Art you should know: Watercolor tattoos by Amanda Wachob

Amanda Wachob is a New York-based tattoo artist whose method gets rid of the black border around a tattoo, opening the piece up for a softer, blended look with fluid lines that resemble watercolor paintings or gestural paint strokes. (Watch her and other pros talk about the watercolor tattoo movement here.)

By Amanda Wachob

If you want her to ink you next, good luck. Her waitlist is supposedly years long. Luckily, there are plenty of other ways for you to get your eyes on her work.

She prints hyper-close images of her skin tattoos on to silk canvases, and collaborates on super cool projects, such as the Skin Data project with neuroscientist Maxwell Bertolero. The pair recorded the time and voltage of her tattoo machine’s power supply as she created several tattoos, and they made images based on the data that resulted. I also really dig her collaboration with conceptual artist Mary Ellen Carroll, called HOLÉ. Participants wore an article of clothing with a hole in it and the artists then “filled the hole” with tattoo ink as if to say “all holes can be fixed permanently.”

By Amanda Wachob

In Amanda’s Bloodlines series, she tattoos a subject with meaningful shapes in a non-permanent water line. The body will eventually heal the tattoo and dissolve the mark into the skin, the energy of the symbol also absorbed symbolically into the person.

And while her specialty is skin, don’t miss her work on fruit. Tattoo artists practice on plant rinds before moving on to human skin. I’m particularly smitten by her lemon tattooed with the word “tryst.” What a great word, especially to betroth the bitter, beautiful, impermanent lemon.

The one piece of Bourdain’s writing I keep near my desk at all times

You know how they talk about finding your people, your soul tribe? The type of soul tribe Anthony Bourdain belonged to felt like it overlapped with the soul tribe I belong to, if you were to venn diagram it all out. He was my favorite kind of personso sour and cantankerous and sharp-edged, but he had more heart and intelligence and perception in that quick-witted tip of his tongue than most people can hope to have in their whole bodies. I loved him, and his writing will go down as one of the best of a global American generation.

His suicide was a real punch to so many of our well-fed guts. He represented the type of American a lot of us want to be: Open minded but opinionated, humble but confident, idealistic but realistic, brave in the face of bullshit with a keen eye for spotting it (his rants against Donald Trump’s idiocy were the most recently hilarious/ cathartic). He also, in a lot of ways, represented the type of writer every modern writer wants to be. Bourdain’s style was impeccable, and he was a master storyteller.

I keep this excerpt from a piece he wrote for Lucky Peach #5 at my desk. It’s a perfect example of his ability to tell stories, even when they weren’t his, with humor and heat (which is what, I’m assuming, made him so great in the kitchen too). I’ve kept this piece in my desk drawer for a while now. I pull it out and reread it sometimes, mostly when I need a reminder that even the most basic piece of writing can tell a great fucking story. And it’s better when it does.

That Bourdain no longer is out in this world somewhere, learning, eating, meeting others, means there’s one less good and powerful voice speaking for so many of us. A good and powerful voice that was also incredibly entertaining. God speed, my man.

THE HEAD OR THE FILLET

By Anthony Bourdain

“Back in the day, when wealthy merchants used to travel across China in caravans, they were, from time to time, set upon by organized gangs of bandits and highwaymen. These enterprising free market enthusiasts would ambush columns suddenly and without mercy, quickly slaughtering guards and escorts, then stripping the members of the party of any valuables before killing them. The head man, however, they always saved for last.

Dragged kicking and screaming and begging for his life from his litter, forced to kneel on ground still soaked with the blood of his bearers and entourage, he would find himself at the feet of the chief bandit. The Chief Bandit, inevitably a fearsome-looking fellow, would offer the trembling merchant a whole cooked fish. Steamed, grilledit didn’t matter. But it was always whole.

‘Eat!’ the Chief Bandit would command, pushing the fist in the direction of his prisoner. There would be a hush as the other bandits took a break from looting, disembowling, post-mortem violation, or any totemic preservations of remains they might be engaged in to move close to the action for what was clearly a Very Important Moment.

If the terrified merchant’s fingers or chopsticks moved straight to the fish’s head, tunneling into the cheek, perhaps, or tearing off a piece of jowl, there would be much appreciative murmuring among the Chief Bandit and his colleagues.

