Fucker upper

I am a master of fucking up. It takes much skill and hours of attentive practice to ruin a perfectly functioning relationship all to show how much pain I was in. And then, only a great fuck up can accomplish this: you get pushed away by the one you got addicted to the most and everything feels numb. But what would a series of shit events be without getting arrested? Yeah, it takes one night and two burly, fat fucks of cops to ruin the first day of summer. Oh and the cherry on the top can only be having your mother wish you were never born so she wouldn’t have to cringe every time you say, “I love you”, like you are trying to convince her. If anyone can top that– we should have a pow-ow so I can take notes.

Rochester Contemporary Art Center presents

Brooklyn Bridge

September 4 - November 15, 2015
Opening Reception: Fri. September 4, 6-10pm
Artist Talk: Sat. September 5, 1pm

Brooklyn Bridge features five New York-based emerging artists, exhibiting together for the first time. The exhibition aims to create new connections, bringing a range of thoughtful and unique artworks to Rochester. Presented in partnership with the Memorial Art Gallery and Robert Henry Contemporary.

Featuring new and recent artworks by: Shoshana Dentz, Richard Garrison, Liz Jaff, Derek Lerner, and Norm Paris.

Rochester Contemporary Art Center
137 East Ave, Rochester, NY

Mr. Mambo

The Ocean toys and teases the shore’s edge. Like a sweet game of “you first”, the water cannot come to a decisive choice of whether it should stay up high on the beach or crawl back into itself. It reminds me of my own games; an internal struggle between two halves of the same person. They chase and claw at each other both playing the cat and the mouse simultaneously. In a real world example, the ocean and sand cannot both share the same role but when the waves crash against sand—it is futile to resist their mingling. I give in to a child-like urge of mine to shove my feet and hands into the wet sand. I cover myself with sand—scratch and rub it all around feeling my dead cells slough off and serve a better purpose into the elements.  Twisting and turning in the sand I am not aware of time, sights, or sound. Everything is just a glittering mass reflecting off of the ocean’s back. It’s actually all just stardust. Every single little piece of matter, broken down to its most minute of building blocks, is from some billion year old star rock. How did things become so separate and distinct to our eyes? It makes me wonder how many senses are we really aware of. My goose bumps remind me of the descending sun and inventible cold that will creep into my bones. I’m not about to let that happen so I make my way to fraternize with the Pacific one last time. She fills the space around me and diffuses the sand from my body into her mass. Dunking my head I can feel air bubbles flit through my hair—changing my body temperature without fail. Sure did clean me up good.

“That’s all for today sweetheart”, I motion and take the steps out of a crashing wave to a daunting future of reality.