Yorkers reside in NYCHA's 328 public housing developments across the City’s five boroughs.” [2] “Katrina displaced more than a million people in the Gulf Coast region in August 2005.” [3] “The median existing-home price for all housing types in January [2014] was $188,900…” [4] “Each year more than 2,500 people die and 12,600 are injured in home fires in the United States, with direct property loss due to home fires estimated at $7.3 billion annually.” [5]
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“Around 400,000 people are expected to be homeless as a result of [the March 11, 2011] earthquake (due to destroyed buildings or forced evacuation).” [6] [1] https://www.homele https://www.homelessworldcup.org/homelessness-statistics/ ssworldcup.org/homelessness-statistics/ [2] http://www1.nyc. http://www1.nyc.gov/site/nycha/about/a gov/site/nycha/about/about-nycha.page bout-nycha.page [3] http://www.data http://www.datacenterresearch.org/dat centerresearch.org/data-resources/katrina/facts-for-im a-resources/katrina/facts-for-impact/ pact/ [4] http://www.realt http://www.realtor.org/news-releases/2014/02/ or.org/news-releases/2014/02/existexisting-home-sales-drop-in-january-while-prices-continue-to-grow [5] http://www.read http://www.ready.gov/home-fires y.gov/home-fires [6] http://earthqua http://earthquake-report.com/2012/03/10 ke-report.com/2012/03/10/japan-366-day /japan-366-days-afs-after-the-quake-19000-lives-lost-1-2-million-buildings-damaged-574-billion/
THE INFORMALS SIMON HARSENT
An initial idea to shoot landscapes of Manila, highlighting the
stark contrast between the slums and the affluent af fluent cityscape, led me into Ulingan and Aroma to shoot elements of the project. I wanted to show the faces of the t he people who live in these conditions rather than look at the slums as simple structural constructs.
However, the project was soon to develop into something very different indeed.
On arriving in Aroma, the first thing that hits you is the smell—impossible to get out of your nose. The slums have no running water or sewer systems—they have basic trenches, but these are mostly to drain away rainwater. 9
There was thick mud underfoot. The residents use rubbish in place of topsoil. It absorbs the mud and fills the thick channels gouged by motorbikes mot orbikes and the few cars that use the streets. There Simon Harsent are no roads (apart from in North Cemetery), just these muddy paths full of debris acting as a kind of temporary tarmac.
There is no preparation for a sight like this—it was overwhelming. However, the longer I spent in Aroma, and slums like it throughout Manila, the more intrigued I became by how resourceful resourceful and practical people can be. Starting Star ting with nothing, not hing, they manage to solve problems and make money. There may not be running water in Aroma, but there are revenue streams—itʼs a near-perfect example of creativity through necessity.
The buildings these people live in are, as you would expect, incredibly primiSimon Harsent tive. Theyʼre really just knocked together out of scraps of wood and plastic. It almost looks as if they hold each other together—you get a
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Simon Harsent
sense that if one was to structurally fail, they would all go. The more I thought about this, the more I realised that the buildings, in this sense, share something in common with wit h the people who built them.
And so a project about contrasts and separateness became a look at humanity and connectivity, connectivity, at how people can flourish in the most unbelievable unbelievable conditions when they build a sense of togetherness—when, like the buildings they live in, they t hey can lean on each other ot her.. Affluent Aff luent or poor, we need need the interaction and bonding brought about by community. When we stick together, we can survive adversity; when we rely on each other for support, we become stronger. stronger. http://www.simonharsent.com/the-informals/
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JEFFREY WENGROFSKY
GRANDMA’S APARTMENT COMPLEX My family has lived within a few blocks of the Lower East Side since arriving in America slightly over a hundred years ago. For us, the neighborhood consisted, with some notable excepexceptions, of the area south of Delancey Street and as far west as the Manhattan Bridge, which was still very Jewish, if not primarily so, to t o the end of the 1970s. 1970s.
As a teenager, my geography expanded and my mind exploded as I came to discover that the t he area beyond Delancey—a Delancey—a forbidden zone previously known only for its hard drugs, abandoned buildings, bums, and hooligans—was hooligans—was more weird than dangerous, a place of vast creativity, big personalities, heady intellectualism, distinctive distinctive urban semiotics, and punk. It was then that I took up residence with my grandmother in her one bedroom apartment, the very ver y same one in which sheʼd previously previously raised two children c hildren and buried one husband, my grandfather, of beloved memory. Since the time of my grandfatherʼs passing, of a heart attack in the middle of the night, my grandmother slept in the living room, not wanting to sleep in my grandfatherʼs deathbed, deat hbed, while also wanting to be closer to my great-aunt, who lived directly across the t he hall from her with my great-uncle Harry, in case of emergency.
