Bosma on Fakeshop

Fakeshop is a collective of artists, physically based in New York, but operating around the world.
At the time of the interview, in 1997, they were recreating scenes from significant movies in their Brooklyn studio (complete with a live audience of about 100 people), bouncing audio and video streams of the performance of their brazilian web-server, to be accessible to a remote audience. Important here is the fact that Fakeshop trys to incorporate the physical location alongside the digital location. A viewer could be in Sau Paulo, St. Petersburg, Anchorage, or sitting in the audience in Brooklyn, perhaps even participating in the performance.
If you visit Fakeshop right now (Sept 1, '05) you will find a series of manipulated and interleaved surveillance-like photographs, which are the end-result of the project for remote viewers. By navigating beyond these images, the user finds a photograph of the physical location, a chair endowed with web-cams, surrounded by shower-curtains. Suddenly the images cease being separate ideas, and merge to become captured moments in a performative experience.

Bosma's interview was found at Laudanum.net.

Art, not now but later.

The question is the same, rephrased; What is art?
Is there something intrinsically 'art' about a painting in a gallery that ceases to exists when the painting is moved into the street? Is a photograph art when it is in a storage container, or only when it is hung, labeled, lit, and behind glass?
Allan Kaprow, in his article Success and Failure When Art Changes, speaks of a project in which inner-city Bay Area youth created images and stories out of photographs, paint, ink, and discarded "Dick and Jane" books. Kaprow says that since the works were never published or discussed in artistic circles, they failed to meet the public definition of art.
Is that when something becomes art? When it is discussed, printed, reviewed, published and distributed? That sounds more like commercial success. A hermit in a cave, painting on the wall, will have created to same image, whether or not someone comes along after his death and discovers the paintings.
Without discovery the art may never enter the social consciousness, the greater knowledge.
But this does not affect its existence as art.

Doggie Retaintment

So my latest attempt to ensure the saftey of my dog and attempt to protect my apartment is in place.
It consists of a cutting board held to the door by two L-brackets. I'm hoping he can just scratch to his hearts delight without hurting his paws, and without shredding anymore of the linoleum.

Escape atempts

Budders opened his crate today, kinda.
While I was in class he managed to pull the entire door into the kennel and then walked out, taking care to shred his doggie mat in the crate.
This morning he cut himself on the door trying to dig out.
I gotta figure out something.

just write. The idea has got to be found somewhere in the words which flow from fingers ill used to the creative keyboard process. I’ve been drawing a lot.
Its kinda hard to sit down and write. I’ve had my cigarette, had my coffee. I’m still having it, in fact. Vanilla latté. I live in the basement of my building, under neighbors, a deli, a phone store, and a coffee shop. The sickly sweet smell of half-baked bread greets my nose each morning, and again around midday. I could never go into that deli. The coffee shop is a whole other story. My super is also the manager, so I get a discount on drinks. A whole quarter. yippie.
What? i tried to quit last night. That damn gum tastes like shit. There’s that feeling in my throat like I need to cough, but there’s nothing actually there. Fucking gross. Bought a pack this morning. I guess... I’ll cut down a whole lot. I’ve said that before. Then again I’ve done that before. Shit, maybe I can stick to it this time.
My upstairs neighbor listens to metal. I can hear it though the ceiling.
Boom boom boom boom.