Cop-Out Post 3: Art Gallery

bc i didnt finish writing

Friend and seminal Chicagoland artist Tom Torluemke opened a retrospective of works on paper at the Chicago Cultural Center this past Saturday, a core sample of his practice barricaded by an impassable parade (until I found a Green/Brown bridge across) and it was fucking something to see a display of skill sort of like your favorite part.

While rehabbing my rotator cuff this past year, I needed to find a new outlet. So I ebayed the entire run of Transworld Skateboarding 2008 — all sheened by shrink wrap and a gap in my memory — and began to make collages. The feel of it was a surprise; every xacto surgery scissor’s sigh bone folders breaking of spines glue’s ghostly slide. It felt fucking physical.

So when I see Tom’s a murder of blood-dripping crows perched upon good-coke-colored snow, his application of watercolors in ways other artists admire, collages fit together so finely you wouldn’t know it til you read the tag, I wondered how it felt to do.

Anyway, just another way to consider art, from a washed fine art to the creativity sluts.

Here’s some of my stuff, some of which has illustrated stories before bc i’m art director // i’m so sry