DC's

The blog of author Dennis Cooper

Storm de Hirsch’s Day

 

‘Storm De Hirsch made her first motion picture in 1963, two years after the untimely death of Maya Deren, the woman who had virtually masterminded the avant-garde film movement in the United States. Although De Hirsch was born five years earlier than Deren, she was a mature artist — over 40 years old when she began her filmmaking career. Deren was only 25 when she made her first film — the classic Meshes of the Afternoon –and at the age of 44, she died.

‘Though they may never have known each other, they had quite a bit in common. Both women had created new names and personas for themselves; Deren’s were earthy and radical, De Hirsch’s more imposing and regal. Both had backgrounds in poetry and other arts; they were also deeply involved with primitive cultures and the occult. In making their first films, both were supported by their husbands. In Maya Deren’s case, it was an inspired artistic collaboration with Alexander Hammid in a short-lived marriage; Storm De Hirsch’s first professional collaboration with Louis Brigante was disappointing, but the personal relationship endured. Both women made lasting contributions to the American avant-garde film scene, within the limits of their times and talents.

‘The 1960s offered Storm De Hirsch many more options than the 1940s had offered Deren, allowing her to start big, with an ambitious feature-length story about three young women, living in Rome, loosely based on a poem she had written and on her own experiences. Brigante was associate director. Called Goodbye in the Mirror, part scripted, part improvised, it was shot on 16mm and later blown up to 35mm, at a total cost of some $20,000. Variety’s reviewer found it too uneven for a feature, and thought it might have been a sharp, incisive short. Even before its release, De Hirsch already had begun making short films that were much more suited to her painterly and poetic roots.

‘Independent, cheaply made underground films, she later said, were not merely a futile rebellion against Hollywood’s slickness, but were spontaneous efforts to create the equivalent of off-Broadway theater in the medium of film. De Hirsch’s first short film, Journey around a Zero, was made without a camera, simply because she did not have one. Using old black-and-white film stock and some rolls of 16mm sound tape, she painted and etched images of her imagination with a variety of discarded surgical instruments and the sharp edge of a screwdriver. Compared to the $20,000 cost of Goodbye in the Mirror, Journey’s cost was cheap indeed — practically zero. The visuals were pure abstract animation, which De Hirsch described as “a phallic invocation.” In her writing and especially in making her animation abstractions De Hirsch felt she became both man and woman, or either one — not for lack of sexual identification but with an awareness of a cosmic sexuality.

‘De Hirsch’s trilogy entitled The Color of Ritual, The Color of Thought, explored relationships of abstract animated imagery (this time in color) with live photography and what she called “voyages into buried continents of the self.” The very titles indicated her penchant for magic, myth, and ritual: Divinations, Shaman: A Tapestry for Sorcerers, Peyote Queen. In 1968 Storm De Hirsch was awarded $10,000 in the American Film Institute’s first round of grants to independent filmmakers — the only woman among the winners. With the money she made a mini-feature called The Tattooed Man, based on her poem of the same name; it was more episodic than her first film had been, like a “happening” more than a dramatic film, and more representative of her times. For her tenth film, Third Eye Butterfly, De Hirsch used dual screens, side-by-side, creating a 70mm effect. One critic wrote that this encouraged the viewer’s mind to give the two horizontal images a third meaning, as Eisenstein’s montage of two images on a strip of film gave them an implied third meaning.

‘In 1973, for her Hudson River Diary series, De Hirsch used a handheld 16mm camera to create cinematic landscapes and waterscapes shot from a moving train (Cayuga Run) or walking along the frozen water’s edge (Wintergarden). These films began to look more like visual poems than movies based on poems or films for which she had written poetic descriptions. Sometimes for convenience or safety’s sake, she shot on Super-8 which later was blown up to 16mm. When she was given a cartridge loading Super-8 camera to take to the Venice Film Festival, she began her Cine-Sonnets series. Filmed in England?s Heathrow Airport, on the train from Rome to Venice, or in her Venice hotel room, each was three or four minutes long, short and edited in the camera. No random shots of this and that — as her first European film had been — each carefully selected shot was framed by her eye and mind and hand, beautifully lighted by nature or perhaps by God Himself. As the films outwardly became shorter and simpler, inwardly they grew richer and more revealing.

‘With Louis Brigante’s death in 1975, Storm De Hirsch lost not only her much-loved companion of some 25 years, but also the studio where they had worked, much of her creative energy, and ultimately her health. As she succumbed slowly to Alzheimer’s disease, eventually she lost all memory of her achievements in film — the retrospectives at New York’s Whitney Museum and the Museum of Modern Art; her classes in visionary filmmaking at the School of Visual Art; lectures and screenings in Pennsylvania and Ohio, Vancouver, and Brussels, and at many film festivals and women?s programs. At the time of this writing, Storm De Hirsch continued to survive in a Manhattan nursing home with this long and devastating illness. Her fascinating role in independent cinema has yet to be well documented and assessed.

