Latest posts from “Left Of Centre” board.

Re: Penile Renderings

leftofce — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 15:41:05 -0400

Another penis bandit strikes again. Though, as our previous posts will attest to, the picture itself is hardly original, the target is spot-on.

This time the victim is a drawbridge in St. Petersburg, and the implication quite political. The artists, Voina, created this massive rod to protest the FSB (the old KGB) and Interior Ministry. When erect this cock abuts the Interior Ministry building...

TV & Your Sister

leftofce — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 11:08:56 -0400

LOC Destructions Presents: TV Fucks Your Pretentious Sister

TV Fucks Your Pretentious Sister is a compilation of recent videos, performances, and animations produced by LOC. The piece is meant to explore pop culture and technology's formidable influence on personal and public identity while simultaneously granting you several opportunities to scout a nipple. The video is on exhibition from 5/1-9/1/10 in the Harry Wood Gallery in Tempe, AZ. Watch other films about the glorious everyday (a.k.a LOC's Quotidian Series) at the Left Of Centre Destructions Theatre.

Left of Centre Destructions is an independent film production company. LOC writes, directs, produces and acts in award-missing independent films.

Return to the Left Of Centre Destructions Theatre. to view more LOC films.

Summoned Surveillance

leftofce — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 20:03:30 -0500

Left Of Centre will be screening 6 short films on a video loop at Tuesday's Summoned Surveillance opening in the GSC and CDS03 Galleries. And you are of course invited to attend:

SUMMONED SURVEILLANCE
at the Graduate Student Center Gallery
Tuesday, February 16, 2009 | 6 – 9 p.m.

Light refreshments will be served.

About the exhibition:
Through an established live video / web feed in the artists’ shared studio, Summoned Surveillance invites online viewers to remotely observe and interact in real-time with the artists through a computer web browser. The new-genre, performance piece is meant to explore a range of issues including those related to privacy and voyeurism, intellectual property, and public and self-scrutiny. The installation investigates both the synthesis and disconnect between the actual and virtual realms, the artificial (re)presentation of reality in the electronic world, and contemporary culture’s obsession with watching reproduced realism in the media.

**If you are not able to make it to the opening, you can participate online: http://www.public.asu.edu/~ptchrist/cdso3.html
We will be hosting additional performances: http://www.asu.edu/gpsa/gsc/#GSC_Gallery

Bemusing Banksy

leftofce — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 16:48:44 -0500

The question being asked in art circles around the globe right now: Who is Banksy? His name and identity are unknown, but his stencils and graffiti are world famous. Even more so now that his work and his identity are front and centre at Sundance.

The better question to ask is why Banksy or any artist for that matter would want to maintain his/her anonymity? Certainly, Banksy could be making a pretty penny more by officially acknowledging his work and selling it to the rich. The hypocritical and ideologically indifferent elite would jump at the chance to own a piece of this brilliant artist. People have been known to chip off his work from their properties in vain attempts to sell them (without an official accreditation) at art auctions. Banksy could be drinking fine wine at top-notch restaurants without reservations, hobnobbing with the gentry, and signing autographs for wealthy youth who feel misunderstood by their apathetic parents. Leaving the rest of us wondering why then, Banksy, don't you show yourself?

But that is exactly what is wrong with the question: it assumes either a financial or fame based self-interest on the part of Banksy. And my guess is that Banksy knows better...

It is possible that Banksy keeps his identity under wraps solely because he doesn't want to get arrested for graffiti, but I like to think that Banksy is honest with himself. I like to believe that he knows himself enough to realize that once he sells-out, his work will never be the same. All the meaning, all the anger, all the love and all the profound insight behind his works would crumble without his character. While the art alone is evocative, and from a purely aesthetic perspective, talented, the beauty of Banksy is that it feels like he means it. Once he starts acknowledging his work, doing photo-ops and signing autographs, the intent - or at least the level of sincerity changes. No longer is he a masked crusader of the downtrodden, but just a guy with a good eye and some skills trying to make a buck. He is a voice of the voiceless, and to present his face instead of his work would render him mute.

After all, Banksy's work is about anonymity and the anonymous. It is about our ignorance of the slums, the industrial wastelands, the violence of the state and the hypocrisy of modern times. By being invisible himself, he provides his audience with a mirror that forces us to look inward at our role in these mistaken and forgotten environments. The strength of anonymity for the artist is that it forces the audience to deal directly with the art. If we cannot judge the art by the artist, we cannot deny its truth.

I for one hope that Banksy continues to elude the public, the sycophantic and talentless art critics, the unoriginal thieves, the investor / art collectors, and all those who can't seem to understand that some talent must not be owned - that some work was meant to brighten the lives of those on the streets, not just those in the penthouse.

Santo Spirito

leftofce — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 12:34:49 -0500

One of LOC's favorite destinations and our old backyard, Brunelleschi's Santo Spirito is both a architectural accomplishment and festive piazza.