I was often going to see bands play and staying out very late, then carefully sneaking past my grandmother, asleep on the couch with one eye open and one ear to the tracks. At the time, I was not much of a drinker or pot smoker, smoker, as was then the way of the t he punk intelligentsia. My concern was with her knowing when I was coming home because she was a
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worrywart and having to deal with her neurotic antics was one of the pitfalls of living in my grandmaʼs apartment.
This one night I recall driving my Puerto Puert o Rican punk pals home to the South Sout h Bronx. It was late when I got back downtown, circling up and down Grand Street looking for a parking spot, and I knew grandma would let me have it the following day. She would let me know that my coming home scared her and she would share with me the various things that my lateness had caused her to contemplate—automobile accidents, homicidal attacks, abductions by drug-crazed lunatics, my being boiled and fed to the homeless—all in lurid detail.
Then I saw a spot, or what I thought was a spot, as the parking sign was sideways sideways on an angle that t hat I could not read from the car, so I got out. Unfortunately Unfor tunately,, I instantly locked loc ked myself myself out of the car with wit h it running and, only to make matters worse, it wasnʼt even even a parking spot. To tally it up: my car is running in the middle of the street, Iʼm locked out of it, I donʼt have a spot, itʼs vastly late, and Iʼm on the t he Lower East Side in pre-Giuliani New York.
I dashed up three flights to t o grandmaʼs and tried to sneak past her while also searching for f or the Manhattan Yellow Yellow Pages Pages in the t he dark. Recall or imagine the size of the Manhattan Yellow Pages in the 1980s. 1980s. Now imagine trying to find it in the t he dark while not stirring a Jewish grandma. grandma. This was an almost mission impossible. I found the book and took it in the bedroom to call a towing company so they could “jimmy” open the door. The first service ser vice wanted $100. $100. That was a lot, but I was afraid someone was going to steal my car, so I told them where it was. Then I called a second company. They wanted only $50, so I also told them where it was. I grabbed some cash from my underwear drawer and raced down the stairs. 13
No sooner than I got there, a beautiful tow truck, so clean it gleamed under dim streetlights, pulled up. Of course, it was the $100 company, but soon after I saw a flatbed coming my way. Hoping it was the $50 company, I dithered, and, sure enough, it was, so I declined the services ser vices of the fancy company, company, who sped away, dropping bitter insults. Breaking into my car was easy with a “slim jim.” The door popped open.
As it was now morning, I soon found a proper parking spot. When I got back bac k upstairs, everyone on my grandmaʼs floor was in the hallway, and she was tearing her housecoat and sobbing. She told everyone Iʼd been taken ransom after af ter having paid money to some strange man on the phone. My 75-year-old great-uncle great-uncle Harry Harr y really gave me hell because grandma was sending him down down to search for f or me amid the vast warren of rat-infested, scum-filled tenement basement spiderholes north of Delancey. Delancey. After Aft er that night, I was more careful to be quiet when coming home, lest I face my grandmaʼs apart ment complex.
TRI “REWILDING” MAX B. HARRISON
Inspired by: Rachel Schwind Gardner and her debut exhibition “REWILDING”. “REWILDING”. Much love to you and yours. Follow the call and may your spirit remain free.
The New Dawn As darkness falls within the walls of concrete dwelling places
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Night brings to life under the stars some unseen wild faces Inside safe halls lights dim down it's time for some to sleep Outside are calls from out of sight inside the shadows creep The moon flies high inside a sky where unchained hearts run free You and I they them them us we wait in darkness with hope of seeing The New Dawn of "REWILDING"
Upon the Sea Something in the air has an unfamiliar smell First whiffs faint silent like whispers in the wind This scent consumes slowly Filling up new sails
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Whispers scream howl loud now within this gale Alone each Being floats under the same dome Where the moon flies high pulls when we're called home Upon the Sea of "REWILDING"
Home Victorious at last journeys end a hearth is built with intent Defined mine warmth and defense to all within it represents Once safe inside our new abode no reason to seek or roam Dark falls not upon these walls yet outside a whisper calls Walls nor keep can stifle cries inside this place where shadows creep Loud howls scream now tears fall fast remembering cries days of past 16
Again it starts never ending this spark inside creating Being The moon flies high inside a sky under same dome As darkness falls within the walls of concrete dwelling places You and I they them them us we wait in darkness with hope of seeing Wild faces under same dome where the moon flys high answering the cries Çalling us Home to "REWILDING"
r e h c t e l F y m a r e J
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THIS ISSUE IS DEDICATED TO
SYLVIA ŌRTIZ She wasn't just one of our curators, artists, or designers. She was our little sister, our mother, and our friend. To say we miss her wouldn't be a big enough statement. This is a huge loss for the art ar t community. community. But, she would not want us to be sad. Her work is a reflection of her beautiful soul. Please take a moment to check out her art and celebrate her amazing life. Rest in beauty, Sylvia.