By choosing the multi textured, endlessly interesting mosaic of flesh buried in the fish’s head, their captive proved himself to be a man of wealth and taste. Clearly a man such as this possessed more wealth than what he and his caravan were currently carrying. This man would no doubt be missed by his family and his many wealthy friends, at least some of whom would likely pay a hefty ransom. The bandits would spare his life in the reasonable expectation of future gain.

If, however, the merchant chose instead to peel off a meaty chunk of boneless fillet, the bandits would jerk a cutlass across his neck immediately. This nouveau riche yuppie scum would be worth only as much as he carried in his pockets. Not worth keeping alivemuch less feeding. Nobody would miss this asshole. The minute he chose fillet over head he proved himself worthless.”

My list of books to read this month

“The Body Is Not An Apology: The Power of Radical Self Love”

By Sonya Renee Taylor

Sonya Renee Taylor is a slam poet whose movement of radical self love started in a conversation she had with another woman before a slam poetry competition. Sonya’s friend shared an intimate secret: She didn’t always use protection when she had sex because she was disabled and felt like it was too much to ask. Sonya responded, to her friend as much as to herself, “Your body is not an apology.” This new book is an exploration of that idea, and it takes great steps to clearly define the differences between radical self love, self confidence, and self acceptance. Through stories and prompts, the book asks readers to examine how they might give greater radical love to their bodies and, in the process, the bodies of other humans around the world.

“Best-interest buying is also about reducing the harm our purchases cause other bodies. What are three ways you can reduce the harmful or exploitative outcomes of your purchases?”

 

“Dreamland: The True Tale of America’s Opiate Epidemic”

By Sam Quinones

This 2015 book by journalist Sam Quinones foresaw the way the 2016 election would shake down, at least in terms of the desperation so many small- or medium-sized towns were feeling to change something, anything to stop the devastating slow build of addiction in their communities. Moreover, this book is an incredible, concise look at how we got in this mess in the first place. From interviews with families who lost children in addictions that began at, of all places, the doctor’s office, to the families in tiny Mexican villages who started running heroin to the States as means for their own survival, to the advertisers and doctors whose cartoon-dollar-sign-eyes added to the trouble. This book reads like a thriller, even though it’s nonfiction, and is thoroughly researched: Quinones spent decades covering crime and Mexico for various print journalism outlets. I highly recommend this book, and if you’re in Chicago, try to read it in the, um, next few weeks, OK? At 6:30 pm on Monday, June 25, City Lit Books in Logan Square is hosting a book club circle about “Dreamland.” See you there!

 

“Imagine Wanting Only This”

By Kristen Radtke

A good friend of mine recently recommended this book, which came out last year. It’s a graphic narrative memoir (how cool are all those words strung together as one thing?!). At a funeral for Kristen Radtke’s uncle, she drove through an abandoned mining town. She was so moved and curiously crushed by the sight of its emptiness that it inspired a journey that took her to many other deserted places around the world. Her black and white illustrations further compound the story’s deep dive into the murky black depths of grief, loss, and loneliness. What’s left of us when we’re left behind?

And just like that it’s June

I’ve been looking forward to this month all year for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that Justin and I bought all our summer clothes in, like, March. We’ve been excited for summer.

Our New Year’s resolutions included going out more in our city when it’s nice outside and to spend more time together doing fun stuff. It’s not that we don’t spend a lot of time together, it’s just that sometimes, most of the time, life adds up and that free outdoor festival sounds like a monotonous, mountains-away drag when you can just nap in each other’s arms with the fan on at home. And just like that your life is a “16 There’s Still Time For You” song without a hint of irony.

We do watch a lot of TV together. Sometimes, most of the time, I’m reading while we do this. (Unless, of course, it’s an episode of “Dawson’s Creek,” which we’re re-watching from start to finish… If you’re looking for a hint of irony, you won’t find it. That show is like mysterious candy. Still. Even with the shitty new theme song.)

Fun fact: Theoretical physicist Carlo Rovelli—I learned this while reading—says time isn’t real and there are “actually no things at all. Instead, the universe is made up of countless events. Even what might seem like a thing—a stone, say—is really an event taking place at a rate we can’t register. The stone is in a continual state of transformation, and on a long enough timeline, even it is fleeting, destined to take on some other form.”