A quick note to praise one of our ministers of propaganda's related academic endeavors. Here are some of el sloaner's beautiful architectural illustrations of the church.

Better Off Ted

leftofce — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 18:30:55 -0500

The brilliant minds and ultra-paranoid egos that gave you leftofcentre.org have found yet another show that mimics their killer style: Better Off Ted.

Check out Veridian Dynamics for equally snarky yet completely unoriginal attitudes on corporate lifestyle. Thieving bastards... Funny commercials, though.

I wonder if the Despair folk would be interested in joining our class action suit (errr jeans and a t-shrit) against Verdinian.

Re: It's 3 in the Morning...

leftofce — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 10:45:18 -0500

Maxi Jazz's amazing, even if dated, single came to mind...

Deep in the bosom of the gentle night
Is when I search for the light
Pick up my pen and start to write
I struggle, fight dark forces
In the clear moon light
Without fear... insomnia
I can't get no sleep

I used to worry, thought I was goin' mad in a hurry
Gettin' stress, makin' excess mess in darkness
No electricity, something's all over me, greasy
Insomnia please release me and let me dream of
Makin' mad love to my girl on the heath
Tearin' off tights with my teeth
But there's no release, no peace
I toss and turn without cease
Like a curse, open my eyes and rise like yeast
At least a couple of weeks
Since I last slept, kept takin' sleepers
But now I keep myself pepped
Deeper still, that night I write by candle light
I find insight, fundamental movement, uh
So when it's back this insomniac take an original tack
Keep the beast in my nature under ceaseless attack
I gets no sleep
I can't get no sleep

I can't get no sleep
I can't get no sleep
I need to sleep, although I get no sleep
I need to sleep, although I get no sleep

Damn You Macintosh

Asteroid B/12 — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:22:45 -0500

I’m sitting behind a group of people who are searching the internet using my computer. I’m embarrassed because when they begin to type in a website on the address bar porn sites begin to pop up automatically. It’s Macintosh’s devise for convenience so you don’t have to type in the whole address of somewhere you visit frequently. The sites you visit the most come up. When the beginning of the porn website word is similar to the title of the website your actually looking for, the scroll comes down with that similar porn site. I’m not even sure if they noticed or not. Or maybe they acted like they didn’t notice just to advert an awkward situation. Either way, it was embarrassing for me, that’s for hell sure.

It's 3 in the Morning...

