View allAll Photos Tagged decency
No mutton, just seal. Good numbers to be found at Mutton Cove, Godrevy. Thankfully they're fairly out of reach of the selfie gang who think nothing of pushing the boundaries of decency.
Lemme tell you a funny story that both predates and involves this shot by Emmanuela (her take on it can be found here):
I was completely exhausted one day after work and simply just plopped down against the wall as I waited for an elevator to take me down so I could get the heck home. I was soon joined by a couple of other staff members.
One of them - long on degrees and initials after her name but well short on either common sense or human decency - smiled, stooped over, actually rubbed my ample gut and said something to the effect of "rubbing the Buddha belly for luck" and laughed.
Since she was a convert to Buddhism, I suspect she thought she was making a friendly gesture in the name of fun. Since I'm very self-conscious about my weight (having not originally been a "big guy") I in fact immediately placed the gesture HIGH on my list of most insensitive and insulting actions directed toward me.
Where, years later, it still ranks today.
We went our separate ways once the elevator arrived - and later professionally as first she then I left the company.
Fast forward to this photo shoot. In her pre-shoot interviews, Emmanuela asks her subjects to list parts of their bodies that the do and do NOT like. Suffice to say, my paunch was on the NOT list.
As is her wont, Emmanuela respected my NOT list throughout the week. With the exception of this picture. She handed me this glass vase, had me sit in the light and fired away.
She wanted to make a point.
"This IS you," she would explain. "And all of you is beautiful. I want you to see that.
"As you look through this crystal, I want you to see that. And I want you to LOVE AND EMBRACE YOUR BUDDHA BELLY." And, no, she didn't know about my elevator experience - until now.
BTW, Emmanuela has a lot of degrees and letters after her name - but there's also a HUGE sense of compassion, prescience, common sense, love and support thrown in.
And she makes damn good points.
DEDICATIONS: Emmanuela, of course. And to the slowly-shrinking gut, which in a way has helped me be more approachable as some sort of "big 'ol teddy bear type" Who knew a body part could actually put people at ease?
And, of course, to Francis Albert Sinatra , who makes the thought of embracing myself and those I love feel like beautiful music to my ears. (Great karaoke song, btw....)
You will find 200+ of my poems HERE. fno.org/poetry/index.html
I wrote this poem a year ago in November but it rings true.
No news is good news
The news
Such as it is
Lately
Offends
Alarms
And provokes me
Until I want to look away
Blind myself to the barbaric slayings
The killings
The murders
The hate crimes
The wars
The storms
The wildfires
And the political mayhem
That is the norm of the day
I want to pretend
None of this is real
And substitute my own version of reality
A life without Putin
And the slaughter of innocents
A world without Trump
And his cascade of lies and falsehoods
A time without mass murders
Shooters cutting down families
School children
And concert goers
A peaceful, gentle life
We can only imagine
With kindness, civility and decency
The norm
Not the exception
© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved
You will find more of my poems and songs here
and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.
My songs are at
I was out on the bike one sunset, and I took this photo because I liked the ethereal effect of the sunlight on the grass. I don't remember that drop of molten lava though...what is it?
Italian postcard by Rotalfoto, Milano, no. 612. Mamie Van Doren.
Voluptuous American actress Mamie Van Doren (1931) was a sex symbol of the 1950s and 1960s. Van Doren starred in several exploitation films such as Untamed Youth (1957), loaded with rock 'n' roll and juvenile delinquency. Her onscreen wardrobe usually consisted of tight sweaters, low-cut blouses, form-fitting dresses, and daring swimsuits. Mamie and her colleague blonde bombshells Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield were known as 'The Three M's.'
Mamie Van Doren was born Joan Lucille Olander in Rowena, South Dakota, in 1931. She was the daughter of Warner Carl Olander and Lucille Harriet Bennett. In 1942 the family moved to Los Angeles. In early 1946, Van Doren began working as an usher at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. The following year, she had a bit part on an early television show. She also sang with Ted Fio Rito's band and entered several beauty contests. She was married for a brief time at seventeen when Van Doren and her first husband, Jack Newman, eloped to Santa Barbara. The marriage was dissolved quickly, upon her discovery of his abusive nature. In the summer of 1949, at age 18, she won the titles Miss Eight Ball and Miss Palm Springs. Van Doren was discovered by producer Howard Hughes the night she was crowned Miss Palm Springs. The pair dated for five years. Hughes provided her with a bit role in Jet Pilot at RKO Radio Pictures. Her line of dialogue inconsisted of one word, "Look!". The following year, 1951, she posed for famous pin-up girl artist Alberto Vargas, the painter of the glamorous Vargas Girls. His painting of Van Doren was on the July 1951 cover of Esquire magazine. Van Doren did a few more bit parts in RKO films, including His Kind of Woman (John Farrow, 1951) starring Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell. Van Doren then began working on the stage. She was a showgirl in New York in Monte Proser's nightclub version of Billion Dollar Baby. Songwriter Jimmy McHugh discovered her for his musicals, then decided she was too good for the chorus line and should have dramatic training. She studied with Ben Bard and Bliss-Hayden. While appearing in the role of Marie in a showcase production of Come Back, Little Sheba, Van Doren was seen by Phil Benjamin, a casting director at Universal International. In 1953, Van Doren signed a contract with Universal Studios. They had big plans for her, hoping she would bring the same kind of success that 20th Century Fox had with Marilyn Monroe. Van Doren, whose signing day coincided with the inauguration of President Eisenhower, was given the first name Mamie for Ike's wife, Mamie Eisenhower. Universal first cast Van Doren in a minor role as a singer in Forbidden (Rudolph Maté, 1953), starring Tony Curtis. Interested in Van Doren's allure, Universal then cast her again opposite Curtis in The All American (Jesse Hibbs, 1953), playing her first major role as Susie Ward, a wayward girl who is the man-trap at a campus beer joint. In Yankee Pasha (Joseph Pevney, 1954), starring Jeff Chandler and Rhonda Fleming, she played a slave girl, Lilith. In 1955, she had a supporting role in the musical Ain't Misbehavin' (Edward Buzzell, 1955) and starred in the crime-drama, Running Wild (Abner Biberman, 1955). Soon thereafter, Van Doren turned down a Broadway role in the play Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, and was replaced by newcomer Jayne Mansfield. In 1956, Van Doren appeared in the Western Star in the Dust (Charles F. Haas, 1956). Though Van Doren garnered prominent billing alongside John Agar and Richard Boone, she appears rather briefly, as the daughter of a ranch owner. By this time, Van Doren had grown tired of Universal, which was only casting her in non-breakthrough roles. Therefore, Van Doren began accepting bigger roles in better movies from other studios, such as Teacher's Pet (George Seaton, 1958) with Doris Day and Clark Gable. She appeared in some of the first movies to feature rock 'n' roll music, such as Untamed Youth (Howard W. Koch, 1957). The film was originally condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency, but that only served to enhance the curiosity factor, resulting in it being a big moneymaker for the studio. Van Doren became identified with this rebellious style, and made some rock records. She went to star in several bad girl movies that later became cult films. These include Born Reckless (Howard W. Koch, 1958), High School Confidential (Jack Arnold, 1958), and The Beat Generation (Charles F. Haas, 1959). After Universal Studios chose not to renew her contract in 1959, Van Doren was now a free agent and had to struggle to find work.
Mamie Van Doren became known for her provocative roles. She was in prison for Girls Town (Charles F. Haas, 1959), which provoked censors with a shower scene where audiences could see Van Doren's naked back. As Eve in The Private Lives of Adam and Eve (Mickey Rooney, Albert Zugsmith, 1960) she wore only fig leaves, and in other films, like Vice Raid (Edward L. Cahn, 1960) audiences were clued in as to the nature of the films from the titles. Many of these productions were low-budget B-movies which sometimes gained a cult following for their high camp value. An example is Sex Kittens Go to College (Albert Zugsmith, 1960), which co-starred Tuesday Weld and Mijanou Bardot - Brigitte's sister. Mamie also appeared in foreign productions, such as the Italian crime comedy Le bellissime gambe di Sabrina/The Beautiful Legs of Sabrina (Camillo Mastrocinque, 1959) with Antonio Cifariello, and the Argentine film Una americana en Buenos Aires/The Blonde from Buenos Aires (George Cahan, 1961) with Jean-Pierre Aumont. Van Doren took some time off from her career and came back to the screen in 1964. That year she played in the German Western musical Freddy und das Lied der Prärie/In the Wild West (Sobey Martin, 1964), starring Freddy Quinn and Rik Battaglia. Tommy Noonan convinced Van Doren to appear in 3 Nuts in Search of a Bolt (Tommy Noonan, 1964). Van Doren had turned down Noonan's previous offer to star in Promises! Promises!, in which she would have to do nude scenes. She was replaced by Jayne Mansfield. In 3 Nuts in Search of a Bolt, Mamie did a beer-bath scene, but is not seen nude. She posed for Playboy to promote the film. Van Doren next appeared in The Las Vegas Hillbillys (Arthur C. Pierce, 1966) which co-starred Jayne Mansfield. It was the only time two of 'The Three M's' appeared together in a film. A sequel was titled Hillbillys in a Haunted House, but Van Doren turned this role down, and was replaced by Joi Lansing. She appeared in You've Got to Be Smart (Ellis Kadison, 1967), and the sci-fi film, Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women (1968), directed by the young Peter Bogdanovich (as Derek Thomas). In this film astronauts land on Venus and encounter dangerous creatures and meet sexy Venusian women who like to sun-bathe in hip-hugging skin-tight pants and seashell brassieres. In 1968, she was offered the role of a murder victim in the independent horror film The Ice House as a replacement for Mansfield, who died the previous year. She turned the offer down, however, and was replaced by Sabrina. During the Vietnam War, she did tours for U.S. troops in Vietnam for three months in 1968, and again in 1970. Van Doren also developed a nightclub act and did live theater. She performed in stage productions of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Dames at Sea at the Drury Lane Theater, Chicago, and appeared in Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? and The Tender Trap at the Arlington Park Theater. In the 1970s, Van Doren performed a nightclub act in Las Vegas as well. Van Doren had a supporting role in the Western The Arizona Kid (Luciano B. Carlos, 1970). Since then, Van Doren has appeared only in cameo appearances in low-budgeted films. To this date Van Doren's last film appearance was a cameo role in the comedy Slackers (Dewey Nicks, 2002). Van Doren's guest appearances on television include Jukebox Jury, What's My Line, The Bob Cummings Show, The Jack Benny Show, Fantasy Island, Burke's Law, Vega$, and L.A. Law. Van Doren released her autobiography, Playing the Field, in 1987 which brought much new attention and proved to be her biggest media splash in over 25 years. Since the book's publication she has often been interviewed and profiled and has occasionally returned to acting. Van Doren has been married five times. Her first marriage was to sportswear manufacturer Jack Newman whom she married and divorced in 1950. Her second marriage was to bandleader, composer and actor Ray Anthony whom she married in 1955. They had one son, Perry Ray Anthony (1956). The couple later divorced in 1961. When Van Doren's early 1960s, highly publicized, on-again off-again engagement to baseball player Bo Belinsky ended in 1964, she married baseball player Lee Meyers in 1966. They were divorced in 1967. Her fourth marriage was to businessman Ross McClintock in 1972. They met while working on President Nixon's reelection campaign; the marriage was annulled in 1973. Since 1979 she has been married to Thomas Dixon, an actor and dentist.
Sources: Wikipedia and IMDb.
Help the People of Burma (Birmania) — Post this Meme on Your Blog!
Note: This is a new kind of online protest that uses blogs to spread a petition globally. To participate, just add your blog by following the instructions in this blog post.
This not an issue of partisan politics, this is an issue of basic human rights and democracy. Please help to prevent a human tragedy in Burma by adding your blog and asking others to do the same.
By passing this meme on through the blogosphere hopefully we can generate more awareness and avert a serious tragedy. As concerned world-citizens this something we bloggers can do to help.
How to participate:
1. Copy this entire post to your blog, including this special number: 1081081081234
2. After a few days, you can search Google for the number 1081081081234 to find all blogs that are participating in this protest and petition. Note: Google indexes blogs at different rates, so it could take longer for your blog to show up in the results.
THE SITUATION IN BURMA AND WHY IT MATTERS TO ALL OF US
There is no press freedom in Burma and the government has started turning off the Internet and other means of communication, so it is difficult to get news out. Individuals on the ground have been sending their day-by-day reports to the BBC, and they are heartbreaking. I encourage you to read these accounts to see for yourself what is really going on in Burma. Please include this link in your own blog post.
The situation in Burma is increasingly dangerous. Hundreds of thousands of unarmed peaceful protesters, including monks and nuns, are risking their lives to march for democracy against an unpopular but well-armed military dictatorship that will stop at nothing to continue its repressive rule. While the generals in power and their families are literally dripping in gold and diamonds, the people of Burma are impoverished, deprived of basic human rights, cut off from the rest of the world, and increasingly under threat of violence.
This week the people of Burma have risen up collectively in the largest public demonstrations against the ruling Junta in decades. It’s an amazing show of bravery, decency, and democracy in action. But although these protests are peaceful, the military rulers are starting to crack down with violence. Already there have been at least several reported deaths, and hundreds of critical injuries from soldiers beating unarmed civilians to the point of death.
The actual fatalities and injuries are probably far worse, but the only news we have is coming from individuals who are sneaking reports past the authorities. Unfortunately it looks like a large-scale blood-bath may ensue — and the victims will be mostly women, children, the elderly and unarmed monks and nuns.
Contrary to what the Burmese, Chinese and Russian governments have stated, this is not merely a local internal political issue, it is an issue of global importance and it affects the global community. As concerned citizens, we cannot allow any government anywhere in the world to use its military to attack and kill peacefully demonstrating, unarmed citizens.
In this modern day and age violence against unarmed civilians is unacceptable and if it is allowed to happen, without serious consequences for the perpetrators, it creates a precedent for it to happen again somewhere else. If we want a more peaceful world, it is up to each of us to make a personal stand on these fundamental issues whenever they arise.
Please join me in calling on the Burmese government to negotiate peacefully with its citizens, and on China to intervene to prevent further violence. And please help to raise awareness of the developing situation in Burma so that hopefully we can avert a large-scale human disaster there.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technological explosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
Snowflake. With the last snowfall, a minority of snowflakes had decent form. Of decency, they were primarily of the bullet form with a sprinkling of the plate style. The six-legged style seemed to be relatively scarce, but did find the one pictured here, of which I cropped the center, to show a little more of its detail.
This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.
Rowena Crest, Columbia Gorge, Oregon
The nearly full moon helped make some nice rays through the smoke from the shadows of the trees. It was so cool to see.
Dutch postcard by Uitgeverij Takken, Utrecht, no. AX 4903. Photo: Dalmas. Brigitte Bardot plays the guitar in the TV show Happy New Year Brigitte, which aired on the evening of 31 December 1961.
Beautiful French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she established herself as an animal rights activist and made vegetarianism sexy.
Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying a modeling career and found herself in May 1949 on the cover of French magazine Elle. Her incredible beauty readily apparent, Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand/Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953 she attended the Cannes Film Festival where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956 she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. She made her first US production in 1953 in Un acte d'amour/Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.
Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smashing success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. Woman's immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme/And God Created Woman (1956), directed by her husband Roger Vadim, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.
Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped her international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten' and fascination of her in America consisted of magazines photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad, or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theaters like lemmings.BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne/La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957) which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur/Love is my profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "this Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defense attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre is able to shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous-and deadly-side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960 postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.
Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957 and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre/Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career. Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée/Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at Films de France: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the highpoint of her career when she agreed to make this film with high profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names, was based on an actual incident and is a resonant image of celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterward Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.
Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men including Sami Frey, her co-star in La Vérité/The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris/Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963). She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres/Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires/Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses/Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.
Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973 just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976 she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewelry and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990's she became also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal is a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularizing bikini swimwear, in early films such as Manina/Woman without a Veil (1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photoshoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the choucroute ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."
Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (Films de France), Films de France, Wikipedia, and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
British postcard in the Picturegoer Series, London, no. W. 187. Photo: R.K.O. Radio.
American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).
Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC-Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.
With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck made the decision to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figures in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982) in which he played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also been awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 till 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.
Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Queens Of The Stone Age @ Odeon, Saskatoon, SK
p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.
Queens Of The Stone Age, in a salt mine - 700m under Sondershausen, Germany
Double page spread in this weeks NME (UK). They chose to crop it down for some reason that I don't understand. Also in Shortlist magazine (UK) 17 Jan 2008.
VR virtual reality view from the show here
p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.
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French Journal Day 107 (Travel Diary Day 187)
Journal Title – The mis-education of HDR Photography
This post is designed to offend and educate. It may also bore the non-photographer section of my readership.
Why must it offend anyone? Well, being offended is often a choice and for one reason or another, there’s always a person who chooses to be offended, even in the least offensive of communications.
I live a life of HDR. When I’m not taking or editing photos, I’m running HDR One or writing this HDR journal, or even chatting with people about HDR who have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s a form of autism, my wife thinks.
Every now and then I see a wonderful image that I’m compelled to inquire about. On one such occasion I commented on an image that I was convinced was an HDR and said ‘Wonderful photo. Is this an HDR?’ What I hadn’t realised was that this very popular photographer’s facebook page was in fact a breeding ground for supposed HDR-haters.
I’d stumbled upon a beast that was waiting to be unleashed. The photographer replied ‘I would never do HDR. These are manually blended exposures!!!’ This comment received almost as many Likes as the initial image. The comments from his fans that soon followed were equally abrupt but far less flattering to the what they considered HDR.
This, however, was not the first time I’d encountered this response from ‘professional photographers’. While I didn’t have the time to reply, the lack of manners and common decency would have prevented me from doing so anyway. I have no time for bad manners, especially when the argument in question is horrendously misinformed.
This is for those HDR haters:
HDR stands for High Dynamic Range. That’s it. If you hate HDR, then you hate High Dynamic Range. Manually blending exposures is increasing the dynamic range of light in your image. Your image, therefore, is HDR.
It really is that simple.
There are different HDR processes which produce different results, like Manual Blending, Exposure Fusion and Tone Mapping.
There’s even lots of fancy names for the same thing. Some people invent new names for HDR processes in an attempt to create a new field in which they hope to be pioneers. But, I’m almost sorry if I’m bursting a bubble here, it’s all just HDR.
Some people may even say, ‘Oh, right, well in that case I hate tone mapping’. Again, this is such a ludicrous thing to even think. Tone mapping is nothing more than a way to represent an HDR image. However, tone mapped images can look extremely different – they don’t all look alike. Why would anyone want to ‘hate’ something that can have such a huge amount of variation?
And what about tone mapped images that have some of the original exposures blended back into them. Do you partially hate those images?
Why hate anything at all? I mean, hate murder, by all means. Hate racism – that’s pretty bad. But hating a way of representing imagery that you don’t fully understand yet? That seems like an awful amount of hate for such a meaningless thing.
If it makes you feel better, even slightly elite, or even just part of a special little group, then fair enough. But at the very least, educate yourself on the thing you’ve chosen to hate.
Today’s Photo – An Unknown Place
You’ll probably hate this image – it’s Tone Mapped. I don’t even know what the place is – It’s in France, though.
strange-lands.com/daily/2013/01/18/the-miseducation-of-hd...
Vintage card. Photo: 20th Century Fox.
American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).
Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC-Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.
With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck made the decision to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figures in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982) in which he played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also been awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 till 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.
Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.
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Spennymoor is a town and civil parish in County Durham, England. It is south of the River Wear and is 7 mi (11 km) south of Durham. The civil parish includes the villages of Kirk Merrington, Middlestone Moor, Byers Green and Tudhoe.
The land on which Spennymoor now stands was once a vast expanse of moorland covered with thorn and whin bushes (Spenny Moor). In 1336 its placename was recorded as Spendingmor. The name is probably derived from the Old English or Old Norse spenning and mōr, meaning a moor with a fence or enclosure.
Another theory of the place-name's origin is from the Latin spina, meaning thorn (possibly from the Roman influence at Binchester) combined with the Old English or Old Norse mōr. CE Jackson, in his Place Names of Durham published in 1916 suggested a combination of the Old Norse spaan with Old English mar, meaning the moor named after the shingle-hut erected thereon.
Neither Britons nor Romans cultivated the moor, but on the site of Binchester, a village about 5 miles (8 km) to the southwest, the Romans built a camp around which grew up the settlement of Vinovium. The name Binchester is the usual Old English corruption or adaptation of the Roman site name.
St Paul's Church
This fortress must have been of great strength, for it stood on a height above the River Wear; many coins, urns, altars and pieces of Roman pottery have been found, as well as the remains of a hypocaust of the heating system. Later, Binchester became one of the "vills" of the Earl of Northumberland who held it until 1420 when it passed to the Nevilles who finally forfeited it with other lands in 1569. As is to be expected, the moor itself offers little of historical interest but it is linked with the records of Kirk Merrington, Whitworth Old Park, Binchester, Byers Green and Tudhoe, all of which form a part of the early days of Spennymoor. All these villages had common rights on the moor but, as it became denuded by increasing flocks, some of the local people were induced to relinquish their rights and so, gradually, the common became the property of just one owner – Merrington Priory. The Manor of Merrington belonged successively to the priors, monks and dean and chapter of Durham Cathedral.
Today, Merrington church is one of the most prominent local landmarks. It was originally built by the Normans and its splendid strategic position led to it being fortified in 1143 by the Scots intruder, William Cumyn. When he was finally attacked and overcome, the church roof was destroyed but the building remained as one of the most interesting Norman churches in the county until 1850 when it was almost wholly rebuilt – although retaining the form of its predecessor. Inside, the most interesting feature is the screen, a typical example of late-17th century work.