Cool cool cool.

Can I use that as an excuse next time I miss a deadline?

A few years ago at a backyard barbecue, a friend’s birthday party, one of the stoners, mid-bite of his veggie patty, told me that déjà vu is something we experience when we are in the exact place we should be. Like, the universes have aligned, man. I responded that I hadn’t had déjà vu in a long while and felt deathly depressed so perhaps he was on to something. Then we did some fire spitting and went home.

Even if time is a fluid human concept, there’s no denying the extent of which its very-very-realness impacts the lives of us non-physicists and/or potheads. It’s the great equalizer. The thing of which we never seem to have enough of, gently slipping through our well-worn fingers.

That’s why I’m also looking forward to this summer: I’ve been buying myself some time.

I’ve been working extra jobs since January in an effort to save up enough money to comfortably take this summer off from professional gigs to spend time on myself and my personal writing.

It’s my favorite aspect of freelancing—you decide how much work to take on, which means you can overload yourself to the point of exhaustion in order to reach the promised land of free time. When you freelance, you can be as successful or unsuccessful as you want, depending on how hard you’re willing to go.

The night before this all-hallowed summer season begins, I’m sitting in my apartment watching the national championship spelling bee. We meant to turn on the Cavs vs. Warriors game, but had the wrong station.

Have you ever watched a championship spelling bee before? On the screen are these perfectly precociously adorably brutal children being 1,000 times smarter than you despite the fact that you’ve got them beat by several decades during which you could have been studying the dictionary.

Nerds.

(Nerds I will happily freelance for one day when they run the world.)

Fun facts:

  • Arrhostia is an evolutionary product or trend that appears to be more or less pathological, such as the immense size attained by certain dinosaurs.
  • Kanone is a person who is an expert skier.
  • Carmagnole is a lively song popular at the time of the first French Revolution.
  • Soubresaut is a straight-legged jump from both feet with the toes pointed and feet together, one behind the other.
  • All of the above are words 12-year-olds knew or almost knew how to spell. (RIP Enya.)
  • Jackie Mantey still gets stuck spelling commitment. (Indeed, spell check just corrected that for me.)

It feels like just yesterday Justin and I were watching the Cavs play the Warriors at a nearby bar as Cleveland clinched its first championship in what felt like forever. It wasn’t yesterday, but it was two years ago.

Maybe I’ve been thinking about time so much because just like that, I’m 32, which is the age you officially start eye rolling 25-year-old Millennials blaming their ennui on a “quarter life crisis,” just like I did seven years ago. I’m such a Millennial, I Millennialed first, kids. Get off my rent controlled apartment’s avocado-strewn lawn.

Even LeBron “The GOAT and Still Smashing Records” James has been fielding questions from reporters about whether he feels his age will slow him down. He’s 33.

(Note: LeBron once felt a million years older than me, as did the characters on “Dawson’s Creek,” but, as I realized today after watching the jaunty little senior prank episode, I realized they were mere seniors in high school when I was a freshman. … See? Time. The great equalizer. Now we’re all just grief-stricken and stumbling and thoughtfully passive adults who can have reunion features in Vanity Fair.)

Truth is, I don’t give a shit about Roseanne being cancelled. And I watch “The Handmaid’s Tale” not because I think it’s important as a cautionary social justice horror story, I watch it because it’s cathartic. Seriously, watching June try to disassociate her mind from her body after being brought back to Gilead tapped into some deeply buried relate-ability. Growing up girl around people in power who condescendingly make you feel like your body is not your own, and with boys trained in this environment to treat you like shit, your mind can start to do the same thing. (I know it’s not the same as being raped systematically after being kidnapped, but we also don’t have intergalactic battles but empathize with and see ourselves in Luke Skywalker, so let a girl have her indulgences, OK?)

But most of the trauma I’ve experienced in my life happened to me a long time ago. Time (and sobriety) has healed its residual wounds and I’ve found ways to demand better—from men in my life and society as a whole. I, in essence, feel in control of myself and my reactions. I feel like I can help others going through the same thing and I try to, which is half of the healing process anyway.