‘Comparison with Maya Deren deserves these further comments. Deren was something of a genius, far ahead of her times in virtually everything she did. Storm De Hirsch was an extremely talented filmmaker of her time, exploring many aspects of film as an artist’s medium. The very title of her film, Peyote Queen, shows her to be an outspoken product of those times — the rebellious sixties, the Beat Generation, the hallucinatory decade. It is a sad footnote to those times that although P. Adams Sitney played a major role in one of her major films (The Tattooed Man, 1968), Sitney’s seminal book on American avant-garde cinema (Visionary Films, 1974) does not even mention her name.’ — CECILE STARR

 

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Stills




























 

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Further

Storm de Hirsch @ Film-makers Coop
SdH @ LUX
SdH @ IMDb
Mythology for the Soul: The Collected Poems of Storm De Hirsch
‘PEYOTE QUEEN’: STORM DE HIRSCH, THE WOMAN WHO MADE MOVIES WITHOUT A CAMERA
Book: Twilight Massacre and Other Poems, by Storm De Hirsch
Storm de Hirsch and Shirley Clarke’s conversation (full length)
SdH @ letterboxd
SHIRLEY/STORM
Independent Filmmaker, Storm de Hirsch, Press Conference

 

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Extras


Excerpt: Jonas Mekas Walden (1969), featuring Storm de Hirsch


Storm De Hirsch – Mythology for the Soul (trailer)


Velvet Underground @ Village Gate, NYC, June 7, 1966, raw footage featuring Andy Warhol, Gerard Malanga, Barbara Rubin, Allen Ginsberg, Peter Orlovsky,Tuli Kupferberg, Ed Sanders, Storm De Hirsch & more …

 

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Conversation: Shirley Clarke and Storm De Hirsch
from Underground Film Journal

 

SHIRLEY: Do you think that lady film-makers are mechanically equipped to handle their field?

STORM: Well, if they’re not, they have other compensations […] The film has to be done in a certain way with Hollywood as the symbol and women were certainly never approached as directors.

[…]

SHIRLEY: Now there’s no doubt that as an industry, [Hollywood’s] reaction to women would be very similar, let’s say, to the advertising industry or the automobile industry or anything where a woman sits and has a certain slot. It’s a preconceived idea and they fulfill it and they allow them to be editors, which has always struck me as very strange, because anyone who knows anything about film knows that the very thing a film is going to say can be changed in the editing. […] And they will give that responsibility to a woman and yet would not allow her, supposedly, what they would consider the highest responsibility as producer-director.

[…]

SHIRLEY: Would you make a difference here in terms of, let’s say women film-makers: that they would be better off doing the kind of film that they can do entirely by themselves, where they got their own eight or sixteen millimeter camera and went out — or where they were in a position like you just described, where they are the director and therefore have people working with them and for them? […]

STORM: No. I don’t favor this whole business in the first place, of making a distinction between women film-makers and male film-makers. I think that when it becomes a creative process there is no distinction. It’s an imposed distinction which is imposed by people in the…

SHIRLEY: Well, historical precedents. In other words…

STORM: It’s a young field where not too many in terms of women enter that field, like they have the other arts, but still I don’t see any reason why it couldn’t have happened sooner except that there were these taboos.

[…]

STORM: I think that society was involved also in the act of film-making. It was very unseemly for a woman to enter into a field of this kind.

SHIRLEY: But why, because it never seemed unseemly to be a poetess or a painter and yet it was unseemly.

STORM: These are the definitions that are laid down by society.

[…]

SHIRLEY: It never occurred to me that I worked in a masculine field because of how I got in, in that I was a dancer and started making dance films on a very personal basis. It never occurred to me that masculinity and femininity and being in a field called film-making was not what I thought I was doing. […] In your case it’s true also.

[…]

STORM: To me, making poems and making films are one, and neither activity excludes the other.

[…]

SHIRLEY: Unfortunately, the cost of making films even now is still too high in reference to the immediate return on the investment; which means that you must have enough money to wait five years — you can make a film and then sit around for five years waiting to get your money back to make the next […] An artist can’t grow that way.

[…]

SHIRLEY: One of the things that people have said to me is how come — how did you ever get to make films? I said, you know, there are several possibilities. One, you could be independently wealthy. Secondly, you could be married to someone who is wealthy. Thirdly, you could find a way to scrounge. And then beg, borrow, and steal. […] How does anybody function in a field that really isn’t going to be lucrative and where your motivation – the thing that starts you — isn’t to make money but merely to maintain it.

STORM: Here we are, two “quote-unquote” lady film-makers. We’re talking, I assume, objectively — like any film-maker. I mean, what is the distinction here? We both operate differently. We have a different approach to our work. We have different concepts or goals, what we want to attain visually.

[…]

STORM: I think both The Connection and The Cool World are very powerful films and they have a sense of violence and they have a large sense of strength which, if one didn’t know, they would unquestionably be identified by most people as the work of a man.

