The Big Return Project invites participants to shop and then return the things they buy as a meditation of desire and consumption. Buy something you covet. Walk around with it. Think about keeping it. Return it.
Ali Dadgar: Utopia
Bay Area based artist Ali Dadgar’s multi disciplinary practice includes experimental printmaking, photography, painting and performance. His recent work “Radiant States”; reflections on Solidarity, will be exhibited on February 2012 at CIIS in San Francisco. He completed his MFA in the Art Practice program at University of California in Berkeley.
Valaire Van Slyck: Send Back The Money & Test Drive
Driving up and down the streets, what persists is a visual language of desire and promise, on every used-car lot and pothole-riddled artery. The jobs are long gone, but the lexicon of desire still reigns; the cars may be wrecked, but the candy-coated remnants survive. Here, he is left to scavenge among the ashes, here in America.
As he speeds up and down the streets, it all glides by the windshield: burnt-down houses and burnt-out cars, abandoned factories, and people, staggering beneath their loads, who seem always on the verge—on the saw-toothed cusp of doing something. At the beginning of the last century, many artists found themselves confronted by a rapidly industrialized landscape. A hundred years later, Van Slyck finds himself in the shadows of its smoldering ruins. Wildlife has returned to the cities’ vacant lots.
Residing in the space where commemorative and formal concerns meet, Valaire Van Slyck focuses on the rarely seen, obscured, overlooked and abandoned.
In doing so, Van Slyck explores and reflects on currents in contemporary culture and thought, creating objects that serve as stylized and subjective position papers to an indifferent constituency.
Valaire Van Slyck is a multidisciplinary artist and curator from Detroit who is based in New York.
Miriam Kepner: 25 Billion
Miriam Kepner taught for 40 years, volunteers, and served as a WACK in the US Air Force during WWII. A world traveler, Miriam just celebrated her 90th birthday, an achievement she credits with having a vibrant social life, taking vitamins, eating well, and daily hikes with her dog.
When I wake up this morning, my first thought is: DIAMONDS. I am going to buy diamonds today. Big, fat, sparkly fucking diamonds. And then I’m going to return them. But first let’s go back to the part where I’m buying them. The diamonds. The sparkly little gems coveted worldwide, the bling-makers, the blatant code of the wealthy, the signifier of the owned, the beloved, the valued. And also, coincidentally, my last name. I have never before in my life bought a diamond.
I wake up and there is a buzz to everything. The light in my room looks different, the kettle boiling water sounds different, there’s a susurrant yearning towards diamonds that everything whispers to me, urging me toward the moment when I will walk into Tiffany & Co. on Union Square, throw down my credit card, and say MINE. THOSE ARE MINE. ALL MINE.
Importantly, I have never before used my credit card in this way—I actually believe using credit cards like this is incredibly irresponsible—and therefore have never purchased something beyond the range of what I have sitting in my checking account at any given moment. I am very fiscally conservative. I play by the rules. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a big spender.
But today is different.
I carefully consider what I will wear, knowing that the costume will determine my demeanor, and my demeanor will determine everything. The way the salespeople approach me, the way they assess my likelihood to buy, the amount of energy they spend with me versus trailing off towards another customer. In this arena, looks are everything. I decide I better look really fucking hot. I will wear my 4-inch slate grey side zip suede platforms, and bright red lipstick.
I take my heels on and off multiple times, knowing that my feet will kill later on, but certain that the shoes are part of the ethos, part of this person I’m creating, this woman who dresses up on a Thursday afternoon and wears red lipstick and struts into Tiffany’s and buys herself a diamond ring in twenty minutes flat. I leave the heels on. When I walk in they will know. I’m here to buy some fucking diamonds, people. Do not mess around.
Walking into the store, it’s just as I imagined. The sweeping hush of the glass doors across the marble floor, the gracious security attendants standing on either side, the glistening cases of gold, diamonds, and platinum. I can feel this new power coursing through me, and I lick my red lips, flash my smile, toss my hair, take off my consignment store Marc Jacobs sunglasses, and tell Ivan—a dashing young salesman with a vaguely European accent—that I would like to look at some of the diamond solitaires.
