LIVESTRONG STAGES - NYC

I have been keeping a terrible secret…

I can’t stand the art world.

Even though I have been inundated by art all my life, have been creating art as long as I can remember, even though I can honestly say that art has saved my life and brought me back from insanity on more than one occasion, even though I regularly attend and even participate in, hell, I’ve even organized and curated gallery shows and auctions … I hate the art world.  I particularly hate “openings” (they ain’t open) with guest lists, velvet ropes, and linebacker sized off-duty cops in black suits blocking entry.

Maybe some of this attitude is inherited from my father, who painted all his life (still does) but never could seem to play the game, didn’t seem able to muster the right combination of self-promotion and “net-working” required to become a star. Or perhaps a simpler explanation is that art has always been readily available to me. Forget “easily accessible,“ the stuff was inescapable. I was literally tripping over the shit. Our home in Brooklyn was crammed with paintings and smelled like mineral spirits. We had more books on art than we had socks. Fifty-fifty chance that the pot on the stove contained rabbit-skin glue for prepping canvases instead of chicken noodle soup.

As soon as I was old enough to venture outside, I was confronted by intricate Brooklyn-style calligraphy like “The Tomahawks,” “Jester,” “Swiss” and “Super Strut.” And the subway rides… Whoa! I watched some of the most revolutionary, mind-blowing work of the twentieth century not only roll right up to my face, but actually open up and let me ride like that sweet chariot I kept hearing about.

So maybe I’m spoiled, but every time I run into someone who claims to promote the arts, who makes their living off artists, yet somehow manages to convey to me that I am not cultured enough, or educated enough, or stylishly-attired enough, or wealthy enough, or somehow just not worthy to even gaze upon whatever post-modern, minimalist, conceptualist ca-ca they’re pushing this month, I can’t help but feel bad for them. These guys are akin to the religious leaders who purchase all the artwork they deem profane or sacrilegious and then lock it away in vaults beneath the Vatican so it can’t corrupt the masses. If you don’t believe that art is to be seen, maybe you‘re in the wrong business. Maybe it’s your name that shouldn’t be on the guest list.  But hey, what do I know?

Anyways, when I hear that artists (some of whom get more for a painting than I make in two years) are giving away their work for a cause, I’m all for it, especially this cause. You see, as a little kid, I watched my Mother die slowly of a cancer that probably would have been treatable today. Four years of chemotherapy and radiology (cures that were deadlier than the disease itself), of watching this strong, beautiful woman reduced to a skeletal bald horror show… that was almost too much for my nine-year-old psyche.  My escape was to my favorite art museum: the bench on the uptown #2 and 3 platform at Atlantic Avenue Station. Yeah, the admission was fifty cents, but I knew how to sneak in. LEE and SLAVE, CASE2 and BUTCH2, PART and CHAIN, DEL and MOOSE, all those guys kept me from snapping. They showed me there was room for beauty in this cold world. I didn’t let myself cry at the hospital, but I cried like a bitch when LEE dedicated a whole car to “MOM 101.” And no, graffiti didn’t cure cancer, but it damn sure eased my pain.

So, for Lance Armstrong’s LIVESTRONG Global Cancer Campaign, I gladly braved the velvet ropes, the clipboard-holders, the bodybuilding bouncers, the snooty elitists, the cool kids, and other assorted vampires. Plus, I just tell ’em my name is “Dante Ross,” works every time. Nah, I got jokes.  I was actually granted all-access thanks to my man Allen AKA asking me to write a little something for the worldwide bloggy-sphere. Now, I wouldn’t ever want to be an art critic, and I’m always a little leery of the guys who stick tape recorders in my face, but when Allen asked me to talk with some of the artists involved with this event, I figured, what the hell, I know most of these cats and enjoy picking their brains anyway. I get to talk shop with four artists I admire (all of whom, by the way, have put in work in the streets) and I get to help raise awareness about a cancer foundation at the same time. Plus, there’s always the classic crack-dealer rationale… if I don’t do it somebody else will.