So now, I’m living in the flow state of life’s ebb and flow. Things are moving forward but mostly I feel as if I’m waiting. For what? Can I really just not enjoy the peace? Do I always have to be on the lookout for what’s next? Is that a survival technique?

Or have I been conditioned to do this? To move so fast? Haven’t we all?

Apropos, here’s something else I recently read.

It’s a passage from Henry Kissinger’s article in this month’s Atlantic about human society being unprepared for the rise of artificial intelligence. Titled “How the Enlightenment Ends.” Yikes.

He writes, “Inundated via social media with the opinions of multitudes, users are diverted from introspection; in truth, many technophiles use the internet to avoid the solitude they dread. All of these pressures weaken the fortitude required to develop and sustain convictions that can be implemented only by traveling a lonely road, which is the essence of creativity.”

He has a point here. (Honestly, this was one of the few points I could understand in his essay, which is why I will not be running for president in 2020 and neither should you. We all need to just hold on to our tits and wait for those spelling bee kids to graduate from Yale.) But it seems reductive for me to blame all my dread about time’s passage on social media’s speed.

Markers of time: Reading google reviews of cereals to find the one that contains the least amount of sugar and the most amount of fiber but doesn’t taste like cardboard that’s been sitting in the puddle behind the Dumpster. (Check.) Walking the long way around the park as to avoid the packs of primal high schoolers spraying pheromones in each other’s direction. (Check.) Hating social media but knowing it’s not so black and white an issue/ experience as to sign off of it entirely. (Check check check.)

If everything, as the mad physicist says, is in a constant state of transformation, what is happening to me during this unspectacular time?

You know what I think might be contributing to my worry about time, too? The fact that I feel really good right now. So good, in fact, that  1) I have nothing else dramatic with which to soak up my brain cells, so left to their own devices they plan ahead, and 2) I wonder why I don’t have more of the things I want in my life yet. Where’s the house, the couch, the baby, the book, the MFA?

See, this is why I can’t truly hate Kim K. It’s so human—steadfast transformers that we are—to want more than what we have, despite having just earned some incredible things we wanted for a long time (i.e. a wonderful and supportive relationship, Chicago residency, stable work-from-home/ work-from-anywhere/ choose-your-own-adventure lifestyle, sobriety).

Trying to balance ambition with the gift, the privilege, of living in the present is tough.

The best Pinterest wisdom I’ve found about defeating jealousy, which can often drive our ambition, is the imperative to not compare yourself to others and instead compare your current self to who you were yesterday. With that in mind, I’m my life’s god damn Karthik “Commitment” Nemmani. (Winner of the 2018 national championship spelling bee. And actually he won spelling “koinonia,” which means Christian fellowship or communion. Congratulations, Karthik. I’m totally not j-e-a-l-o-u-s.)

So far, my best life advice is to always check the store-bought strawberries for mold before popping one into your mouth (a lesson hard won by experience) and to remember this too shall pass, even the calm and especially the time.

It just that ugh, sometimes, most the time, the waiting fucking sucks.

It’s only when life’s ebbs start nudging you in the gut again or throwing you upside down, head first, seatbelt off, into the next roller coaster ride of your life, that you appreciate how nice, soothing even!, it was to just stand in line.

As I write this, I realize I’ve had a lot of déjà vu recently, which could mean I’m exactly where I need to be. That’s a nice thought. Too nice though. Instead, this is the though I’m more likely to when I experience when déjà vu strikes: WHY IS MY BRAIN REMEMBERING THIS SEEMINGLY UNIMPORTANT MOMENT OF ME EATING MY FIBER RICH BREAKFAST? IS SOMEONE ABOUT TO DIE??

As the Cavs and Warriors went the locker room for half time, Justin and I looked at each other. We had planned to go out to a bar to get some food and watch the second half of the game. But our mutual look said that sounded like not as much fun as it sounded five hours ago.

We ended up staying in. After all, we have all summer.

Five things I’m loving this month

“Good Thing” by Leon Bridges

Leon’s new album “Good Thing” is *the* sound for summer 2018. Though, I’d probably make that sentence work for whatever season he released it in. This is modern soul music at its sickest. Start with “Bad Bad News” and just try not to let those hips swing a lil.

