After Everyone Has Fallen Asleep

Writing can be a bitch. And writing a blog after a full day of writing on deadline at a newspaper can be a motherf'er. Miguelito is often on my case about being delinquent with updates on my blog. ("My fingers and brain need a break!" is the excuse that I give.) Besides, what's left to say after everyone's posited their musings on topics ranging from Yves St. Laurent's recent death (Ashley Olsen, believe it or not, was one of the more succinct and stylish pundits) to the preview of Mr. Brainwash's first art exhibition (as chronicled so thoroughly on Whorange well before I had my morning cup of tea). Whatever I would say following the others' lead would be stale and anticlimactic. But I remembered what a senior journalist once told me: If you can't be first, then be second with more analysis. So here it goes:
Yves St. Laurent: Even though I don't own any pieces created by him, he's responsible for many of the items in my current wardrobe: pants, tuxedo dressing, sheer blouses, an ethnic vibe (albeit via Vietnam). I've been lusting after his original safari jacket for the better part of the last two decades. I'm not sure if I'll ever find one. But I can dream.
Tim Russert: He covered politics, a topic I've always dreaded to read and write about. But he did it with a fierce intellect, fairness to those who disagreed with him, graciousness toward those who weren't quite at his level and boundless love for his family. I want to be like him when I grow up.
Mr. Brainwash: I was first exposed to Mr. Brainwash's lunatic art by accident. Cruising down Sunset Boulevard on my evening commute home in late May, I noticed a new billboard on the wall of a nondescript building. I whipped out my camera from my purse and eyed the stoplight to make sure that it didn't turn green before I got my shot. Perhaps it was the painting's messiness that evoked the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi. Or maybe it was the irony of the message (Gen Xers like me dig irony). Or I was just in one of those post-work moods that made me happy to be on my way to see Miguelito. Over the next few weeks, Mr. Brainwash finished more of his works to fill an empty TV studio. As others noted, Shepard Fairey, the DJ-ing street artist who's one of the first to successfully meld art with apparel at Obey, was at the VIP preview on Tuesday night. Other fashion and media folks I spotted at the bash were designer Jeremy Scott in a tuxedo jacket with sequined lapels and his signature mullet, TV reporter Huell Howser, photographer Mark "The Cobrasnake" Hunter and Web personality Clint Catalyst. I had my own art entourage: Emmie and Olga, who both head their own card companies. Together, we ran into my friend's friend who regaled them with a story about a fired intern who stole a one-of-a-kind jacket lent to a starlet from a European fashion company (fashion folks just can't avoid the drama). We also snapped some shots.

The main room looked empty because all the hipsters were scoring free cocktails in the courtyard. If I had to sum up Mr. Brainwash in the way that most reporters do with character assessments (or are they character assassinations?), I would say he's clever, resourceful and a tad hasty. I liked how he riffed on famous images created by other artists by inserting his own commentary on popular culture. Edward Hopper's forlorn damsel gazes at an Apple laptop in an empty cafe. Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker pose with hearty but grim pioneer kin on the prairie. Al Pacino, as Scarface, scatters pastel paintballs through a machine gun. The artist was successful in searching for old TV sets to assemble into a hulking robot, hundreds of stuffed toys crammed into a cage and piles of books which formed a base for an Apple laptop whose screen reminded everyone that: "Life Is Beautiful." (Is Steve Jobs a de Medici-like patron to Mr. Brainwash?) Yet, as Olga noticed, Mr. Brainwash was too quick to jump to the punchline. He didn't carefully troll stores for quality tomes to use in his book-iBook installation. If he were creating art, she noted, he would have taken the time to find meaningful titles that enhance the point of the piece, instead of self-help books that you can buy for 10 cents apiece. I also thought he was repetitive at times. It reminded me of Kara Walker's recent exhibit at the Hammer Museum. The young artists had one message that they kept emphasizing over and over again in different media of varying scales. In a way, with this approach, they got lost in the message. I wouldn't mind if they used only one medium to show how their message evolved, along with their intellect and technique.

This tomato spray can only be fully appreciated if seen in scale next to hipsters.

Do you think Lonely Girl cuddles with Lonely Bear at night?

I can't tell if Mr. Brainwash is giving a new spin on a bewigged George Washington or a platinum blond Marilyn Monroe.

I brought the art experience with me to my cubicle, pinning Mr. Brainwash's Warhol-inspired portrait of the lovechild born to Marilyn Monroe and Mr. Spock on a file cabinet. It's keeping company with Yoda and Emmie's cynical bear named Shapiro.

But the best bear is Miguelito. Here he is joshing with a life-size painting of Amelia Earhart in his friend's backyard. You see, art is everywhere!

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