Instantaneously, he gets with my program. We enter into a kind of seduction dance, Ivan and I, in which he will do whatever I say, bring me whatever I ask, lay out as many diamonds as I want on this small leather-covered presentation board that sits in front of us. We are flirting over gold. He is seducing me with diamonds, knowing in the end I will give him money. Lots and lots of money. And then maybe, if he’s lucky, if all goes well, he will never see me again.
The rose gold and multiple diamond band I settle on is $2000, the exact purchase ceiling I set for myself. Ivan and I both act swiftly as he rounds things out at his register, asking if I’d like to pay by credit card. I briefly want to make a joke about paying in cash, but think better of it, and pull out my driver’s license and credit card like it’s old hat. I do this every day, Ivan. Take my money and give me my diamonds. He swipes the credit card, and swoops off to go wrap things up for me.
I immediately feel sad that the ring is so far from me. I want it on me again. We walk outside and pause to take more pictures. I am nervous standing on Post Street dismantling my package, aware that someone could walk by and snatch it all away from me at any moment. I put on my diamonds and text my friend: Feels great. And like nothing. Want to keep it, though, obvs.
Even wearing the diamond, I feel distant from this world where people spend money like this every day, every moment, without thinking twice. I am not one of them. I am just a woman pretending to be one of them, wearing one of their rings.
When we return to Tiffany & Co., they are much less eager to help. I don’t see Ivan anywhere, and I’m relieved. It’ll be like breaking up over Facebook—the computer screen will inform him of the return, show him that our relationship status has changed. A man takes everything from me and writes VOID in huge black letters across the receipts and tells me that there won’t be any receipt for me to take home, that the entire transaction will be deleted.
Deleted. The entire transaction will be deleted.
I nod and thank him and wonder who I am, without diamond, with a deleted transaction, without receipt, and with feet that, suddenly, are killing me. I want to leave. Sitting on BART all I can think about is how glad I am I didn’t actually buy the ring.
As I hobble down 24th Street toward my apartment, I cannot take it anymore—the shoes are coming off. I am not that woman, who wears 4-inch platforms on a Thursday afternoon and throws down $2000 at the blink of an eye. I am this one, barefoot, red toenails gleaming in the car lights that sweep across my feet, humbly collecting the grime of the city on her callused toes, happy to have my heels touching the ground.
I have no diamonds but myself.
Lily Diamond is the co-founder of Write to Wellbeing (writetowellbeing.com). She spends her time writing, editing, trend-popping, and making magic in the kitchen. Her writing explores the evocative realms of death, loss, sexuality, belonging, and now, diamonds. Lily is the author of the forthcoming memoir The End: A Mother-Daughter Love Story and a very popular home chef.
*Special thanks to Beth Markert for her stealth photography skills.
Source: cargocollective.com
Julianne Balmain: Holiday Returns
The sales clerk took the large suede shoulder bag from me and gestured to the electronic pen for my signature. Just like that, $187.40 was on its way back to my American Express account. I felt instantly lighter and more relaxed. I wouldn’t miss the bag, handsome as it was. It had been a Christmas present for myself, one of several generous gifts I chose for me while doing my holiday shopping. The truth is, I was tired of it already—tired of considering its various merits and its hypothetical future as part of my wardrobe—and I hadn’t even taken it out of its felt slipcase. For two weeks it had sat in a corner in my bedroom in the shipping box it arrived in, tempting me to accept it, use it, make it part of my life. I worried it would get dirty quickly. I worried it would look too big and call attention to itself. I worried it would not be worth the sacrifice of the money. Expensive and unnecessary, it was a bag packed full of worry from the start. I wondered why I even bought it. Giving it back felt great.
The next two returns were to Target, for a total of $10 plus tax, some $10.88. Hardly worth the stop. I’d paid more than that to cross the Bay Bridge and park in San Francisco to return the suede bag. But if we kept the copy of Muppets in Space, an impulse buy I was now pretty sure was a dud, and the sheer purple tights, a more thoughtful if equally misguided purchase, they would stay with us in our little home for years, as permanent as family. I might give them away—would anyone want them?—but I wouldn’t have the force of will to put them in the trash. No, their promise of usefulness, however dubious, would be their ticket to years of undisturbed repose. Again, I experienced the light, sweet feeling of freedom when Patricia of Target took the objects from me and tapped my electronic dollars back to my account.