The Norman Conquest meant little to the border folk at first, for they had lived with the constant threat of massacre by raiding Picts and Danes, but then William's soldiers "laid waite" the county and distributed the Saxon nobles' estates among themselves. however, William allowed some of the previous owners to retain their lands, and one of these was Whittleworth – now Whitworth – whose first known proprietor was Thomas de Acle who held it in 1183. Nevertheless, the whole of this countryside was made desolate by William's soldiers, and for many years it was the haunt of outlaws and wild animals.
On 16 October 1346 David of Scotland was encamped with a great army on the hills near Durham, and raiding bands under a Douglas had been terrorising the neighbourhood. Edward lll was otherwise engaged at Crecy in France at the time, but his Queen, Phillipa, with the Archbishop of York, the Bishops of Durham, Lincoln and Carlisle, and the Lords Neville and Percy and others marched North, and with an array of 16,000 men, moved along the ridge from Auckland to Merrington. Her advance guards clashed with some of Douglas' men near Ferryhill and chased them back to the bridge at Croxdale (Sunderland Bridge). Butchers Race, one of the Five Lanes which meet at Tudhoe Crossroads, was so named after this foray. The next day the main bodies of the two armies met at Neville's Cross, near Durham, and the Scots were slaughtered. During the battle, the prior from Durham and his monks knelt on a little hillock in the Shaw Wood and prayed for an English victory while holding aloft, impaled on a spear, the Holy Corporax Cloth from the Cathedral.
In 1420 the Manor of Whitworth and much of the other land in the vicinity, from Raby to Brancepeth, and including Old Park, Byers Green, Newfield and Tudhoe, became Neville property, and the Earl of Westmorland (a Neville) was granted a licence from Bishop Langley to impark 40 acres at Whitworth, and so began the Whitworth park of today.
The moor itself comes into the record in 1615 as the result of "a general muster on the moor of all men able to bear arms within the bishopric, between the ages of 15 and 60; the gathering amounted to 8,320" (Fordyce). Some military training seems to have been given, doubtless with a view to the then unsettled state of the country due to the growing tension between Parliament and the King. Quite a few of these men must have been miners, as at that time "coale pits" were being worked at Whitworth, Byers Green and Fernhill. In 1677 the small freeholders and the local gentry divided 243 acres of the moor between themselves, an act which was confirmed by the Chancery Court. The only portion of the common that was left was a small plot reserved for the use of a spring of water.
Up to 1800 the moor remained largely barren and the few roads across it were dangerous. The one good road was maintained by tolls collected at turnpike gates. Some of the largest horse-race meetings in the North took place on the moor, and miners and their families attended in all their holiday splendour. These men, early industrial workers, wore their hair long and on these gala days it flowed freely over their shoulders instead of, as usually was the case, being tied in curls. Floral waistcoats and ribboned hats were worn on these highly colourful occasions.
Modern Spennymoor was built on mining and has its origins with the sinking of the Wittered pit in 1839. Rough houses were built for the pit workers – houses with two rooms and a loft, more like "piggeries than human habitation" according to Dodd. The first coal from Merrington Colliery was brought up in 1841; a pit with a chequered career which only prospered under the partnership of L.M Reay and R.S. Johnson, who made a fortune out of it. The trade depression of the late 19th century, however, caused its closure in 1882.
The coal mining at Whitworth and a small foundry at Merrington Lane were the earliest industries, but in 1853 the Weardale Iron and Coal Company opened its great ironworks at Tudhoe. As a result, many hundreds of immigrant workers came here from the Midlands and more rows of dark little houses were erected. More workers came from Wales and Lancashire, with the opening of the mine at Page Bank (ten lives were lost in a pit fire here in 1858), and with the sinking of a new pit at Tudhoe in the 1880s. The latter resulted in colliery workers' houses springing up on the main Durham Road. Slightly before that, in the 1860s, a rather advanced area of working-class housing had been erected at Tudhoe Grange, built by Marmaduke Salvin to house local workers. These houses were, unusually, semi-detached and arranged in a chequerboard layout, very much in contrast to the dreary terraces that were then the standard.
Although these days of rapid industrialisation and rapid growth of population were days of ignorance and squalor, they also saw the 19th century drive for education and religion. A National School was built and opened in 1841; St. Paul's Church was built at Spennymoor in 1858 and all through these formative years the non-conformist churches combined welfare work with prayer. An era of prosperity dawned in the 1860s and 1870s when the miners were earning £1 per day. Spennymoor was ringed with collieries, black furnaces and coke ovens and the new prosperity showed itself in the building of better houses and in the opening of Co-operative stores. The comparative isolation of its moorland situation ended too with the opening of a branch railway from the mainline at Ferryhill in 1876.
However, as always in industrial life, boom was followed by "bust" – or "near bust", and by 1879 miners' wages were down to 4s 9d a day and those of ironworkers to a mere 3s a day. On top of these economic misfortunes came the terrible explosion at Tudhoe Colliery in 1882 when 37 lives were lost. A strike, which lasted 13 weeks, paralysed the area in 1892, although out of the enforced idleness came foundations of new growth, for the machinery at the Tudhoe Iron works was then renovated and a new mill laid down. The works then possessed the largest mill in Europe, capable of rolling plates up to 13 feet in width.
When, in 1894, Spennymoor and its adjacent villages achieved a measure of self-government on the Spennymoor Urban District Council, the new authority found itself facing a legacy of poor housing. With few exceptions, the housing situation was little better than when Dodd had described the houses as "more like piggeries". In 1874 the then Local Government Board had reported: "Nothing could well exceed the nuisance attendant on the disposal of excrement and refuse in Spennymoor. There are entire streets without any closet accommodation whatever and in its stead open wooden boxes are placed opposite nearly every doorway for the reception of the excrement, ashes and other refuse; an arrangement which, besides being revolting to every sense of decency, is stated to be offensive in the extreme, especially in hot weather. It is impossible to walk between the rows of cottages without being convinced that the surface of the ground is to a large extent composed of the overflowing contents of these midden boxes. The back streets stand deep in filth and mud." These appalling conditions continued into the 20th century and even by 1920 fewer than 10% of the town houses had water closets. In 1923 only four houses were built and there was still massive overcrowding in back-to-back properties. In the next few years only between one and four houses were built in any year and in 1929 the housing situation was still reported as acute which, from the recorded facts, seems self-evident.
These squalid conditions were paralleled by the ever-uncertain economic conditions in industry. Although coalmining continued and the ironworks and engineering businesses were also providing employment, the start of the 20th century saw the start, too, of a long period of depression. The first blow was the closure in 1901 of the ironworks which had been rendered obsolete by the pace of change elsewhere. The effect of the closure was relieved by the sinking of the Dean and Chapter colliery in 1904, but the reliance on this one basic industry was to persist until the 1960s. Even before the big coal strike of 1926 the collieries had begun to close. Three closed in 1924 and the strike saw another two fail. Spennymoor became part of the Southwest Durham depressed area. Although schemes were inaugurated to relieve the gloom nothing could make up for the lack of steady employment. In 1930 the coke ovens which remained on the ironworks site were only working intermittently. Even by 1938 the situation had improved little. The Cleveland iron trade, which used the coal and coke produced at Spennymoor, was depressed. The production of these raw materials at Coulson's engineering works, Kenmir's furniture factory and newly opened brickworks at Todhills were the main, if limited, sources of employment. Unemployment was over 33%.
Despite the high levels of unemployment, the housing situation at last took an upturn in the 1930s when the Urban District Council began to use its wider powers to take action on unfit houses. By 1935 the first 66 Council houses had been built, and a year later the first 106 North Eastern Housing Association houses were erected on the Racecourse Estate site. Although these were the only houses built before the war, they did provide some hope and allowed the clearance of some of the worst of the squalid areas. Nevertheless, the situation remained bad and there were still far too many damp, badly lit and ventilated houses opening onto small, paved yards or back streets.
World War II had diverse effects upon the town. On the one hand it brought housing efforts almost to a standstill, but on the industry front it saw the resurgence of Spennymoor as a major centre. The main factor was the opening in 1941 of a Royal Ordnance Factory at Merrington Lane and since then this estate has provided a constant source of alternative employment to the coal industry. The end of World War II, however, saw this industrial activity greatly curtailed and hard times returned, although without the severity of the earlier pre-war years. The run-down of the mining industry, however, was nevertheless a serious blow.
On 24 December 1944, Tudhoe's cricket ground was hit by a rogue V-1 flying bomb, which had been air-launched by a German Heinkel He 111 and was aimed at Manchester. The explosion cratered the field and blew out the windows of surrounding houses and of St. Charles' Church. This was the furthest north any V-1 landed during World War II.
In 1963 changes were indicated and Durham County Council and then Ministry of Housing and Local Government agreed that Spennymoor should be a new "growth point" and that town centre redevelopment should take place; that the Tudhoe ironworks site should be reclaimed; that a major highway scheme should be put into hand; that the Royal Ordnance Factory Industrial Estate should be extended and that the Green Lane Industrial Estate should be developed.
Spennymoor shared some brief film success in the early 90's with the production of 'Anymore for Spennymore' starring a few of the locals.
There were, of course, early problems, but the new industries became established and, in most cases, began to expand. The coal industry has been replaced by manufacturers of consumer goods, and factories of Electrolux, Thorn Lighting and Black and Decker were established. Rothmans International also had a cigarette factory, employing more than 400 people, in Spennymoor from circa 1980 up until 2000.
Housing, too, has made great strides since the end of the War. By the end of 1963 over 1,120 sub-standard houses had been cleared and as many new Council houses built for letting – whilst over 400 houses had been improved by grant aid. In 1963 too there came the first private building developments to take place since back in the days of the 19th century colliery owners. The 800-house estate at Greenways and the 300-house estate at Tudhoe Grange were started, although it was not until the industrial prosperity of the 1970s that private house building reached 100 a year.
The greatest project came with the development of the Tudhoe ironworks site – 70 acres that was turned into the Bessemer Park Housing Estate. In 1968 work commenced on blocks of flats and houses there (comprising 1,009 household units in total) and this allowed the clearance of 500 unfit houses as well as the provision of housing for workers coming to the new factories. The blocks of flats on the Bessemer Park Housing Estate were subsequently demolished in the 1980s, due to serious problems with damp in the flats that rendered them extremely unpopular with tenants.
In 1966 the town opened a new bus station, between Cambridge Street and Silver Street, to relieve traffic congestion on the High Street. This bus station was subsequently redeveloped as a car park circa 1990. Also in 1966, the nearby Parkwood Shopping Precinct (which included a Woolworths and a supermarket) was opened. In 2016 it was announced that the Parkwood Precinct would be substantially redeveloped due to low tenancy rates in the shops, an escalating issue since the turn of the millennium.
==Van Cleer Manor: Then==
Drury was in the kitchen, singing along to the radio. There was an almost hypnotic rhythm to his movements, as he danced around the room, wooden spoon in hand. Kitten, stood on the other side of the kitchen island, giggling at her father's sporadic movements.
"I come home, in the mornin' light
My mother says, "When you gonna live your life right?"
Oh momma dear, we're not the fortunate ones
And girls, they wanna have fun
Oh girls just wanna have fun:"
He handed the wooden spoon to his daughter, like a singer handing over a microphone, and she sang the next verse:
"The phone rings, in the middle of the night
My father yells, "What you gonna do with your life?"
Oh daddy dear, you know you're still number one
But girls, they wanna have fun
Oh girls just wanna haaaaaave-"
The kitchen door swung open, as a dishevelled, blonde haired teenage boy entered the room. Axel took one look at the musical duo and shook his head, grunting a single "morning" to his dad.
"Afternoon!" Drury stopped singing for a moment to correct his son.
"Whatever," Axel shrugged, then opened the freezer, grabbing a pizza roll. "You made pastry from scratch?" he inquired, noting the floury work surface. We've got a box of stuff in the freezer still."
"Not good enough," Drury said as he pirouetted from one counter to the other to shoogle the saucepan, then squeezed a wedge of orange juice into the bubbling, creamy mixture. "It needs to be perfect."
Axel rolled his eyes as he placed the pizza roll in the microwave.
Drury put his fingers in the tub of raspberries beside him and sucked down a particularly plump one. "Want one?" he asked, waving the wicker basket in his son's face.
"I'm good," Axel said dismissively. "What's this all about anyway?"
A smile, like a lovesick schoolboy's, broke across Drury's face and Axel understood immediately. When it came to his stepmother, there was nothing his father wouldn't do, no matter how embarrassing it was for his kids (and Axel specifically). "Your mother... is taking a half day from the office. Thought I'd surprise her with a little something," Drury beamed. "Mille Feulle: With a twist! Orange and chocolate creme patissiere for the filling, which, when piped, ends up looking rather like a certain favourite animal of hers!" he nudged his son playfully.
Kitten, flicked a spoonful of frosting onto Axel's cheek.
==The GCPD==
The precinct was filled with the mundane tapping on keyboards, the beeping of broken photocopiers and heated discussion over that night's college football match. Drury, stood at the entrance, guided by a group of four police officers. A fifth, stood by the full-body scanner, hands on his hips.
"Empty your pockets. Place your shoes, belt and any other belongings on the tray beside me," he instructed the man.
Drury nodded slowly, removing his watch, his moth-shaped cufflinks and his wedding band and placed them in the plastic tray, followed by his leather belt, and his scuffed black shoes. Satisfied, the officer consulted a sheet of paper, and read aloud the contents of the questionnaire:
"Do you have any metal fillings?"
"No."
"Piercings?"
"No."
"Sigh Any cybernetic augmentations?"
"That can't be on the list."
"Answer the question."
"No, I don't."
"Have you had any surgery that has resulted in a metal plate being installed in your skull?"
"Wouldn't that come under cybernetic- nevermind." Drury tapped the side of his skull as a demonstration. "No."
"Please step through the x-ray machine. Slowly, please."
The scan completed, Drury was directed to the desk sergeant, who read out another series of questions:
"Do you have any dietary requirements?"
"No."
"Do you take any prescribed medication?"
"Lithium tablets. I'm bipolar."
"Are you a metahuman, or have you displayed any metahuman abilities in the last 48 hours?"
"I wish. Never met-a-human I didn't like."
...
"That was a no. Not recently. This should all already be in my file," Drury stated tiredly.
"Just standard procedure."
Drury looked over the desk, glancing at the sargent filling in the form. Was this all his life amounted to? A series of ticks and crosses on a coffee-marked sheet of paper?
"You're still a size 34?" the officer handed him a poorly folded orange jumpsuit.
Drury bit the inside of his cheek. "Right, that you remembered."
==ISA Headquarters==
Gar and Joey were escorted into the main meeting room by a group of six red-robed figures. Chuck finished writing something on the whiteboard, then walked over to greet them. The rest of the Misfits, were already seated at the red leather chairs.
"Gar, Joey, thanks for coming," he spoke, hugging Joey, then shaking Gar's hand.
"Your doormen frisked me on the way in," Gar stated, glaring at Dr Ito's red robed assistants, now retreating back into the shadows.
"Yeah, sorry about that. They're probably checking for... viable organs," Chuck trailed off.
"Hey, you're safe, Lynns, your lungs are black as shit," Sharpe smirked, miming a pair of finger guns.
"You said you had something, Chuck?" Joey interrupted.
"Right, yes... Where do I even begin..."
"Soon would be good," Gar said.
"I'll do my best; it might be better if you sat down first." Chuck slumped his shoulders, directing them to his drawings on the whiteboard. "There was this telephone in Sionis' office. A purple rotary. Julian must've brought it in with him. When I broke into the room, I flew into the desk and knocked the phone off it. There was this voice on the other end. And it told a joke."
The group was silent for a moment, before Sharpe chirped up. "Could've been Bart Simpson," he smirked dismissively.
"The phone was purple! I know that voice! It was him." Chuck said defensively. “But even if we put that aside, we know Julian has partners, plural, and I don't think he was hyping up the Pirate or the King of Cats either. Sure, we know Zoom is involved. Yes, we know the only person able to build a cloudburst and who wasn’t, um, blown up, is Crane. But when he was overdosing, Julian confessed that someone told him he was special. And I never viewed Scarecrow as the sentimental type."
"I thought Crane was in Arkham?" Ten asked.
"Oh, right, you came from Blackgate... 'Thing you need to know about the Asylum is, it's really more of a 'hostel,'" Sharpe stated.
As they spoke, Mayo drifted off, his eyes drawn to the large portrait hanging on the wall, depicting the members of the ISA, painted by Ito himself. His eyes narrowed as he recognised a purple-clad gentleman in a matching hat and a white goatee. "The Colonel..." he muttered under his breath.
"So, that's Scarecrow, Joker, Zoom. King of Cats, that pirate guy... Krill and Julian are in lock-up... I'd hate to see the chatroom they met each other in," Blake remarked, counting them on his fingers as he listed them off.
Kuttler scoffed. "There was no chatroom. The Society brought Zolomon and Joker together."
"I'm sorry, you knew about this?" Ten asked.
"Shocking," Gar said dryly.
Kuttler removed his glasses and rubbed his eyelids. "No, not all of it. But when we lost Eobard Thawne, The Society reached out to his protégé, Hunter Zolomon. He was never going to sit on the council, of course, but he was a useful tool for a while.
And when The Joker escaped Arkham and threatened to disrupt our plans, we found a place for him too; nothing too outrageous; an assignment to keep his deranged mind busy and his knives pointed away from our backs. Zolomon, served as our liaison with him. I simply assumed they dissolved their partnership when the Society collapsed. Evidently not. The clown must have appealed to his sensibilities, offered Walker up as a guinea pig..."
"Here's what I don't get: So, Joker; if it even is Joker; brings these all guys together, riles up Carson, then has Jules attack the Royal Hotel with a couple of bombs and some of Crane's gas? Why?" Joey inquired.
"I'm with Joseph. If this all circles back to Walker, why didn't Day grab him? Why not deliver him to his partners right then and there?" Bridget added.
"It's Joey, you can call me Joey," Joey waved across the table.
"I don't know," Chuck admitted. "There's still a lot here that doesn't make sense. We don't even know where Joker is."
"We can deal with him later. What about the kids?" Gar asked. "The clown's made a move on them before."
"Tiger Shark's been looking after them. He's been keeping his distance from us, for the most part, but we know he's got Flannegan with him, watching their backs," Ten explained.
"Good. Good," Gar nodded stiffly. "Does Drury know? About Joker?"
Chuck paused. "No. No, not yet. But I'm going to the GCPD tomorrow. It'll give me a chance to clue him in, and to see if Julian can give us any answers."
~-~
"So, what happens now?" Gar walked alongside a trio of Chuck, Bridget and Ten, his hands in his pockets.
"Dragon King's letting us stay for as long as we need. But there's still a lot of pieces missing. Obviously, Julian might be able to answer some of them, but-"
"But you gave him a near-lethal overdose of experimental anti-psychotics," Bridget's brow furrowed.
"I think I preferred it when you were trying to kill us," Chuck replied. "The files we got from the Batcave on Zoom were pretty thorough; Psycho Pirate's still a loose cannon, mind, and everything we thought we knew about King of Cats was probably a load of crap."
"Not everything," Ten spoke.
~-~
"Doctor Ito? Doctor Ito?" Chuck chapped the back of his hand against the door, before entering the kitchen. The good doctor, was hunched over the stove, skillet in hand.
"I am frying Paella. The secret ingredient is saffron," Ito declared, tapping the side of his hood knowingly.
"And I'm sure it's delicious! Listen, you studied the King of Cats, didn’t you?”
“Indeed, I did. Alas, my research was co-opted and corrupted by that confounding Crazy Quilt, and passed off to an unseemly associate of his, to profit off the gullible and weak minded.”
“Oh, yeah! Those, uh, gullible weak-minders...” Chuck scoffed loudly and unconvincingly. Bridget rolled her eyes.
“Where’s Dekker now?” Ten asked. "Have you kept in touch with him at all?"
Ito stared at Ten peculiarly, as though the answer was obvious. “In the dungeons.”
The Misfits frowned. “This isn’t the dungeon?” Bridget spoke in disbelief.
“Goodness gracious, no. It’s the master suite."
~-~
In captivity, Dekker's neatly trimmed mustache had grown into a shabby beard and his black hair had grown to shoulder length, with the odd strand of grey scattered throughout. Although he couldn't have been imprisoned for more than a week or two, the lack of access to his usual selection of exotic face creams and hair products had aged him dramatically. He moistened his cracked lips with his tongue, and chuckled at the group assembled before him: Gar, Chuck, Blake, Joey, Sharpe, Bridget, Ten and Mayo (Kuttler, had decided the visit was not worth his time or dignity), all in costume. “You know, trapped in a dungeon, tied to a chair, surrounded by a dozen suitors in tight fitting spandex... This reminds of my 50th birthday bash. Anyone bring a paddle?" he asked expectantly.
"Let's skip the foreplay, shall we?" Gar said coldly, his arms folded.
"Hmph. Up to you, my sweet Garfield, but I think you're missing out," Dekker shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "While I have you all, let's talk about the reptile in the house: Far be it from me to judge anyone, but I fear that hostile homo-reptilian host of yours has a crooked cloaca."
"Yeah? How d'you figure that?" Gar asked, a bemused look on his face.
"Well, why else I would be quite so unfairly persecuted?" Dekker queried, a question that stunned the Misfits with its' lack of self awareness.
