GRADIENTOCEANACAPULCOGODBIRDTALK

MONKEYHOLDSLEAF

MADE FOR http://animalnewyork.com/2014/artists-notebook-andrew-birk/

Everything comes from writing
I am walking around the city aimlessly looking at details
I am driving through the city aimlessly looking at details
I am looking at clothes
Hairstyles
Nail polish
Steel poles jutting out of the sidewalk
Stray dogs laying on cardboard
Trees with boxes crammed into the nooks and elbows
The epoxy paste left on walls where the placards were ripped off
Flowers, hummingbirds, butterflies in trees
People watching televisions
People fucking prostitutes
A man sitting on a stool at a taco stand with a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans
The beach
I am looking at rainbows
I am looking at car crashes, I am looking at stains, skid marks, bent architecture
I am looking at the tire tracks driving through a spill of house paint
I am looking at holes in the road, crumbling buildings, garbage piles, hillsides, meadows, cows
I am watching the walls bubble and peel
Stop signs covered with stickers
Tree bark covered with bubble gum
Fluorescent marks spray painted onto traffic cones and barriers, subway walls and floors
I am looking at plastic bags dangling from cyclone fences, shoes twisting on power lines, discarded hubcaps
I am looking at tents, solo cups, buckets, broom handles, neon lights
I am looking at plastic bags
I notice the plastic bottle in the corner, the fire extinguisher in the corner, the book under the chair, the jacket hanging on the back of the lounge furniture
Answer a phone call
Put on Dan Deacon or Deafheaven or Sicko Mobb or New Jersey Drone
A pot full of steaming hot mole on a bench
A ladder positioned correctly
When you take a picture and your thumb gets in the way of the flash
Dogs attacking other dogs
People laying on concrete kissing
A pair of black panties hanging from each shower knob in a lavender colored bathroom
A watermelon rind with a slice of apple on top
Piles of clothes, piles of pop bottles, pop bottles hanging from trees, piles of rags, piles of books, piles of crickets, piles of meat, piles of bicycles, piles of tree
￼clippings, piles of bricks, piles of cardboard, piles of scarves, piles of batteries, piles of tortillas, piles of DVDS, piles of narcotics
Put on Yung Lean or The Smiths or The Range or HEALTH or Kate Bush
People on ladders, people painted silver, people in holes, people laying on the ground in reflective municipal gear, people naked, people dirty and track-marked
A man walks down the street wearing purple hawaiian patterned shorts with a yellow playbill stuck in his waistband
People with shotguns, people mowing grass, people selling things, people posing A woman in a carnation business suit with a carnation shopping bag
A leg hangs out of a car window
A person pushing something
A long email chain
An acrylic placard bolted into a rock wall
A striped shoe walking past a discarded receipt A graffitied wall powerwashed
A tire slung over a fence post in the countryside A frog stuck to the window
A crossed out swastika
Spraypainting a love letter on a tree
A badly tie-dyed t-shirt
An arrow pointing somewhere
A pile of patio chairs
Decals
Fingerprints in dust
Handprints in dust
Cat paws in dust
The rusted front quarter panel of a car from the seventies with KIKE written on it The Jordan Jumpman
The Oakley O
A painting of a rooster
A painting of a lion
Ink bleeding off a street sign taped to a phone booth in the rain
Thinks smudged out, things crossed out, things covered up
Put on Gucci Mane or Sky Ferreira or Com Truise or Gatekeeper
Put on Ben Frost
Test things, throw things, spill things, overlay things, crop things
Send an email to a gallerist with a proposal to make a mess in her or his space and receive a very ambiguous response about their lack of budget
Paint something and photoshop it into a place youd rather it be.
Search for Mozart chopped and screwed to no avail
An idea pops into your head that you want to share
Look at pictures of art openings then read another article about mass murder
That place where all the noises come together and explode
A picture of palm trees and light glaring off the ocean
A picture of an iridescent beetle
A picture of a babe standing next to a Suzuki motorcycle
A picture of a bruise on an arm
A picture of wild flowers in a parched high-desert landscape
A picture of a poison dart frog
A picture of a hand holding a Frieze VIP Card
A party pic of your friends face
A Japanese garden in spring time
A disheveled celebrity mug shot
Pansies, Cherry Coca Cola, Miley Cyrus, Sterling Ruby, abundant face piercings, a color gradient, paint thinner, a school of tropical fish, Doppler radar, Arnold Schwarzenegger crouched-down naked in the opening scene of Terminator,
four Mexican women in colorful bikinis, a Kingfisher bird, Arches National Park, film grain, translated text, a folder full of screen shots of conversations
Read it
Record it
Put it over music
Put it with objects in a space that youve made
Put it with objects in a space that youve not made
Photoshop these things
Photograph these things
Photoshop these photographs
Show them to people
Everything comes from writing