“I like this feeling!” I said to my son, Ivan, who will turn seven in two weeks and is eagerly anticipating the heap of birthday presents his short life has already taught him to expect.
“It’s terrible! Returning without looking is the worst.” He glanced toward the escalators ascending to the Legos, movies, and board games above.
“But is it better to look, even if you’re not going to buy?”
Sullen silence.
“Which part do you like best,” I prompted, casting about for a way to turn the conversation and get us out of there fast, “returning, looking, or buying?” A strategic blunder. Obviously he would say buying and I’d have dragged us a step closer to a tiresome round of shopping negotiations and, if I gave in, another needless purchase. Instead, a thoughtful pause, head tilted in reflection. Finally he looked at me and said firmly, “I like the part after the buying when you do the thing.”
“You mean like riding your new bike?”
“And building the Lego King’s Castle. And playing with the lightsabers. I don’t want to return any of those.”
We’d already taken a couple of two-hour bike rides on the Bay Trail in front of our house on the new bike he got for Christmas. They were some of the best times during our holiday break. Sparkling blue sky, views of the city, my little boy stretching out his legs to reach the pedals on his shiny new Specialized Hotrock 24, zipping along the trail. We’d spent weeks researching it. He rode a dozen bikes at six different shops around town before we were sure we’d found the best fit and the optimal balance of value for investment. He’d spent another full day of vacation putting together the Lego King’s Castle, all 933 pieces. Later, he and a friend staged raids on the castle, inventing a world of rival kingdoms and brave knights. And he’d been challenging all takers to lightsaber duels since Christmas morning. The ultimate battle occurred Christmas night at grandma’s house, when he talked one of our guests into putting on his parka and dueling outside on a clear, cold night that made the stars sharp and close. Clashing red and green lightsabers lit up the blackness.
These things are worth doing. They’re fun and sweet and authentically full of life. Though it seems obvious now, it hadn’t occurred to me that Ivan and I make purchases for mostly different reasons, and that his reasons are better. I don’t usually buy myself rollerskates or board games or horses or sailboats or motorcycles. When I buy something for fun, I usually buy stuff, not fun. It’s often stuff with little or no purpose, or that may even deliver an unpleasant experience, at least in the short term, such as stockings and high heels. It’s the difference in our age, naturally, but a gender divide yawned as well. Ivan’s father has a sailboat and in the past he’s bought zippy little cars we both loved to drive. It’s the old cliché. Men buy toys, women buy stuff. It’s about what they do, not who they are. REI versus Bloomingdale’s. But that’s not entirely true, either. I’ve certainly bought—and used—my share of surfboards, mountain bikes, climbing gear, and airline tickets. But it’s been a while. I’ve slipped into a habit of buying socks and sheets. Have I forgotten something vital?
The last few years have been overwhelmingly busy with work and family. While I still feel the optimism and desire to renew myself that often presages a bout of discretionary spending, my attention has shifted away from other, better ways to fulfill that desire. Sitting at my computer as the limited-time offers to save, save, save roll in continuously, it’s easy to forget that I already have a bike, and the Bay Trail is still right outside, and I don’t have to spend any money to take off on a sunny day and feel the breeze whispering past me. Spend or save, engaging with life, the outdoors, and each other feels best of all. Ivan knows it intuitively, the way I suspect all children do.
It would be disingenuous not to disclose that I bought, gleefully, a pair of Prada sunglasses and a Diane Von Furstenberg dress at Bloomingdale’s within minutes—minutes!—of returning the suede bag. I spent twice what the bag cost, and more. They’re both great purchases and I was thrilled with them. Stylish, solidly useful additions to my wardrobe bought at 20 and 40 percent off, respectively. They are not going back and I have no regrets. In fact, I wore the sunglasses just today and felt a surge of Holly Golightly chic. It’s not the buying that’s inherently a problem, but the choice of what to buy, and why. Maybe we call it discretionary spending because doing it right requires discretion: the careful evaluation of options, sound judgment, insight, and discipline. Children know what they want and why. Adults should, too.