"Maybe 'cause you stole his research?" Blake offered an explanation.
"That? Hmph, nothing more than a little exercise in tit for tat warfare. I may have- may have -stolen his research; he may have bombed Pearl Harbor."
"Hey, that's way over the line-" Chuck interjected.
"I say 'may have,' but he definitely did." Dekker examined the Misfits disgusted faces and his teasing smile dropped. "You really have no idea, do you? That 'man' is a snake! A duplicitous reptile who has no concept of decency! Whereas I am an entrepreneur, a businessman really, and I'm feeling philanthropic! And if you let me go, I promise I can make it worth your while!" he promised, a grin once again creeping up his wrinkled face.
Blake's nose wrinkled. “Gross.”
...
“What? I can’t be the only guy whose mind went there."
Chuck stepped forward. “That's just it, Dekker. We might not trust Ito, let's be honest, we'd be idiots if we did."
"Hey!" Sharpe protested.
"But we'd be even bigger idiots to take your word. Or are you going to deny working with Hellhound? Setting us up? Scamming us? Stealing our money?"
Dekker pondered the question for a moment, placing a balled fist under his chin, then answered: "My trademark deception and patented guile has served me well thus far."
"You’re in a dungeon," Ten observed.
“Besides! Hellhound is no longer a part of the equation, my well-hung Hang Glider," Dekker declared cheerfully, to the Misfits' surprise.
“He isn’t? Then what the hell happened to him?” Gar was the first to ask.
“Oh, dreadful business really. Let's see... I was conducting business over at the Stacked Deck: Now now, nibblings, don't give me that look; I was on the up and up; strictly professional! A client of mine wanted some adjustments made to a new costume, more zing, more pep, more concealed weapons, the usual... We had a few drinks; he paid, not that he realised it, and after popping a few pills in the back, we parted ways. I found Kai, Hellhound, in the back alley; bruised, bleeding and dripping in saliva that I'm sure wasn't his. He wouldn't speak, and when he tried, bless him, a high-pitched warble came out in lieu of words.
I wish I could say I was torn up about it, but the truth was, he blew me off the night before and I was feeling proportionately bitter about it," Dekker paused for a moment as he reconsidered his wording. "Oops. What I meant to say, was that he was supposed to give me my cut for another 'successful' exorcism but he jilted me. Never showed. Havishhammed by a mongrel! Although, I suppose, come to think of it, that must've been when the King of Cats found him... Never mind!" he chuckled.
"The King of Cats? You're sure?" Chuck asked, his face white.
"Oh yes, even high on ecstasy, I know that fleabag's handiwork... Who else could be quite so debaucherous? And don't say yours truly," Dekker winked back.
"What about Hellhound? What'd he do to him?" Blake piped up.
"Fine. Fine. Tell me, what does every doggie dread the most? Tell me, why does every nasty horndog fear the vet's scalpel?"
“You mean to say-?" Joey asked, mouth agape.
"Mhmm," Dekker nodded stiffly. “Neutered. Although, I suppose the more appropriate term would be cats-tration."
The Misfits were silent for a moment and then:
“Ok, I know we’ve long passed the point of What the Fuckery, but what the fuck!” Blake yelled in disgust.
"You asked," Dekker tutted.
“Well I have a question!" Mayo declared suddenly from the back of the crowd.
"You do?" the group asked in unison.
"Yeah," he replied, shoving Ten and Gar aside as he made his way to the front. "If you’re really an expert on all things fiendish, what are the Colonel’s 11 herbs and spices?”
Dekker's smile faltered. "Why would I know-"
“Mitch, it’s ok, we have this," Chuck urged.
“It might come up later...” Mayo protested.
“Not... not unless we’re fighting the Colonel.”
"Hey, to be fair, I do kinda get where the kid's coming from," Blake defended him. "Why the hell is there a painting of Colonel Sanders upstairs anyway?"
...
Sharpe frowned. “Blake, that's my grandpa and you killed him.”
"And you forgot to feed my panther, so I guess we’re even," Blake countered, arms crossed.
"Aw, no, Sasha starved?" Joey asked.
"What? No, she ate our landlord," Blake answered in an irate tone.
"‘s a win to me,” Sharpe replied."
Dekker, clapped his hands together, breaking up the boy's argument before it could turn ugly. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen! So, Tommy killed a landlord! So, Monty ate his granddad-"
"None of that is right."
"The world keeps turning! Let us not quibble over the minute details, the itty bitty highly debatable hearsay regarding what ate what, who scammed who etcetera etcetera...” Dekker smiled broadly, seizing the opportunity to barter for his freedom. "Let us put this unpleasant matter to bed. Hah. As a token of good faith, and made possible due to my increased wealth (thanks to your recent and highly generous donation)-"
“Well, it wasn’t a donation, we were expecting a service. You didn’t deliver,” Chuck stated.
“Poppet, please, let me finish! Haha, oh, I’m so naughty. You will have priority seating at Crazy Quilt’s! And free Drinky Poos! (When you spend over $100! Per person)”
“I can hear the brackets," Gar frowned.
“Hang on a minute, Gar. Chuck, we've been cooped up here for two days now. Maybe a night out would do us all some good,” Ten proposed. “Take our minds off of things.”
“Fine, but you’re not saying Drinky Poo ever again," Chuck instructed Dekker.
Mayo nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I really don’t want to turn my nose up at you, Mr Crazy Quilt, but I’m not drinking any poop.”
==The GCPD==
The GCPD bullpen; so often subjected to the juvenile verbal sparring matches of cops and lawyers. One such attorney delicately removed the teabag from his paper cup and discarded it in the nearby trashcan. A portly looking policeman approached him, dressed in a grubby grey trenchcoat and strangely, a fedora.
"Wow, if it ain't Adrian freakin' Chase! New York's 'best and most psychotic...,'" the cop applauded mockingly. "Secretary Walker must've really splashed the cash to get you out all the way out here. He must really love his baby brother."
The lawyer smiled politely, but there was an intensity behind his deep brown eyes. "Ah, Detective Bullock, never a pleasure," he spoke, offering him a handshake. Bullock declined. "My client has been fully cooperative since handing himself into your custody, almost to a fault. And in return, he has been treated with nothing but hostility. What's this I here about... a fruitcake?"
"So?" Bullock shrugged. "'Was just a bit of fun: The Three Stooges got away with it all the time, why you gotta ride my ass about it?"
"The Three Stooges, didn't throw pies in the faces of prisoners under their care. On Christmas," Chase replied sternly, sipping his tea slowly.
"Yeah? Bah humbug, he's a cop killer. He should be thankful it wasn't a grenade I threw at him."
"Cop killer? That's a little strong, no? If you're referring to the incident in June, I have it on good authority he employed non-lethal tactics only."
"Oh, so it was just run of the mill assault and property damage. Good for him!" Bullock exclaimed sarcastically.
Chase smirked. "I'll cut to the chase. My client, gift-wrapped three of the city's biggest at-large criminals. And a fourth, who I understand, escaped from under your boys' watchful eyes."
"The three biggest? Ya mean Polka Dot Man and Ted Carson? Gimme a break. And don't you worry about that "fourth." King of Cats isn't getting far; We have people on that."
"Those people the same ones who were guarding the Royal when he escaped? Boy, I feel safer already."
Bullock took an invasive step forward, waving a finger in Chase's face. "I know what you're trying to do, Chase, but there's no deal. The GCPD has always had a zero-tolerance policy towards vigilante 'justice.'"
"Is that right? That spotlight on your roof says differently," Chase stepped forward. Their noses were almost touching now.
"For all intents and purposes, that's a piece of modern art, installed by civilians for civilians, and we don't touch it."
"Cut the crap, Bullock. Your department is Batman Incorporated in all but name. Mr Walker's vigilantism isn't the issue, it's his branding."
"Yeah? You wanna maybe consider that Bug Boy don't want a lawyer? That maybe he's done the one decent thing in his miserable life and actually owned up, and faced the music for his bullcrap?"
"Harvey, that's enough," another cop interjected, stepping between the two and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot.
Bullock scowled, then stormed off down the hall.
Renée Montoya finished stirring her coffee, then offered her hand to Chase. "It's good to have you back. You're about the only guy I know who can wind Harvey up like that without a cape."
"From my experience, detective, capes are overrated," Chase smiled, then shook her hand firmly.
Catching up on some back shots from the beginning of the year
On a walk around the Addington Cemetery with a wonderful Flickr friend. February 13, 2016 Christchurch New Zealand.
There is so much damaged in the cemetery because of the earthquake we have had. It is such a pity as I don' think it will ever be fully repaired.
The Addington Cemetery was established in 1858 when the Scottish Presbyterians of St Andrew’s Church purchased land for a cemetery in Selwyn Street. Although not the first cemetery in Christchurch, Addington was in fact the first “public” cemetery, “being open to all persons of any religious community” and allowing the performance of any religious service “not contrary to public decency”.
The first burial took place on the 10th of November 1858. The cemetery has several persons of note buried within its grounds including activist Kate Sheppard, Christchurch Mayor Tommy Taylor and members of the pioneer family, the Deans.
For More Info:http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/addington-cemetery/
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by
craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technologicalexplosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
After a lot (never too much, actually) of Industrial Exploration I felt the need to feed my soul and regenerate myself a bit.
This is the H.C.Andersen museum in Rome (see map).
it's a small museum but is full (really packed) of beautiful bronze and plaster statues telling the skills of Mr. Andersen, a Norwegian architect, painter and sculptor.
The Building was Mr Andersen's home and workshop at the same time. Here a number of scale models for bigger statues and building are also displayed
The preferred subjects were dancers, athletes, singers and angels that he represented in the full beauty of the naked body
Some of the bronze statues could not be displayed publicly (at that time) because of "too much nudity" which was against the commons rules of decency at his time (around 1920)
If you don't know this is Owen Paterson, unfortunately it's not his real face as you might have noticed. This ' man ' is secretary of state for environment, food and rural affairs, he is responsible for the imminent slaughter of 5000 of this country's best loved and most legally protected animals. If he has his way he wants 100 000 of these beautiful, enigmatic and utterly blameless animals slaughtered nationwide. He doesn't even have the decency to look evil as most tories do which is almost more sinister than his openly malevolent chums.
He claims on his website to be ' an expert on bovine TB ', I suspect the average nine year old child has a better understanding of science and certainly morality. It's interesting that whenever they mention badger culling on Springwatch they always stress that it's a ' complex issue ', seeing Michaela Strachan utter those words when she clearly opposes a cull was almost painful. It must be very frustrating for the presenters that they can't express their real feelings about it on the BBC. The truth is though that bovine tuberculosis IS a complex issue, whether culling badgers will help reduce it though isn't complex at all, IT WON'T.
Anyway, this wasn't really the shot I wanted but I do love the look on the cub's face, I'm fed up with looking at Paterson' smug face three nights running so this will have to do.......
From the ' Stop The Cull ' site :
' Owen’s priority when he got into his new job was to attack the co.uk version of this website, he got his team of lawyers in the treasury department to put an injunction on the site, because the site had encouraged people to play the badger badger song to him in his office. '
The response was this website :
www.badger-killers.com/who/owen-paterson/
Here's his favourite song ' Badger Badger ' :
weebls-stuff.com/songs/badgers/
www.badger.org.uk/Content/Home.asp
epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/38257
The Manic Street Preachers song :
The vast beach here is part of the Holkham Estate and more than a mile from town. In the summer, a miniature railway will take you from the town to the row of candy-coloured beach huts on stilts above the sand.
Brightly coloured beach huts are an essential part of the British coast.
Recently the spirit of nostalgia for the British coast has meant that beach huts, in some locations, can sell for more money than houses in other areas and given that you cannot stay overnight in them and many need annual maintenance, this is really saying something!
Beach huts really started to be used in the early years of the twentieth century. Before then, bathing had been a cumbersome and expensive affair. Men and women bathed on separate beaches and changing for a dip in the ocean was performed out of view in a bathing machine, which was towed a safe distance out to sea before the nervous bather took his or her plunge into the often uninvitingly cold sea water. Queen Victoria made sea bathing fashionable with her "hut" on wheels which was trundled down the beach at Osborne Bay on the Isle of Wight off the south coast of England. These bathing machines afforded maximum privacy for the ladies who could thus enter the water with only their heads being seen.When we finally dispensed with the bathing machine many were left abandoned on the beach.
In the Edwardian era and in the years following the First World War, the sight of people of both sexes in bathing costumes had become acceptable. However, changing in public was frowned upon and could result in a fine, even if decency was preserved under a Macintosh - so called "Macintosh Bathing". Hence councils provided and charged for beach huts to change in.
Enterprising people made use of the abandoned bathing machines by removing the wheels and turning them into beach huts. As an alternative to the beach hut, some seaside towns provided tents for hire, along with deck chairs. These were often brightly coloured and decorated with stripes.
Dutch postcard by Gebr. Spanjersberg N.V., Rotterdam. sent by mail in 1963. Brigitte Bardot in Et Dieu... créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956).
Beautiful French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she established herself as an animal rights activist and made vegetarianism sexy.
Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying a modelling career and found herself in May 1949 on the cover of French magazine Elle. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand/Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953 she attended the Cannes Film Festival where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956 she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. She made her first US production in 1953 in Un acte d'amour/Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.
Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smashing success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. Woman's immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme/And God Created Woman (1956), directed by her husband Roger Vadim, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.
Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped her international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten' and fascination of her in America consisted of magazines photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad, or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theaters like lemmings.BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne/La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957) which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur/Love is my profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "this Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defense attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre is able to shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous-and deadly-side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960 postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.
Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957 and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre/Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career. Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée/Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at Films de France: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the highpoint of her career when she agreed to make this film with high profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names, was based on an actual incident and is a resonant image of a celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterward Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.
Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men including Sami Frey, her co-star in La Vérité/The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris/Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963). She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres/Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires/Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses/Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.
Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973 just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976 she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewelry and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990's she became also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France, and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal is a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularizing bikini swimwear, in early films such as Manina/Woman without a Veil (1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photoshoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."
Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (Films de France), Films de France, Wikipedia, and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Vintage postcard.Johnny Sheffield in Bomba: The Jungle Boy (Ford Beebe, 1949).
Johnny Sheffield (1931-2010) was one of Hollywood's most famous child stars. He was unforgettable as Tarzan's adopted son Boy in eight Tarzan films starring Johnny Weissmuller. Between 1949 and 1955, he starred in twelve Bomba films for Monogram Pictures.
Johnny Sheffield was born John Matthew Sheffield Cassan in 1931 in Pasadena, California, USA. His father was the actor Reginald Sheffield who began as a child star and later turned to character acting. In 1938, Sheffield became a child star after he was cast in the juvenile lead of a West Coast production of the highly successful Broadway play 'On Borrowed Time', which starred Dudley Digges and featured Victor Moore as Gramps. The seven-year-old Sheffield played the role of Pud, a long role for a child. He later went to New York as a replacement and performed the role on Broadway. That year he also played Napoleon's son in the short MGM film The Man on the Rock (Edward L. Cahn, 1938). When Maureen O'Sullivan wanted out of her Jane role in the Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan series, it was decided that she and Tarzan would adopt a son (they had to adopt, according to the Legion of Decency, because they weren't married) before she died. Weissmuller personally selected Sheffield from 300 boys for the part of Boy. The role was inspired by Bobby Nelson's portrayal in Tarzan the Mighty (Jack Nelson, Ray Taylor, 1928). Athletic by nature, little Johnny was taught to swim by swimming Olympian Weissmuller. Johnny Sheffield's feature debut in Tarzan Finds a Son! (Richard Thorpe, 1939) was such a success that MGM signed him to six more films as Tarzan's Boy. Sheffield played Boy in three Tarzan films at MGM, and in another five after Johnny Weissmuller, and production of the film series moved to RKO. Brenda Joyce played Jane in the last three Tarzan films in which Sheffield appeared.
In between the Tarzan films, Johnny Sheffield played supporting parts in other films. Sheffield appeared in the musical Babes in Arms (Busby Berkeley, 1939) with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland, classmates of his at the studio school. Johnny and his brother Billy Sheffield were both in Knute Rockne All American (Lloyd Bacon, 1940), playing football player and coach Knute Rockne at different ages. By the time of Tarzan and the Mermaids (Robert Florey, 1948), Johnny Sheffield was too big for the part of Boy. The film merely said he was away at school. When Monogram Studios learned Sheffield had been dropped, they picked him up for s series of B-films based on Roy Rockwood's adventure novel 'Bomba'. The first was Bomba: The Jungle Boy (Ford Beebe, 1949). Between 1949 and 1955, Sheffield made twelve Bomba films for "Poverty Row" studio Monogram Pictures. Sheffield retired from films at age 24 after starring in his twelfth Bomba film Lord of the Jungle (Ford Beebe, 1955). He then made a pilot for a television series, Bantu the Zebra Boy, which was created, produced, and directed by his father, Reginald Sheffield. Although the production values were high compared to other TV jungle shows of the day, a sponsor was not found and the show was not taken up as a weekly series. In his later years, Sheffield sold bootlegged copies of the pilot to collectors on videotape. After leaving show business, Sheffield completed a business degree at UCLA. Turning his attention to other fields, he involved himself variously in farming, real estate and construction. For a time, he was a representative for the Santa Monica Seafood Company importing lobsters from Baja California in Mexico. In 1959 he married his wife Patricia and they would have three children, Stewart, Regina and Patrick Sheffield. In 2010, Johnny suffered a fatal heart attack at his home in Chula Vista, California, four hours after he fell off a ladder while pruning a palm tree. Sheffield was 79. His brother Billy Sheffield died two months later.
Sources: Ed Stephan (IMDb), Find A Grave, Wikipedia and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Ext. Gotham’s southmost shipping yard - A windless, cloudy night
We were at the docks before I could even process the journey. There wasn’t any talking, but our destination arrived just as quickly as if there had been. Ivy was walking on her own. The occasional bud springing out of a crack in the asphalt would give out a wretched squeal when she passed near it, and I remembered why it never worked. She never hid pain.
Zodiac was tense enough to jump at a shadow; even with him at the rear of our troop, I knew as much. Alternately, the “Electro” character was tromping ahead of even me, reciting at varying volumes what were allegedly alien war chants. Morgan’s leathery tail slapped the ground once we had halted; that, I could stand least of all. The thought that he too was straining at the leash, that he cared like I did. As if he ever could.
Without us having to question the exact meeting place, we were given an indicator. Above a makeshift arena comprised of industrial crates and truck cabs, a lone being was poised, wearing a conspicuous and showy cloak, like I myself might have donned, if I were in another mood. Fit for a painting, the moon was positioned just higher and beside him, concealing the face. I now led the party forward, noticing glints of light in windows and behind boxes as I proceeded. We were undoubtedly surrounded.
I don’t care. I draw my dagger. The one that first granted me the moniker of ‘murderer’, and the one that would likewise take my final target’s life. I call to the man, before Electro can blurt out an unwarranted speech of conquest.
Myself: Any part of you that continues to stand between my son and me, I relieve you of.
I hear a crackling sound as the figure rolls his neck and looks off to the side, as if weighing my ultimatum.
The man: That… will do. I do miss your more prolix ways of confrontation, but I suppose that was forfeited when you decided to once again embrace your old and truer… might I go so far as to say, BOVINE disposition.
He paces his words with his progress down the stack of crates, like it’s his hundredth rehearsal. The voice itself has less appeal than that of burning rubber.
The man: You will be resorting to more impressive shows of barbarism than that blade, I hope. I know your elasticity has been restored. It will be a shame to not see the tyrannical Clayface in all his odious glory, for what will be his grand finale. Eh, and your “co-stars”, as it were… you might have opted for greater star power than… this blue halfwit.
Electro (leaping at the chance): Ah! The cringing dictator acknowledges the bringer of his relegation! SOON you will address me as this sector’s indisputable…
Myself (stopping him again, turning back to my approaching prey): Let me be clear. I’m gutting you like a game bird. And I’ll be sure to miss vital organs at first.
The man (nearly underneath a lamppost): Oh, I like that one even better! But between you and I, I know that was misappropriated from an old Silverblade film. Which one… the ninth? They all run together at that point. Certainly so, with just how many we were privileged to work in, my friend.
And I feel a great empty swell inside me. No…
Familiar eyes set within a browned and mottled skull lock with my own, as Paul Sloane, alive and semi-well, is fully illuminated. The only man I could ever call a father without a hint of scorn. The only kill I ever went back on. Whatever I have in place of my blood boils now.
Myself: I let you LIVE…
Sloane (shouting, spitting): As any sniveling, false and unappreciative ward would! You made away with my identity as freely as dropped change. No identity of your OWN, mind you, no drive or aspirations, yet I took you in, when you would have otherwise been eaten alive by the industry! You didn’t have the decency to wait until I was dead and buried before you took every semblance of my career, my legacy, and I could only watch from afar and rot while you parasite… charlatan… smiled for the crowds that would have been mine.
I couldn’t help but recall similar words coming from my own mouth whenever I had made mention of the others who labeled themselves ‘Clayface’. No. That… that was different. My knife raises slightly. The others are nearing Sloane and me, except Zodiac, leaning from heel to heel and scanning the buildings.
Sloane (just a gravelly murmur now): And then you came back, after you ran all your undeserved glory into the ground… you came back to blame me. Mutilated me, in a fit of anger that would be ill-befitting of even a child…
Zodiac’s restlessness was evidently called for, as now, scores of dark figures have crept from every obstruction in sight. They are not strangers to me. Nearly all of them, markers of my criminal legacy. Standing over me as hateful, judging monoliths, erected throughout my selfish life.
