Creative Spaces 3: Decor by DeFault

I don't see myself as the decorative type. However, a lifetime of gifts, yardsales, and thriftshops has wound up accumulating into a rather distinctive style.

If you click on this image and roam around a little bit, you'll have a fair notion of what it's like inside my skull.

Of course I have bowls of dead bugs sitting around. No, they're not for snacking.

Of course I have random piles of carrion scattered about. No, they are not the result of snacking.

I saw this in the grocery store some twenty years ago and I knew that some day I was gonna run across a turkey that needed lifting. I'm ready for him.

Yes, that's a sickle and a mask. Everybody needs a hobby.

It's funny -- I picked up the Poe and Van Gogh toys on two consecutive weekends at two different yardsales. Paid fifty cents for one, a quarter for the other. They're both important figures to me. (Shit. That's a pun, isn't it?)

But just remember, oafboy, you want their drive and their talents. Not their fucking careers.

IQhol

Here's another one of those dreadful little anecdotes that makes me look like a thoroughly horrible person. When it slipped out last night at Homework Club, I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to make a blog post out of it. Well, I'm done early with my editing for the day (another forty pages off to the Monday night group), so what the hey. It's not like my reputation consists of anything but tarnish.

Quite a few years back, the missus took an online IQ test. Well, since she did it, I had to do it too. But it was time-sensitive and toward the end I had to get up and pull the hounds off the UPS guy, which screwed me up so badly I only scored a 158. Man, I was moping about that one for weeks afterward.

(You would not believe the ridiculous horseshit I mope about... I am a sulky fellow.)

Anyway. While I was moping a thought started growing in my enormous brain. A bad and wrong thought.

It wouldn't leave me alone. I had to do it.

I waited until the missus was out of town so as to avoid having to deal with her being all judgmental about the fact that I'm a fucking self-destructive idiot. I found a good, solid, reputable on-line IQ test affiliated with a major university. And I set two conditions for myself.

First off, I wasn't going to allow myself the luxury of thought. If I had to devote any effort to answering a question whatsoever, I'd either guess or skip it.

Second?

My breakfast on that day consisted of two twenty-two ounce bottles of Maximus IPA and a half-pint of Wild Turkey 101. This was somewhere in the neighborhood of twice as much booze as I'd normally down. I wasn't going for a buzz -- I wanted to take this test hammered.

So once I hit the appropriate blood alcohol level, I sat down and ripped through that test. Got to say, it was a blast. If a question gave me any sense of doubt? Made me feel as if I wasn't smart enough?

Well, I wasn't smart enough and I didn't give a shit. Fuck you, IQ! Next question!

When I was done, I hit the button and got my results. And they were chilling.

By strictly adhering to a game plan of drunk and lazy, I scored an IQ of 98.

This is the average American IQ!

That, I said to myself, explains everything.

Creative Spaces 2: The Workstation

So you may ask yourself: What does Metron, one of Kirby's Recording Angels, have in common with the oaf? The answer is simple. We're both all about the chair.

Here's the deal. My back is bad; I can't sit or stand too much without experiencing elevated levels of pain. Too much can put me down. So I needed to create a workstation for myself that would let me work comfortably. This meant laying down. My first was based on a laptop, a media cart, and a homemade chaise lounge.

But the laptop got old, and I found myself unable to do art on it. So when I came into a small inheritance a few years back I decided to drop some bucks on a new setup. This is the single biggest investment I've made in my life and it's paid off for me, so far. This is my guilty secret -- I do a lot of poor-mouthing for good reason, but when I had money I spent thousands of bucks for one of the nicest workstations I know of.

A few years back I had a stay in a hotel room that included a recliner. During that stay my levels of pain were reduced considerably. The recliner was better for my back than any other furniture I was familiar with. So I knew I wanted to work from a recliner -- but how the hell do you do that? I got a vague mental image of what I wanted and hit the internet.

So here's the computer. Yeah, I'm a Mac user -- when I started off you needed to have a Mac if you were going to do graphics.

The biggest problem I faced was mounting the monitor. I searched diligently for monitor mounts and stands -- and when I found this one I knew it was the way to go, since it offered me the option of mounting the computer itself on the same stand. It's quite stable, knock wood, and it lets me get the monitor exactly where I want it. It's a Mack Bailey product. Can't recommend it enough.

