feather2pixels

I have a few new artists joining my CELLspace screen printing studio this month.  Consequently , I thought it would be nice to set shop up with a proper sign, so I unpacked a piece of very special driftwood I have been saving and set to work ruining it with my art.  I found this wood at Mile Rock Beach in San Francisco five years ago and really, nothing I could print on it could ever improve it in an aesthetic sense.  But that has never stopped me before and I have been saving this for a special occasion so tonight I fired up the old t-shirt press and threw down a simple three layer print.  Then I screwed in on the door.  Took me less than an hour. (Click to enlarge)

The t-shirt press allows one to adjust the height of the screen on the platen.

I secured the wood to the platen with tape during the printing process.

At CELLspace nothing looks junky!

Critical Mass, how I love you.   Look at all those bikes.

One pothole to rule them all.

The Death Byke Stereo turned out to be a lot less loud outside, surrounded by rush hour traffic. I wouldn’t call it inaudible but, beyond a one bike radius, the Go Team definitely faded into the ether. To-shi-o was pretty disappointed: as a personal stereo it was brilliant, but he obviously had his sights set on bigger things. By the ride home, though, he was already brainstorming modifications and I admire his determination.

And the night wasn’t all defeat. We ran into Sylvia (from the Exploratorium), who helped us finish our water bottle of Jim Beam and who afterwards invited us East (Death Byke Stereo: satisfyingly loud in the BART station). People in the East Bay seem to be fascinated with life, death, and decay and in this way Sylvia’s place might be the most quintessentially East Bay apartment in the history of Oakland. It’s a vortex of plants, composts, found/made furniture, and quirky little messes. After a night of vegetable pizza and homemade beer, To-shi-o and I decided that it ruled.

I just came home from the Independent, which is a funny little club in the neighborhood that SF hipsters are shamelessly trying to rename NoPa (NOrth of the PAnhadle). “Western Addition” is apparently much too black. Anyways, I went to see John Darnielle, independent rock’s everyman, and it was a really excellent show.

He made me ponder the rarity of hearing lyrics at a rock show. Sometimes inaudible vocals are well and good (Brightblack Morning Light immediately comes to mind) and sometimes it’s a matter of poor acoustics, but I often get the impression that I can’t hear what performers are saying because they aren’t great performers. This dude knows how to play a show. He knows exactly when to sing loud, when to whisper, when to yell off-mic, and it’s fucking inspirational (So…many…similes….). And all I can think to do with all this inspiration is blog. Awesome show.

Two years after winning it, I finally replaced the chain and sprocket on my bicycle. A near death experience involving the disengagement of my transmission system on Valenica Street necessitated it. I would prefer to spend $60 on tacos, but this is for the best. Besides, there is something deeply satisfying about wearing out a piece of stainless steel under your own power over the course of several years. And although I am sad that I forgot keep my old wearied gear–it would have been great blog material–the thought of my bike dust scattered throughout San Francisco comforts me like a cup of black tea on a rainy day, mixed with milk and sugar. And look: The Mountain Goats have me talking in comparisons, which means it’s time for bed.