Asteroid B/12 — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:15:33 -0500

It’s three in the morning and I’ve just had one of the most terrifying dreams of my life. I was in the same delusional state as I was in the first dream I wrote above. I’ve once again stopped taking the correct dosages of my medication. Instead of taking two tablets, the past couple of nights I’ve only taken one. Tonight it finally affected me. The beginning sequence was not bad at all, I was walking along a beach with an African American family and one of the sons was explaining the travel experience he had had getting here. After what seemed a couple of minutes it abruptly changed to myself lying in a bed in a hotel room. But the room also had another room connected to it that served as a Subway, the place that I currently work at. My next recollection, I’m in the adjacent room where I’m cleaning the sneeze glass of the food products and Nessuno, the owner of Subway (25 year old, tall lanky bloke) asked me to get him some…oh I can’t fucking remember Goo Gone ( the abrasive transparent liquid that one uses to scrub off tough products) that was located in the basement. Incidentally, the basement happened to be the one in our previous old house on Mockingbird Lane. I walked down to find it and none of the lights worked…no actually they did at first, but then I walked into Dad’s workshop closet and the light in there didn’t work. When I found the Goo Gone and walked back out to the larger room the lights were out. I continued back upstairs where shit really hit the fan. When I reached the top of the stairs Nessuno was standing right there with this sinister, robotic look on his face like right out of a Hitchcock flick. Immediately he questions, “why did you do that Tysen” several times in the most menacing, terrifying voice like that of a serial killer in a movie. At this point we’re still in the house on Mockingbird, standing at the top of the stairs in the kitchen. Nessuno, while repeating this hysterical threat, begins to assert himself as if to physically harm me. I retreat to the garage door, try to unlock and get out before he can catch me. I don’t, but before he’s upon me the dream redirects and I’m back in the hotel room. Everything is dark and I enter the adjacent kitchen room to bring the Goo Gone back to Nessuno. Another girl employee is there, but it’s dark as well, the lights don’t work and she is, for all intensive purposes, not there. It gets a little hazy here, but I know I’m still highly threatened by Nessuno. At this point I can remember waking up in a half conscious, half unconscious state in my room here, but like the first dream I wrote about, I can’t exactly figure out how to remain awake.
Now I’m slipping in and out of the dream. When I wake in a half conscious slumber I try to think of killing Nessuno. I try to reinforce my thoughts as to arm myself when I enter the dream state again. I focus on shooting Nessuno with a gun and try to picture the bullets actually hitting and tearing his flesh so he can’t get me. I then picture myself with knives and swords slashing at him in a pre-emptive attack mode for when I enter the back into the unconscious realm. I remember lying in the hotel bed shadow punching in an effort to train myself for protection, but it is very hard to control and I feel as though my arms are fettered by an extreme weight. I can even remember provoking Nessuno to come out of the Subway room so I can shoot him. I picture this green and yellow ( Subway colors) aiming target, like in a video game, and try to picture Nessuno coming into alignment with that. After doing that for a while, I sit in bed listening to the TV set that slowly becomes audible. A porno is playing on the set and everything in my visual sight is distorted. It’s like looking through a set of those drunk goggles. I cannot for the life of me focus on anything. It is most obscure and random to try and explain. I’m able to find a remote control so I flip through the channels. When I walk in the room it’s as if I go somewhere and then return right back to where I was. I move but don’t actually get anywhere. A very strange and peculiar phenomenon. I don’t exactly control the TV set either, it more or less has a mind of its own. I can remember seeing some American football on the tele and maybe a Sportscenter type of show but it never lasts. All this time I’m slipping in and out of consciousness, able to see that I’m in my room here at Essex but not really able to get up. It is very confusing and frightening like the first dream. I even remember throwing the sheets off myself in an attempt to free myself from the dream state but I feel very tired and I eventually slip back in. This is very stressful for me as I am confused and exhausted from the dream.
None of the lights in the room work, of course. I’m sweating at this point in reality and can feel it dripping down my leg. Again I resume the dream state. This time I’m moving about the room and trying to figure how to get out I guess. The way I recount the story is not exact for I cannot even begin to explain the peculiarity of this dream. Again, everything is blurred and distorted, another but different porno is playing on the tele. A man with a very large penis is banging this girl in a western shoot-out type of cheesy porno scenario. After being interrupted by some shooting outside he stops his fucking, alights from the female and walks towards the nearest door where he can here the shooting. His enormous penis is still wagging about as he begins to wap it against the door of the room that there in while shooting the person who’s outside, obviously doing all this with great delight. I venture to the hotel door, open it after hearing someone outside walking about, and peer out to look if I can see anybody. It is useless as everything is blurred and distorted like it always is. I shut the door and proceed to walk towards the TV again. It is very hard walking for my balance is off and the normal physics of our world don’t seem to apply here in this dream. I begin to walk but I don’t move anywhere like I’m on some bizarre treadmill. I try to run and jump on the bed several times which I successful do, but then I end up back again where I started like the events just reset. I have to focus very hard to finally make my way back to the TV area. This is getting towards the end of the dream. I’m looking at the TV but not really registering anything that’s coming on. I begin to masturbate to the porno to try and ease my tension and anxiety. Instead, I notice that the furnace next to the tele is becoming rather hot. It increases its glow with every second that I stare at it. Eventually, it becomes aflame and starts to get very hot. Finally, it becomes a roaring fire shooting flames from it like a furious pit from hell. The end.
I wake up in the beginning stages of my massive sweat that takes place when I stop taking my meds and have to go to the restroom to wipe the sweat from my legs.

Sweating Out The Dreams

Asteroid B/12 — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:01:23 -0500

The past week I’ve woken up to find myself lying in a puddle of my own sweat. The cause of this distressing and most peculiar event is still under my careful consideration as it is my ‘peace of mind’ that is at stake here. One factor that I should address is the decision on my own behalf to abstain from taking my Paxil medication and from smoking marijuana. I felt it necessary to absolve myself from the daily Paxil pill-popping routine in the capricious and somewhat fanatical hope that it would somehow fix my OCDistic paranoia. As for the pot… well, I figured emancipating myself not only from the medicinal drug but also from the recreational drug, which ironically manifested itself into my second medicinal drug, would miraculously combine to form the perfect cure. Moreover, I found myself absconding from my daily responsibilities and secluding myself from other flat-mates when I habitually smoked so fervently, which eventually led to my rapid downward and perilous spiral of self-delusion and pity. The expensive cost didn’t help either. Along with the repudiation of my drugs, I must further explicate my current situation in Flat 10 of William Morris Tower to fully assess my dream. I am completely alone on the flat and have been so for several days now since it is Easter Break and everyone has either gone home or traveling. I remain here due to my work obligations at Subway. I thus segue into the unconscious realm of my latest and most unpleasant dream.
My dream, looking back on it now, seemed to reflect the very situation in which I inhabit now except on a more dark and subversive level. It began with me in a room on a flat by myself. The room was pitch black and I was unable to illuminate it in any way. The light switches didn’t work and I began to panic. To further investigate the problematic events, I ventured out of my room into the hallway where faint musical signatures slowly crept into my ear. I could not allocate the origination, but it echoed throughout my entire head like whispering voices in a cavern. I felt scared and precariously began to search the flat for any sign of other human life.