SHIRLEY: And yet to me, it’s an endless give-away in both those films and in the one I’m just doing, that is, what I would consider a feminine way of looking at something […] violence personally, to me, is extremely repugnant. It’s something I’m terribly afraid of. And yet, I’m obviously very attracted to it.

SHIRLEY: Up to this point the only person so far who’s done a real woman’s film has been your Goodbye in the Mirror. In other words, for some reason, even so far, women film-makers have yet to deal with the subject of women. […] I’m jealous that you have been able to do it because I wish I had been able to do it.

[…]

SHIRLEY: Are you saying that you don’t think that there is any particular difference between a man’s film and a woman’s film?

STORM: No, I don’t. I consider both to be artists and that they primarily are artists first and male or female afterwards.

SHIRLEY: Because my own feeling is that there is a difference that hasn’t yet been revealed.

[…]

STORM: You do feel that the time will come when there will not be the labeling?

SHIRLEY: Yes. I don’t think there will be labeling. I don’t think anybody’s going to be concerned.

[…]

SHIRLEY: I’ve no idea what most men film-makers look like from reading reviews. […] Yet I can tell you what every woman who’s making films looks like — size, shape, her coloring. They are described that way.

 

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11 of Storm de Hirsch’s 27 films

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Newsreel: Jonas in the Brig (1964)
‘Anyone who remembers the historic contribution that the living theatre made to the New York scene couldn’t possibly forget their production of The Brig which was running when the government seized the theatre for non-payment of taxes. Jonas Mekas decided to make a film of the production to preserve its brilliance and in-depth dynamism. Actors, stage hands, and camera crew broke into the seized locked theatre with its impounded properties during the middle of the night. They recorded the play from start to finish in one night. Storm De Hirsch was there and she made a short newsreel called Jonas In The Brig. Not only was she able to capture a study of Mekas while he was filming, but also in the newsreel there is a tension and apprehension of the moment and even the panic of the possibility of not being able to finish the film.’ — Bob Lehmann

 

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Peyote Queen (1964)
‘Storm De Hirsch is one of those avant-garde goddesses without much name-recognition outside of underground film circles, but her influence and dynamism has always been lauded by peers. Jonas Mekas, for example (often referred to as the “godfather of American avant-garde cinema”), called her psychedelic classic, Peyote Queen, “among my favorites … beauty and excitement.”

‘De Hirsch was actually a published poet before transitioning to film, and as such didn’t have ready access to a camera early on. Her first improvisational techniques were innovative manipulations of whatever film was just lying around at the time, making her as much a “sculptor” of celluloid as a filmmaker. The results of her experiments are now recognized as foundational films in avant-garde cinema. In an interview with Mekas, she spoke of her early work, like Peyote Queen, saying:

‘”I wanted badly to make an animated short, but I had no camera available. I did have some old, unused film stock and several rolls of 16mm sound tape. So I used that—plus a variety of discarded surgical instruments and the sharp edge of a screwdriver — by cutting, etching, and painting directly on both film and [sound] tape.”‘ — Dangerous Minds

Watch the film here

 

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Goodbye In The Mirror (1964)
‘A dramatic feature shot on location in Rome. Centered around the adventures and illusions of three girls living abroad, the film explores their restlessness and personal involvments in assuming the role of woman as hunter.’ — S. D. H.

‘I, myself, belonging to the Spies for Beauty, Inc., and the humble monk of the Order of Fools, was allowed to peek at this film, and I couldn’t believe what beauty struck my eyes, what sensuousness.’ — Jonas Mekas

Watch the film here

 

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Divinations (1964)
Divinations was completed in 1964 at the same time Storm De Hirsch was finishing her only feature film, Goodbye in the Mirror. According to the Film-makers’ Cooperative Catalogue No. 4, published in 1967, the music making up the film’s soundtrack is a ritual chant of a Maori medicine man and a Sicilian tarantella performed on a jew’s harp.

‘Also in the Catalogue, De Hirsch described the film as: “A film poem that records a psychic event in color, shape and sound. The inner eye reveals its visionary powers through a series of mystical signs and symbols, a collage of negative and positive images, incantations and sorcery.” P. Adams Sitney and Ken Kelman both called Divinations “Among the best films of 1964.”’ — Underground Film Journal

 

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The Tattooed Man (1967)
‘A major work in terms of style, structure, graphic invention, image manipulation and symbolic ritual. Short, abbreviated dream-like moments, fused together like a tension and the dynamics of motion picture time… groping around for new myths. Symbolic invention and theatricalisation of dreams, and making them literal, is the whole function and purpose of movie making… her concept of the problem is sweeping and very large.’ — Stan Vanderbeek

Watch the film here (w/ audio commentary by Stephen Broomer)

 

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Shaman, A Tapestry For Sorcerers (1967)
‘Dedicated to all the magic makers of the world who weave a talisman for man’s rebirth in his house of breath.’ — SdH


Excerpt

Watch the film here

 