Julianne Balmain is the author of numerous books, including travel books, sex books, humor books, and even a few books for kids. Writing as Nadia Gordon, she is the author of four Napa Valley culinary mysteries, including Lethal Vintage, which was nominated for a Mystery Writers of America Mary Higgins Clark Award. Her mystery novels have been called “jolly, high-calorie pleasure” by the Chicago Tribune, “highly enjoyable” by the Washington Post, and “rapturous” by the Los Angeles Times. Her many works of nonfiction include The Kama Sutra Deck: 50 Ways to Love Your Lover, which has been translated into half a dozen languages. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Ivan Ewers enjoys biking, sketching, and reading Star Wars and Harry Potter books. He is in first grade.
Rhett Jones: As Seen On TV
Rhett Jones is a multi-media artist who lives and works in Brooklyn, NY. He holds a B.S. in Digital Media from Full Sail University. His work tends to focus on Digital Culture and it’s effects on our consciousness, emotions and political life. Jones recently completed work on his first feature film entitled, “The Villains” which will debut in the summer of 2012. His artistic life for the last three months has been as a member of the Situationist offshoot/Street Theatre Troupe/Professional Sports Team known as Occupy Wall Street.
Rhett Dunlap: Post Cool
Best Buy was a zoo. The parking lot was comically too small for the size of the store. Someone was going to get shot this close to Christmas.
We patiently waited for a young woman to leave. We nodded to her a hundred times Japanese style—monumentally grateful for her doing absolutely nothing intended to help us. She nodded to us magnanimously.
On the walk to the building, I noticed a hidden barely-marked parking lot on top of the store. Maybe everyone knows Best Buy has this type of parking. I just don’t shop. Rookie move.
After getting an iPhone case for my daughter, we went straight for the cameras.
The teenage salespeople and fluorescent lighting lulled us into spending $1,500 in about 15 minutes. I purchased a high-end professional level camera. A level 4 out of 5 of what they had to offer. I thought the level 5/most expensive camera would be too much, too risky. What if I broke it? Do I deserve that kind of technology? Had I been good all year?
I used a VISA card for the buyer’s protection insurance. I also bought the insurance from Best Buy. Fully refundable.
I note on the receipt that it is prominently stated that Best Buy keeps a database of people returning items. Presumably, the company flags people who abuse their liberal return policy.
Will I ever be able to use a lesser camera again? Would I be barred from purchasing one of these in the future?
This might be my only chance.
…..
I thought I had removed all lust for material…all material-culture Christmas spirit. I was proud of this spiritual achievement, but this camera felt so good in my hands. There was so much potential in it. So much power to grab so many individual beams of light. So many pixels. It could reveal life. It could capture political misdeeds. It could capture beauty. It could suck a soul right out of a person.
At 4:30 am the first morning after buying the camera, I awoke. I bounced out of bed like it was Christmas morning. I tore through the instruction manual. Figured out the operational basics. Tied on the strap. Inserted the battery. Clicked in place the memory card.
I was giddy and out the door by 4:31 in the first glow of sunrise.
My toes were freezing as I knocked out a few shots. I took close ups of rocks and Bootsy, the main neighborhood feral cat—who bullies our cats but fawns over my daughter.
I photographed our cat Blue Ocean, and he shot me a look that said;
“I’m going to stick that camera up your ass.”
*Per my daughter’s instructions, I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard. Over the holiday we had some difficult news that created anxiety for my daughter. Some people (mainly urban non-breeders) give me shit about being at the beck and call of my daughter, but It is biologically/evolutionarily impossible to explain how hard parenting is to a person without a child.
…
I had an overcast afternoon to myself, and I spent the afternoon on Mt Tam.
I journeyed into the forest and meditated on this project; material desire and the assertion of status through objects.
Nature does not have to try.
The natural world pushes through the senses regardless of one’s own involvement in other mental or physical activities.
If you point the camera, something beautiful will be there. Just being is enough. You do not have to come earnestly.
After taking photographs of the sunset from the cliffs near our home, I don’t believe I or anyone else will ever have to photograph another sunset. (although some credit should also be given to the camera.)
….
A few days later, while looking for something other than the camera to return for this project, I beg my daughter to let me return our new Lego Death Star. I want to see what they’ll do if I try to return it fully erected. I could say that I believe there’s a flaw in the design: a small thermal exhaust port right below the main port seems to vulnerable to setting off a chain reaction that could destroy the entire base.
…
I read an article recently in Adbusters about the death of cool. (Ironically, in an uber-cool magazine.) The article argued that the new aesthetic would emphasize post-cool values of simplicity, authenticity, naturalness, and earnestness versus cool values of indirectness, irony, flexibility, infusion of humor, and flippancy.