http://thebeautifullygrotesque http://thebe autifullygrotesque.blogspot.com/ .blogspot.com/
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BOOK REVIEW
ETHAN MINSKER
Rant: The Oral Biography of Buster Casey by Chuck Palahniuk
ISBN-13: 978-030727583 978-03 07275837 7 Paperback: Paperback: 336 pages Publisher: Anchor; Reprint edition May 6, 2008 “Buster ʻRantʼ Casey just may be the most efficient serial killer of our time. A high school rebel, Rant Casey escapes from his small town home for the big city where he becomes the leader of an urban demolition derby called Party Crashing. Rant Casey Casey will die a spectacular highway death, after af ter which his friends gather the testimony t estimony needed needed to build an oral history histor y of his short, violent life. With hilarity, horror, and blazing insight, Rant is a mind-bending vision of the future, as only Chuck Palahniuk could ever imagine.” This is a book for those with a short attention span. Itʼs broken up into paragraphs, small self-contained stories, a page or two at most. This formula f ormula makes it a page-turner. page-turner. Told as first-person accounts and expert analysis, Palahniuk turns the story stor y over and over looking at it from all perspectives, even those that conflict, giving it a more realistic feel. The charactersʼ c haractersʼ tone of dialogue reflects their social standing, education, and class. This is the book for the rubberneckers, those who drive by car wrecks and want to see all the gory details. I can't help but draw many similarities to his other book Fight Club—smart, funny, and a critical look at our consumer society. I flew through this book. I donʼt think I could give it better praise than that.
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ARTIST+WRITER CREDITS TARA COOPER HOLMES
JAYDE ONYX LEI
https://femmefatalemanifesto.wordpress.com MAX B. HARRISON JERAMY FLETCHER JEFFREY WENGROFSKY
http://jeramyjacobfletcher.com/#home
www.humansyndicate.com www.humanfeaturesfilm.com
ARTIST OF THE ISSUE SIMON HARSENT http://www.simonharsent.com/
Simon Harsentʼs career has spanned more than 20 years and three continents.
Born in England, his photographic career began in London after he finished studying photography at Watford Watford College. Colle ge. In 1987 1987 Harsent Harsen t moved moved to Sydney, Sydney, Australia where he soon established himself as one of the countryʼs leading commercial photographers working with the top advertisers in Australia and Asia. Over the years, Harsentʼs work has been recognized by numerous awards bodies. These include Archive, American Photography, Graphis, Communication Arts, PDN, D&AD, Clio, One Show and Cannes. He has been listed in Luerzerʼs Archive 200 Best Advertising Photographers Worldwide every year since its inception, and his work with Levis in Asia in 2008 saw him named Photographer of the Year at The Institute of Advertising Singapore Hall of Fame Awards.
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ANTAGONIST FILM CATALOG The Dolls Of Lisbon - A movie about struggling artists making work on the other side of the world. A DIY eyeball-busting bonanza. Available on Amazon, iTunes and on DVD. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop 136 E 3rd St, New York, NY 10009. Money goes to making new overseas art projects.
This is Berlin, Not New York - See what trouble the Antagonists can get into when you make art in abandoned buildings in Berlin. Available on DVD and Amazon instant download.
Anything Boys Can Do - Female musicians are all too often regarded as novelty acts, regularly shrugged off as militant feminist or cutely entertaining. Overwhelmed by the numbers of male bands, female bands of the scene are lumped together in one category, "girl group", regardless of their vastly different styles. Available on DVD and Amazon instant download.
The Soft Hustle - The story of a Lower East Side lowlife who makes a bet for $1,000, which he promptly loses. After getting kicked out of the apartment by his girlfriend, he finds himself having sex with cheap barflies, robbing East Village stores, and pathetically pretending he is gay just to have a place to sleep. Available on Amazon instant download.
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ANTAGONIST BOOK CATALOG Rich Boy Cries For Momma - A first-hand account of Washington, D.C.ʼs D.C.ʼs punk rock scene in the ʻ80s and ʻ90s as told by a dyslexic punk. Available anywhere e-books and paperbacks are sold. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop 136 E 3rd 3r d St, New York, NY 10009 and Generation Gener ation Records at 2100 Thompson St. between w. 3rd and Bleecker St. Money 21 goes to publishing new books. Barstool Prophets - A book about the dirty secrets every bartender in the Lower East Side knows. Before you date a bartender, read this book. Available anywhere e-books and paperbacks are sold. sold. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop 136 136 E 3rd St, New York, NY 10009. 10009. Money goes to publishing new books.
ANTAGONIST MERCHANDISE Where can you get an Antagonist shirt, button or a buncha other stuff?
Head on over to antagovision.com and visit our Store
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THE DWELLING PROJECT
OPENING: 10/29 6-8p CLOSING PARTY: 11/8
107 Projects Projec ts 107 Redfern St, Redfern NSW 201 2016, Australia Phone: +61 2 9690 1007 http://107projects.org/