Emile Dorian snarls from his vantage point. His fur mangy and matted, on an even more malformed body than I had last seen him with. His accomplices were nowhere in sight. Mitchell Mayo however, gripping his weapons and nursing an equally great grudge, was flanked by Sweet Tooth and the Pieman. Burke too hadn’t forgotten my betrayal after all these years, and Ulysses, inflammatory and rebellious to the last, was in attendance, dressed in his usual red. Even that lunkhead with a missing arm was back for more. I wouldn’t spare any one of them. Morgan bares his teeth, hunching in anticipation. Electro grins widely.
Myself: Where is my son.
Sloane (about to retreat behind his forces): There’s no need for that information just yet…
I won’t play this game. Before he can make a second step, I surge forward and grasp an enlarged hand under his arms and around his throat. The dagger all at once seems so quaint. I’ll absorb him. Slowly. I bark at the rest to back off, my allies included, but they’re all seemingly waiting patiently. Sloane is trying to laugh between his screams. I yank him closer.
Myself: What was the plan, you old fool? You think these cowards would…
I feel his mind as I tighten my hold. He is afraid, that much I know… but the anger… it’s hollow. It’s more like a wistfulness. It’s not him. It’s…
Myself (disgusted): You’re… indicating, Hagen. You amateur.
I toss the sod away, the dramatic and horrifying visage of a burnt Sloane smearing away into Matt Hagen, as he was before his accident. He looks even more petrified now than when I was peeling away his sanity. In unison with the first roll of thunder the night has produced, a strangled cry emits from behind the rows of opponents encircling us.
The voice (closer): No, no, NO… You’ve ruined it, both of you! He saw through you instantly, Hagen, you…
When I see him, it’s not the despair that came with thinking Sloane had returned, nor my annoyance at Hagen’s stale performance. It’s disbelief I’ve never known. All I can do is stumble back.
Harry Sims stomps up onto an overturned van, mask and all.
Sims (chillingly grim): It was going to be picture-perfect.
Ivy and Morgan share my speechless stupor.
Electro: The whelp is their informant!
Zodiac: How COULD you?!?
Ivy, Morgan and I turn to him.
Zodiac: … What? That’s like, really brutal, honestly.
Sims: ‘Brutal’. You want a refresher course on what ‘brutal’ looks like? A few images come to mind, for me…
Myself: Harry, you…
Sims: A childhood going down the drain when the kid comes to terms with the fact that he gets a kick out of capturing moments of pain and violence on his Polaroid. His parents, his friends, disowning him because they couldn’t show a single moment of empathy. Every job application denied, after they dug up his history…
Myself: Harr-
Sims (his pitch lowering): Spending his entire adult life in the service of a man that finally accepts him the way he is, until this man just decides to have a goddamned mental episode and throw away everything they’ve both worked for, to ease a guilty conscience that he was never bothered by BEFORE…
Myself: I’m SORRY, Harry!
Sims: DON’T YOU DARE say that now! You conceited bastard! You want to be some do-gooder now? Fine; heroes are historically great at getting their family killed. Yeah, you know what? The jig is up. Bring out the freak’s kid.
Otis Flannegan emerges only partially through the mass of villains. He has my son by the collar.
Flannegan (shrugging at Morgan’s guttural hiss and Ivy’s blazing eyes): Just a job. What are we, pen-pals?
Morgan (drooling): I’m gunna BATHE in your innards, rat.
My son has my exact outfit, and the same globular face that I’m not bothering to maintain. His elbows stick at ninety degrees like an unmanned puppet as he’s forced to kneel. His eyes won’t settle on anything. I look at Ivy. She knows it’s really him.
Sims (kicking at nothing on the ground, and shooting daggers at me with his stare): It’s as simple as it looks. You come and try to take him. I get to document the epic sendoff of the once-great Basil Karlo. Slain by his very own ‘Victim Syndicate’… everyone you’ve screwed over, while you were pinning ribbons on yourself.
Myself: I won’t give you a show.
Sims: No, you wouldn’t, would you? No I had to MAKE my show, just like I had to make everything else work out for us these past years. I had to recast Sloane, because that geezer is at death’s door, probably doesn’t even remember you. I scheduled this for an atmospheric rainstorm… You know how hard it is to make a death-ray that can kill something like you, when your main ingredient has been shanghaied across the country?
Myself: Kyodai…
Sims: Great meta-ability, “the death touch”. I’ve made some friends who’d kill to experiment with a cadaver with those properties, making it even more effective.
Behind him, a man in green and a rounded helmet snickers at the mention.
Sims (continuing): Me, I’d even go so far as to, say… accidentally reveal a young, vulnerable vigilante’s identity to a black ops organization, get her captured, use her best chum as cover just to reach my target…
I’m going to kill him.
Sims: … Then you went and got everyone out of their cells, and made it that much easier for me to find Kyodai while we were separated. I only needed a small sample from him, but man, it felt too good to get back at him for how insufferable he was on poker nights.
Sims’ goons have been inching nearer. They’re in need of an example, and Sweet Tooth is getting brave. Stupidly brave.
My arm lashes around him, and drags his gut straight across my blade. He gasps desperately as I throw him right back to his fellow degenerates. Mitchell comes to a dead stop and dry heaves. Simon weeps openly, collapsing next to Sweet Tooth, whose only sign of residual life is in his eyes. Sims appears genuinely surprised, or is he only mocking? I can’t tell any longer.
Sims: Christ, Basil, I still could’ve tried to salvage this, make it look really grandiose in post, but that was… pretty low. Was he even armed?
My son is watching. I swore he would never be a part of this side of my life, yet here we all stand. I feel Ivy’s disapproving gaze, Morgan’s growing ferocity.
Myself: This ends one way…
“I agree.”
The voice is from the rooftop blocking the street leading away from the waterfront. Every one of us knows that voice.
Sims (crossing his arms): The Batman.
Sure enough, the familiar, demonic silhouette of the Caped Crusader looms high above. Tetch and Mitchell immediately think to run away underneath him, but with glaring headlights and a rev that could shatter glass, the Batmobile swerves into view, braking feet away from the panicked throng of villains.
Sims (observing Hagen, still cowering): Well, you did one thing right, anyway, getting HIM here. That kid had better be pulp at this point.
Myself: Cassie… She’s..?
Batman’s is looking directly at me. I wish I had never seen him with that much anger on his face.
Batman: I’m taking every one of you in, tonight.
Electro (distraught): I DON’T KNOW ANY OF THESE PEOPLE!
Myself (yelling into the air): Lynns!
The fully-armored Firefly swoops in, his flamethrower already belching out an inferno before him. Batman has already leapt from his perch, tossing an adhesive grenades in his place. It bursts and clings to Lynn’s rotors. Shouting expletives, he spirals into a nearby crane. Before sticking his landing, The Bat unleashes wrist blades that incapacitate two of Tetch’s thugs. He flicks his cape out just before reaching the ground, directing the new momentum into a punch that lands between Thomas Blake’s eyes. He’s out like a light, as Batman doesn’t break a stride, backing every one of us towards the dock. A plume of smog has obscured Lynns’ fate.
Sims whistles, and I spot a newcomer. Everyone does. He’s bright yellow and orange with stripes decorating a clunky scuba suit, and he’s risen out of the bay on jet-powered skis.
Scuba man (holding a harpoon gun at a jaunty angle): ‘Kay Birdman. I’m your date.
Batman continues in a straight line, zeroing in on my group next.
Scuba man: Hey, I’m wearing this ridiculous shit for you, you winged wanker.
He fires a harpoon-cable that zips past Batman’s temple. It hits his true target, the Batmobile’s hood, and the newcomer reels the cable back in before Batman can dodge. The vehicle and its owner smash into the stranger, who has already pounced at the incoming crash. All three carom off a large container, and to the shock of us all, they hurtle beneath the harbor’s black surface.
Myself: And that’s our cue.
} Part 6 of 7; final battle will be uploaded sequentially. {
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by
craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technologicalexplosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
analogue photography
The town’s name was Penance. A truly pitiful thing, strewn across the most desolate region of what had come to be called the Red Desert, in the land not yet the state of Wyoming. An unusual place. Unforgiving like you could not fathom, though tranquil, at times, to such a degree that even the most sorrowful being should forget all else that this country had endured. I know as much.
It was explained to me, during my sojourn therein, that ownership of all twelve buildings had exchanged hands as many times as months had gone by since its completion. No one wanted it. Penance was no destination, merely a place to rest one’s head on the way to one. So, in truth, everyone was a stranger in Penance. The strangest of them, in this humble narrator’s opinion, was to arrive the final day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1871.
He was astride a grey horse. He wore a grey coat—yes, that grey coat—over his shoulders in such a way, it seemed the weight of gold. His grey hat, as incriminating as the coat, did not hide his face as well as, I suspect, any soul would have preferred it to.
Leaving his mare on the stoop without a rope to hold her, he wordlessly joined our congregation in Penance’s saloon. Before his boots passed the swinging doors, we each of us had seen only the beast on which our new companion rode. The second, that being a grey wolf, with a head as large as a cauldron, plodded along at the man’s spurs. It sank mildly to its belly at the threshold, still managing to give us all a good fright. Eli gripped my hand where it lay on the table.
And yes, as this type of story goes, the drab outsider walked to the unoccupied bar, nary a glance at a single one of us to repay our gawking. Better that way, as I do believe a child or another woman would have fainted to be caught by his right eye, yellowed and lidless as it was. A gruesome window in the cheek of the same side displayed his teeth. His worn cuffs rested upon the counter, ever so lightly. Penance’s temporary bartender was no braver than any one of us, but he approached the patron anyway.
The bartender extended an ordinary “friend” to the disfigured man, where the word may have easily been taken for a question rather than a greeting. The stranger’s response was no less ambiguous, as the slight tip of his hat looked to be indicative of the man’s goodwill, as much as it did his weariness. Whatever the case, I could sense the room had thankfully begun to breathe again.
“I hope that you, sir, can sympathize- that is, understand our situation here, and that I can afford you only one drink,” our bartender decreed, in a tone delicate like cobwebs.
“I’ll thank you kindly for water. Any that ain’t bein’ drunk.”
The bartender was unsettled by this. “Pardon me for saying, but a man who found his way here with not but a horse and the… clothes on his back, might could do with something stronger.”
“Water,” the man reassured him, “will be jist dandy.”
He was given his request by a shaky hand not a minute later. Us gathered folks were back to finding it a genuine task to draw air. The man sipped from the glass with his neck crooked so that he did not lose any through his wound. It was then that he did at last acknowledge the rest of our being there. As I had worried, one of our women gasped and indeed fell on her husband’s shoulder when she met the horrible gaze. Our tormentor cleared his throat.
“I was thinkin’ to myself, how nice it was to ride into a town without the starin’. I see now that was on account of all the prairie dogs hunkerin’ down in their hole.”
The young cowboy, with which Eli and I had shared a stagecoach to this point, was none too pleased by the teasing. A guardian angel must have stayed his hand from reaching his gun, though the boiling emotions on his face were left unchecked. A number of our men had guns, but were not so keen nor impatient to employ them.
The stranger troubled the bartender once more. “’TIS a mite crowded in here, wouldn’t you reckon?”
“Yes sir?”
“Well now it ain’t picnic weather out, but I also ain’t seen so many bodies lookin’ to be under one roof, less’n there was a storm comin’, or festivities. Well… I behold a clear sky and long faces.”
Another group’s coachman—an older but not yet frail man—spoke for us. “We’re ALL in here; every one of us, in Penance. Seven days here, it’s been, for my party.”
“What keeps you, the lively atmosphere?” the stranger mocked, propping himself up with his elbows on the bar.
“It’s like this,” the coachman informed gravely. “There is presence, a… manifestation, on the range that leads westward away from here, and it has allowed no man or woman safe passage.”
“Them first words sound to me like fancy oratin’ for ‘ghost.’”
The man’s insinuation elicited a harsh murmur that washed over our assemblage. It was not a thought that had escaped us, but the actual vocalization of such a notion was all the more taboo. Eli rose from his chair, still clutching my hand.
“We are not simple, sir. These here folks know what they saw,” he berated the man, who just glared. I stood with Eli, now with both hands on his. He never did have tolerance for being made smaller. I would like to think I was good for him in that way, guiding him away from intemperate actions. I had lived with the denigration a greater deal of time than he, and despite it all, learned to keep living.
“Three groups have made for the ridge,” the coachman continued. “My own, and the second, we lost one of our number each before we turned back. The last that tried… lost all except one.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy sat beside him: no more than fourteen years old, wheat-colored hair and, as I understood the world, faces only ever got to be so pale if they had been within an arm’s length of Death.
“We’ve stopped everyone else who’s come along,” the coachman concluded.
“It were me younger brother it took!” a middle-aged woman with red hair wailed, her husband and children huddled close.
“My littlest one. My only girl,” a father whispered from the other end of the room. For the three days Eli and I had been here, he had confided in no one and no thing, save for his glass.
“It had wings. Like a raven’s, but bigger. Didn’t it, boys?” said a rancher, who had ridden with the childless father. His partners concurred with somber mumbling.
“It had lots of voices,” was what the Irish woman’s girl had to contribute, before being shushed.
“The wind up and quits blowin’ when it’s near, that’s how you kin tell w-“
“You weren’t one of the ones what went there Zed, shut yer mouth!”
“So,” the stranger finally cut in, having not let up for a moment with watching my Eli. “You ain’t been there for yourself.”
“These people have no cause to lie,” Eli rationalized sternly. “No grounds to embellish such awful loss! Shame on you, insinuating they’re spreading falsehoods about the departed!”
I could have struck him for his rashness, but against all expectations, the stranger did not appear to take offense.
“Jist gittin’ the facts, son. I believe in ghosts myself. My issue was with givin’ it some highfalutin name that don’t do ‘em justice,” he clarified, prompting the coachman to furrow his brow and look down at his table. The man pushed off from the counter, glass in hand, of which he had drank very little.
“I aim to see to my horse. Then I aim to be crossin’ that mountain pass by sundown. Anyone who rides with me will have my protection, I can guarantee.”
Dead silence was the travelers’ answer to him. Without so much as a nod, he started for the door. It was I who let my voice be heard next.
“We two,” I announced, Eli at my side. “We will join you.”
“Don’t go with him!”
With his outburst, the young cowboy Eli and I had kept company with immediately stole away the critical eyes (the stranger’s included) that had shifted to me when I spoke.
“Don’t go with him,” the lad again advised. “I know him. I… I know you, mister. Now I was raised to let every man say his piece, but your word is not to be trusted.”
When the stranger remained quiet, the cowboy yelled for all the town to hear. “If that there uniform didn’t already suade all you’uns, maybe knowin’ him by his name will! This man is Jonah Hex.”
The title was of no significance to me, but a few of us (chiefly the men of Jonah Hex’s own age) looked, all at once, a sight more vengeful. I could tell then that Eli was making to move between me and the brewing contention, so I held him firmly in place.
“I never socialized with you,” Hex calmly asserted to the incendiary.
“I know you, even so. I heard you done plenty of killin’ for the rebels,” the cowboy accused. His thumb fidgeted at the hem of his coat.
“You keep that hand off’n your belt, friend,” Hex warned.
“I heard you defected, soon as you knew the rebels was losin’, just so you could do more killin’ for the other side.”
“Y’don’t hear so good then. I ain’t stirrin’ up any hostilities, now or later.”
The cowboy briefly regarded Eli and me out the corner of his eye. There was a fire within it. He returned his attention to Hex.
“… You sometimes forget what color you’re wearin’, mister?”
“No. I do not.”
“Smug bastard,” the cowboy fumed. “Smug son of-“
The grey wolf was suddenly there in our midst, having been acutely aware of the mounting tension. It had clamped its fangs onto the young firebrand’s right wrist before the hand there attached could fully draw and aim its weapon. By some miracle, the pistol did not discharge in the process of clattering across the floorboards, at my shoes. Hex observed peaceably the great creature’s escorting of the cowboy in a complete circle with short, violent yanks. Every other person was still as a stone. When the cowboy attempted to box the wolf in the ear, it let go of the one arm in exchange for the left, and the lad took to hollering something terrible.
“Hex!” was the only whole, intelligible word I could tell you was uttered.
The grin Hex gave the cowboy was somehow more fiendish than the wolf’s own. “I can’t rightly guess what you’d appreciate me doin’.”
“Call off the dog, for… GAH! In the name of God!”
“Fool thing jist follows me around. I ain’t very well taught it to ‘drop’.”
The cowboy’s whimpering had become difficult to stomach. “Then… then leave, please! Make it follow you!”
Hex did not directly oblige. He ambled up to Eli and me, picking up the gun that had been cast aside. To say the least, it took me by surprise when the intimidating man, still facing us, holstered the weapon safely back into the boy’s belt. Hex growled (in a tribal language I did not know) what was presumably a command for the wolf. It’s eyes and jowls slackened, but it did not budge. Hex repeated the phrase more coarsely, and the beast unhooked itself from the cowboy’s poor arm right away, bounding back out the saloon, all aggression purged from its behavior.
Hex then tendered what was barely discernible as an apology to the cowboy. “He weren’t so interested in listenin’. He don’t take to bein’ called ‘dog.’”
The cowboy shook, in his ignominy, and in noting the wolf’s response. “Lyin’… you lyin’ snake-“
“Clean them bites. I ain’t had him looked at by one of them… veteran-Aryans, they call ‘em.”
My laugh at Hex’s unknowing was rude, I knew, but it could not have been helped. He peered at me, and I composed myself; a gesture born of respect, mind you, not fear. I was certain of that then. I thought Eli too, in that instance, had begun to reevaluate just who this man was.
“You say you two are goin’ over that ridge with me…”
It was the faintest I had heard him speak. His question—the one yet unsaid—hung in the air as plainly as if he had finished; the question of why I, of all the people in Penance, was accepting of his offer. I replied with no insincerity.
“I should not be glad to see you go alone.”
I must have confused him immensely. He did not call me a fool, nor feel the need to remind Eli of his woman’s rightful place. It was but the most minute bow I earned, as the bartender had received earlier.
Just then the posse of ranchers was collecting their belongings and heading out to their coach. The one who had previously chipped in now addressed Hex.
“We’ll be going too. We won’t be having that thing take any more of us,” he affirmed.
A stout yet meek-looking man seated by a window got up, hat in hand. “They sent word from Oregon that my mother is ill. I… I can’t wait here, not another day.”
The pale boy that had been orphaned not a week prior ran to where Hex was standing, abandoning the elderly coachman that had taken the child under his wing. The driver pleaded for him, to no avail.
“I won’t stay!” the boy shouted defiantly. “My father was Brom Cavender, and he was not a coward or a nobody! I am Hadley Cavender, and neither shall I be a coward or a nobody!”
The coachman’s defeat was in his eyes when he, next, reasoned with Hex. “He came back from the mountain by himself. All covered in blood he was. The boy has no more family he knows of, anywhere, and you see, I… have a duty to stay with the family I set out with. … See to it that Hadley settles in a decent town, where he will be cared for.”
“That I will,” was Hex’s pledge.
All appeared to be resolved with the details of our venture, and so Eli and I were prepared to make our way to our coach, with or without our cowboy associate who now carried a considerable grudge. Jonah Hex impeded us, however, with a gently raised glove and an astonishingly penitent expression.
“Seems as though I won’t be a’tall lonesome. Aught to set yourselves down here, see if some soldiers don’t pass through and hep you better’n I can.”
“No,” Eli cleared up with haste. “We’ll go, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Well then,” Hex muttered quite vacuously, apparently unaccustomed to denial delivered in such a non-confrontational manner. Likewise, contrasting his bullying of the cowboy, he sounded apologetic, properly so; on what basis, I could only speculate. I did not think the courtesy towards me necessary.
A sporting lady (perhaps the only one living and working in Penance at the time) emerged from the back of the room, draped herself about a post supporting the ceiling and sang after Hex, who was no nearer to exiting, past all the delays.
“There’s no sense in rushin’ off just yet,” she beamed. “Why not leave in the morning?”
“Can’t, missy. I already have a lady to attend,” Hex dismissed, waving his water beyond the saloon’s entrance, suggesting he had some intention to quench his horse straight from the glass itself. “I wouldn’t be unfaithful. She’s a woman I know I can lean on. ‘sides that, she has a finer rump than you.”
As I said, he was undoubtedly the strangest stranger that ever there was.
***
True to our words, those of us claiming the audacity to weather whatever devilry had beset the westward hills did just that. We withdrew from Penance as the sky grew tired and Mr. Hex grew more surly, suffering the impediments of some of us reviewing our luggage twice, or bidding the town a farewell lengthier than a blink.
Twenty minutes on, from the start of our excursion, left Penance nothing but a candlelight in the sea of sand and grass at our backs. The ridge there that our sights were set on taunted us for every step our horses took. I conjured, that night, the irrational belief that the ever-growing mountain was, in no uncertain terms, eager to blot out what precious sunlight we had remaining; it is a conviction I hold to this day, for no scripture or trust in a Savior has since quelled the concern in me that the earth, on that particular evening, in that particular place, was itself evil.
We had, as our convoy, fewer than a dozen ranchers; some, atop their own steeds, and others at the reins of the three stagecoaches. Eli and I rode in a fourth. Our young cowboy had elected to stay behind, with his pride so bruised, even when Eli had promised to him that there would be no incentive to answer to Mr. Hex, in any capacity, for the journey’s duration. Thusly, the lead rancher (whose named we learned was Amos) was our new courier. Same as the two other couples on this trip, Eli and I were instructed not to leave our compartment for any occasion, as we were perceived to be most ill-equipped for the dangers the hardened riders knew to be lying ahead. I alone knew Eli owned a firearm, and could cleanly hit his mark from a respectable distance.