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w/ Shirley Clarke, Lawrence Jordan, Lee Savage, Stan Brakhage, Ken Jacobs, Michael Snow, Joyce Wieland, Peggy Lawson, Manfred Kirchheimer, Peter Gessner, Jonas Mekas, Robert Breer, a.o. For Life, Against the War (1967)
‘A political activism compilation film made by splicing together a series of clips centered around the Vietnam War by a number of different filmmakers.’ — Mark Renton

Watch the film here

 

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Third Eye Butterfly (1968)
‘THIRD EYE BUTTERFLY requires DOUBLE SCREEN projection, i.e., Reel #1 and Reel #2 are to be projected simultaneously on two separate projectors with one screen area directly adjacent to the other. Reel #1 is to be projected on the LEFT screen; Reel #2 on the RIGHT. Synchronized start marks are indicated by a punch hole on the leader of each reel. BE SURE TO OBSERVE THIS SYNCHRONIZATION! Sound must be open on one projector only during projection (Reel #1).’ — Filmmakers Coop

‘Where is the light coming from? The flavor of the colors are succulent to the long vision in the soul. How can dust cover the arrows of light? How can darkness favor oblivion in the face of light? The variations of soul-touch exist in the auras of illumination. The Great Eye dominates.’ — S. D. H.

‘The 70mm-like effect of THIRDE EYE BUTTERFLY encourages the mind to work as a third eye by fusing the two side-by-side screens into a third meaning, just as Eisenstein caused the meanings of two juxtaposed shots to result in a third implied meaning.’ — Casey Charness, Columbia University


 

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An Experiment In Meditation (1971)
‘The shape of change, the shape of memory has walked many miles in the mind to recreate a landscape, a manner of subterranean speech which may never reach its destination to the surface but roolls in the bloodstream swollen with speech invisible to the ear but palpable to the feelings that travel inside the network of the body/brain. The vision and the visitation occur simultaneously.’ — S.D.H

 

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September Express (1973)
‘A study of time in motion. An accelerated montage of reflections and landscapes framed in the window of an express train running from Rome to Venice. Dedicated to the writings of J.W. Dunne, the collage of Kurt Schwitters and the cubistic paintings of Braque …’ — MUBI

This film is sometimes available on MUBI

 

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Geometrics of the Kabbalah (1975)
‘5 is water, 5 is the letter X. 5 is distance. 5 says no. 5 laughs when divided into 2. 5 swims backwards, and space is five. The cherry tree is one. The hurt is 1 plus 1, the wish is two. The wonder three. The absence four, and the five is the Universe. The Universe in the head, the universe in the eye, the sky and the waterdrop.

‘5 is the unicorn in the circle, 5 can multiply, subtract, and dismiss. Divided and dismiss. 5 is the smoke of heaven, 7 unholy and 12 unmentionable. The privacy of Alpha and Omega is 12, the world is 12. The first and the last of the hunt is 12. 12 is the cry, the secret, the Great Mistake. 12 is the falling steeple. 12 stands high like the meeting of the gods because 12 are lurching altitudes beyond man whose life and death lie only in the 3. Stand 1 to 5, divide and topple. The points beyond the gate of 5 are sharp, walk carefully. 5 is the enclosure, 5 is the pointed start of the planet.’ — from Brook 16, “Source Books of Storm De Hirsch,” 9/24/66

 

 