First up was the dude I personally know the least, but whose work stood out the most to me: Dzine, out of Chicago. I first got open to this guy’s work while standing in line for a Batman themed roller coaster at an amusement park in Jersey. Dzine had been commissioned to give it that finishing touch of gritty urban Gotham City authenticity: graffiti. Instead of just writing his own name all over the place, he chose to pay homage to some of my heroes, executing perfect renditions of pieces by Dondi, Lee, and all the greats of the Golden Age of New York Subway Painting. Dzine’s piece for this show was a custom bicycle that looked like what might have happened if Ram-Ell-Zee and the illest Chicano Low-Rider in LA collaborated with unlimited funds and a bundle of Bomber-Z. This thing was candy painted, pinstriped, chromed-out, gold-leafed, engraved and encrusted with ornate battle armor. Oh, did I mention the neon? No? How ‘bout the sound system?  Clyde Frasier could have pulled up to the Garden on this bike with his head held high. The only thing missing was the heart-shaped waterbed.  This thing was what we fantasized about while we tried to hook up our bikes as kids, risking life and limb to steal the chrome air valve caps off the tires of the real pimpmobiles in the neighborhood. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Dzine was kind enough to hook up the iPod for me and, lo and behold, this bad taxi had its own original soundtrack compliments of J-Electronica (if you haven’t listened to J, I’d suggest you do so or you’ll be stranded just like Crusoe). And it’s all 100% donated for the Lance Armstrong Foundation’s cause.

The first thing I needed to know was is it street-legal? Does it function? Can I get a ride, yo? “If I make two minor adjustments, you could ride it down Houston Street right now,” Dzine assured me. “That’s what I like, it’s sculptural, it’s about the craftsmanship, but it’s functional as well. I did a boat-sculpture for the Venice Biennale, completely functional. A ‘77 custom Chris-Craft. I completely gutted it out and suicided the front, candy-paint, pinstriped, it’s got the suede seats, ten TV screens, a DJ Booth …but, it’s about culture identity. What can be a low-rider? What does it mean if you trick-out a luxury boat? Does it make it Latino? Or Black?” I told him that in my neighborhood kids didn’t have a lot, but whatever they did have, be it a pair of sneakers, a bike or a radio, whatever, they took pride in it, they hooked it up, customized it, made it fresh. “ It’s funny you say that, cause the new bike I’m doing for Art Basel in Miami Beach is completely framed out in wood and it’s laced with classic boom-boxes, I got the old Casio with the key board on it…” Here I had to interrupt and ask if he had the JVC.  “I got the JVC, Man! I got the one that was in Wild Style!” Dzine said, getting hyped. “But it’s about that nostalgia.” I had to ask him how he got down with J.Electronica who is the first guy to get me open on the art of M.C.ing in a looong time. (Although, I have to admit I almost didn’t give him a listen because of his name. “Electronica” had me thinking this was some techno-raver type silliness, but please, do not sleep.)  “Thank you, thank you, thank you, for asking that… because I had lost my faith in Hip-Hop a long time ago, I was just really confused about it, and my boy DIZ, he’s actually a House D.J. from Chicago, turned me on to J. He said ‘You gotta hear this’ and I just got goose bumps. Bananas! I reached out to J on MySpace and he said he liked my work, and we just made it happen.” I asked how someone could reach out to Dzine if they wanted to commission a bike, or a speed boat, or a plane, ‘cause I know when I hit the lotto, I’m going to need to get me a Jamaican style mobile sound-system-slash –record-store and ride around slinging 45’s like my man from Rockers. Dzine said, “no problem, just go through Deitch Projects, Jeffery is the man.”

While we were talking my boy Ease rolled up looking dapper, as usual. Nowadays he goes by his birth name, José Parlá, but he’s still Ease to me. I guess old habits die hard. I mean, I still call the Force MDs “The Force MCs” and if I ever met Shaquille O’Neil, I’d probably call him Shaq-Fu. Plus, the name Ease fits him so well, a genuinely good dude, always rocking a smile, he’s just Easy like Sunday Morning.

Now, I’ve painted walls along side José and I can I tell you he has paid his dues, and then some. These days, it seems like any ol’ body can come to New York from West Witchahassee and just start bombing (in fact, sometimes it looks like more out of town writers are up in Manhattan than natives), but when Ease and his Ink Heads came through (after thoroughly wrecking Miami) it wasn’t so wide open. That these guys put in the amount of work they did is evidenced by who gave them respect. They formed allegiances with the KOC crew out of Brooklyn and eventually Ease got put down with the legendary TFP crew by none other than the great Case2. No small feat for an out-of-towner.