Hadley, the boy, shared our cab. He did not fill the air with endearing contemplations that I might have assumed all children his age had in abundance. Neither did he show overt grief, in returning to the site of his family’s tragic and senseless murder. Instead he was intensely fixated on Hex’s revolvers, swinging at the veteran’s hips as his horse kept pace with us. Hex caught wind of the goggling shortly thereafter, and cast a scowl at the boy.
“My father could shoot,” was Hadley’s defense.
“Hell of a lot of men could. That’s why so damn many of ‘em ain’t around to shoot,” Hex droned, unimpressed.
By this time, the mere hours in which I had had dealings with Jonah Hex told me there was no requisite of inuring myself to him. Elsewhere, the entirety of my life, there had been in effect an ordinance for me to hold my tongue.
“You need not be crass with him.”
Upon reproving Hex’s methods, the most unreservedly gratifying thing occurred: A man, older and more seasoned than I, listened to my words.
That Southern cavalryman, with his burns and cuts, looking as mean as a cornered bear, simply surveyed for several moments the last sliver of sun which shone over the crags and drifts of our mountainous obstruction. He had an air of rumination about him, and took a long breath before responding.
“The way I seen it, boys grow up to die young, if’n y’don’t teach ‘em how things are.”
Eli tugged at my sleeve discreetly, wanting no trouble to arise.
“There is a time for compassion, also, Mr. Hex. When a boy could benefit from a little understanding, rather than further indelicacy. Both are rudimentary to a child’s upbringing,” I declared.
Hadley and Eli were silent. Hex wrung the leather reins in his hands and squinted (more than he did by nature), but eventually relaxed in his saddle; a concession of having been bested.
“You speak real finely, miss.”
“And you do not, sir.”
Mr. Hex let out an amused grunt.
“What do I call you other’n ‘miss’ then?” he inquired, misconstruing my objections to his conduct.
I smiled. “‘Euryale’ is my name.”
Hex tried unsuccessfully to interpret the pronunciation. “… ‘My eye’s a’ what, now?”
“‘Eu-rya-le’,” Eli annunciated, fondly. “It means she will ‘roam far.’”
“Strange,” decided Hex, hardly the one to comment on such things.
I expounded. “Its origins lie in a very old story; a Greek narrative, that my father came across, and passed on to me.”
“And your father, he could read,” Hex inferred. He said it cautiously, not disbelieving-like.
“My father was smarter than most cared to notice. Yes, he did read. Texts and poems, journals… anything that he knew the master of our plantation would not recognize as being misplaced, in the time we required to finish them.”
Eli seized my hand again, when realizing the memories had upset me. I found inside myself the will to disclose, “He only took the stories for my siblings and me. We begged for them, not knowing what he risked.”
“Your master let you keep that name?” Hadley redirected, skeptical.
He was so very young, and I could not be cross with him. “The plantation’s owner and his family had their own name for me, but it was not mine. … Would you like to hear the story that my name comes from?”
Hadley seemed invested.
“Euryale was not the hero of the tale, nor the focus, for that matter. Her sister, Medusa, was wronged by a being she could never hope to have authority over. The story says that he was a deity, but he was wicked, instead of benevolent like our God. For the infraction she did not commit, Medusa was blamed by others of the false idol’s kind. A sorceress among them cursed Medusa to be a loathsome monster, never to have another commiserate her; to but look at her face, then, would turn one to stone.”
There, I paused, to enjoy Hadley’s rapture, Eli’s warmth… Hex, even, leaned suspiciously on his mount, intrigued. His wolf, trotting dutifully near his stirrup for the past hour, stared at him with its giant orange eyes. And while it was a simple animal, Hex became ill at ease, conscious of himself, and he sneered at the creature.
“As fate would have it, Medusa would find consolation in her sisters: Stheno and Euryale. Though they were gifted with remarkable longevity, and though they were free of the guilt that the corrupt rulers had ascribed to Medusa, the sisters chose to stand with her, and bear the same undue punishment. … And so, you see, there is dignity to be found in those demonized by history. I cherish my name, for this reason.”
Hadley frowned at the conclusion. “But… no one saved them? What did the monsters look like?”
“You’ve neglected what younger ears gather from stories,” Eli chaffed quietly.
“Boys’ ears, perhaps,” I retorted, turning my nose up at him.
It had all been in good humor. Eli smirked and apprised Hadley. “Listen here then, Hadley. These sisters grew tusks, like those elephants you may’ve seen at the circus have. And their hair, it was replaced by snakes, bigger than rattlers…”
I adored Eli so, for his gift of preoccupying small ones; Hadley was soon lost in his regaling of heroes and quests from across oceans, and I, paying no mind to the menace of hills before us, discovered there was solace to be had. I composed a silent prayer for those safeguarding our expedition, as well as those of us being transported with bated breath and far less steely resolve.
Jonah Hex watched me do so. He had adopted a curiously approving countenance.
“It’s a fittin’ name… miss.”
***
Palpable, suffocating darkness was now the usher of our caravan. No more was Penance a beacon to us. With our riders’ torches revealing the primitive trail only a yard or so around us, and the discontinuity of stars alone defining land from sky, it was hard to guess the span of wilderness that we had yet to brave, if we were to reach the ridge’s summit.
Our climb was steady. Hadley had fallen asleep between Eli and me, exhausted by stories and the monotonous trek. Some ranchers endeavored to establish if we had already passed the rise on which they had, a week ago, faced their malicious spirit; the fretting and deliberating proved to excite the husband and wife riding in the coach behind us, and it necessitated a scolding from Amos for them all to keep their heads. He then called to us from his perch in the driver’s box; he did so in a gravelly timbre, so as to not again ignite any alarm.
“We’re twenty minutes from the peak, y’hear? … You both seem sensible, so I should tell you, this is about where my company saw… it, when first we rode. But, you rest easy now; we heard weird things then, long before it finally took the Rainer girl. This time, I haven’t seen OR heard anything.”
“Neither’ve I,” came Hex’s drawl, his mare’s gait matching Amos’ position. “But it don’t make me ‘rest easy.’ There ain’t no critters anywhere in these hills, ‘part from us.”
Amos tossed the reins and jutted his chin out at the animals there harnessed. “Horses look at peace. No better judges of surroundings than them, I’ve learned.”
“I think,” Eli proposed, “… we would feel it also, if something unholy walked this region, this day. Our souls, not our worldly perceptions, would warn us.”
I drew Eli’s eyes to mine. “You say you do NOT feel anything now? Then I envy you, and pray my own intuitions are misguided.”
Eli pondered this. I hugged Hadley’s bobbing head to my dress’ collar. “… I pray there are better lives waiting for us all, past this mountain.”
“What got you both hightailin’ west, trouble? You findin’ one of your families?” Hex pressed.
“We heard tell of the river,” Eli shared. “A grand one, just over this range. You’re right, sir; we are seeking Euryale’s family. They may be there.”
“They surely may be,” mused Hex. “Railroad made it to that town some years back, can’t recall how many. Good a place as any to settle, when you’re fixin’ to git hitched-“
“Mr. Hex!” Eli and I drowned him out in unison; we were boisterous enough to rouse poor Hadley. Hex’s forthright ways could fluster most anyone, and I do not mind saying that I, who welcomed his candor in many aspects, was no exception.
Unsure of who else had been attentive to Hex’s maundering, namely Amos, Eli readied to mend the conversation. “… You know same as all of us, Mr. Hex, a boy and a girl like us wouldn’t… even if there weren’t laws, it would not be correct for-“
“Why in tarnation not? What laws?!” Hex’s puzzlement was earnest.
I grabbed the coach’s door and pulled my head outside. “Mr. Hex, PLEASE. This is not to be discussed at these volumes.”
This conciliated Hex, though he was still none the wiser to the realities that Eli and I withstood regularly.
“I’d like it not to be left open-ended; Euryale and myself wouldn’t dream of carrying out an ambition so… outlandish,” Eli fibbed. It was intended to appease Amos, should he have been attuned to the subject.
The rancher’s acknowledgement drifted in our cab’s window with plumes of dust being kicked up by the horses. “Needn’t be afraid of what I think. I’m a simple farmhand, born and raised. Never had big ideas, like them congressmen, ‘bout what men can and can’t do.”
Amos freed a hand from his steering and patted our roof comfortingly. “I’ll keep your secret. But tell me, son.. you really couldn’t find a filly more like you?”
Our driver cackled at his own joke, unaware Eli felt equally insulted as I.
“I shouldn’t need find a woman more like me,” Eli maintained, reaching over Hadley and brushing a lock of hair from my temple. “I’d just a’soon find the one I love.”
Hadley wrinkled his nose, swiftly coaxing us away from our seriousness. Hex bent in alongside the coach, grimly preparing his next words.
“You don’t have kin in Green River, then.”
“She has no kin to speak of, now,” Eli confessed. “Mine… I disowned. Being that they couldn’t see the war was over. Or that a war was had at all.”
As Eli had come to my aid many a time when I evoked my past, so did I come to his. I knew he must have been remembering his brother, when his blood ran cold in my grip on his arm. He swallowed, then faced Hex, who waited patiently.
“Euryale and I, we crossed paths a year after the fighting. And maybe it won’t be in Green River, but we’re going to make a home for ourselves, in one town or the next,” Eli vowed with determination.
“See that you don’t run outta country,” Hex bade us heavily.
“HOLD! WHOA, WHOA!”
At the foremost rider’s cry, our progress was halted. Hex jolted out of his repose, startling me with just how quickly the enmity and dogged constitution could return to him. From my seat, I saw our scout wrestling with his horse, which stamped nervously to and fro, bellowing, and frothing through its halter bit. The man swung her about, and jerked towards two other ranchers. Their rallying devolved into frenzied hisses and jeers, keeping us others in suspense.
“What is it?” Amos barked.
“Euryale?”
Hadley stammered my name, pawing at my arm. “I won’t tell anyone you want to marry Eli.”
“Thank you Hadley, that is kind,” I validated, hoping he would be heartened. He jumped from our seat and joined Eli by the right-side door. They craned their necks to deduce the hinderance ahead.
Amos’ already fragile tact was waning. “Well?! What’d he see?”
“He says, ‘a man!’” one rifleman reported.
Hex’s wolf sniffed the night breeze; docile, though alert. Its owner noticed I had become chilled, and, remiss in his deed, Hex began to offer me his coat.
I eyed the article, unable to gracefully put into words his oversight. My speechlessness led Hex to comprehending just as well.
He donned the coat, frustrated. “I weren’t thinkin’.”
“No, please,” I interrupted, “ … I cannot accept the thought of wearing those colors, but know that I do not think of you, and their connotations, as inseparable.”
Hex emoted not at all.
“You do not… represent that side of history,” I rephrased.
Amos continuously interrogated his fellow ranchers; the account, growing no more coherent.
“You say the man didn’t walk, now how is it that he’s in a different place than where you spotted him?”
“It… DIDn’t walk, it moved without walkin’, I try to tell yeh!”
I looked at Hex ardently. “You do not wear them because you are proud; you wear them because you are not.”
…
“I think it is a merciless thing, what retribution you have placed upon yourself.”
“Do you now?”
“Do you not imagine your judgement should be left to more righteous hands?” I implored further.
“No ma’am.”
“Why is that?”
“God weren’t there… that day.”
I was to unearth no more of Hex’s background, for at that moment, an unannounced, malign rush of dread overcame us all. It was not at all comparable to wind, no; the air was venomous. I saw that the sensation was not all my own when Eli took on a pallor so chalky that it could have been distinguished with or without the assistance of a lamp. From behind and beyond our cab, disturbed yelps from men and women alike rang out. Hex’s horse reared, and his wolf skulked at the coach’s wheel, no longer the formidable predator we beheld in Penance.
A shot punctuated the tumult, and then more followed. I hauled Hadley to the floor instinctively.
“In the brush! Kill it!”
“Where?!”
“Hold your fire!”
“It’s circlin’ behind us!”
Eli had not drawn his gun. “Mr. Hex! Can you see it?”
I lay prone. Shielding Hadley’s face, I tipped the nearest door slightly ajar. Hex had momentarily restrained his frantic mare by grasping her bridle itself and running a hand down her cheek. Had he been a second faster, he may have evaded another horse—this one, having succeeded in throwing its rider—which bucked madly and collided with the pair. Hex’s leg was pinned by the beasts’ flanks, while the bronco viciously bit his mare’s shoulder. She shrieked in an appallingly human way, and all three thrashed on the ground.
The righthand window of our coach was splintered by an unseen force. Eli thrust Hadley and I out of the transport as we were showered in debris. Impacting the cool dirt blurred my vision, but, for the rest of my days I shall remember, with absolute lucidity, the sight of our horses engulfed in a fire that burst forth from below their hooves, and the coach upending; hurled, like a toy. Amos was propelled along with it.
Hadley was not in my arms. I crawled through the billowing haze, and spied Hex wrenching his heel from the saddle cinch as his mare righted herself, and galloped away, utterly crazed. She corrected her flight too late, tumbling over a fatally-steep slope. There was distant whinnying, and then nothing at all. The abstruse battle had dissolved.
I now ask of all those immersed in this tale to grant their credence generously. For the gossiping and prating surrounding this mountain range, and that which had circulated Penance, was far from unfounded. It was our luckless host’s lot to encounter, on that thirty-first day of October, the horror that Hadley, Amos and the other men had once survived, and all that remains to be read, here, is a documentation of stark savagery, and of woe.
Over the crest of the ridge stood what one might have mistook for a man. I should say, moreover, one might have mistook it for standing. It in fact was not.
It was faintly silhouetted against the inky sky, but my eyes were acclimated well enough to the environment by that time that I may now soundly state that a body, brittle and decaying, hung there by a noose lashed around its throat. Light zephyrs traversing the hills made the cadaver oscillate, and the toes of its boots traced the sand lazily. Its twisting rope stretched on and on into the cavernous black above, as though it were puppeteered by some cruel divinity.
Eli, Hex and all the rest were forgotten for an instant. I could not move of my own volition. The aura of our enemy was crushing, relentless, nearly insurmountable. In our company was some unearthly thing not accounted for by the confines of sanity, and only by the grace of God was I able to bring myself to renounce the consuming void.
Our coach, and one other, were irreparable, scorched masses, scattered like seeds. A third, I saw speeding down the mountain, with those left behind given up for dead. The fourth was overturned, and I recognized, scrambling out of it, the man who sought to reach Oregon. He sobbed and held a palm out at the phantom; it had neared, without my realizing it.
Tears streamed from underneath the stout man’s spectacles. “Please Ma… I’m coming home now. I know I was away, but I-I… there was the war. We stopped the rebs. I’m coming home now. You can’t go. You ain’t s-seen the medal your son got yet.”
Like a diseased marionette, the apparition dangled a shadowed arm out to the man at its feet. The son, and former soldier, was reduced to a tortured child before my eyes. His audible anguish stabbed at the still of the night.
“Back, devil!”
Recovered from his ridicule, and with bandaged forearms, it was our young cowboy: racing up the path on horseback, taking aim at the foul wraith. Two bullets were fired; one buried itself in the soil, while the other punched neatly through the desired target’s lapel. It absorbed the projectile like the lifeless husk it was.
The cowboy was forty yards off and closing in, lining up his third shot. A gleam was visible in his eyes, even from this distance. “Fire and brimstone unto you, you-“
Flame from the nearby wreckage swelled, licking the cowboy’s face; it had done so with undeniably hostile intent directing it, shifting not as a natural blaze should. The lad writhed and slipped off his mount, brutally coming to rest in a shallow ditch.
I screamed for Mr. Hex. He had been dragged so carelessly by his mare that he was recuperating with great toil. He coughed, and laboriously rolled onto his stomach. I knew there would be no time for Hex to intervene.
The cowboy pointed his gun, using his one intact arm, and he drew a bead on his foe, using his one unimpaired eye. The hanged thing performed a stiff, swiping motion, and the nails, harnesses and varied metal objects littering the ground rose as one, contorting and melting into one another to form a long, pitted stave. It leveled with the cowboy’s skull. He cocked his pistol’s hammer.
The spear darted at its victim, but I watched as Hex’s wolf, battered and singed, leapt into view and foiled the lethal blow, which glanced off the canine’s haunch. A howl died in the animal’s lungs, and it crashed to the earth at the cowboy’s side. The cowboy’s chest heaved, then the beast’s. They were alive.
Our attacker made no effort to try again. It lingered in subdued obstinacy; swaying, and crackling with rot all the while.
The ashes and planks of our coach buckled, and Eli appeared beneath them, partially pulling himself loose. Relief flooded my soul. He choked my name, but neither he nor I dared to run to the other to embrace; the ghost had glided, on its macabre leash, squarely between us. It then spun in my direction.
“No! Euryale!” Eli rummaged for his weapon, but his hip and holster were still trapped under much of the coach’s remnants.
I waved him off, recalling the cowboy. “Don’t shoot at it!”
I was prepared to die, but not ready to. The dark shape was two body’s lengths away, obscuring Eli. I kept my head high; were this the Devil, it would be in his nature to savor one’s groveling, and I would permit him no such satisfaction. By now, I was hearing its “breathing,” were that the unbroken, low whistle issuing from behind its drooping brim. This was when Hadley stepped out of the clouds of smoke corralling the scene of our impasse. The boy was, with hands atremble, wielding one of Hex’s revolvers, which had been mislaid during the horses’ skirmish.
“Don’t, Hadley! Get away from it!” Eli exhorted.
I tried to be resilient, for Hadley; he was disconcerted enough as he was. “Go to Eli!”
Hex was on one knee, rasping, clenching his ribs like they might fall away without his care. His eyes widened, once seeing Hadley and his objective, and the man opened his mouth to prevent the impending threat; a deep, thick red spilled out instead.
Three of Hadley’s fingers encircled the trigger. “I can kill it…” the boy grimaced.
“Hadley, stop!”
The ghost’s knotted neck rotated to where the child had boldly planted himself. Hadley seized up, and all the world hesitated with him. The flames may have frozen, too; I could not be sure. Quaking, Hadley slowly repositioned his shot.
The barrel was trained on me.
Hex staggered upright.
Eli panicked. “EURYALE!”
“What’re you doin’, son…” said Hex, hauntingly.
Hadley’s lip quivered. “It’s them.”
“Speak up,” Hex told him sharply.
“My father w-wasn’t a liar.”
“… We ain’t of any such opinion-”
“It’s them,” Hadley seethed, in a voice that both was and was not his own. His hold on his weapon tightened. “They betrayed us, our good work and our food. They left with the Yankees. And the land came to death. They ruined us.”
“You’re not shootin’ my gun. You hearin’ me?”
“DAMN THIS-“ Eli failed again to lever the boards from his back. “EURYALE!”
“Let Hadley go,” I demanded of the suspended body. It creaked and danced, in an abrupt gale that ate through to my core. The thing tricked no one, playing dead.
Hadley straightened with a shudder. “They have no right. No rights.”
“NO!” Eli roared.
Hex had been thirty paces from Hadley, but had crept up to twenty. The man’s good eye narrowed. “Ain’t none of us have a right to be here. We jist are.”
“My father didn’t lie to me.”
“SHOOT IT, HEX!”
“I forgive him, Lord,” I whispered. “It is not his doing.”
Something akin to words seeped out of the ghost:
“indulge me…
indulge in me”
This was heeded not by Hex. “Put my gun down.”
“They’re not human.”
“You’re not shootin’ anybody.”
“My father doesn’t have a coward for a son.”
The muzzle of Hadley’s gun twitched. Its mechanism ticked.
There was a pop.
Hex had drawn.
Hadley was sprawled in the dirt.
I forgot any need to be wary in the presence of the hanging reaper; caring little if I were snatched up by its malevolent thrall, I threw myself to Hadley. I desperately checked his heartbeat. My despair was like no other I have harbored in my lifetime; a maroon badge pooled on his breast.
Hex dropped his revolver. Eli was unresponsive, gazing at our dismal spectacle.
I cradled Hadley, staining my clothes. “What have you done, Jonah Hex?”
“Hey you,” the gunslinger rumbled.
I was shaken to see him studying me, and my mournful burden. Hate was etched into him, every inch. I understood, though, that it was not a hatred for us; perhaps, not even for the entity taunting Hex from over his shoulder. Not all of it, anyhow.
Hex turned to the dormant oblivion. His bearing was soft; pacifying, even. It made his acid tone considerably more disquieting.
“I’m supposin’, if I were to shoot you, you wouldn’t be so accommodatin’ as to die.”
The morbid pendulum rocked a stride closer.
“’t’sa shame. That arrangement sounds mighty agreeable to me.”
Amos stumbled forward, dazed, and coated in soot. One proper look at our spectral nemesis coerced the rancher into groping for his gun, but I, supporting Hadley, mouthed “no” and shook my head vehemently. Amos reluctantly eased, gave a melancholic glance to the body I carried, and then proceeded to Eli to release him from his prison; beyond their chore, they were transfixed, as I was, by Hex advancing on the anomalous evil.
“See, you jist killed my horse, and you made me shoot a boy who weren’t responsible for hisself. And I’m findin’ no excuses whatsoever not to take you by that big fuckin’ necktie of yours and haul your chickenshit hide back to hell. Not-a-one.”
A dull groan escaped his opponent.
“Real ornery feller. But you’re a small feller also, ain’t you?”