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p.s. Hey. ** Dr. Kosten Koper, Hi, Dr. Oh, that print behind your desk was in the post. Huh. I haven’t talked to Raymond in quite a while, but I’m all but certain he gave up drinking and drugs since that video, i.e. 13 years ago, because his health is pretty rocky now. Yes, I interviewed him for a book on his work for Phaidon years ago, and he was not an easy interview subject, that’s for sure. Hope all’s very good, sir. ** Bill, I’ve read so little Chinese literature, so I hope you find something good enough to translate one of these years. I think if ‘Let’s Dance’ had been a one-off experiment — Bowie meets Nile Rodgers — and not the top of the slide, a case could be made for it maybe. And how was the gig? Pray tell. ** Bernard Welt, Well, hi there, B! Nice about the mural and on the ongoing collaboration with Colby. Oh, yes, great, thanks! Everyone, the masterful Bernard Welt wrote story/essay for the catalog “Raymond Pettibon: A Reader” (1998) and you can and really should read it at his Substack here.. All the love and best! ** Adem Berbic, I don’t why I would have ever said that about The Simpsons, but I’ll take your word. I guess my excitement incorporates your feeling. My excitement is kind of a world. People in ‘horror’ forums often seem to talk about ‘The Sluts’, so yeah, although I think ‘The Marbled Swarm’ would be a better match. You have my luck. Any luck? ** Malik, Hi, Malik. Cool. I’ve actually been getting into the recent work by Jim Dine lately. Amazing that he’s still firing on all cylinders at his age. Nice August there. Ours over here was crushed by waves of heat waves. I can barely remember being outside. Things are good. Starting work on Zac’s and my new film mostly. Loving Halloween’s gradual entrance into the atmosphere. So good to see you. ** Carsten, Hey. I always took drugs largely as investigation into how I could take my brain to unforeseen places and try to write from those places. So I never got overly controlled by them, other maybe a little bit by cocaine at one point. So I never just partied, or I guess if I did the night wasn’t the timeframe I was angling to party in. Drugs and daylight are a lovely combo. The script of ‘The Wild One’ is truly awful. The ‘welcome’ posts can be pretty much anything. You just want to try to make sure it’s ultimately a lure to hit the appointed link to buy the book. The deck is now with our producer, and we’ll see if she wants us to make changes. Everyone, If I’m understanding Carsten correctly, the new episode of Radio Panik’s L’étranger includes an audio of his “Skull Music”, and that’s here. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi. Raymond is a never ending supply of genius, that’s for sure. ** laura w, The subtitles are the original script, even when they clash a little with the French speaking parts. In that film, the language is too important to fuck with, but, yeah, I like the idea of the multiple xeroxing. Understood about the vacation anxiety. Maybe once you’re stuck in the vacation you’ll just kind of surrender and get the best out of it because you have no choice? That’s my practicality coming out. Hope so anyway. Interesting to see if Clive still has enough hardcore fans to make that Kickstarter thing pay off. I suppose he probably does. I hope Zac and I don’t have to crowdfund for our new film. Ugh. ** Uday, He’s crazy great, and, yeah, impossible to imitate well, from everything I’ve seen. Interesting that Charli is still having to milk the ‘Brat’ album. I would have thought she could take some chances by now. We’re showing ‘Room Temperature’ in London on Halloween, so that’s Halloween. We’ll go to the actually quite good Halloween makeover of Parc Asterix. Hopefully they’ll be some spooky surprises too. You and yours? ** HaRpEr //, I deify artists privately in my head, but the mass deification is too generalising and anti-analysis for me, I guess. Patti Smith is definitely another good/bad example. And don’t get me started about Derek Jarman or Keith Haring or David Wojnarowicz, etc. David was a friend of mine and being deified would have infuriated him. ** Sam F, Me too! That obsessive drawing of a single haunting thing isn’t uninteresting at all. It sounds lucky or something. Will Eisner, sure, he’s terrific. I might even try to find that ‘How to …’ book. I’m a process fetishist. Great about the launch! I was just Zooming with David Trinidad last night. I’ll pass along your love. That Le Roi Jones/Amiri Baraka book is great. And ‘The Naomi Poems’ too. You’re set with riches right there. Well, I hope your week is the week of months, which is supposed to sound even better! ** Right. Today the blog provides you with the work of Storm de Hirsch whose films, as usual around here, are far too under-celebrated and hard to see. See you tomorrow.

Raymond Pettibon’s Day

 

‘There are two types of people at a typical Raymond Pettibon opening. One type is drawn to the epigrams and discomfiting punch lines buried in Pettibon’s seemingly blithe drawings and paintings — serious folks who like to be seriously poked in the eye by art. Then there are the cheerier souls who come to see another beach bum play with cartoons. Both were out in force at the Regen Projects gallery last Saturday for Pettibon’s new show. A mix of the grave and the merry sipped glasses of cheap white gallery wine and walked in slow circles around Regen’s big atrial room, some glowering, some smiling at Pettibon’s waves, trains and baseball players, which were pinned to the walls as though they’d just been torn from his sketchpad (his preferred style of presentation).

‘Pettibon loomed in the corner, looking as if he’d just been torn from something himself. Judging from his dirty white Jamaica tourist T-shirt, stained plaid-patterned trousers and sooty slip-on Vans, it might have been art or possibly something refuse-related. Despite being a walking antithesis of the L.A. gallery scene, the diffident Pettibon has assumed rock star status on that scene. Fans come to his shows wearing Pettibon T-shirts. They carry his books around. They vie for his bygone-feeling lithographs like archivists fighting over early Beatles LPs. And though possibly the least self-promotional artist in this or any city, Pettibon has lately become a sensation in the art world at large.

‘He had a one-man show at the Whitney Museum of American Art last year and a spread in the New York Times Magazine. At the moment, he’s in Venice (Italy) scribbling on commission in a palazzo. After that he’ll be drawing something on the wall of a library in the Hague. At Regen, well-wishers unacquainted with his stoical manner approached Pettibon and tried to talk to him as he stood against the wall, circumspect as an Easter Island maoi. “Huh,” he said to one man, with a halting nod, in answer to the man’s enthusiastic drawn out point.

‘A woman who’d just stepped out of a Porsche on the street, wearing a black T-shirt that read “Dior Addict” in large white letters, approached Pettibon with a crazed look on her face and a monograph of his perched in her hands like a votive offering. “Hi, Raymond, I love your work and I want — ” she began. Pettibon averted his eyes. As she talked, he drew a big wave in her book — he likes drawing waves, and surfers, though in his vision water often has an minatory aboriginal look — and signed it “Lovingly, Raymond Pettibon.” The Dior addict left the gallery beaming and went outside to show off the book. Someone remarked on his intimate wording. “Maybe I’ll give him my underwear,” she said, joking, though one got the idea she might have already done so.