As a single father, I like this shift. It seems to fit more of what I embody- but as a single father, I wonder whether post-coolness is something that will attract women.
Human nature.
…
I still have the camera.
It’s now January 4th, and although I’m conscious that I need to return it to finish this piece for the big return project, I will return the camera by January 24 (Best Buy’s deadline).
I promise.
I mean, it is too expensive to keep, right?
Rhett Dunlap is a writer based in coastal Marin County. His method is to experience the will of the divine…and to challenge that will when necessary. He lives with his ten-year old daughter—who is actively looking for a spell or other supernatural force that will turn her into a cat.
Heather Sparks:The Big Return
*abbreviated version- see full version at http://cargocollective.com/bigreturn
As a meditation on desire and consumer practices, I took a group shopping in San Francisco, for things we really wanted, but asked everyone to return everything they bought by the end of the day.
We took full advantage of freebies- (hand lotion, hair products, perfume, free samples of coffee and food), were entertained by a fashion show, entranced and inspired by store displays, picked up models, and had romantic moments near the Nordstrom pianist— We all felt a rush of adrenaline when we bought coveted and expensive items— and a rush of relief when we returned everything.
Workshop participants included Gordon Winiemko, Megan Wilson, and Guy Overfelt.
Heather Sparks is a conceptual artist whose work spans installation, sculpture, and video as well as drawing and painting. Heather’s work has been exhibited internationally, and was recently screened at the Sotheby’s Institute in New York in conjunction with Jeremy Blake and Haluk Akakce. Her work can currently be seen on the Big Screen Project on 6th Avenue in New York, and was recently exhibited at the Atomic Testing Museum, Smithsonian Museum, Las Vegas, NV in conjunction with the Contemporary Art Center, Las Vegas and Creative Time, NY. She has been included in the Valencia Biennale, “Observatori”, in Valencia, Spain and in the Lyon Biennale, in Lyon, France. Her work has been reviewed and featured in Flash Art, World Sculpture News, Art Papers, LA Times, Herald Tribune, Ha’aratz, Studio Magazine, Camerawork Journal of Photographic Arts, Surface Magazine, Architecture Now, Der Freund, SF Bay Guardian, Slash Seconds, Opium Magazine, Zing Magazine, and other publications. Heather received her MFA from Stanford University in 2007. She received her BFA from the San Francisco Art Institute, received a Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture Fellowship in 1994, and was a Kala artist in residence in 2000. Her writing has been featured in the Huffington Post, and her book “It Colors Your Life: A Coloring Book of Drinking and Smoking” is scheduled for publication in 2012. Her work will be exhibited at the San Francisco Art Commission Gallery and Ictus Gallery, SF, in January 2012.
Aaron Terry: Apple
There’s a bunch of issues that jump up at me when asked to go out and buy something I want, spend a day with it and then return it. Ultimately, it diffuses the machinations involved in how I am affected by purchasing. There are days when buying something will make me feel better in the same way that a drink will make me feel better: it is momentary, lasting perhaps 30 minutes, then either some sense of tiredness or dissatisfaction kicks in, which leads to either going home and going to bed or having another go at it. It is a floodgate once opened that can be hard to shut. To go out knowing that you will return the product is a different story. Suddenly shopping isn’t a special event or a “I deserve this moment”. It is a chore (akin to a non-alcoholic beer). There’s the to and from (in my case, driving, looking for parking, being frustrated before I’ve even begun to shop), the hassle of navigating shoppers in a crowded store and finally knowing that I have to go through it all again just to return it!
In my case, I originally didn’t know what I really wanted. I’m on a “let’s get out of debt” kick. Perhaps it is the holiday season, which for me as a teacher is a month of no paychecks. I know I will crash-land into January praying for my first paycheck on skinned knees, late bills and February rent looming. So…Christmas is often a rather low financial moment. Anyways, I decided I wanted to upgrade my computer to the latest OS; something which is totally intangible, not necessarily necessary, but nevertheless, something I feel I’m supposed to do to keep up. I even researched the return policy and thought that as an object (which I couldn’t install if I wanted to return it), this disc would be revealed as just a waste of cardboard and plastic packaging with no real value to me or humanity. Not even a conversation piece. Totally defused of its $29.99 value.