ANIMALLISTWRITING

IONCESAWADOGKILLTWODOGS

Made for PAPA JOHN'S PROJECTS (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Papa-Johns-Projects/684601291637039)


I am 29 years old and I woke up at 4 o clock in the morning to think about art.

Note to self: You are addicted to facebook. 

Quiero pancakes dile a tu mama

Is self reflexion swallowing everything up?

Is self reflexion like trying to force independent films onto innocent bystanders?

Note to self: Read more books about other peoples ideas. Do more things based on those ideas. Make things and think things based on those ideas. √

Toiletpaper feels like a rasp

Reenvisioning the world through poor documentation.

A dark thumbprint archipelago jabs into ur surfing vacation in Costa Rica.

If an art critic takes a shaky shit picture of our artwork and publishes it to New York Magazine can we sue them for defamation or should we just write critical essays about their poor golden sectioning to be published on e-flux?

My body dissolved from my consciousness this afternoon. I was laying in a hammock at Barra Vieja my body melted like wet cotton candy into the ocean the trees the sky. Now I am sitting in the bathroom with my laptop propped against the faucet of the sink reading Dave Hickey and shitting water. My ass feels like a hot rasp burring. I wonder if this is how it is for cowboys after a long ride. Theyd never tell. It is dark in there, kind of pixelated monochrome and I am staring at cracked paint in front of my nose on the wall and the fish we ate for lunch is matriculating back up my digestive system clenched heat moment. There was no time. A moment where you close your eyes and see the big bang unfolding like a packed sweater. 

A frog stuck to the middle of a pane of glass.

I asked the men at the front desk to change a 100 peso bill so I could buy a Coke. Of course they said no. They say no to everything. They are not capable. Their jobs are fulfilled by putting on those stupid white suits that let you know they work in Hospitality. There is no time here. The men on ATVs drive forever on an endless beach looking for white faces unsuccessfully. The women with shell necklaces walk. A trashy man from Mexico City parks his new Hummer aggressively in the sand and later, as the sun goes down, tenderly places a piece of drift wood down in the surf, haunching over guts out Tebowing to take a picture of his proud landscape, as if he happened upon it untouched perfection. 

A palmtree grows through a plastic bucket lodged to the thickest part. An earthworms saddle. 

Now that we can all use Photoshop its not that interesting just like Now that we can all get free mezcal sponsors its not that interesting just like Now that we can all create controversy by acting macho its not that interesting. 

Visions of roostertailing in Acapulco. 

Artists used to be legitimate junkies but now I think of them as bandwagon cocaine addicts. How much of a junky can you really be if you wear sweater vests and loafers and listen to your mom all the time. 

There was once some freaky tropical mammal tied to a tree pacing back and forth out back behind El Pulpito near the trash pile.