‘In person, there’s nothing phenomenal about Pettibon (except perhaps his height). He looks at once younger and older than his 48 years, wears his hair like an abandoned seaweed farm and rides the bus to and from his mother’s house in Hermosa Beach, where he grew up. It’s a gorgeous contradictory L.A. picture, like Gumby watching copulation or a nude dance scene in Abu Ghraib (both images in the show). Pettibon winces at compliments, even when they come from friends. Yet women now talk about giving him their underwear. “He doesn’t have a lot of will to be a great artist — he just a great artist,” Shaun Kaley Regen, his gallerist, said. “I don’t think things have changed very much for him. He seems like the same person I knew 15 years ago.”

‘In public, Regen looks after Pettibon in a warm, maternal way. After the show she held a large dinner party for him in the back garden of the restaurant Dominicks. About 60 collectors and curators, along with a few hipster hangers-on, stood around eating prosciutto and risotto balls. Pettibon hovered dutifully by the bar, drinking a bottled beer. Everything seemed OK. Suddenly, two women in string-strap tops took ahold of him and insisted that he stand between them for a picture. They leaned in and put their arms around him. He crossed his arms nervously and a surprised frown took over his face.

‘Somewhat inconveniently for Pettibon, whose real name is Raymond Ginn (his father used to call him petit bon, little good one; his brother is Greg Ginn of Black Flag fame), he’s a native son of L.A., so many Angelenos feel obliged to form an attachment to him. That the members of the Dior addict wing of his fan base often own his art doesn’t help. “I have about 18 Pettibons,” one collector said, as though he were discussing ties or skateboards.

‘Meanwhile, Pettibon endures the social demands of his work, sometimes even gamely breaking the hermetic seal. In the corner of Regen Projects, before leaving for the dinner, a crowd had gathered around him as he stood against a door and squiggled little curios on invitations and odd scraps of paper. There was a wave. There was a tree. A woman nearly as tall as Pettibon, with a very small dog in her arms, elbowed through. “This is Stinky,” she announced. Pettibon drew a dog. “What kind of dog is it, Raymond?” he was asked. “I don’t know,” Pettibon said with a sigh. “You’ve seen one dog, you’ve seen them all.”‘ — LA Times

 

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Video


Artists Talk: Raymond Pettibon


Raymond Pettibon’s video ‘Sir Drone’ (excerpt)


Raymond Pettibon’s ‘THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING: WEATHERMAN ’69’ (excerpt)


Raymond Pettibon Super Session Live at Bogart’s


Raymond Pettibon lecture & performance at Beyond Baroque


Raymond Pettibon & Mike Watt / Riverside Art Museum


Raymond Pettibon: The Punk Years, 1978-1986 x Blood Beach


Lee Ranaldo on Raymond Pettibon



Raymond Pettibon & Keiji Haino – Sofiensaale, Berlin

 

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Further

Raymond Pettibon Website
Raymond Pettibon @ Twitter
PRETTY MUCH EVERY SINGLE BLACK FLAG FLYER DESIGNED BY RAYMOND PETTIBON
Raymond Pettibon @ David Zwirner
‘HUMAN WAVE – THE VIDEOTAPES OF RAYMOND PETTIBON’
Raymond Pettibon interviewed @ Interview
Raymond Pettibon interviewed @ Bomb
Raymond Pettibon book @ Phaidon
‘Raymond Pettibon – The Game of Words and Pics’
Raymond Pettibon @ Discogs
‘Raymond Pettibon’s High Line Billboard’
Raymond Pettibon’s videos @ Electronic Arts Intermix
‘Raymond Pettibon: Return to Disorder and Disfiguration’
Raymond Pettibon’s studio’
‘The Pettibon Story
‘What Remains To Be Said’
‘Album Covers by Raymond Pettibon’

 

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Covers

 

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Interview
from The Believer

 

Believer: Books have also had a big influence on your art, and you’ve said that sometimes it’s not just a matter of editing the lines you put in but that the lines themselves become your context. Can you explain?

Raymond Pettibon: I think that was in reference to my drawings where the lines are actually cut out from the text and put in, although it doesn’t have to be. The distinction is hardly there. There are instances where lines in my work are borrowed or stolen from sources, mainly from books, or they become my own versions. A lot of the writing is my own, too. But if someone were to take each drawing and trace it back to its source, most of them could be traced back to a book or a text.

BLVR: You’ve also said that while you’re working the drawing seems like a chore and what you like best is the writing. Has that always been the case?

RP: Yeah, definitely. I think I always enjoy the writing more. If you saw every show or every book I’ve been in—and this is coming from someone who’s considered to have produced a gratuitous amount of work—you would see what I mean. But drawing is also one of my favorite things to do.

BLVR: Do you start a picture with drawing or with writing?

RP: There’s no set formula. Though I guess nowadays I tend to start with the drawing. At first, for some years, I didn’t at all. It was always the idea that came first, and the idea had the visual concept to it, and that’s when I came in and did the drawing. Now it’s a combination of the two.

