Joe brainard i remember audio

Continue Joe Brainard, passport photo from 1964. Thanks to the generosity of director Matt Wolfe, PennSound can share an exclusive clip from his new short documentary, I Remember: A Film About Joe Brainard, with our listeners. Below you'll also find a movie trailer and a quick overview. For more information, please visit the film's website. Modesty, whimsy and clarity of design adorn the work of Joe Brainard (1941-1994), an artist and writer whose memories of memory and desire may have found their greatest expression in his memoir-poem I Remember. Composed of a sequence of brief memoirs, the standardized format of the poem allows for an incredible variety of images and feelings: I remember the Greyhound buses at night... I remember candy cigarettes as chalk ... I remember leaning against the walls in strange bars... Many drawings, collages, assemblies and paintings by Brainard, as well as his short essays and verbal-visual collaborations were celebrated during his lifetime before he stopped making art in the mid-1980s. Director Matt Wolfe returns to this iconic poem in his film I Remember: The Movie About Joe Brainard. His archival montage combines audio recordings of Brainard reading from a poem, as well as interviews with his lifelong friend and collaborator, the poet . The result is an inventive biography of Joe Brainard and elliptical dialogues about friendship, nostalgia and the strange wonders of memory. Click here to return to the PennSound Joe Brainard author page These entries are only available for non-commercial and educational use. All rights to this recorded material belong to the estate of Brainard and Matt Wolf © 2012 Distributed by PennSound. Modesty, whimsy and clarity of design adorn the work of Joe Brainard (1941-1994), an artist and writer whose memories of memory and desire may have found their greatest expression in his memoir-poem I Remember. Composed of a sequence of brief memoirs, the standardized format of the poem allows for an incredible variety of images and feelings: I remember the Greyhound buses at night... I remember candy cigarettes as chalk ... I remember leaning against the walls in strange bars... Many drawings, collages, assemblies and paintings by Brainard, as well as his short essays and verbal-visual collaborations were celebrated during his lifetime before he stopped making art in the mid-1980s. Director Matt Wolfe returns to this iconic poem in his film I Remember: The Movie About Joe Brainard. His archival montage combines audio recordings of Brainard reading from a poem, as well as interviews with his lifelong friend and collaborator, the poet Ron Padgett. The result is an inventive biography of Joe Brainard and elliptical dialogues about friendship, nostalgia and the strange wonders of memory. - 24 minutes of 2012 I remember the first time I met O'Hara. He walked second second It was a cool early spring evening, but he was wearing only a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And blue jeans. And moccasins. I remember him seeming very sissy to me. Very theatrical. Decadent. I remember I liked him right away. Joe Brainard remembered many things and will be remembered as many things: first of all as a master of collage and assembly, and therefore, out of necessity, as well as temperament, obsessive collector of materials and appropriation of images; As an artist. A poet; And a friend. John Ashbury, in his introduction to Joe Brainard: A Retrospective, says: Joe Brainard was one of the most beautiful artists I have ever known. Good as a man and good as an artist. Nice Joe Brainard left Tulsa, Oklahoma, where he was raised and then left a scholarship to the Dayton Art Institute, for the excitement of New York. (So pleased was Brainard that he didn't want to hurt the Institute's feelings, jilting it for the city: he told the administration that his father had contracted cancer and that he had to leave, not to mention that he would be on the next bus in Manhattan.) Fortunately, Tulsa pals Ron Padgett and , godfather of second-generation of Poets, as his New York Welcome Committee, Brainard thrived by living the life of a bohemian artist on the Lower East Side and earning his first solo exhibit four short years after arriving in the city. Brainard worked on a fever pitch of dozens at once. As if to emphasize kitsch, camp, and a love of cunning that so pleased him personally, Brainard decided not to mask the constituent parts in his assembly and collage, instead of calling works such as Prell after the products he co-opted. Brainard took a no comment approach to art, allowing all meaning accrued in his glued-together worlds to become inexplicable. Many collages were left untitled, as if the message had no concern, and many of them ended up with preliminary titles such as Good'n Fruity Madonna, reflecting instead the process and materials rather than any will of the artist, reflecting the style over content and refusal on the part of the artist to take art, or himself, too seriously. It is important to note that in New York, Brainard will also meet with poets who will come to define the era, his future collaborators: Ashbury, Frank O'Hara, Barbara Guest, Bill Burson, , Ann Waldman, and James Schuyler. His collaboration with writers took many forms, from book covers and illustrations to paintings and collages with text provided by poets. Some of the best and funniest are his collages and comics to which he invited