The ghost’s rope strained, deafeningly so. I gathered Hex had infuriated whatever sinister will manipulated it. The space between the two of them wavered, rippling like a pond. The effect swept over Hex, but no unfavorable consequences came of this; he continued his serene walk.
“Filth,” Hex spat. “What you think you can show me I don’t already see every day?”
The air stirred a second time.
“Jeb don’t blame me for Fort Charlotte. He’s wrong not to, but he don’t blame me.”
A third time, the villain unleashed its witchcraft, whose impurity found its way to me as it did Hex. Flashes of my family invaded my mind. They never experienced a life outside of the plantation.
I fled without them.
left them to die…
No.
I did.
I did not.
“White Fawn done what she done. I couldn’ta stopped her. She were too free a spirit,” snarled Hex. “You’re nothin’. You have nothin’. I know what you really are.”
Eli was at last freed, and he hastened to me, aware of my disorientation. I saw truth and decency again when he enfolded me. We held Hadley, together.
Jonah Hex was a single step from it, now. Another jet of fire, wreathing with sentience, erupted from the earth and almost slashed through his torso, but it fell short. Hex deliberately plunged his arm into it, as a demonstration of contempt. He sustained sparse injuries, for the flame recoiled at his touch.
“It’s not a war when it’s one side that’s fightin’.”
The corpse’s dried bones clacked beneath its garb, and it crooned to Hex in a horrid, pealing chant, not unlike it was spoken from inside a hollowed-out tree:
“it comes ever naturally to your ilk…
your trivial desires…
your infantile bickering, clawing…
you and all my cousins’ bastard creations, affronts…
you will always be so good at it…
for me”
Its withered fingers extended, but Hex nabbed the wrists, forcing them apart. I could swear to you now, even by the paltry light of Amos’ lantern and what little help the moon was providing through the canopy of fog, that the figure wore the Union Army’s blue on one sleeve, and grey on the other, like Hex himself bore. The cavalryman pulled the hanging atrocity toe-to-toe with himself.
“Best be gittin’, now. It’s the dead stayin’ dead, what scares me.”
Thunderous percussions—similar to those of drums, and not of a storm—sounded over the land. The sky bowed and fluctuated about the astral tether belonging to Hex’s captive, and, as equivocally as it had surfaced, the blight then receded into thin air. The man who had vanquished it was left there: fists empty, panting, with twice as many lesions and contusions as he had before sunset.
I wish I could tell you there was an ambiance of resolution to accompany the victory, but this was not so. Embers, and the fetor of burnt horses’ flesh, stung our senses. The night was dense. A downcast Amos relieved me of Hadley, after trying and failing to express his condolences. I initially resisted surrendering my charge, until Eli persuaded me to with a shivering hand cupped on mine. The stout man had collected himself, and gotten our cowboy to his unsteady feet; over and over (but expecting no reply), they both questioned in manic tones what we had all witnessed still living, lurking, feeding, here in the vast frontier of America.
Jonah Hex trod to the cliff where his mare had met her end; on his way, he stooped but once to retrieve the weapon he had used that evening. Eli and I trailed him.
“Mr. Hex…” Eli disturbed his grieving. “We’d like you to know… we know what you done for us, and I thank-“
Hex’s revolver snapped to Eli’s brow. We were in shock; immobilized, and struck dumb by the act.
“You ever ended a life, son?”
Eli was unflinching. “No sir, I haven’t.”
Hex moved close to Eli’s face. Marring the man’s features, in addition to those terrible abrasions, was the same outrage he had fostered before. His triumph over the demon had not soothed his conscience in the least.
“Don’t you thank me for what I done. Don’t you ever thank a man for killin’ for you. You can’t know what they gave up.”
He was broken, a thousand times over. I was sorry for him, truly; therefore I was taken aback by my own immodesty, which ensued once Hex lowered his gun. My memory of this night is vague only here, and though I know I am accountable, I wish it were true that I was scarcely in control of the regrettable words that passed my lips.
“I would not thank you,” I swore fiercely. “Not in all the years I have left will I thank you, for choosing my life over another. He was a boy, Jonah Hex!”
I refused Eli’s arm shepherding me away, pushing it aside.
“My life was payed for by the blood of One other… and you have made it so my life has been payed for by the blood of two. I would have died in Hadley’s stead, but you are selfish, and arrogant and you dispense death on a whim. No, you will not have my gratitude or forgiveness.”
I fear I must have hit him, or chastised him with more profane language than I can admit to using, myself. Hex justified himself in no way, standing as a statue would.
Amos had rounded up a spooked horse and mounted, with Hadley enclosed securely in front of him.
“I’ll ride back to Penance, and tell everyone… tell everyone the way is clear.”
“And we’ll stay here. If that monster shows itself again, we know how to fight it,” the stout man ensured. The young cowboy nodded.
Hex’s wolf limped to him. He stroked its ear, then worked up the nerve to look at Eli and me.
“I’ll be takin’ you to Green River,” he croaked.
And so he did.
***
We did not speak to our scarred stranger for all the remainder of the journey. He led our horses to town. Without us asking, he gruffly convinced the local hostelry to provide Eli and me with rooms. Then he rode west; a wolf in tow, and a heavy coat on his back.
Eli and I would find lasting sanctuary in a mission, in the heart of Arizona territory. It was 1882 by then. Our son Hadley would come to us in the summertime of 1883.
I pray as I have prayed in these many years since, that Mr. Jonah Hex did cease to be that man all in grey, that never did let another tend to his wounds.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by
craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technologicalexplosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
Un Sikh Amritdhari (initié dans l’ordre du Khalsa) doit garder sur lui en permanence cinq articles de foi.
1 Kesh: les cheveux et poils non coupés ni taillés (les cheveux sont attachés en chignon et couverts d’un Keski (Turban).
2 Kangha : Le peigne sikh,en bois, gardé en permanence dans les cheveux en tant que symbole de propreté.
3 Kacchera : un short sikh utilisé comme sous-vêtement et habillement minimum. II symbolise la décence et la chasteté.
4 Kara: un bracelet de fer porté au poignet droit (ou gauche pour les gauchers) qui protège le poignet et symbolise la retenue dans les actes.
5 Kirpan: une épée portée en bandoulière dans son fourreau par une bande de tissu (Gatra), souvent de la taille d’un poignard avec une lame de 12 cm minimum.
A Sikh Amritdhari (initiated into the order of Khalsa) must keep him permanently five articles of faith.
1 Kesh: Hair and hair uncut or cut (the hair is tied in a bun and covered with a Keski (Turban).
Kangha 2: The Sikh comb, wooden, kept permanently in the hair as a symbol of cleanliness.
3 Kacchera: Sikh shorts used as underwear and clothing minimum. It symbolizes decency and chastity.
4 Kara: a iron bracelet worn on the right wrist (or left for lefties) that protects the wrist and symbolizes restraint in action.
5 Kirpan: a sword carried slung in its sheath by a band of tissue (Gatra), often the size of a dagger with a blade of 12 cm minimum.
The world seems gone crazy and so the good old values of honesty and decency, but it is up to each of us to make sure that good will always triumph against evil, each of us has a unique mission.....
Vintage postcard, no. 3120.
American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).
Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC-Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.
With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck made the decision to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figures in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982) in which he played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also been awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 till 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.
Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Swiss-German-British postcard by News Productions, Baulmes / Filmwelt Berlin, Bakede / News Productions, Stroud, no. 56501. Photo: Collection Cinémathèque Suisse, Lausanne.Brigitte Bardot and Yves Robert in Les Grandes Manoeuvres/Summer Manoeuvres (René Clair, 1955), produced by Filmsonor and Rizzoli Films.
Beautiful French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she established herself as an animal rights activist and made vegetarianism sexy.
Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying a modeling career and found herself in May 1949 on the cover of the French magazine Elle. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand/Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953 she attended the Cannes Film Festival where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956 she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. She made her first US production in 1953 in Un acte d'amour/Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.
Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smashing success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. Woman's immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme/And God Created Woman (1956), directed by her husband Roger Vadim, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.
Et Dieu créa la femme/...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped her international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten' and fascination of her in America consisted of magazine photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad, or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theaters like lemmings.BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne/La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957) which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur/Love is my profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "this Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defense attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre is able to shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous and deadly side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960 postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.
Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957 and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre/Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career. Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée/Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at Films de France: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the highpoint of her career when she agreed to make this film with high profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names, was based on an actual incident and is a resonant image of a celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterward Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.
Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men including Sami Frey, her co-star in La Vérité/The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris/Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963). She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres/Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires/Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses/Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury, and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.
Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973 just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976 she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewelry and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990's she became also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France, and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal is a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularizing bikini swimwear, in early films such as Manina/Woman without a Veil (1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photoshoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."
Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (Films de France), Films de France, Wikipedia, and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technological explosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
OPEN LETTER TO PAUL JAISINI: “IF THERE’S GOD OR P. JAISINI
DEAR PAUL:
Please give us all hope for the new resurrection of the invisible and visible after the terror of the visual is overpowering and had removed all the essential human qualities.The visual had enslaved all human race into submission, we need the new INVISIBLE premises to be free of the visual terror to return to the DESIRE to possess to cherish. We had lost the desire with the possession of the images, of the unlimited choices. For example… I will SEE enough juice for my memory to keep me for craving it - my daily dose of the search — and the resources are vast - images of the imaginable future girlfriends I could had chosen but have no interest in… Another day of looking and processing. Same as the old girl who calls it: ALWAYS LOOKING AT AND ALWAYS JUDGING. I think I am now not a man — the visual terror had done me in. I turned into “the eyes”.
I can possess the images of so many young girls that in the end of the possession I forget my initial interest.
My voyage had one direction — I was looking for a treasure, but in the process I had forgotten all about the trip and reduced my purpose to the mere observation. I had even forgotten my normal routine and had changed personally. No longer do I want to hold the treasure. I am happy with the process. I don’t ever want to end it. And its something in my imaginable control. I can freely continue to consume the given information (the female images) as a collection of my new memory that stores these images to just process and not to choose.
This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.
With the power of the Pacific below one's feet,
Lies a door to the underworld beneath the sea.
Awesome power of crushing blows,
Sending shivers of fear even the brave knows.
Tidal surges hitting with a fury pace,
Even the strong-willed feel Thor's rage.
With no protection keeping the sea at bay,
Fierceness of each wave can make for a bad day.
Twisting and churning with primitive chaos,
An invitation to the underworld paradox.
Clad at the entrance with layers of foam,
Even the strongest amongst us call for home.
If one so chooses to knock at the door,
Faces the farewell locking rush of the tidal-bore.
The mighty hammer hits with a vengeance,
Breaking wills of those serving penance.
Standing before the door struck with utter awe,
Chancing something beautiful amidst death's call.
Purple Dude Poetry
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes, national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily selfies and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technological explosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
OPEN LETTER TO PAUL JAISINI: “IF THERE’S GOD OR P. JAISINI
DEAR PAUL:
Please give us all hope for the new resurrection of the invisible and visible after the terror of the visual is overpowering and had removed all the essential human qualities. The visual had enslaved all human race into submission, we need the new INVISIBLE premises to be free of the visual terror to return to the DESIRE to possess to cherish. We had lost the desire with the possession of the images, of the unlimited choices. For example… I will SEE enough juice for my memory to keep me for craving it - my daily dose of the search — and the resources are vast - images of the imaginable future girlfriends I could had chosen but have no interest in… Another day of looking and processing. Same as the old girl who calls it: ALWAYS LOOKING AT AND ALWAYS JUDGING. I think I am now not a man — the visual terror had done me in. I turned into “the eyes”.
I can possess the images of so many young girls that in the end of the possession I forget my initial interest.
My voyage had one direction — I was looking for a treasure, but in the process I had forgotten all about the trip and reduced my purpose to the mere observation. I had even forgotten my normal routine and had changed personally. No longer do I want to hold the treasure. I am happy with the process. I don’t ever want to end it. And its something in my imaginable control. I can freely continue to consume the given information (the female images) as a collection of my new memory that stores these images to just process and not to choose.
Batman: tip of the iceberg 1/2
(First scene takes place at the same time as the gunman 4/4)
Bruce wakes up to find himself hanging by his legs in the freezer room of what seems to be the iceberg lounge. Extremely ostentatious and really quite cold. A place he’s visited many times what with being one of the richest men in the world. He looks around the room for some way to make an escape. He notices the latch of a skylight on the ceiling behind him. He must be on the top floor. He begins to attempt to swing himself in order to take hold of the latch but it is not an easy task to do with tied up hands. He pauses for a moment. Once more he attempts to grab the latch but is soon distracted by the echoing sound of bullets. There’s a shootout in the bar. Just what he needs. Again he try’s his luck at the skylight, this time succeeding with the motivation of not being shot. His hands are tied by a single thick rope which now rests tediously around the latch. He begins to move his arms back and forth slowly weakening the bond of the rope and finally releasing his hands. Now with the use of his hands he removes a batarang from his pouch and cuts, in one movement the rope which ties his legs. He drops to the ground, landing on his feet and edges cautiously towards the freezer door. The shooting stops so unable to unlock the door he prepares for a fight
———————————————————
(Second part continues on from the gunman 4/4)
Oswald: and tell me Floyd. What compelled you to play along with carmine. The mans a shambles. I’d have to kill him if I ever met him in the flesh
Floyd: let’s just say I liked the cash he was paying me. I wasn’t tight for money or anything cos I usually demand a lot with my normal jobs but once he was willing to double my 5 grand, I knew it had to be done and not killing anyone seemed worth it at that point
Oswald: well we both saw how that worked out for The bastards. Haha. Excellent work on those two henchmen Floyd and the batman well. That’s not an easy task to carry out!...any way moving on here is the freezer. Shall we take a look
Floyd: I’ll go in first. There’s no knowing what he’s been up to in there
Lawton takes the key from Oswald and unlocks the door. Far easier than the paper clip he used before. He steps into the ice cold atmosphere of the room and notices there’s something missing. Or someone that is
Floyd: Oh shit...he’s gone
Oswald: what! Gone?! How?!
Cobblepott peers into the freezer room until his sight is blocked. Blocked by the black silhouette of the batman
He lurches forwards grasping the sharp end of his cane, Missing the batman who is now on the other side of his small,pale body
Floyd turns around and fired rapidly in the direction of the moving batman
Oswald: get the rat!!
Floyd puts his mask on and chases the bat. He fires several rounds but the bat drops from the balcony and heads towards the back door. Floyd begins to chase after him but is then bought to a halt by Oswald
Oswald: no no! He’s not worth it. We have plans to be acting upon. Once we have the power in this city the batman will have lead in his head. And you will put it there! Do not worry about that for one minute!
———————————————————
The batcave
After returning to the cave, Bruce takes note of a distant sound coming from up the stairs and within the manor.
He then recognises two voices. The first of course being the voice of his old butler and the man he for a long time has considered a father. The second
however, is completely new to Bruce and without hesitation he tears away his blood stained batsuit, proceeding to quickly dress himself in an un ironed shirt and some black chinos. Completely shoeless he makes his way up to the house to find Alfred and another sitting about the kitchen table talking as if they are two old friends from before Bruce’s time. Which is likely due to the fact that they are. The man talking to Alfred is around the same age as Bruce’s father and has short yet chaotic afro hair only slightly grey at the tips. Engulfing the mans small and narrow eyes are a pair of huge circular glasses. Alfred notices Bruce’s standing by the doorway and immediately introduces the man
Alfred: Bruce! You remember Lucius?
Lucius Fox: I don’t imagine you do. You were only a child when I last saw you
Yes. Lucius Fox. Bruce remembers the man instantly. An old and dear friend of both His father and Alfred, he held an important job at Wayne tech, being responsible for much of their technological innovations over the years
Bruce: yes. Of course. It’s been a long time. I do remember you though. A good friend of my father.
Lucius: most certainly Bruce. Your dad was a great man. I owe more than my life to that man. And it goes without saying that he had a hell of a lot more sense when it came to business than the new guy.
Bruce: yes it’s true. I’m all his time my father kept both Queen industries and lexcorp where they belonged. But ever since we lost him, nothings been quite the same really. In terms of both business and spirit....anyway enough of that. What brings you here Lucius? Besides, of course, friendship
Lucius: Alfie here was telling me about your new project and i thought I could lend a hand.
Bruce: you told him?!
Alfred: about your newfound passion for collecting classic sports cars. Yes I did. How else would the man know to develop these fantastic new blue prints
Lucius pushes several blue prints towards Bruce and begins to explain his work with a great sense of pride
Lucius Fox: now I’m sure you recognise this old car as your very own fathers from 20 odd years ago. If there was one thing besides family that that man loved with every bone in his body, it was that car. As well as mentioning your new hobby, Alfie brought up that it was merely just rotting away in your garage and that to me was a real damn shame. Something had to be done. So I drew up these blueprints, made some calls and orders and with some hope I’ll have her fixed up soon enough and she’ll be flying faster than she ever did back when your old man first took her out.
Bruce: wow. Lucius. You didn’t have to do this. These alone are a work of art. It’ll be a thing of beauty. I truly will owe you
Lucius: haha no. Let’s just say It’s payback for the things your dad did for me back in the day. Making it as an engineer in the 50s wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for a black man you know. He never judged me for what I looked like,where I came from. Luther did of course. But not him
Bruce: well I’m glad he didn’t Lucius. And you owe him nothing. Common decency should be free. We both know that
Lucius: thanks Bruce means a lot from his son....anyway I’ll be going now. Got a bus to catch. And I’ll have that car fixed up in no time
Alfred: don’t be stupid Lucius! I’ll drive you home. It’s all my pleasure!
“Human decency is not derived from religion. It precedes it.”
― Christopher Hitchens, God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything
Christopher Hitchens (Part 1)
"Master Timothy!"
"Hey Al, glad to see you're alright."
"The feeling is mutual Master Timothy......Is your father alright?"
Tim lowers his head without saying a word. Though he doesn't say a single word his silence says it all. I take a moment to inspect him, his suit is torn in various places and there's signs of bruising on his face. From the looks of it Alfred and I got lucky.
"Is he...."
"Dead? I don't know. They made a point of making sure I saw them take him."
"If they made a point of you seeing him then surely it's for you to know they have him. Maybe they plan to force you both into a trap of some sorts."
"It certainly explains their interest in taking someone close to us. Seeing as how they couldn't take the two of us they had to take the closest thing to father figures we have."
"Closest thing to father figures? That man is my dad Bruce! They didn't take him because they couldn't take you, they took him because he's my dad! He might not know it but the man means everything to me! Why do you think I was so angry when he left Gotham in the first place!?"
"Tim I promise we'll..."
"Get him back? E'd better, because the last thing I'm going to let happen is another innocent party suffers because of us. First Steph and her family, now my own family. I swear Bruce, I'm not going to lose him the way Steph lost her family."
"He'll be alright Master Timothy. I'm sure of it."
"I hope so Alfred. I really hope so."
Tim takes time to remove his cape and mask as Alfred comes to rest his hand on Tim's shoulder.
"How did he know about us?"
"I'm not sure. But he's known for a while."
"....He's known a while?"
"The night I faced him in the sewer tunnel he used my name. As far as I knew it was only me that was compromised."
"Yet despite the fact that you're Bruce Wayne, one of the most high profile figures in Gotham you thought that he only knew about your identity!?" I'm sorry Bruce but I'm sure Buddy Standler could figure out who Robin is if he knew who Batman was. You should of told me."
"It wasn't important to you at the time."
"WASN'T IMPORTANT?!"
"You were preoccupied with the Film Freak case, I didn't want to distract you from your work."
"I couldn't give a damn if I was tied up with Film Freak! If I had been compromised I'd tell you, so you could prepare for it. I thought you'd at least have the common decency to do the same for me."
"I'm sorry. I should of told you the moment I learned i'd been compromised."
"You should of. I swear to god Bruce, if something happens to him. It's your fault."
With that Tim walks away to remove his costume and clean his wounds. I've put that poor boy through hell tonight. Several near death experiences in the fight against the Crimson Knight and now his father has been taken, all because this man wants me dead. To complete his 'ascension' whatever the hell that means.
"What now?"
"Until the Crimson Knight is dealt with the Nightmare protocol remains in effect. None of us leave the premises."
"You're just going to sit here and wait for him to come here?"
"No Alfred. He took Jack Drake to force Tim and I to come to a battlefield of his own choice."
"Home field advantage sir?"
"Probably. We don't have to worry for Jack. He's the bait. All we can do for the moment is prepare ourselves. We won't know what we're walking into so it's important that every scenario is accounted for."
"Well make sure you get some rest. It's all well and good preparing all these counter measures but they're useless if you're too exhausted to use them."
"I will Alfred."
"I'll speak to Master Timothy. Hopefully calm him down a bit."
"Look after him Alfred, but don't try to calm him down. He has every right to despise me right now."
"It'll be alright in the end Master Bruce. These things always work out in the end."
-------------------------------
Twelve Hours Later
Based on the Crimson Knight's previous tactics it makes logical sense his home field advantage will focus on weakening me. It's what his first two encounters were focused on. The collapse of a warehouse on top of me to render me immobile making me an easy target. The second encounter in the sewer tunnels, intended to hinder Tim's agility. It's clear as day he tries to weaken his opponents strength, the question really is how will he attempt to weaken me?
Another explosion?
Small combat ground?
Maybe use Jack as a shield?
What could he be planning?
"Long night?"
"Victor? What are you doing here?"
"You missed your monitor duty. Barry isn't happy with you. He had to cancel a dinner date with Iris to cover your shift."