BLVR: Who are some of your literary influences?

RP: If I was going to do any favors for someone who’s interested in the extent of my borrowing, I’d say, and this doesn’t necessarily mean these are my favorite writers, but Henry James would be the most obvious, both his fiction and letters. Also, right now I’ve been reading Emily Dickinson’s letters, though I don’t think I’ve borrowed anything from her poetry. Not yet anyway. Thomas Browne, too, and Ruskin. I borrow from noir, but that’s mostly visual. Mickey Spillane is an interesting writer in a way. His directness. Come to think of it, he started in comics, which figures. Again, I don’t mean that in a bad way. He was just so over-the-top and black and white with no shades in between. Today he could be writing for Commentary or Public Interest. But visually, noir was a big influence on me and still is.

There was a period when I was getting a lot of my images from television. And this might be disappointing to my fans, like, now the visual universe is phony, too, but I had this video recorder for a long time that took still images from television. They lasted five seconds, and I would take images from Peter Gunn and noir films of the thirties, forties, and fifties. If you look at TV in that way it’s almost always a shot of talking heads. The only interesting visual compositions are of some kind of violence, with guns and fists and bodies. It’s always one extreme or another. So it was less because I had some abiding interest in violence or gangsters, and more because that was what was visually interesting. And you could say that about any of my imagery, really. There’s not much of an emotional involvement or commitment to it. And that’s really saying something, because it’s those couple of years back then, with that recorder on my TV, that I’ll be paying for for the rest of my life. Once things hit the critical discourse they stay there and they replicate like viruses until they take over the artist. Seriously. Some artists go with that and become what they’ve been made to be. Some fight it and retool and redefine themselves. I don’t consciously do either. But that’s still going to be the first thing people think about me, whether they’ve actually seen the work or not. That’s not a major complaint. But it’s like with the punk thing: yes, I think it was very important in music, and I was there and all that, but now I’m going to be the punk artist for the rest of my life. Which is kind of amusing, and a comment on the press and the critics.

BLVR: People seem to like categorizing you.

RP: Yeah. It’s funny, because there isn’t such a thing as a close reading in the art world anymore. There used to be. There was a time when there would be a close reading of a painting or a sculpture to an almost parodic or ridiculous extent, but not anymore. I don’t mean to sound dismissive of the press, or to give you some anticritic diatribe. For the most part I think the level of writing in art is very high.

BLVR: But is it fair to say that noirish themes—depraved sexuality, violence, self-loathing, booze-addled women—run through your art?

RP: Well, yeah, there’s that interpretation. But as I said, that really has more to do with the formulaic qualities, the compositions, in noir. Personally, I don’t like violence and blood. I turn my head at anything like that. The thing is, there can be more interest in that sort of thing for me, and for many people, in works of art. Just the action of it, the violence inferred, tends to get a certain reaction that’s more interesting. On the other hand, I’m not Pollyannaish about it. I’m for opening the prisons.

BLVR: Do you think of your art as overtly sinister or morbid, or does it have more to do with hope and redemption? I don’t mean that in a biblical way.

RP: I don’t know if it goes that far in either direction, really, or begins or even ends there. I believe in redemption, sure, as much as we have it on earth. For the record, I don’t believe in any spiritual redemption. But my work is much more complicated than redemption or no redemption. I do feel it’s dangerous, both on a personal and a political level, to be anything other than forgiving. The stakes are just too high nowadays. I don’t want to express violence or anger or hate in my art. I want to express forgiveness. That’s the nature of my art in general. It’s expressing love and compassion, the kinds of things that don’t make sense in any other context other than emotive expression.

BLVR: Some of your drawings—and I’m thinking of works like the one of the pistol with the caption “My bout with depression lasted five chambers,” or of the old woman with the words “My mother was a monster who ate children”—have a sinister quality, or maybe it’s just dark humor. In any case, there’s this disjuncture between the drawings and the text that adds a lot of humor.

RP: That’s true for the most part. Usually it’s because the image and the text are at such a complete disjuncture from each other, or unrelated, almost random, so that one has nothing whatsoever to do with the other. But I don’t know how much I can say that’s conscious on my part. I’ve never been good at planning or directing my work towards specific things. Also, these sorts of things tend to get internalized to the point where they become second nature. It’s a technique for setting up conflict and resolution, perhaps, but I’m not filling in punch lines, like with cartoons. Eisenstein’s stuff was all about that clash of images, with montages and snippets of this and that. But that can become trite if it’s taken too far.

BLVR: Some of your drawings are much more “accomplished”—for lack of a better word—than others. Is that a stylistic thing related to the content of your drawings? Do you deliberately under-draw sometimes?