flocks of poets to contribute jokes. While the poetry of the New York School is little like the abstract expressionism of the New York School of Artists, Brainard's work can be seen as take on the poet's aesthetics. O'Hara describes his beliefs about poetry in his mock-manifesto Personism: You just go on your nerves. If someone chases you down the street with a knife, you just run, you don't turn around and shout: Give it back! I was the star of the track for Mineola Prep. Similarly, in an interview with a young Ann Waldman, Brainard said: I never have any idea. The material does it all. You have a figure and a flower and you add an urban landscape and it makes history. You have control if you want to take it, but it's something I never wanted to do much about. Again, O'Hara: I'm not saying that I don't have practically the highest ideas when someone writes today, but what difference does it make? It's just ideas. The only good thing about this is that when I get high enough I stop thinking and that's when the refreshment arrives. And Brainard: Most artists are very straight, right in their seriousness and in what they're trying to do. I think I'm much more sensual, much more ga-ga than that.... Brainard made art for the same reasons that New York School poets wrote: for the pleasure of it. As he said about collaboration, it's fun, and in the late 1960s, Brainard became interested in the other side of his collaboration, the pleasure of wearing the writer's pants to his cohort. The book I remember is exuberant, poignant, serious and seemingly random. Painting in its vivid detail and a callagist in hand-off juxtaposition, this is a cumulative, oblique biography, a portrait of the artist as a young man. This is much, much more than just the sum of its parts. Ashbury called it, only half-jokingly, a humane head. He has that sweet, playful possession that permeates Brainard's work. Sampler:I remember my first erections. I thought I had some horrible disease or something. I remember the only time I saw my mother cry. I ate apricot pie. I remember when my father said: Keep your hands out from under the lid as he said good night. But he said it in a good way. I remember when I thought if you sewed something bad, the cops put you in jail. And this is written naively 1969:I remember when polio was the worst thing in the world. In May 1994, Joe Brainard died of AIDS-related pneumonia. Recently, his childhood friend Ron Padgett wrote a memoir, published by Coffee House Press, about his friendship with Joe Brainard, about growing up in Oklahoma in the 1950s, and about his and Brainard's pursuit of poetry and art in New York. The book is called Joe. Excuse me! Has something gone wrong Is your network connection unstable or is the browser out of date? Best reviews Of the latest Best Reviews October 30, 2013 J.W.D. Nicolello appreciated it very much there are audio out there which I'm not sure still exists Brainard reading to say minutes I remember. I had a dream last night of a friend's friend it's for me lately, and love not only reading but concept. Found a copy in the library today after a psychedelic case of deja vu, and boy, for a nice double espresso dinner and another mention from a colleague (Mind you, professor of astrophysics) brought up a girl who dances with teddy bears and takes the American mind m There is an audio there, which I'm not sure still exists Brainard reading to say thirty minutes I remember. I had a dream last night of a friend showing it to me recently, and loving not only reading but the concept. Found a copy in the library today after a psychedelic case of deja vu, and boy, for a nice double espresso lunch and another mention from a colleague (Mind You, Professor of Astrophysics) brought up a girl who dances with teddy bears and takes the American mind more so these days than the twilight of American culture, I was furious, and when I get the rage, I turn off the phone Dream is back: Brainard. It's a beautiful book. I mean, in terms of the stellar systems I did/do actually find it awesome, but the bitterness in my desire to write this kind of book without being obvious in imitation, although Brainard is obscure/everything that leaves me disjointed. In fact, in the Hegelian sense, this star is just half a star. The other half is that I don't remember the other half, though it should exist; But how can I say that it should exist when I'm not sure what it is - It may exist then, but it's implausible. The doxological effects of the church pounding bells all night, while the horns of freight trains echo across the city. It's like trying to catch a butterfly in a teenage fireflies mood - forget it. Still: I remember the October wind and my reality television obsessedco-workers, with greater powers, in some senses than mine: Then I remember it would be tomorrow, and make it function by any means. Falling asleep, thinking to yourself: Caring not about yourself with theSuper Bowl, or Rome, or Manhattan in agarbage can; Touch yourself with whatconcerns you the most; Then theoretically subtract a number or three. Then add an inan exclamation point; then sleep, and come to work in the morning thinking: I remember last night.'And even if you don't, remember it anyway, because it probably means something. And today means more. Brainard 2016 or I will continue my journey to never vote (for reasons other than jury duty). ... More... More

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