As fate would have it, Apple no longer sells the OS discs (you can buy them online or download them from Apple). I was stuck, surrounded by gadgets. I really don’t want an iPad. I don’t need a computer and I have a love hate relationship with my iPhone, so I didn’t want to even fathom an upgrade, so I went for the next best thing: a harddrive. Virtual storage space. I have four of them already: Back ups of back ups of my virtual history. Some of my old hard drives won’t even plug into my computer anymore. So…who knows their use or relevance. All this money spent to record and double save my digital meanderings thinking one day I will be saved by them and they are useless. I don’t even know what’s on some of them. But I need a new one. I need to back up my iTunes because my last back up drive crashed and I lost everything I’ve ever downloaded. I also want to back up movies and photos and documentation of my art and it would be nice to put it all under one roof.
But it’s really not a conversation piece. It’s embarrassing or at least irrelevant to even be writing about it here. It’s a waste of everyone’s time to read this because most of us already know the catch 22 of our relationship to technology. So, I thought I would bring my dog Mylo along for the fun. We sat and thought about the hard drive when we got home. Mylo wasn’t terribly interested or impressed, so I continued to think about it. It is truly just a box (within a box). There’s nothing to have fun with. I thought about putting some files on the drive and returning it, but it was so deflating to think I was actually thinking about a box that I had to return that I lost all interest. Even if I did keep the drive, I’d have to spend a couple hours organizing my virtual life. At that moment, I realized I wanted nothing more to do with it. I was already upset that I had to go through driving and parking to return it. I kept it with me all day, but I wasn’t going to give it any more of my time.
To me, this project is a great meditation on spending. It made me realize that I can actually return something. There have been many times when I had those moments of needing to shop to uplift my spirits, only to be followed by a deep sense of regret and irresponsibility. This dissolved that. I will try to practice this action the next time I spend. It works. It is empowering. It makes me want to know how many other things I can return.
As a random aside, I have included 14 pictures of my day. Each one worth $20 of time documented in the purchase price of the harddrive (had I kept it). Having returned it, how much are they worth in time and money? Nothing. They are a testament to money not spent. Nothing is better than a $280 debit to my account.
Aaron Terry grew up as a kid with no electricity or running water in the woods of Upstate New York until fate brought his family to Philadelphia, where he grew into the city as a young adult. His biggest fear as a child was nuclear war or a bear attack. Terry’s work has been shown in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Philadelphia, Portland, Oregon and the Bay Area. He currently lives in the Redwood groves of Canyon, CA. His current fears include Nuclear radiation and Mountain Lion attacks or “Sudden Oak Death” caused falling trees. He holds an MFA from the San Francisco Art Institute (SFAI) and currently teaches at the California College of the Arts and SFAI.
Megan Wilson: Missioni
Megan Wilson is a visual artist based in San Francisco. She creates large-scale installations that incorporate traditional crafts and decoration as a point of entry and engagement for the issues she addresses conceptually. These include the meaning and value of “home;” Buddhist principles of impermanence and generosity; beauty and ornamentation; feminism; and the intersections between art/life/architecture/design. Her public projects explore and challenge socio-political structures and their impact on community and culture. Wilson grew up in Montana. She received her BFA from the University of Oregon and an MFA from the San Francisco Art Institute. Her work has been exhibited nationally in the San Francisco Bay Area, Los Angeles, Sun Valley, Idaho, and Honolulu, Hawaii; and internationally in Tokyo, Japan; Yogyakarta, Indonesia; Paris, France; Jaipur, India, and Manila Philippines. Wilson is a recipient of grant awards from the Gunk Foundation, Artadia, the Asian Cultural Council, the Ford Foundation, the San Francisco Foundation, and the San Francisco Art Commission. Wilson’s work is included in San Francisco Museum of Modern Art 75 Years of Looking Forward, edited by Janet Bishop, Corey Keller, Sarah Roberts; Street Art San Francisco Mission Muralismo, edited by Annice Jacoby; Mural Art: Murals on Huge Public Surfaces Around the World by Kirakoss Iosifidis; Illustration: Play - Craving for the Extraordinary, Published by Victionary; and Sama-sama/Together: An International Exchange Project Between Yogyakarta and San Francisco, Published by Jam Karet.
