And me without my camera...

The last of my MySpace blogs. And man, was it a lengthy one. No wonder I haven't blogged since. Sheesh. Monday, March 16, 2009


Worst thing about forgetting your phone when you're out to an event like Luminaria is not the being out of touch, or even not knowing what time it is. (Seriously, does anyone under the age of 50 wear a watch anymore?  We've become a generation of old-timey railroad conductors, checking our pocket-watches every so often, "looks like the 3:17 is right on time...")

The worst part is not being able to document any of it.

Luminaria, for those of you not in San Antonio (or who have somehow avoided the billboards and commercials, and if so, good for you!) is a citywide arts event.  Downtown is closed off and given over to the artists. 

Or so it was supposed to be, anyway -- I can remember at last year's planning meeting, one artist's work was rejected because "we don't want to get all Ren Fest, do we?"  I forget who said that, but clearly he was not on the committee this year.  There were fire-walkers and jugglers in the streets, along with the radio station pimps and Jesus-freaks and snack-hawkers and I don't doubt for a moment that it was the best night in months for Ripley's and the various restaurants along Alamo Street.  Some tourist asked if I knew where the Hard Rock Cafe was.  We have a Hard Rock Cafe?  Why?

But there wasn't much art present.

Look, I'm old enough that lasers still impress me.  I can remember when they were objects of terror, and I'm still a little wary when they are shot willy-nilly into a crowd -- somebody's going to be blinded!  But I guess it doesn't work like that anymore, because that's pretty much what the street art consisted of Saturday.  Lasers shot at buildings.  Which looked great.  But didn't have much to do with art.  There were faces projected onto the front of the Alamo, along with what seemed very much like advertising copy.  Could that be? 

There was some street poetry stuff on Houston, which was kind of nice (but let's face it, easily ignored).  And a groovy projection installation there, a little girl being shot through a few rows of gauzy sheets, which was a lot more effective than I'd have guessed.  But that was probably the only straight "art" piece I saw outside.  Maybe the weather forced everyone indoors?  If so, I never found where.

(Which isn't to say it wasn't there -- there were so many people out there braving the forecast that I could have missed a train of elephants, all linked trunk to tail, mere feet away from me.  Come on, people, this is San Antonio, we don't go outside if it looks like it might sprinkle.  What, was there nothing good on TV?)

I did see a little parade from the Southwest School of Art and Craft, children (and their proud, hippie-dippie parents) carrying paper lanterns through the crowds.  It was kind of haunting, really, I couldn't help but smile every time I saw it.  Beautiful.

Lots of music in the streets.  I had pieces showing on opposite ends of downtown, a couple at Dar's show in Gallery 118 (on Broadway at Houston) and one at Instituto Cultural de Mexico (down under the Tower of the Americas).  (I also had something showing at Joey's Film Day SA screening, but... I couldn't find it.  Sorry, Joey.)  So I had a long walk from one end of town to the other.  I heard jazz (ah, Bett Butler, may you always bring the swing!) and classical guitar and conjunto and solo violin.  A surprising number of your run-of-the-mill cover bands, too -- someone was pumping out the best of Doug Sahm as I passed that ridiculous orange thing out in the intersection, across from the Convention Center.

But as I drew near the Instituto, a pleasant surprise.  A little rear-projected screen behind them, my favorite local Girl/Boy Pop Toy (hell, my favorite Girl/Boy Pop Toy worldwide!), Hyperbubble was playing.  A little child was dancing on the sidewalk in front of me.  My boy loves this stuff, too.  Maybe they should make a kid's album.  But when I came back through later, they were at it again (still?) and the grownups were boogying down, ages 17-70.  These guys need to be playing arenas and stadiums, not sidewalks.  But as long as I can here "Roller Boogie Baby Doll" live on the sidewalk, and for free, I will.

Anyway, I finally got to the screening.  Saw a lot of people I hadn't seen in a few months.  (Most frequently-heard: "your hair is... back.")  Mine was the first to show on the outside screen (nice, loud, clear speakers, why can't we get this on a regular basis?).  Naturally, no one was there, including me.  It was scheduled to show again indoors, the last one on the program.  I wasn't there that late, so I presume it did not screen at all, because I'd have been the only one there, I'm sure.  People take off after theirs screens, and who can blame them?  I would've.  Or might've, had I not seen some great work by friends:. 

The Parker Creek project "No Soliciting" screened.  I was present for the production (and wrap party, and not much else).  I congratulated all involved, I hope, and do so now if I missed anyone.  It was good work.  I told Justin what a good job I thought he'd done as the lead actor, and he said "we couldn't have done it without everyone there.  Which includes you.  I guess."  Justin has an admirable tendency to not tip a joke, one I try to share, and so I don't know for sure how sincere was his insult.  I'd like to think entirely.  Get him ready for a Hollywood career of stepping on the little people. 

Sam Lerma's "Trash Day" showed at Dar's Gallery 118 screening.  It was truly impressive.  Sam's probably the most artistically committed director in town, and as such, he doesn't work very often.  But what he does is always impressive.  I got to be on set for a lot of this one, too, and didn't learn a thing.  But I study Sam's work anyway, someday I'll crack the Lerma code.

My old pal Alston Cox did a mini-doc about her new neighborhood.  I'm not sure if it was supposed to have sound.  It didn't outside (and knowing it's going to be outside in San Antonio, one is wise to omit sound, this instance notwithstanding).  But it was an admirable piece, a snapshot of a disappearing chunk of our city's cultural identity.  It made me want to move there.

I'm a sucker for color, and so Erik Bosse's "Awaiting the Equinox" really revved my outboard.  Deborah Keller-Rihn dancing and creating one of her beautiful mandalas, brightly colored circles of chalky dust.  It was maybe the only piece I saw that really was what you'd call an "art film" (except for the Mombassa Code performance piece, with live "microscopy," fire dancing, video montages culled from YouTube and various video archives, and the sort of musical noodling one might associate with an eight-piece band that included not one but two -- TWO! -- droning prayer bowls).

Carlos Pina's "Shicken Chit" was a good time, Carlos returning to the comedy he does so well.  Episodic, filled with charming, charismatic performances, and he's really developing as a visual storyteller.  I loved his use of close-ups for cutaways and transitions.  My biggest complaint was that he wasn't in it himself -- Carlos is one of the loosest, goofiest comic actors in San Antonio film, and I always want to see him on screen.

And then came A.J....  "Death Rattle" sounds like the title of a Stephen Seagal direct to video rental involving snake handlers and meth labs, but it's instead the most beautiful film project ever to come out of San Antonio, film or video.  (And it was video, suck on that film-lovers.)  A.J. Garces is an astonishing talent, and if he'd just buckle down and commit to being a filmmaker (instead of making his very comfortable living with graphic arts, and too often squandering his camera gifts on projects that aren't deserving of them), he'd be living in a beachfront villa in Spain right now.  This should be playing in Cannes, in Berlin, in Santa Barbara, in every film festival that matters.  "Death Rattle" is an amazing film.

And here's mine.  It's no "Death Rattle," but it has a better title.