Online video workouts

I’m always looking for workout ideas to supplement my runs in the summer, when I prefer to run outside and avoid the sticky, sweaty, suffocatingly indoors indoor gym. DoYogaWithMe.com is a great resource for free yoga sequences led by expert instructors. I like this one for core strength and stretch.

I also recently found this series between Nicole from the blog Pumps & Iron and Hyatt Place. Nicole shows you how to do quick, easy indoor workouts inside Hyatt hotel rooms. (Five stars for a smart branding opportunity, Hyatt!) I’m still working my way through all of these, but this five-minute pyramid workout is a great place to start.

@concepttalk on Instagram

Published by sister site Neon Talk, Concept Talk posts old photos of retro products, interiors, and ad concepts. The visuals are rad and really weird, which is a nice/ often-startling change of pace between all the baby pics in my feed. Follow Concept Talk here.

“Little Fires Everywhere” by Celeste Ng

Everyone I know who likes to read has been raving about this book since it came out late last year. It was one of my options for a Book of the Month Club selection, but I picked another title, not yet knowing how good/ beloved this book would be! Thus, I’ve been waiting for it from the library for montttths.

It finally came in on Friday. I picked it up on Saturday. And I finished it on Sunday.

This book is so good! Not only is it fast-paced, pumping with mystery, and beautifully written, I loved that it told so many women’s stories and explored empathy-as-moralistic-valuethat complicated, perilous thingso well.

I also loved how gently she delivered the recurring theme of seeing ourselves in other people, or imagining our lives reflected in that of others’ experiences (and all the ways that seeing can take shape).

Time Magazine’s The Vault

Time Magazine’s cover story by Steven Brill was titled “How Baby Boomers Broke America,” but the real point of his examination of how the last 50 years led us to our current state of affairs is not about pitting one generation against another. In fact, it’s not about pitting political sides against each other either. It’s about how the unprotected have been pitted against each other in an effort to surreptitiously further protect the already protected.

That, rather than a split between Democrats and Republicans, is the real polarization that has broken America since the 1960s. It’s the protected vs. the unprotected, the common good vs. maximizing and protecting the elite winners’ winnings.

Read the full article here, the hit up this page called The Vault, where you can see all of Time’s cover stories from the past few months and click the links to read them directly.

Best-of commencement quotes about work to get you to the long weekend

On the tedium of daily life

“And I submit that this is what the real, no-bull- value of your liberal-arts education is supposed to be about: How to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default-setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone, day in and day out. … There happen to be whole large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine, and petty frustration. … The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing comes in. … The fact is that, in the day-to-day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have life-or-death importance.  … You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship.

David Foster Wallace, Kenyon College 2005 (This whole speech is one of my favorite pieces of writing. Read it here.)

Lesson: We’re all in the same boat. If today doesn’t feel like a grand, extraordinary, “Oh the places you will go!,” choose-your-own adventure, that’s OK. Most days won’t. Just keep swimming. You choose. Choose love. Even when life fucking sucks.

On why we go to work when we could be focused on the side hustle

“Your job is not always going to fulfill you. There will be some days that you just might be bored. Other days you may not feel like going to work at all. Go anyway, and remember that your job is not who you are. It’s just what you are doing on the way to who you will become. With every remedial chore, every boss who takes credit for your ideas — that is going to happen — look for the lessons, because the lessons are always there.”

Oprah Winfrey, USC 2018

Lesson: Don’t freak out. Dreams take time. And the time will pass anyway. Sometimes you have to hustle for the side hustle.  

 

On not succumbing to power-hungry workaholism

“Acknowledging the wisdom and experience of a forklift operator or security guard with 30 years on the job doesn’t diminish your own experience. Acknowledging the sacrifice of others that enabled you to be in this position does not diminish the sacrifices you made on your own.

Founder & CEO of Chobani Hamdi Ulukaya, Wharton MBA 2018

Lesson: Value all work. See yourself in others and things will go a lot easier. Be grateful; constantly. Don’t take yourself so seriously.

On being happy with what you have

I’m Batman.

Michael Keaton, Kent State 2018

Lesson: Don’t settle, sure, but also know you can’t ever have ***the*** dream job. That belongs to Michael Keaton.