"Tell him I'll pay for their next night out. But until then I'm busy."
"When aren't you busy?"
"Monitor duty."
"Hard to believe people claim to of never seen the Batman smile."
"What do you want Victor?"
"I want to know what's going on Bruce. You've never skipped monitor duty. Heck at times you've volunteered to do shifts for others simply to avoid special occasions."
"Your point being?"
"Something serious must be going on for you to skip your shift without any notice. Not to mention when I interfaced with your computer it said you've activated your nightmare protocol. Isn't that for if your identity becomes exposed?"
"That information is on a need to know basis."
"Given how you're a member of the Justice League, I think we need to know."
I lean against my work bench and take a deep breath. My eyes are struggling to stay open, I think I've been awake for over twenty four hours. Maybe that's the reason I decided to tell Vic about what's going on.
"Yes. I've been compromised. Same for Tim as well. His father's been abducted by a man calling himself the Crimson Knight."
"Crimson Knight? Never heard of him."
"I have my suspicions, but he knows that I'm Bruce Wayne."
"Do you know how he found that out? What he wants?"
"What he wants is simple. He wants to kill me."
"Any particular reason?"
"Apparently if he's able to slay me he'll complete his ascension. Whatever the hell that means. In regards to how he knows the man behind the mask, that's still a mystery to me. But it's something I intend to find out."
"Is there any way I can help? Maybe I get the others to lend a hand."
"I have my leads and I'll figure this out Victor. This psychopath only wants me so he's my problem to deal with."
"You don't have to do this alone Bruce."
"Maybe I don't. But I'm going to anyways. My allies have suffered enough already. I won't let anyone else suffer because of me. I have to do this by myself Vic."
Vic pauses for a moment. Like the others he never likes it when I reject their offer of help which is completely understandable. In their eyes I'm just an self righteous ass who is letting his pride to dictate his actions. I should know, that's what I think when one of them rejects another Leaguer's help. Ideally it would be nice to ask the League for help. I bet we could find Jack with in an hour but for all I know he's prepared for such a scenario.
The Crimson Knight knows a lot about the Batman and his allies in Gotham. It's perfectly possible he's prepared for possible intervention by the League and I won't endanger any others.
"Alright. I'll cover your monitor duty shifts until you've dealt with this."
Vic turns to walk away as he prepares to remotely trigger the Watchtower's teleporter.
"Don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything."
I pause for a moment before walking towards him.
"Victor..."
He quickly turns to look at me.
"Where's Diana right now?"
"She should be on the Watchtower. Why?"
"I need a favour from her...."
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technological explosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
OPEN LETTER TO PAUL JAISINI: “IF THERE’S GOD OR P. JAISINI
DEAR PAUL:
Please give us all hope for the new resurrection of the invisible and visible after the terror of the visual is overpowering and had removed all the essential human qualities.The visual had enslaved all human race into submission, we need the new INVISIBLE premises to be free of the visual terror to return to the DESIRE to possess to cherish. We had lost the desire with the possession of the images, of the unlimited choices. For example… I will SEE enough juice for my memory to keep me for craving it - my daily dose of the search — and the resources are vast - images of the imaginable future girlfriends I could had chosen but have no interest in… Another day of looking and processing. Same as the old girl who calls it: ALWAYS LOOKING AT AND ALWAYS JUDGING. I think I am now not a man — the visual terror had done me in. I turned into “the eyes”.
I can possess the images of so many young girls that in the end of the possession I forget my initial interest.
My voyage had one direction — I was looking for a treasure, but in the process I had forgotten all about the trip and reduced my purpose to the mere observation. I had even forgotten my normal routine and had changed personally. No longer do I want to hold the treasure. I am happy with the process. I don’t ever want to end it. And its something in my imaginable control. I can freely continue to consume the given information (the female images) as a collection of my new memory that stores these images to just process and not to choose.
Lucio-Fontana-cuts-Andy-Warhol-Campbell-Soup-Invisible-Painting-Paul-Jaisini
Italian postcard in the series Divi del Cinema by Vetta Traldi, Milano, no 232.
Voluptuous American actress Mamie Van Doren (1931) was a sex symbol of the 1950s and 1960s. Van Doren starred in several exploitation films such as Untamed Youth (1957), loaded with rock 'n' roll and juvenile delinquency. Her onscreen wardrobe usually consisted of tight sweaters, low-cut blouses, form-fitting dresses, and daring swimsuits. Mamie and her colleague blonde bombshells Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield were known as 'The Three M's.'
Mamie Van Doren was born Joan Lucille Olander in Rowena, South Dakota, in 1931. She was the daughter of Warner Carl Olander and Lucille Harriet Bennett. In 1942 the family moved to Los Angeles. In early 1946, Van Doren began working as an usher at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. The following year, she had a bit part on an early television show. She also sang with Ted Fio Rito's band and entered several beauty contests. She was married for a brief time at seventeen when Van Doren and her first husband, Jack Newman, eloped to Santa Barbara. The marriage was dissolved quickly, upon her discovery of his abusive nature. In the summer of 1949, at age 18, she won the titles Miss Eight Ball and Miss Palm Springs. Van Doren was discovered by producer Howard Hughes the night she was crowned Miss Palm Springs. The pair dated for five years. Hughes provided her with a bit role in Jet Pilot at RKO Radio Pictures. Her line of dialogue inconsisted of one word, "Look!". The following year, 1951, she posed for famous pin-up girl artist Alberto Vargas, the painter of the glamorous Vargas Girls. His painting of Van Doren was on the July 1951 cover of Esquire magazine. Van Doren did a few more bit parts in RKO films, including His Kind of Woman (John Farrow, 1951) starring Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell. Van Doren then began working on the stage. She was a showgirl in New York in Monte Proser's nightclub version of Billion Dollar Baby. Songwriter Jimmy McHugh discovered her for his musicals, then decided she was too good for the chorus line and should have dramatic training. She studied with Ben Bard and Bliss-Hayden. While appearing in the role of Marie in a showcase production of Come Back, Little Sheba, Van Doren was seen by Phil Benjamin, a casting director at Universal International. In 1953, Van Doren signed a contract with Universal Studios. They had big plans for her, hoping she would bring the same kind of success that 20th Century Fox had with Marilyn Monroe. Van Doren, whose signing day coincided with the inauguration of President Eisenhower, was given the first name Mamie for Ike's wife, Mamie Eisenhower. Universal first cast Van Doren in a minor role as a singer in Forbidden (Rudolph Maté, 1953), starring Tony Curtis. Interested in Van Doren's allure, Universal then cast her again opposite Curtis in The All American (Jesse Hibbs, 1953), playing her first major role as Susie Ward, a wayward girl who is the man-trap at a campus beer joint. In Yankee Pasha (Joseph Pevney, 1954), starring Jeff Chandler and Rhonda Fleming, she played a slave girl, Lilith. In 1955, she had a supporting role in the musical Ain't Misbehavin' (Edward Buzzell, 1955) and starred in the crime-drama, Running Wild (Abner Biberman, 1955). Soon thereafter, Van Doren turned down a Broadway role in the play Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, and was replaced by newcomer Jayne Mansfield. In 1956, Van Doren appeared in the Western Star in the Dust (Charles F. Haas, 1956). Though Van Doren garnered prominent billing alongside John Agar and Richard Boone, she appears rather briefly, as the daughter of a ranch owner. By this time, Van Doren had grown tired of Universal, which was only casting her in non-breakthrough roles. Therefore, Van Doren began accepting bigger roles in better movies from other studios, such as Teacher's Pet (George Seaton, 1958) with Doris Day and Clark Gable. She appeared in some of the first movies to feature rock 'n' roll music, such as Untamed Youth (Howard W. Koch, 1957). The film was originally condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency, but that only served to enhance the curiosity factor, resulting in it being a big moneymaker for the studio. Van Doren became identified with this rebellious style, and made some rock records. She went to star in several bad girl movies that later became cult films. These include Born Reckless (Howard W. Koch, 1958), High School Confidential (Jack Arnold, 1958), and The Beat Generation (Charles F. Haas, 1959). After Universal Studios chose not to renew her contract in 1959, Van Doren was now a free agent and had to struggle to find work.
Mamie Van Doren became known for her provocative roles. She was in prison for Girls Town (Charles F. Haas, 1959), which provoked censors with a shower scene where audiences could see Van Doren's naked back. As Eve in The Private Lives of Adam and Eve (Mickey Rooney, Albert Zugsmith, 1960) she wore only fig leaves, and in other films, like Vice Raid (Edward L. Cahn, 1960) audiences were clued in as to the nature of the films from the titles. Many of these productions were low-budget B-movies which sometimes gained a cult following for their high camp value. An example is Sex Kittens Go to College (Albert Zugsmith, 1960), which co-starred Tuesday Weld and Mijanou Bardot - Brigitte's sister. Mamie also appeared in foreign productions, such as the Italian crime comedy Le bellissime gambe di Sabrina/The Beautiful Legs of Sabrina (Camillo Mastrocinque, 1959) with Antonio Cifariello, and the Argentine film Una americana en Buenos Aires/The Blonde from Buenos Aires (George Cahan, 1961) with Jean-Pierre Aumont. Van Doren took some time off from her career and came back to the screen in 1964. That year she played in the German Western musical Freddy und das Lied der Prärie/In the Wild West (Sobey Martin, 1964), starring Freddy Quinn and Rik Battaglia. Tommy Noonan convinced Van Doren to appear in 3 Nuts in Search of a Bolt (Tommy Noonan, 1964). Van Doren had turned down Noonan's previous offer to star in Promises! Promises!, in which she would have to do nude scenes. She was replaced by Jayne Mansfield. In 3 Nuts in Search of a Bolt, Mamie did a beer-bath scene, but is not seen nude. She posed for Playboy to promote the film. Van Doren next appeared in The Las Vegas Hillbillys (Arthur C. Pierce, 1966) which co-starred Jayne Mansfield. It was the only time two of 'The Three M's' appeared together in a film. A sequel was titled Hillbillys in a Haunted House, but Van Doren turned this role down, and was replaced by Joi Lansing. She appeared in You've Got to Be Smart (Ellis Kadison, 1967), and the sci-fi film, Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women (1968), directed by the young Peter Bogdanovich (as Derek Thomas). In this film astronauts land on Venus and encounter dangerous creatures and meet sexy Venusian women who like to sun-bathe in hip-hugging skin-tight pants and seashell brassieres. In 1968, she was offered the role of a murder victim in the independent horror film The Ice House as a replacement for Mansfield, who died the previous year. She turned the offer down, however, and was replaced by Sabrina. During the Vietnam War, she did tours for U.S. troops in Vietnam for three months in 1968, and again in 1970. Van Doren also developed a nightclub act and did live theater. She performed in stage productions of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Dames at Sea at the Drury Lane Theater, Chicago, and appeared in Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? and The Tender Trap at the Arlington Park Theater. In the 1970s, Van Doren performed a nightclub act in Las Vegas as well. Van Doren had a supporting role in the Western The Arizona Kid (Luciano B. Carlos, 1970). Since then, Van Doren has appeared only in cameo appearances in low-budgeted films. To this date Van Doren's last film appearance was a cameo role in the comedy Slackers (Dewey Nicks, 2002). Van Doren's guest appearances on television include Jukebox Jury, What's My Line, The Bob Cummings Show, The Jack Benny Show, Fantasy Island, Burke's Law, Vega$, and L.A. Law. Van Doren released her autobiography, Playing the Field, in 1987 which brought much new attention and proved to be her biggest media splash in over 25 years. Since the book's publication she has often been interviewed and profiled and has occasionally returned to acting. Van Doren has been married five times. Her first marriage was to sportswear manufacturer Jack Newman whom she married and divorced in 1950. Her second marriage was to bandleader, composer and actor Ray Anthony whom she married in 1955. They had one son, Perry Ray Anthony (1956). The couple later divorced in 1961. When Van Doren's early 1960s, highly publicized, on-again off-again engagement to baseball player Bo Belinsky ended in 1964, she married baseball player Lee Meyers in 1966. They were divorced in 1967. Her fourth marriage was to businessman Ross McClintock in 1972. They met while working on President Nixon's reelection campaign; the marriage was annulled in 1973. Since 1979 she has been married to Thomas Dixon, an actor and dentist.
Sources: Wikipedia and IMDb.
The silence of the Colombian forests are disturbed by the sound of a tired engine and cracking twigs as the van meanders slowly down the dirt track road. From inside, Larry tries the best he can to steer the thing away from the ditches at either side of the road as he squints to look ahead.
Larry: You’re sure it’s down here?
Morden: Positive.
To the side of him, Eric leans forwards and observes the passing trees with the eyes of a small child on Christmas morning. He wipes his brow with his arm.
Morden: We passed a load of trees coming out. It can’t be far from here, I’m sure of it.
Larry: Well you let me know if you see any tree that looks familiar, okay?
Morden: Sure thing bo-Larry.
Behind them, Cliff sits perched on his seat eagerly listening to Rita, sat opposite him with a glowing expression. Any hostility obviously taking a break for the time being.
Rita: So I go in, and there’s me, Basil and this girl called Tammy. All very proper, thinks herself the next big thing.
Cliff: Uh-huh.
Rita: And the panel ask us to all come up one by one, stand on the spot and tell them something that makes us happy and something we fear. Do you follow?
Cliff: Yeah.
Rita: And Tammy of course decides she’ll go first, so up so goes and – Cliff, do tell me if I’m boring you?
Cliff’s head begins nod, but he catches himself and sits back with a start.
Cliff: Huh? No, no way.
Rita: What was I just saying?
Cliff: Actin’.
Rita: Acting. And?
Cliff: Uh… Tommy-
Rita: Tammy.
Cliff: Tammy was just about to… uh… to do actin’, or somethin’?
Rita: Are you asking me or telling me?
Cliff: …asking you?
Rita: Cliff, if you’re going to pretend to take an interest in my life, at least have the decency to-
But she’s cut off by Larry raising a hand to them from up front and the van slowing to a halt. She and Cliff turn to look at him, but before they can speak he brings a finger to his bandaged mouth to silence them. Cliff looks around restlessly and shrugs at him. Larry, still silent, brings his other hand to his ear and points outside. They listen for a moment, each staring out the windows, before Eric adjusts himself and speaks up in a nervous whisper.
Morden: What is it?
Larry: There’s someone out there.
Eric swallows and turns an alarmingly pale shade of white. Cliff ignores this and leans in to face him.
Cliff: If this has got somethin’ to do with you…
Morden: It hasn’t! I promise! I don’t know what’s going on.
They all look at each other for a second, basking in the glorious tension of the unknown.
Rita: Maybe it was a deer?
Larry: I don’t think you get deer in Colombia…
Morden: Oh no, I think you-
A rock smashes through the back window and thuds onto the carpet. For the briefest of moments there is calm, before the sounds of manic shouting fill the air around the van and Larry dives out of his seat.
Larry: GET DOWN!
Another projectile smashes into the front windscreen but fails to break it. Eric falls backwards off his seat and squeals as he hits the ground head first. Cliff and Rita get to their feet but dive for cover as something hits the roof and sends a loud bang echoing through the van.
The next few moments happen in a blur – Cliff struggles back to his feet as the door of the van is ripped open and a ragged, branch of a man dives in headfirst wielding a homemade spear. He goes to grab Cliff but is met with a robotic fist to the jaw. He falls backwards out the van as voices ring out from outside.
Voice: Protect the Idol! Protect him!
Rita grabs a hold of the window ledge and pulls herself up, but gasps as she notices two figures emerge from the undergrowth wielding spears and weighing up stones in their filthy hands. She attempts to make out who – or what – they are, but underneath their torn, faded clothing they could be anything. She can’t be sure, but it looks like one of them is wearing the worn remains of a Hawaiian shirt.
Rita: They look like crackheads!
Cliff: They are fuckin’ crackheads!
Cliff yells as another set of hands appear in the doorway and pull him outside. There is movement in the van and for a minute Rita thinks Larry has been knocked out, before she breathes a sigh of relief and watches as the Negative Spirit climbs out of his torso and darts for the door. It strikes Cliff’s attacker and he collapses backwards into the ditch. She goes to the door to look for Cliff, but shrieks as a stone flies through the window behind her and strikes her in the back of the head.
Rita trips down the step and lands on the dirty ground. All around her, emerging from the trees, are scatty, bedraggled figures, erratic in their movements and shouting unintelligible words at each other. She makes out about five of them before she notices Cliff, struggling as two more of the attackers attempt to restrain him. Overheard she sees the Spirit rear up and disappear around the other side of the van to the sound of more unintelligible shouting.
Voice: What is that thing?!
Voice: Forget it! We have the Idol! Protect him! Protect him!
She lifts her head off the ground as the figures surrounding Cliff produce a crude net and throw it over his head. She goes to shout, but is knocked back to the ground as another assailant tramples over her and goes inside the van.
Voice: There are more! More heathens!
Voice: Leave them! Protect the Idol!
She hears a groan from inside and watches in horror as Larry’s unconscious body is thrown across the interior of the van. The Spirit emerges from the other side and launches itself back into him, throwing Larry’s attacker off balance and sending them running back over her body and outside. She manages to pull herself up, noticing the skin on her arms beginning to melt, but regrets it as the man who had been inside the van turns and looks at her with wide, bloodshot eyes.
Voice: What about her? She is his muse!
Voice: Take the muse! Leave the others! Protect the Idol!
Rita goes to shout before the butt of a spear is brought down on her head and the world turns dark.
"No nipples, please - we are Maltese!"
They are 'more Catholic than the Pope' here ;) Which doesn't stop them from killing their journalists, or politicians messing with shady business featured in Panama Papers and the like...
In the context of events, this decency appeal could be funny if it wasn't rather sad :(
I've worn this dress twice now, and both times it was to cheer myself up. The first time was last year after a round of redundancies at work saw me lose a couple of close friends. And then again this weekend after the bunch of mendacious shit-stains who have been destroying this country for the past six years got re-elected by idiots who chose greed and fear over decency and humanity.
Anyway, it's a cute dress and maybe one day I'll wear it just because of that.
Make it clean, make it lean, make it decorated
Line it up, all in pairs, make it orchestrated
I'm a sucker for symmetry
Lock the door, what it's for, it's not complicated
Give the key, just to me, I'm not devastated
I'm a sucker for privacy
I'm a sucker for harmony
Chaos did never work for me
I'm in control of heart and soul
I'm a sucker for harmony
I'm a sucker for harmony
Let me show you my agony
You'll understand what I have planned
I'm a sucker for harmony
Another day that I've been on retreat
Another day to recover
Another task that I'll never complete
The day we prey on each other
The day I'll come to my senses
You make me lose it all again
And I fall into pieces
I think you'll never understand
Scrub your feet, wash your hands, make them disinfected
Don't come near, don't stay here
Don't feel disconnected
I'm a sucker for purity
Don't drink this, don't eat that
Only if it's heated
Please refrain from the stain
It just has been treated
I'm a sucker for decency
Another day that I've been under the siege
Another day to discover
My holy grail, it is never complete
And so I feed on another
The day I'll jump all the fences
Is the day when I lose it all
When I'm down on my knees yet
I've nowhere left to fall
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
BY STELLY RIESLING
Featured below is another original art work of mine in homage to THE PIONEER OF INVISIBLE ART — PAUL JAISINI. Forget all the copycats that came after him — Master Paul Jaisini was the *FIRST* of a totally original concept and the *BEST*. My favorite thing about him is that he’s a voice, not an echo, which is quite rare.
DISCLAIMER: This is for anyone who is a hater OR wishes to better understand me, what I’m all about, so you can decide whether I’m weird or normal enough for you — a kind of very loose manifesto, rushed and unrevised, full of raw uncut emotion that I don’t like to be evident in my writing as lately I prefer a more professional, formal style, so we can consider this a rough draft of the more polished writing to come when I have extra time. I might return to this text later and clean it up or break it into separate parts. Right now it’s a long-winded hot mess, so if you manage to make any sense of it, BIG PROPS TO YOU. lol …and if you manage to read it ALL, you have my solemn respect!!! in a day when reading has been reduced to just catchy headliners and short captions of images once in a while. The consequence of this one-liner internet culture is non-linear, tunnel thinking, which is baaaaaad.
There lives among us a most enigmatic and charismatic creature named Paul Jaisini who led me into the wonderful world of art, not personally, but through descriptions of his artworks in essays written and published online by his friend, which painted the most fascinating images in my mind. Early on as a kiddo, I experimented with photography, simple point and shoot whatever looked attractive to me. Digital manipulation of my photographs with computer software followed… and somehow I learned useful drawing techniques along the way to combine existing elements with nonexistent ones, which allowed me to elevate the context for my ideas. Later, I started creating my own digital art from scratch for my friends and family as a favorite pastime. They would shower me with praise and repeatedly encouraged me to share my “different” vision with the rest of the world… it took a while and wasn’t easy to overcome the insecurity of not being good enough along with a gripping fear of being harshly criticized, but one day I woman-ed up and started publishing my work on the web, reminding myself that my livelihood didn’t depend on a positive reception.
Paul Jaisini’s role in all this has been to not disgrace myself, even if what I do is just a hobby. And I would never do him and other genius artists the disservice of calling myself a professional because I know I’ll never be as good as any of the GIANTS of pre-modern history. Be the best or be nothing, no middle ground.
