Scraps & Doodles from Brent Dixon

Points of Interest

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 15:06:00 -0800

A "point of interest" is ordinarily a location indicated by a sign on the highway or an arrow on the map. This collection of work posits another reality: memory, meaning and importance are shaped by conversation, feelings and location.

Check the full collection here.

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Terrance

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 01:42:00 -0800

via copyranter

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We are what we pretend to be, so

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:09:00 -0800

via imgfave.com

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Choose Your Own Adventure: The Map

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:05:00 -0800

via seanmichaelragan.com

Well this would've been handy.

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Andrew Bird & Ian Schneller's Sonic Arboretum

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 21:58:00 -0800

Footage from Andrew Bird's performance at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago on December 21, 2011. The performance was part of Sonic Aboretum, a collaborative installation with Ian Schenller on view at the MCA between December 6-31, 2011.

via thepostfamily.com

This is gorgeous. Also, again, he played for the Squirrel Nut Zippers:

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Silly Old Bears

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 22:29:00 -0800

It’s a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They’d build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn’t have to climb up all these stairs.

via creditunionwarrior.com

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Relativism LULZ

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 09:50:00 -0800

via theworldsbestever.com

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Rumi: The Guest House

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 12:00:00 -0800

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

- Rumi

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Absolutely.

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 11:10:00 -0800

via youtube.com

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Whisky Stones

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 08:45:00 -0800

via vimeo.com

Teroforma makes your whiskey stones with tlc.

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The Monster Engine

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 13:00:00 -0800

Comic artist Dave DeVries created The Monster Engine to answer the question: "What would a child’s drawing look like if it were painted realistically?"

The results are fantastic:

The 7-year body of work is collected in a book that you can buy here.

via gotopublicschool.com

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The dolphin jetpack.

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 09:24:00 -0800

via youtube.com

OH MY GOSH GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

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"So what do you do?"

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 09:18:00 -0800

Two layers of abstraction away from the worth of your work is enough to make you sad. One is enough to have no one else understand what you do for a living.

via blog.frankchimero.com

I hate getting this question at parties, I never really know how to answer it. Chimero hits it on the head with this hunch. Lots of other great thoughts in this post as well.

Also, hi. I've missed you.

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David Foster Wallace and The Fear of Not Producing

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 14:43:00 -0700

If past experience holds true I will probably write an hour a day—and spend eight hours a day biting my knuckle and worrying what I'm going to write.

via jeffkwiatek.posterous.com

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Henry Cameron: "Do you want it?"

Sat, 08 Oct 2011 19:58:00 -0700

From The Fountainhead:

“There will be days when you’ll look at your hands and you’ll want to take something and smash every bone in them, because they’ll be taunting you with what they could do, if you found a chance for them to do it, and you can’t find that chance, and you can’t bear your living body because it has failed those hands somewhere. There will be days when a bus driver will snap at you as you enter a bus, and he’ll be only asking for a dime, but that won’t be what you’ll hear; you’ll hear that you’re nothing, that he’s laughing at you, that it’s written on your forehead, that thing they hate you for. There will be days when you’ll stand in the corner of a hall and listen to a creature on a platform talking about buildings, about that work which you love, and the things he’ll say will make you wait for somebody to rise and crack him open between two thumbnails; and then you’ll hear the people applauding him, and you’ll want to scream, because you won’t know whether they’re real or you are, whether you in a room full of gored skulls, or whether someone has just emptied your own head, and you’ll say nothing, because the sounds you could make — they’re not a language in that room any longer; but if you’d want to speak, you won’t anyway, because you’ll be brushed aside, you who had nothing to tell them about buildings! Is that what you want?

“Then, one day, you’ll see on a piece of paper before you a building that will make you want to kneel; you won’t believe that you’ve done it, but you will have done it; then you’ll think that the earth is beautiful and the air smells of spring and you love your fellow men, because there is no evil in the world. And you’ll set out from your house with this drawing, to have it erected, because you won’t have any doubts that it will be erected by the first man to see it. But you won’t get very far from your house. Because you’ll be stopped at the door by the man who’s come to turn off the gas. You hadn’t had much food, because you saved money to finish your drawing, but you still had to cook something and you hadn’t paid for it…. All right, that’s nothing, you can laugh at that. But finally, you’ll get into a man’s office with your drawing, and you’ll curse yourself for taking so much space of his air with your body, and you’ll try to squeeze yourself out of his sight, so that he won’t see you, but only hear your voice begging him, pleading, your voice licking his knees; you’ll loathe yourself for it, but you won’t care, if only he’d let you put up that building, you won’t care, you’ll want to rip your insides open to show him, because if he saw what’s there he’d have to let you put it up. But he’ll say that he’s very sorry, only the commission has just been given to Guy Francon. And you’ll go home, and od you know what you’ll do there? You’ll cry. You’ll cry like a woman, like a drunkard, like an animal. That’s your future, Howard Roark. Now, do you want it?”

“Yes,” said Roark.

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