José was always nice with the hand style, a seemingly dying art, and has incorporated that easily into his fine art. Layering ruddy-browns and crusty concrete grays with a web of intricate calligraphy, his pieces look like the few walls left in the city that have somehow avoided gentrification and urban renewal. You know, that spot that has been so ugly for so long, it has become gorgeous.  José explained that for this piece, his inspirations were his two Grandparents who died of cancer, his Aunt, Uncle, and his good friend Dr. Alan Berkman who are living with the disease:

I had to ask José about his choice to work under his birth name.  I struggle with this myself.  Is it still appropriate for a forty-two year old to introduce himself as “Kid Fresh” in a business meeting? Is an alias or tag even necessary after one has retired from any illegal activity? I have been known by various names at different stages in my life, some chosen, some bestowed upon me. Some I choose to keep, others that I can’t seem to shake no matter how embarrassing. I believe it was a Native American who said that the most important name is the one a man gives himself.  José’s answer surprised me, and made me hope that I can remember to call him José Parlá from now on: “The year that my father passed away I decided that I wanted to pay homage to the family name. His name was the same as mine: José Parlá.” Gotta respect that. “Around the same time, I was beginning to get more acclaim as an artist, using the name Ease; it just seemed to me that too many people were trying to milk that graffiti cow. Everybody was getting the most they could out of that culture and just wanted to stand out from the pile. Plus, everyone knows I’m a writer. If you look at my paintings, whether my name is Ease, José Parlá, or something else, look at the surface… You know that person making that work is a writer.  I never forget the roots of where I came from and you can see that in my work. The hand styles were influenced by guys like Case2, and Phase, I used to look up to writers like Strider and then I had the Miami influence as well. Writers like Seam from VO5, Dash FC TC5, and my own crew. I wanted to pay homage to writers… the calligraphic aspect of it.” 

I asked José to tell me a little about working with Case2, who was like a Lance Armstrong for my generation, beating all odds and coming back to take the crown. Case lost his right arm and trained himself to paint with his left, not only earning the title “King of Style” for his amazing burners, but also pulling off incredible feats of athleticism. He could climb a fence faster than writers with all their limbs, rack paint better, and would knock you out cold if you tested him. “Case is an incredible human being, he’s not only missing his arm, but a lot of people don’t know that he also has a prosthetic leg as well. He is really a powerful being. He didn’t let that hold him back. Inspirational… a huge influence on me, a great friend and one of the most incredible artists I’ve ever met.”  Agreed. Whenever I run into José, we always laugh and joke (and I ALWAYS call him Ease) but this interview gave me a new perspective. Even though he’s still doin’ it with ease, I think from now on I’ll have to call him Mister José Parlá.

Now, my man Futura probably doesn’t need much of an introduction from me. Whether you’re into Fine Art, Design, Graphics, Old School NYC Graffiti, Music, Fashion, Foot wear, Photography, whatever… The name Futura rings bells. I’ve been a fan (though I’d personally prefer he keep it up as a visual artist than to ever try rapping again) ever since I got to look at one of his pieces up close… It was on a school in the L.E.S. back in the 80’s, and to see the fine lines this dude was able to coax out of a spray can was incredible.  Now, a lot of writers in the mid 80’s tried to emulate Futura’s move away from letterforms into “abstraction” without an understanding of the science behind what he was trying to do. Doc TC5 told me (and I suspect he heard it from Dondi) that these weren’t abstractions at all, but rather representations of aerial views Futura had studied from planes during his time in the military. Here was my chance to get it on record from the man himself…

Here I interrupted him, saying I heard he used to lay his canvases on the floor and work overhead.  “I still do,” Futura replied. “It also turned out that to effectualize my techniques the can had to be upside down anyway.”  Kids nowadays are using similar techniques: emptying the pressure from spray cans and working them upside down to get pencil thin lines, but Futura had already mastered this back in the 80’s before the advent of the special spray caps used today:

When I asked Futura if that was the way his work should be properly displayed (maybe inlaid into the floor with clear plexi over the top?) he just laughed.

Our Man Futura was the first to do an Art Bike for Armstrong back in 2005 for the Tour de France and has had a long relationship with Lance. I wondered why he had been absent for the Stages show in Paris back in July and here’s what he told me:  “I didn’t participate in the first Stages event in Paris because I know Lance personally and had already done a bike for him and released a shoe with him and I really wasn’t interested in doing another bike. But when I got the call that they were doing it New York, you know, it’s the kinda call you really don’t mind getting and I was like of course… whatever you need, I’m on board. And it’s for charity, which I’m totally down with. They did the whole thing top-shelf.”