And the monitor itself is a real indulgence. It's a Cintiq, which lets me use a stylus directly on the screen. I'd hoped it would let me ditch paper entirely; this has not been the case. But the Cintiq has become an important part of my workflow, especially when it comes to 'painting' and making selections. Saves me a lot of time and produces superior results.


After shopping around and test-sitting a number of different recliners, this is the one I settled on. Interestingly enough, it's called a Perfect Chair. It's disturbingly comfy. Unfortunately, the company's a bit of a pain to deal with -- very, very slow in delivery. In fact, I'm still waiting on my foot support extension.

But this chair has changed my life completely -- I'm easily five or six times as productive and my chronic pain has been greatly reduced. Without this I wouldn't even be able to consider full-time work. (Which I don't have. Which I want.)


And here's the finishing touch. I have small tables mounted on the sides of the chair to hold a split keyboard from Comfort Keyboards. This allows me to touch type in an ergonomically acceptable fashion. Got my little Wacom on the right side and I'm good to go.

So you want to know the secret of my productivity? The most comfortable place in the world for me is my workstation.

Tomorrow we'll take a look at some of the decorative touches that make my studio disturbing. Won't you join me? There'll be dead bugs and straight razors!

Creative Spaces: Ascending The Lavender Staircase

I'm always fascinated by the workspaces of creative types. The factories of the culture industry, the monastic hives of the culturally isolated, closets and couches as well as studios or arts centers.

Here's mine. I actually helped build the place, believe it or not. My only real construction experience but I had a good time with it.

Just give the bell a ring and I'll come down and open the gate for you.

Yeah, the garden is something, isn't it? Remind me to show you the back.

The missus was a sculptor when we met; eventually, hand and shoulder strain ended her lovely love affair with ceramics. Over the last few years she's found herself obsessed with the cultivation of succulents and the creation of these miniature landscapes.


She complains that she's not an artist anymore.

I beg to differ.


So here's Karen's studio. This is where she does her thing, which is teach therapeutic exercise classes and perform bodywork.

Pink, isn't it? Karen specializes in pregnant women and new mothers, and I think that particular development must be blamed on the essentially uterine nature of her workspace. I mean, being in this room is like being back in the womb but not in a good way.

(That is the oafish reactionary perspective; the intended audience seems quite pleased with the ambience.)

Stay on the rugs or she'll shit kittens.

And the pink is bad enough but check this out. To get into my studio you got to ascend the lavender staircase! That ain't right.

Of course, this is no ordinary staircase. I've had it tuned to play Pop Goes The Weasel when drunks tumble down.


Here's the spot where the atmosphere changes. The air is warmer, moister. And is that a hint of stale beer you smell? Perhaps just a whiff of dirty ashtray?

What's that at the top of the stairs?

Oh, brother.

I don't think we're in the uterus anymore.

Finally.

Here we go, the Creative Spaces banner. Kinda cheesy, but that's how I roll.

So Glendon Mellow, of internet fame, and myself have been talking for some time about having some sort of meme or blog or carnival or... or... thingie of some sort where we'd encourage artists and other creative-types to share their workspaces with the rest of us.

I volunteered to do the banner fairly early on, thus establishing the kind of long-standing bottleneck that Swill readers and contributors have come to know and love. Alas, my period of procrastination has come to an end, just in time for Glendon's computer to go all wiggly on him. So things are a bit up in the air now, but I've finally finished this. Time to figure out the next item on the list... Probably Allison's manuscript.

Oh, Yeah -- Swill Reviews!

Here's the initial photograph...

... and here's the finished image.

By the way. If you still haven't gotten around to reading the new issue of Swill, you might be interested in a pair of reviews that have been posted recently. One is by Chris Cornell on his coreKnell website, the other by Catherine Schaff-Stump of Writer Tamago. They're both going to be at Viable Paradise in October; man, I can't wait.

(For some reason, when I first ran across Writer Tamago I assumed it must have something to do with the old Zappa number Rat Tomango. This does not seem to be the case -- so far as I can tell, a Tamago is a Japanese omelet.)

Logo: Still Sucking

The colors are horrible, the lettering is difficult to read and poorly spaced, and I screwed up going back and forth between programs and files in a variety of ways that thoroughly degraded the quality of the image.

The basic idea seems workable, though. Let us try again.