RP: No, I don’t think I usually do. Unless, maybe occasionally, if it’s for a certain affect in an individual drawing. I don’t know how often that occurs, but not often. But otherwise, no, I don’t try to under-draw. You might be thinking of earlier drawings. Some of my work can impress you as being from another person altogether. And in a sense it is. I have a tendency to think that some of my early work is better than anyone could have expected from me then, or even now. I think, if anything, for a while now my work is getting way too—I don’t know, it’s losing some of the best things that drawing has to offer, which is its easy facility and its ability to depict things with a few strokes of the brush without laboring over it and trying this and that, scraping, painting over. It’s not getting better. To its detriment, in fact, it’s losing something. And sometimes I sort of wish I could get back to the earlier drawing. But I don’t think that’s possible. It’s possible to try, but I think it would end up looking the way an artist’s work inevitably looks when he goes back to children’s drawings.

BLVR: Why do you think that is?

RP: I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s telling me. I’m missing the message.

BLVR: Do you think your creative process is becoming more deliberate as you get older?

RP: I don’t know. You can become too close to it while you’re doing it to have that remove from critical acuity. It’s like when I go out on the dance floor and the whole floor clears and everyone’s watching. I don’t know how I’m doing. I guess good. Maybe not. I’m joking, but what I’m saying is, it’s the same effect.

BLVR: So it’s about your audience’s response?

RP: Yeah, it’s about response, and the reaction shots before and after. But I’m pretty much on my own as far as audience goes, because my community of fans—I’m not sure if it even properly exists.

 

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p.s. Hey. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, Thomas! Aw, thanks, man. Yeah, when I was gathering short fiction things for ‘Ugly Man’, I tried to make ‘Sad Story’ work without the images, but it didn’t at all. Thank you, maestro, that means a lot. Love, me. ** Carsten, I was never a night person, even when I was young and doing lots of drugs. Which isn’t to say I didn’t stay up all night, but part of me was always thinking ‘You’re fucking up your tomorrow’. Seemingly the press/editor will know if that image would create any problems. Presses are usually hyper careful about those things since the repercussions would start with them. My novel ‘The Marbled Swarm’ originally had a different photo of Pierre Clementi on the cover. It’s on the galleys of the book. But Clementi’s son found out and threatened to sue, so the press had to switch to a public domain photo. The deck is finished apart from a little fiddling Zac wants to do today, but it should be on its way to the producer by this evening. She may want changes, but at least we’re there or almost there. Have a weekend that dreams can only imagine. ** _Black_Acrylic, Thanks, pal. Well, I had kind of figured that about ‘The Shards’, but I’m glad it remained charismatic enough to tow you all the way through. ** Bill, Tonight! Usually when I worry I’m repeating myself no one ever notices. Or they take the repetitions as your work’s pleasurable signature. That’s my half-baked theory. That said, I do think Kali Malone needs to start changing it up. ‘The Hole’, ooh, I need to watch that again. Have a total blast this evening. ** Adem Berbic, Whatever works, right? When did I say I didn’t like The Simpsons? I like The Simpsons. I admit I haven’t watched it in years, but … Graves can be spectacular, worst comes to worst. Uh, hm, starting point … maybe just an excitement that’s great and voluminous seeming enough that I know it will continue to be exciting and unfold over the longterm? ** laura w., ‘Lancelot du Lac’ is god, sonically and otherwise. In Zac’s and my films we only use music that the characters can hear, so not a lot of music in them in other words. I guess we’ll find out if low budget indie film folks are open minded. This will be the first time that we’re operating in the indie film world. ‘PGL’ was written in English with the knowledge that it would be translated into French. So Zac would say, ‘this line won’t translate’ or ‘this will line translate as that’, and then I’d usually have to revise the line so it would translate into French and remain offbeat and fresh. Even so, some really good lines got screwed. The best way to watch ‘PGL’, to my mind, is with the English subtitles because the subtitles are the English original of the script, and so some language things I really like survive that way. Thanks about the post, But aren’t vacations are supposed to a dream come true or something? What’s wrong with the one you have planned? ** Poecilia, Oh, good. I mean my French is too primitive to really ever know how the French in ‘PGL’ works. I just have to have faith and trust Zac’s judgement. So, cool. Thank you! ** Steve, The new film will be an American production. Our producer is based in the States, and we’ll shoot there somewhere. No, we don’t have a good sense of what ‘low budget indie people’ are looking for. That’s a total frontier. We have to let our producer figure out how to ‘sell’ the film and follow her instructions as far as our input and whatever schmoozing is necessary goes. She’s thoroughly in that world, albeit working with unusual films, and we trust her. ** HaRpEr //, Thanks so much! I was pretty happy with it. No, I avoided that ‘Rear Window’ remake. What a terrible idea. I get more pissed off when people online turn artists, especially music artists, into gods after they die. The deification of David Bowie drives me nuts, for instance. Like he didn’t put out a bunch of mediocre albums between his 70s/early 80s heyday and his final triumph. Yeah, the boat scene, sublime. ** Thom, That was the goal, at least, so thanks. I’m sure our woods’ necks will become a double exposure at some point, it’s just where and when. Pot doesn’t play favorites. It’s all good. ** Okay. I thought I might let you spend the weekend with the master of colluding imagery and text Mr. Raymond Pettibon. See you on Monday.

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