The last artist I got to speak with was Kaws, who I originally met through my partner West One FC. This was back before Kaws got into altering ads in bus shelters and phone booths. Back when he was still doing damage along the highways between NJ and NY and smashing freights. We belong to the same organization: The FC TC5 Conglomerate. Kaws has come into his own in a major way since those days and his signature double-X dead eyes can be found on anything from t-shirts and toothbrushes to museum walls and billboards in Times Square. The first thing that strikes me when talking to Kaws is that for a guy who is a self-marketing genius on the level of a Salvador Dali, he’s very soft- spoken and reserved… almost shy.  “I grew up in Jersey City and got into graff, helped me explore my geography through graff, got into painting over advertisements, got into design and painting, brought me to here, where I am now, umm …yeah.”
Okay, Sports Fans, there you have it.  My question for Kaws was with having worked on so many toys, products, apparel, as well as paintings like the one in this exhibit AND of course all the graff and light-box ads… Did he approach these projects differently from each other? Was there a separation in his mind between design, commercial work and fine art?

I wanted to talk a little about his many collaborations with Hip-Hop musicians and how all that came about. Here’s the long and short of it: “I was doing a lot of work in Japan with Nigo, and at some point he hooked up with Pharell and those guys. I think after they went to Japan and saw all the work I was doing out there they became interested. I think it’s kinda ironic a guy in America goes to Japan to find my work, and then comes back and does stuff with me here. Then other people in America find out about my stuff. It wasn’t a straight route, but that’s how it went.”

That’s how it usually goes.  Rock n’ roll, selvedge denim, we don’t know what we’ve got until someone across the ocean sells it back to us. I doubt Kaws would have reached the level of fame he has had he stayed on a highway overpass by the Lincoln Tunnel. At least it might’ve taken a little longer.

What immediately strikes me when viewing Kaws’s work on a canvas, as opposed to seeing a t-shirt or magazine cover, is just how clean and steady his lines are. This ain’t no silk-screen or node-edited vector graphic. He truly is that nice with a brush.
Of course, he had to give equal time to product as well. “We also did bikes for this event that will go on sale at Sotheby’s on Sunday which will go towards the Armstrong foundation. Lance has been really supportive, it’s a good thing.”

A good thing, indeed…  Lance Armstrong is a real live Super Hero. Not because he won the Tour de France, plenty of folks have done that throughout the years (Okay, so no one else has done it a record breaking seven times consecutively) and not just because he did it after beating stage three cancer from which doctors only gave him a 40% chance of survival. Not simply because he is a champion swimmer, tri-athlete, runs the marathon, drives a pace car in the frickin’ INDY500. Not because he fathered a child after doctors said he could no longer conceive due to testicular cancer treatment. Not because he always took the high road and showed true strength of character during the anti-doping witch hunts that threatened to tear professional cycling apart.  Nah, those are mere mortal feats.  I say Lance is a Super Hero because he stands up to the United States Congress on behalf of cancer patients and their families. He pressures world leaders to take action; causing both 2008 presidential candidates to release their cancer plans for the first time in history. He fights daily for the survivors and their loved ones, for the underserved, for the youth, for the families and the caregivers.

He wasn’t satisfied just to head the foundation that bears his name, so in 2007 he joined with Andre Agassi, Muhammad Ali, Warrick Dunn, Jeff Gordon, Mia Hamm, Tony Hawk, Andrea Jaeger, Jackie Joyner-Kersee, Mario Lemieux, Alonzo Mourning and Cal Ripken, Jr. to found Athletes for Hope, an organization which helps other professional athletes get involved in charitable causes. (I’ve always been of the opinion that the New York Yankees and the New York City Public School Teachers should have to trade salaries every other year.)

Oh, in his spare time, he’s also a TRUE supporter of the arts.  Not just collecting and promoting, but actually giving artists a platform from which to change people’s lives. Not only the fabulous people’s lives, but that dirty little kid hanging out on the subway bench all day because he’s scared to go home and watch his mother dying.

So give him his yellow jersey, but understand he ain’t yellow.

Dzine for Livestrong Stages.

José Parlá for Livestrong Stages.

Futura for Livestrong Stages.

Kaws for Livestrong Stages.