Richard D. Heinsohn: Capitol Returns
Richard D. Heinsohn studied painting and drawing at the university of Georgia in Athens, GA and was awarded his B.F.A. as well as a solo show at the Lamar Dodd Courtyard Gallery in 1984. He moved to New York City in 1986 and lived and worked there for fifteen years. He has shown repeatedly in group shows at Allan Stone Gallery, most notable of which was the Summer Group Show of 1995 where he was included along with Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline, and other historically important painters. Allan Stone collected several of Heinsohn’s paintings.
Richard currently has a studio in Nashville TN, where he re-located to help his family. Recently he recieved the ” Critic’s Pick ” From The Nashville Scene for his solo exhibit at Estel Gallery in Nashville which included fourteen paintings. He was featured in The Tennessean for this exhibit. In 2010 his work was shown at Preston Contemporary Art Center in New Mexico and at The Lowe Gallery in Atlanta and featured in Nashville Arts Magazine. He is currently represented by The Lowe Gallery.
Richard also teaches painting and drawing at Watkins School of Art Design and Film as well as for the Art Embrace children’s program sponsored by the Y.M.C.A. He has recently been selected to teach a workshop in conjunction with the ” Modern Masters ” abstract painting exhibition from the Smithsonian American Art Museum at Cheekwood Art and Gardens in Nashville.
Johanna Thompson: Radio Shack Return Song
Berlin based artist Johanna Thompson received her BFA in New Genres from the San Francisco Art Institute and her MA from the University of London in a SOCRATES program in Media studies, focusing on New Media and Fine Arts. She has received several scholarships and grants and her work has been shown internationally. From 2003-2005 she held a position as visiting faculty for video production at Kyungsung and Dongseo University in Busan, Korea. Her work has been screened at ATA and the Pacific Film Archive in San Francisco, Remote Lounge in New York and she received the Pinochet Award in the Urban Doghouse Design Competition from Whitebox Gallery, New York.
Her work is project based with a strong forcus on transformation and interpersonal structures, formally it incorporates sound, performance and video.
Johanna Thompson and Coco C.: Radio Shack
Berlin based artist Johanna Thompson received her BFA in New Genres from the San Francisco Art Institute and her MA from the University of London in a SOCRATES program in Media studies, focusing on New Media and Fine Arts. She has received several scholarships and grants and her work has been shown internationally. From 2003-2005 she held a position as visiting faculty for video production at Kyungsung and Dongseo University in Busan, Korea. Her work has been screened at ATA and the Pacific Film Archive in San Francisco, Remote Lounge in New York and she received the Pinochet Award in the Urban Doghouse Design Competition from Whitebox Gallery, New York.
Her work is project based with a strong forcus on transformation and interpersonal structures, formally it incorporates sound, performance and video.
Coco C. is a Berlin based master carpenter who has worked on international projects, and recently built the shelving for Shakespeare & Company, Paris.
Guy Overfelt: Free Lunch: food court sample lunch
Best known for his burnout works made using a 1977 Pontiac Trans AM as an artist’s utensil and subject matter, San Francisco-based Guy Overfelt’s projects are raucous explorations of the American Dream via car culture. His body of work presents a special mix of printmaking, performance and sculpture that investigates the modern industrial complex by expropriating the symbolic brands of automotive corporations.
Guy Overfelt’s work has been exhibited internationally in galleries and museums including the Oakland Museum of California; Guangzhou Triennial, China; St. Mary’s University, Halifax, Canada; The Havana Biennial, Cuba; Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York; Jack Hanley Gallery, San Francisco, and White Columns, New York City. His work has been acquired by the Berkeley Museum Collection and the JPMorgan Chase Collection, as well as private collections. His work has been reviewed and featured in numerous publications, including the New Yorker, The New York Times, Art Net, Art Papers, Index Magazine, Paper Magazine, Time Out, Kobe Japan, Time Out, New York, Boing Boing, SF Guardian, Surface Magazine, and the San Francisco Chronicle, as well as other publications and catalogs. His work was featured in the documentary film ‘Burning Rubber’ which recently aired on Bravo. He received his BFA from Maryland Institute College of Art in 1994 and an MFA from San Francisco Art Institute in 1996. He lives and works in San Francisco and Bolinas, California.