People’s jealousy in the past, future and present over my obsessive love of Paul Jaisini, which they are well aware is purely plutonic, has caused them to despise the man and has made many relationships/friendships impossible for me. I refuse to have such people in my life because by harboring any negativity towards Paul, they unknowingly feel that way about me and express it to me. It’s their own problem for not realizing this. Paul’s new art movement, Gleitzeit, shaped me into the allegedly awesome girl I am today, giving my art more edge, more “sexy” because it refined my vision of the world and propelled me to attain the skills necessary to not dishonor my family name through tenacious pursuit of perfection. Since the beginning of my life, I attempted to depict what I saw in visual, musical and literal forms, but continuously failed without adequate training and determination. Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit was the answer to my prayers. Who I am today I owe mostly to him and his selfless ideals of the artverse that I’ve given unconditional loyalty to (he has this cool ability for hyper-vision to see whole universes, not itty bitty worlds, hence I call it an artverse instead of art world, with him in mind). So again, anyone who hates Paul Jaisini hates ME because, regardless of what he means to you, he is the most important person in my life for making me ME. The way a famous actor, dancer or singer inspires others to act, dance or sing, Paul inspired me to become a better artist, better writer, better everything. More people would understand if he was a household name because they’re wired to in society. But we’re inspiring each other all the time in our own little communities without being famous, so if someone has the ability to change even ONE person’s life immensely with creativity, it is a massive achievement. And passionate folks like myself are compelled to scream it from the cyber rooftops. So here I am. It’s whatever.
Furthermore, I’d like to address here a few pressing matters in light of some recent drama brought on by both strangers and former friends. To start, I never judge the passions, interests or likes of others, which are often in my face all over the place, so likewise they have no right to judge any of mine. It is quite unfortunate and frustrating how very little understanding and education the majority of people have or want to have. Their logic is as primitive as a chipmunk when it comes to promotion of fine art on the web: “spamming, advertising, report!” It’s their own problem that they fail to understand what it’s about due to the distorted lens through which they see the world or inability to think for themselves; an inherent lack of perception or inquisitiveness. Well, guess what? Every single image, every animation, every video, every post dedicated to Mr. Paul Jaisini and “Gleitziet” (to elaborate: a revolutionary new art movement Paul founded with his partner in crime and personal friend, EYKG, who discovered him and believed in him more than anyone) has an important purpose. Every one of those things you run across is a piece of a puzzle, a move in a game, an inch down a rabbit hole; the deeper you go, the more interesting it gets; the more levels you pass, the more clues unfold, the greater the suspense and nearer the conclusion (yet further). You earn awesome rewards like enlightenment, spiritual revelations, truths, knowledge, wisdom and the most profound reward of all: the drive to improve yourself to the absolute maximum, so an unending, unshakable drive. People often make a wrong turn in this cyber game and go back a few levels or get stuck. Those that keep on pushing, however, will come to find the effort has been worth it. And what awaits you in the end of it all? The greatest challenge to beating the game: YOUR OWN MIND. You will be forced to let go of every belief you held before you had reached the last level, to completely alter your mindset and perception of the world, of life, of yourself. But by the time you’ve gotten to that point, it will be as easy as falling off a cliff! (It is a kind of suicide after all — death and rebirth of spirit.)
Paul Jaisini does NOT, *I repeat* does NOT use mystery and obscurity to his advantage as a clever marketing ploy, no, he’s too next level for that with a consciousness so rich, he should wear a radioactive warning sign (he’ll melt your brain, best wear a tinfoil hat in his presence as I certainly would.) The statement he makes is loud and clear, hidden in plain site for those who take the time to connect the dots and have enough curiosity to fuel their journey into unknown territory (an open mind and flexible perception helps a lot). Actually, anyone with an IQ above 90 is sure to figure it out sooner or later. Hint: You don’t have to SEE an extraordinary thing with your eyes to know it exists, to understand it and realize its greatness — you can only feel it in your bone marrow, your spinal fluid, your heart and soul. The moment you do figure it out, as the skeleton key of the human soul, it will unlock the greatness and massive potential buried deep within, changing the doomed direction humanity is undoubtedly headed. I don’t speak in riddles, I speak in a clear direct way that intelligent humans will understand, so I’m counting on them.
GIG is an international group of artists and writers that support Paul Jaisini’s Gleitzeit. We started off as an unofficial fan club of Jaisini in 1996, comprised of only 6 individuals spanning 3 countries, and eventually escalated in status to an official fan group across the entire globe. A decade later it had grown to hundreds of fans. Nearly another decade later, there are thousands. Let’s not leave out another delightful group of vicious haters that have been around for nearly as long as us since the late 90s and have also grown in impressive numbers. Now, for the record (and please write this one down because I’m sick of repeating myself), Paul Jaisini himself is not part of our group and has nothing to do with us. He loves and hates us equally for butchering his name and making him appear as a narcissistic nut-job in his own words. He casts hexes on us for the blinding flash we layer over the art that members contribute to GIG — “disgusting-police-lights, seizure-inducing-laser-lightshow, bourgeois-myspace-effects retarded-raver shit” in Paul’s words. Ahh, how we love his sweet-talking us. In a desperate attempt to please him, those among us who make the art and animations have spent countless hours and sleepless nights trying to solve a crazy-complex quantum-physics type of equation = how to not create tacky or tasteless content. He does fancy some of it now, we got better, that’s something! In the reason stated below, our mission just got out of hand at some point.
What little is known about Paul Jaisini, even in all this time, is he’s a horrible perfectionist who slaughtered hundreds of innocent babies — I mean — artworks of remarkable beauty created by his own right hand (mostly paintings, some watercolors and drawings). He’s a fierce recluse who wants nothing to do with anyone or anything in life. But those few of us who know of an incredible talent he possesses (one could go as far as calling it a superpower), could not allow him to live his life without the recognition he FUCKING DESERVES more than any artist out there living today and, arguably, yesterday. We use whatever means necessary to reach more people, lots of flash and razzle-dazzle to lure them into our sinister trap of a higher awareness. Mwahaha! The visual boom you’ve witnessed in both cyber and real worlds, that is GIG’s doing — two damn decades of spreading an art virus — IVA. InVisibleArtitis… or a drug as in Intravenous Art. It’s whatever you want it to be, honey.
Our Gleitzeit International Group (GIG) started off innocently enough and gradually spiraled out of control to fight the haters, annoying the hell out of them as much as humanly possible. They don’t like what we do? WE DO MORE AND MORE OF IT. But never without purpose, without a carefully executed plan in mind collectively. If we have to tolerate an endless tidal wave of everyone’s vomit — e.g., idiotic memes and comics; dumbed-down one-liner quotes; selfies; so-called “art photography” passed through one-click app filters; mindless scribbles or random splatters by regular folks who have the nerve to call themselves serious/pro artists; primitive images of pets, babies, landscapes, random objects, etc… then people sure as shit are gonna tolerate what we put out, our animated and non-animated visual art designed for our beloved master, Paul Jaisini, who has shown us the light, the right path to follow, taught us great things and done so much for us — and so in our appreciation of him, we stamp his name on everything, for the sacrifices he has made in the name of art, to save our art verse, he’s a goddamn hero. There’s a book being written in his dedication where little will be left to the imagination about him.
If Paul Jaisini was as famous as Koons or Hirst, for example, people would know it’s not him posting stuff online with his name on it but fans creating fanart like myself among others. But noooooo, such a thing is unfathomable to most people - the promotion of another artist. Like, what’s in it for us? Uhh, nothing?? This is all NON-PROFIT bitches, the way art should be. It’s a passion FIRST, a commodity/commercial product/marketable item LAST and least. Its been that way for us since the early 90s to this day. Not a single member of GIG has sold an art work (neither has Paul Jaisini who’s a true professional) and we want to keep it that way. We do it for reasons far beyond ego. So advertising? Really? How the hell do you advertise or sell thin air, you know, invisible paintings, invisible anything? Ha ha, very funny indeed. The idea here is so simple, your neighbor’s dog can grasp it. Our motives: replace fast food for the mind with fine art, actual fine art. You know, creativity? Conscious thought? Talent? Skill? Knowledge? All that good stuff rolled into one to bring viewers more than a momentary ooohand aaahh reaction. Replace the recycled images ad nauseum; repetitious, worn-out ideas; disposable, gimmicky, money-driven fast art for simpletons. Stick with the highest of ideals and save the whole bloody planet.
Fine art is often confused with craft-making. This often creates bad blood between classically trained artists who put out paintings that leave a lasting impression, that make strong conversation pieces, that are thought-provoking and deep… and trained craftspeople whose skills are adequate to create decorative pieces for homely environments — landscapes, still lifes, animals, pretty fairies, common things of fantasy, and other simplicity. Skills alone are not enough for high art, you need a vision, a purpose, the ability to tell a story with every stroke of your brush that will both fascinate and terrify the viewers, arousing powerful emotions, illuminating. I have yet to see a visible painting in my generation that does anything at all for me, other than evoke sheer outrage and disgust. What a terrible waste of space and valuable resources it all is.
Paul Jaisini leads, we follow. He wishes to remain unknown - so do most of us. I’m next in line, slipping into recluse mode, no longer wanting to attach my face, my human image to my art stuff. I wish to be a nameless, faceless artist as well, invisible like P.J., and in his footsteps I too have destroyed thousands of my own artistic photography and digital art made with tedious, labor-intensive handwork. The whole point of this destruction is achieving the finest results possible by letting go of the imperfect, purging it on a regular basis, to make way for the perfect. I love what I do so it doesn’t matter, I know I’ll keep producing as much as I’m discarding, keeping the balance. Hoarding is an enemy of progress, especially the digital kind as there’s absolutely no limit to it. It’s like carrying a load of bricks on your back you’ll never use or need.
The watering down of creativity that digital pack ratting has caused as observed over the years is most tragic. For the creative individual, relying on terabytes of stock photos or OSFAP as I call them (Once Size Fits All Photos) instead of making your own as you used to when you had no choice, being 100% original, is a splinter in the conscience. It’s not evil to use stock of, say, things you don’t have access to (outer space, deep sea, Antarctica, etc.), but many digital artists I know today can’t take their own shot of a pencil ‘cause they “ain’t got no time for that!” How did they have time before? Did time get so compressed in only a decade?
Ohhhhh, and the edits, textures, filters, plug-ins and what-have-you available out there to everyone and their cats… are responsible for the tidal wave of rubbish that eclipses the magnificent light of the real talents.
I can tell you with utmost sincerity there is no better feeling on earth than knowing your creation is ALL yours, every pixel and dot, from the first to the last. It’s not always possible to make it so, but definitely the most rewarding endeavor. I’m most proud of myself when I can accomplish that.
Back to Paul Jaisini, from the start there have been a number of theories floating around on what his real story is. One of my own theories is that he stands for the unknowns of the world who can’t get representation, can’t get exhibited at a decent gallery because highly gifted/trained artists aren’t good enough - those kind of establishments prefer bananas, balloon dogs, feces, gigantic dicks/cunts, and all kinds of what-the-fucks…
So again, you don’t get the Paul Jaisini thing? That’s your problem. Don’t hate others for getting it. People are good, very good, at making baseless assumptions and impulsively spewing it as truth. They criticize and judge as if they’re high authorities on the subject yet they clearly lack education in fine art or art history and possess little to no talent or skill to back up their bullshit. My little “credibility radar” never fails. When they say I know this or I know that, I reply don’t say “I know” or state things as fact as a general rule of thumb - instead say “I assume/believe” and state the reasons you feel thus to appear less immature, especially about a controversial topic like invisible art. I have zero respect or tolerance for egomaniacs who think they know it all and act accordingly like arrogant pricks. Who can stand those, right? Once again, a good example would be: I, Stelly Riesling, believe everything I’ve written in this little manifesto to be correct based on personal experience and observation from multiple angles, thorough research and sufficient data collected from verifiable sources (and don’t go copying-pasting my own words back at me, be original). Just because you or I say so doesn’t make it so. Just because you or me think or believe so doesn’t make it true or right. I only ask that my opinions are regarded respectfully and whoever opposes them does so in a mature, civilized manner. We should only be entitled to opinions that don’t bring out the worst in us.
I don’t normally take such a position, but the time has come to stand up for what I believe in! It’s quite amusing and comical how haters think calling me names, attacking me or my interests or members of the project I’m part of for years is going to change something. It only makes more evident the importance of what I’m doing so I push on harder still.
Words of advise to those who can identify with me, with my frustrations over people’s reluctance to change their miserable ways, with our declining art world…
DON’T waste time on people who sweat the small stuff, whose actions are consistently inconsistent with their words. DO waste time on people who always keep their eye on the ball—the bigger picture of life.
Paul Jaisini’s invisible paintings are more than hype, more than your lame assumptions. Here’s one I got that’s pure gold: a cult! It started out as A JOKE OF MINE that was used against me. I told a then-good friend that he should come join our little “art cult” in a clearly lighthearted manner, and later he takes this idea I put in his head first and accuses me of being in an (imaginary) cult—the jokes on me eh?. But wait, aren’t cults religious? Our group consists of people around the world of different faiths (or none at all) so how could that ever work? If religion was about making fine (non-pop) art mainstream and bringing awesome, fresh, futuristic concepts to the collective consciousness, the world would not be so fucked up today because talent, creativity, originality and individuality would be the main focus, not superficial poppycock; those things would be praised and encouraged and supported in society by all institutions, not demonized and stigmatized.
Here is one thing I CAN state as solid fact: only one person close to Paul Jaisini knows the TRUE story, or at least some of it: EYKG. Everything else that has ever been said about him is myth, legend, gossip, speculation, the worst of which is said by jealous non-artists (wannabes, clones, posers, hang-ons, unoriginal ppl in general) and anti-artists (religious psychos, squares, losers and -duh- stupid ppl). Sadly, people are unable to see the bigger picture by letting their egos run their lives or repeating after others as parrots.
Commercial art, consumerism, and ignorance of the masses truly makes me want to curl up in a ball, not eat or drink or move until I die, just die in my sleep while dreaming of a better world, a world where real fine artists rule it with real fine art as they used to and life is beautiful once again….
Well I hope that settled THAT for now, or perhaps inadvertently made matters worse. I hope I didn’t sound too pissed from all these issues that keep popping up like penises on ChatRoulette… just got to me already! Can you tell? I had to put my foot down, stomp ‘em all!
To be continued, still lots more ignorance and pettiness to battle… Till then peace out my bambini. MWAH!
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MANIFESTO GLEITZEIT 2015
PROLOGUE
Paul Jaisini was like a messiah, as you wish, who saw/understood the impending end and complete degeneration of Fine art or Art become and investment nothing more than that. He predicted the bubble pops art when everybody would eventually become an artist, including dogs cats and horses, because they as kids followed the main rule: express yourself without skills or knowledge or any aesthetic concerns. J. Pollack started pouring paints onto canvases; Julian Schnabel, former cab driver from NY, suddenly decided he could do better than what he saw displayed in galleries, so he started gluing dishes on canvases; A.Warhol, an industrial artist who made commercial silk-screen for the factories he worked in, started to exhibit "Campbell's soup" used for commercial adds... and later the thing that made him an "American Idol": by copying and pasting Hollywood celebrities (same type of posters he made before for movie theaters).
When Paul Jaisini stood out against the Me culture in the US by burning all of his own 120 brilliant paintings (according to the then-new director of Fort Worth MoMa Museum, who offered hin an exhibition of his art in 1992, and later the Metropolitan Museum curator, Phillippe de Montebello, in 1994).Paul probably assumed all fellow true fine artists would join him or stand by him against corruption of the art world.
And after 20 years of his stand-off...the time has finally come today. Many artists and humanitarians around the world took a place beside him. His invisible Paintings became a synonym for the future reincarnation of fine art and long lost harmony. The establishment is in panic! The "moneybags" (as Paul Jaisini named them) are in panic, because they invested BILLIONS of dollars in real crap made by
craftsmen. Now they realize that the reputation of American legends of expressionism was nothing but a copy of Russian avant-garde" Kazimir Malevich, Vasiliy Kandinsky and tens of others from France and Germany.. US tycoon investors were spending billions on "Me more original, than you". "Artist Shit" is a 1061 artwork by the Italian artist Piero Manzoni. The work consists of 90 tin cans, filled with feces. A tin can was sold for £124,000, 180,000 at Sothebys, 2007.
EPILOGUE
Before I resume promoting and admiring a very important art persona on today's international art arena, I'd like to clear up some BIG questions; people ask continuously and subconsciously, directly & indirectly: "Why does the name Paul Jaisini, flood the Internet in such "obnoxious" quantities that it's started suppressing some other activities that my friends might share with the rest of the Internet's Ego Me only Me www society? I can't just answer this... so I'll try to explain why I'm writing this: Jaisini's followers keep posting art and info about,
He IMHO the only hope in quickly decomposing visual fine art. "Paul Jaisini realized many years ago, in 1994, when he declared (at that time to himself only) the start of a New era, a New vision, that he is trying to redirect from the rat race, started by an establishment in post-war New York, long before the Internet culture.
Sub related information: Adolf Gottlieb, Mart Rothko, etc (after visiting Paris France in 1933):
"We must forget analytical art, we must express ourselves, as a 5 year old child would, without a developed consciousness. Forget about results - do what you feel, EXPRESS yourself with your own unique style"
With this statement Mark Rothko starts to teach his students, degeneration of fine art begins, and the generation of war of styles took a start signal of the material race, greatly rewarded by establishment "individual" - eccentric craftsmen - show business clowns.
Sub related Information: In the summer of 1936, Adolf Gottlieb painted more than 800 paintings, which was 20X more than he created in his whole art career as a painter, starting from the time of Gottlieb becomes a founding member of "The Ten" group in NYC "Group of Ten" was a very peculiar, enigmatic group... Based on a religious point of view;(where a human figure was prohibited from being created)
GLOSSARY
IN 1997, Paul Jaisini's best friend Ellen Y.K.Gottlieb started a cyber campaign by promoting on a very young Internet, back then, Paul Jaisini's burned paintings as Invisible Paintings, visible only through poetic essays. She and a handful of people saw his originals and were devastated that nobody could ever see them again. "We, his fans, believe that someday Paul will recreate his 120 burned paintings if he has any decency and moral obligation to his fans, who have dedicated decades to make it happen, for their Phoenix to rise from the ashes and the whole world will witness that all these years we spent to get him back to re-paint the Visuals again were not in vain," - said E.Y.K.Gottlieb in 2014 during the 20th anniversary celebration of Invisible Paintings to GIGroup in NYCity. So now, hopefully, this clears up why I and others do what we do - our "cyber terrorism" of good art, dedicated to Paul Jaisini's return, which is & and was our mission & our goal. We post good art to fight "troll art" which is worthless pics, after being passed through 1-click filters of free web apps. We are, in fact, against this www pops pollution, done with "bubble art" by the out of control masses with 5 billon pics a day: Pics of cats, memes, quotes,national geographic sunsets and waterfalls, not counting their own daily "selfies: and whatever self-indulging Me-ego-Me affairs, sponsored happily by photo gadget companies like Canon, Nikon, Sony...who churn out higher quality madness tools at lower cost.
This way Government taking away attention from the real world crisis of lowest morality & economical devastation. The masses are too easily re-engineered/manipulated by the Establishment PopsStyle delivered to them by pop music and Hollywood "super" stars. In 1992 Paul Jaisini's Gleitzeit theory predict such a massive, pops self-entertain madness, following technologicalexplosion, but not in illusive scales.
Uber Aless @2015 NYC USA
NOTE Date's numbers and events can be slightly inaccurate.
#gleitzeit #paul-jaisini #invisible #painting #art #futurism #art-news,
Sikhism originated in the 15th century, in the Punjab region by Guru Nanak, who preached ideas that were radical for his age: he denounced Hinduism's oppressive caste system and Islam's gender discrimination, preaching that all people can commune with the divine equally, without the intervention of rituals or priests. The Sikh faith is a monotheistic religion, meaning Sikhs worship one God. The three core pillars of Sikhism are: vaṇḍ chakkō (sharing with others, helping those in need, as well as participating as part of a community), kirat karō (earning/making a living honestly, without exploitation or fraud, and speaking the truth at all times) and naam japna (meditating on God’s name to live a life of decency and humility).
The temporary distractions of the material world are seen as an illusion. The qualities of ego, anger, greed, attachment and lust are known as the Five Thieves that rob a person of their ability to realize their oneness with God and creation. Sikhs work to counteract the temptations of these qualities through the values of service, equality, and seeking justice for all. Sikhs also believe that one’s form on Earth is only a temporary vessel for the eternal soul. Thus, the death of the physical body is a natural part of the life cycle, while the soul remains. Death is not an end, but merely the progression of the soul on its journey toward God.
Nine more gurus succeeded Guru Nanak (Angad, Amar Das, Ram Das, Arjan, Har Gobind, Har Rai, Har Krishan, Tegh Bahadur, and Gobind Singh), and continued to spread his teachings across the world.
The last guru, Guru Gobind Singh, named the Sikh sacred text, the Guru Granth Sahib, to be the eternal Guru that would guide the Sikhs going forward. It consists of 1,430 Anks, or pages, and 6,000 Sabads, or line compositions, all are written in poetic verse and are aligning to the rhythmic forms of ancient north Indian classical music. At the core of the Guru Granth Sahib is a yearning for a world governed by divine justice, without oppression of any kind.
The final living guru, Gobind Singh, also established the Khalsa, or order of Sikh soldier-saints. They are recognizable by "The 5 k's," their physical articles of faith: Kesh (unshorn hair and beard), Kirpan (ceremonial sword), Kangha (comb), Kara (steel bracelet) and Kachha (drawers). The Dastar, or turban, is considered a spiritual crown, a token of remembrance of the Sikh principles.
Subathu, Himachal Pradesh, India