Art you should know: Painter Toyin Ojih Odutola

Someone once asked Toyin Ojih Odutola, a contemporary portrait painter based in New York, what her purpose as an artist was.

This is how she answered: “To make the world less small.”

On the surface level, how she does that seems obvious. Toyin is Nigerian-born and grew up in Texas. The perspective her artwork brings to the white walls of traditionally white, male spaces is important as we grow the space for voices.

But diversity means more to Toyin than representation of skin color in art. Diversity also means diversity of thought in the room. I love this little reminder that “diversity” isn’t a call to lift up one voice over another; it should be an attempt to elevate all voices to an equal level so that we can hear, and ostensibly learn, from each one.

Making the world feel less small comes through in her art in very powerful ways. Not only does her portraiture capture and express the magic of black skin, the conceptual work of her images reveals much. For her recent exhibition at The Whitney, she presented life-size portraits from the “private estates” of two fictional Nigerian aristocratic families.

As i-D writes, these are “radically soft visions of black wealth” driven by Toyin’s diversification of the stories we tell ourselves.

“Toyin says this was the driving question for her Whitney exhibition: What if you claimed everywhere you go as a home? Some black people avoid traveling because they (reasonably) fear they’ll encounter racism. Toyin wanted to help ease this hesitation by depicting black people outside, in nature, swimming in lagoons, chilling on the beach, taking in the sunset.”

That sounds so simple… but when you consider all the ways popular media can misrepresent black experiences and bodies by the imagery they choose, Toyin’s portraits seem all that more powerful in their commonness of scene.

More here!

Words on the Street: May 19, 2018

Ad coming soon.

Find the dick!

You do you, wall.

Black Velvet, White Jesus is the name of my new fake band. 

As seen at the AIC. 

As seen waiting in the dressing room line at Forever 21. I’m a creep.

So hot, in fact, we can’t waste any time doing spell check! To be fair, it makes sense to think extremely would start with “extra.”

This building is a physical manifestation of me in relationships in my early 20s. “YES. NO. YES. NO.”

I just love this for some reason…

As seen at the SafeHouse restaurant in Milwaukee. Everyone picks their own agent name. I keep giggling at this one.

Rudy Not For Sale.

To do: Lavender Cola at The Gage in Chicago

Like most wonderful surprises, I found The Gage by chance. Well, by Google keyword, which counts for chance in the 21st century.

A friend was visiting Chicago to run a race and she wanted to meet up for brunch while in town. I quickly Googled “restaurant + downtown Chicago.” Ha! And a star was born.

The Gage is a lovely contemporary white tablecloth restaurant that’s my go-to for elegant but accessible fine dining. It’s right across from Millennium Park, and all the various attractions located within, and walking distance from the Art Institute, which is my other sure bet for giving visitors a fun taste of the town without boring myself to death.

Example: We took our Cleveland cousin Maria to The Gage, where she unknowingly ordered a very carnivorous breakfast. She didn’t need to eat again until dinner.
We worked off the meat sweats by heading across the street for the Chicago visitor must-have: A photo at The Bean.
Then we walked the skybridge to the Art Institute.

My favorite thing about The Gage, other than the location and the food, is that I can make reservations on Open Table. The place is cavernous, so I never have trouble saving a seat, but they’re super busy during peak hours and it’s worth it to make a reservation just in case.

Since moving to Chicago I’ve become a reservation queen! I don’t always need them, but it brings me peace of mind that I won’t have to wait for a long time or waste my time commuting to a place that can’t serve me.

But for all my visits to The Gage (I went there for my bachelorette party and they gave me free dessert! WITH a candle! Not all heroes wear capes—some wear aprons!) and all my complaining that not enough restaurants and bars offer cool alcohol-free drinks on their adults menus, I didn’t try their specialty sodas until recently.

Among The Gage’s zero proof options: Organic Seasonal Cordial, House-Made Ginger Beer, Abita Root Beer, and Lavender Cola.

The Gage’s Lavender Cola

The Lavender Cola is a clear (surprise!) favorite. Not too sweet, with the lavender smoothing its way in more as an aftertaste to the citrusy carbonated treat. They serve it in a bar glass with a garnish, which helps me feel like I’m still getting all the fun of an alcoholic brunch but without the hangover, wasted day, and status updates to delete later. 😉