KOETSU 
SOTATSU

Dry bugambilia flowers fall to the stonework in the shadow of a perfect afternoon breeze mesquite air fountain splash dragonflies.
There was a slight earthquake in the middle of the night. A silent night where you cant tell if the ground is shaking or your heart is just beating hard. 
We approached the tollbooth nearest to Iguala it looked like damnation not the scene in Apocalypse Now where they finally arrive to Kurtz's village to open cannibalistic arms- no, the scene with the strings of lights exploding over the river narrows the surfer on an acid trip the music sours hard clanky metallic there is no commander. The pivotal moment where meaning and reality become absolved of their duties. Everything afterwards is a mere hallucination. The yellow sky over the mountains separating us from the ocean black ashings of clouds with fluorescent cherry bellies thousands. The villagers covered their faces with bandanas and gather fifty pesos from each passing car. The crescendo inside of a bastardized Hirschhorn reality. It was easy to imagine decapitation and being strung up like a chicken, coldly. Anarchy is accompanied by black and white copied posters of teenaged faces and reflective tape fancied into crosses on lightpoles sprouting from highway separation barriers. The handwriting was graceful I thought of SAMO black and blue and red dripping like molasses over every inch of temporary plastic and dried rock for miles. Real anarchy is ugly and festering and out of control. Keep your organized chaos within the church of art institutions get paid eat ham sandwiches read Mein Kompf or whatever capable fakers do. Kids taking over government buildings for Narcos in the iguana tasting nighttime- thats anarchy. An overhead fan clicks cars drive to their luxury buildings in the distance and poor people sleep.

I just threw a plate at a wall out of stress I feel like Frida Kahlo

ACAPULCOROOSTERTAILING SUNSETTHUMBPRINT

FRM SOMEWEIRD PLACE IN SPACXE

A perfect orange violin*

ALLMONKEYS

https://soundcloud.com/nandi-loaf/nandi-loaf-slog-34-feelings

Nandi Load Remix

NANDI REMIX

“Money Is The Cheapest Thing. Liberty, Freedom Is The Most Expensive.” Bill Cunningham by Andrew Birk

Sound piece 17:29

Part of rheo- GRANDE at Anonymous Gallery, Mexico City

2016

“Money Is The Cheapest Thing. Liberty, Freedom Is The Most Expensive.” Bill Cunningham.

Thank you Babybruise (https://soundcloud.com/andrea-m-jim) 4 pushing me to make this into sound

Im not ready for the dopamine burst of everythingness that sex elicits. Im not ready for the scrutiny or the confrontation or the pleasure. Im not open to share something so real with another person. Im not willing to share something so real with myself. I wanted to be cold and pensive and leave my body and jump off of the edge of Mount Wudang into the lavender grey bambood mist. Ive been protecting myself. An injured cage fighter with a numb brain floating through a world that I dont understand. I felt embarrassed telling this to my friend Myles. My French friends say just fuck and theyre all just fucked. I found this song called Monsoon Loop that is a dark lingering waft to wrap myself in. My friend just got cheated on and I smiled as we spoke. Usually in tragedy we finally find ways to unstuck ourselves and move forward. Its been hard on my ego to let everything go, but Im trying to let my ego go, too. All of our failures and battles are worth it and our scars and our baggage and our complex complexes are fucking beautiful when we can aggressively  sling them off the tabletop and embrace eachother. I am going to walk sore hamstringed recluse bodied through new places of the planet and I dont care if its a good or bad idea. Things must transpire. I wrote an email to this girl who lives on the other side of the continent and I filled it with my heart and mind full bore. Art is a transmission of our love, and the more purely we can transmit our love the more powerful the art becomes. I am not going to let the pain and confusion of life curdle me into a sour person. Fold me a million times into a profound invincible sword. Smoke me down to a nub and let my smell imprint in between the grooves of your fingertips. Twentyseven kilometers through the thickness of prostitution and beautiful bricabrac throes of aliveness. I am guilty about the whole world. I am responsible for North Dakota and I dont know what to do.

Background music is Monsoon Loop by Cédric Stevens https://vimeo.com/56016674

North Dakota

Some days I walk around to the corner to buy cigarettes and I look at the leaves of the trees and smile. Some days I walk around the corner to buy cigarettes and I look at the leaves and I squint my eyes hard at them and I just cant smile. I remember those other days, though. I remember that I have smiled.

FRIENDS ARE THE FUCKING BEST

IDEAS WITHOUT THE BAGGAGE OF MATERIALITY AKA 
IDEAS WITHOUT THE BAGGAGE OF MARKET LIQUIDITY 

THIS IS IMPORTANT TO ME IDK WHY

AM I ALLOWED TO BE HERE? INSPIRED BY FELIPE EHRENBERG

theres no sound art theres just art and some of it requires listening


IT IS A MIRACLE THAT WE ARE ALIVE

Popular tracks