Dumping Ground

September 14, 2012

The deal with this deal is this: I pass out around 8pm every night so I’m up by 3am, and my time-filler choices that don’t make me feel guilty are 1) make art, 2) write, and 3) make music.  I’m burned out on the first two options but with the kind of music I make I need to slowly build up a library of maybe 1000 small loops to edit together and the process can get frustrating after about 45 minutes of, say, trying to find or fix the perfect noise-free kick drum sound so you have a warm thump to add to your library of other kick drums.  Then you have to decide how to pattern it, and maybe splice in other drums, and do this in software that organizes time by seconds instead of beats or measures.

So.  In the morning I’m not going to try to write because I need to be awake more in order to get that ball rolling plus I’m fucking sick of writing, especially the part having to do with never getting published.  So.  I’m fucking sick of stencil pieces on black backgrounds but I still have a whole bunch on my desktop to finish so I end up doing that and other misc. art things so here’s an offering of stuff.  I have nothing to say about it right now because my headache feels like glass sliding against glass so I’m just going to dump it and talk more later about what I alluded to in my previous post, which is that in Milwaukee people don’t really have a frame of reference for contemporary art that moves temporally beyond pop art, and it’s a misunderstanding of pop art.  I’ll be angry about the drunken street festival outside my house all day tomorrow so I’ll write more then but for now, this whole post has been about how your creative sausage gets made vs. ideas.

References: lyric from Bob Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited,” lyric from Althea & Donna’s “Uptown Top Ranking,” and title of Chemical Brothers album.

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