We will forever remember you Dave. We miss you!
Dave Stadnyk
July 15, 1980- June 27, 2002
You will always be my best friend.
Leave a story and help keep his memory alive…
Archive Page 51
Carlsbadcrawl will be on a hiatus for a handful of days making artistic observations of California’s central coast. Story to come in the near future… Carlsbadcrawl will be back on Monday where the Hello Summer series will continue with observation #4.
Until then, enjoy some of the artist’s favorite posts at the links below:
“Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen.”
– John Steinbeck
Hello Summer part 3 of 12
Carlsbad buzzes with excitement as summer arrives and becomes a destination for many beach seeking out-of-towners. Our sleepy village becomes overworked and tired as a steady flow of motorists creep down the coast. Traffic is a sure sign of the arrival of summer. Cars spurt headaches and motorists overheat. Carlsbad Blvd. becomes a highway and the surrounding parking lots pulse with clutter.
Like the changing colors of an old tree or the temperatures of our coastal sea, Carlsbad changes with each season. Traffic may be undesirable, but its a small consolation for living in paradise!
How do you deal with/avoid the congestion of summertime clutter?
Hello Summer part 2 of 12
What is a summer without Roger and his crazy antics? As the sun sinks and the shower line grows long, Roger begins his grand finale. Perfectly timed with the last minutes of the day, Roger heckles the crowd with sincerity and rues. His jokes are abundant and laughs trickle in. Roger surveys the crowd with small chats and sarcastic observations. He rambles about his HBO debut and steals tourist’s lighters. With his eye always on the sun, he waits for the exact moment which will result in a flame and bowling ball finale perfectly timed with the day’s exit.
Roger picks a fire chief from Arizona and drags him around the sandy pavement like a sleepy child drags a blanket. Agitated, but a good sport, the chief takes the abuse. Kids laugh and parents chuckle and Roger jumps on top of an over sized green ball. His antics carry him backwards with gasps from the crowd as he approaches the steep hill down to the beach. He elegantly jumps off and returns to center stage. With flames ablaze and twirling in the air, Roger screams for the bowling ball. His tan and tattooed shoulders glisten with sweat and his face grimaces. The chief tosses the ball and Roger smoothly introduces it to his juggle. The crowd reacts with a loud applause as kids beg their parents for dollars. Roger retrieves his hat and enjoys the rest of the sunset.
When summer arrives, where do you seek entertainment?
Starting today, and for the fallowing 11 days, carlsbadcrawl will be posting artistic observations of our beach and village. Each photo was taken on June 21st. As a beach going village loving local, these are my observations of the first day of Summer:
Hello Summer part 1 of 12
The burning black asphalt stings my feet as I struggled to lock up my bike. My sweaty fingers, slippery from sunblock, fumble my keys and my over sized hat hangs low over my eyes. Like a young child dragging a boogie board and a pale of toys, I grin with anticipation. I leave my bike secure to a steadfast sign scattered with rules which greets each visitor, but is rarely read and begin one of my favorite walks in Carlsbad. I shuffle my feet in the damp sand as I step down long stairs. A weathered fence surrounds me as I slide my hand along a salt soaked rail. Green shrubs of the neighboring beach front paradises hang over contrasting with the peeling red paint of the unstable fence. Sun rays glisten off the aqua blue ocean and cause me to squint my bubbless eyes. A sliver of rolling paradise stares at me as I stop in mid step and smile. I imagine how many times I have walked this staircase and how much I cherish the simple things in life. I continue my walk, eager to dip my toes in the cool water, but content with what my eyes embrace. Summer in Carlsbad is a special time and these stairs provide a breathtaking view of a special place. Hello Beech Street, hello summer…
What beach did you go to and what did you enjoy about it?
click all photos to enlarge
The sun glares at me as I creep the smoldering streets of Los Angeles. Cars honk and tempers flare as Santa Monica Blvd. whines with the weight of mid day traffic. Above the dusty clunkers and buffed convertibles, I stare at a long row of red stop lights. Green teases and I whence. Buses abuse like the stinging punches of a 
schoolyard bully. Empty insults steam out of my lips and I snap. I smack the windshield. I struggle to see the bumper of the car I fallow through the sweaty smear left by my open palm. Upon another stop, I catch a glimpse of giant sign reminding me that traffic is a brief struggle, but in general Life is Beautiful. I smile and click my blinker.
Like the giant billboards that scatter the streets of Los Angles, Mr. Brainwash (MBW) has used West Hollywood as his personal canvas to advertise his witty ideas, ultimately leading to one of Los Angeles’ biggest and most ambitious art shows of the year.
Large, colorful and iconic posters flap in the wind as they become weathered in the beating Los Angeles heat. Passing motorists glance at today’s celebrities dressed in wavy blond wigs and drooping white pearls reminiscent of Warhol screen prints. Each poster ignites a chuckle along with the inspiration of raw creativity.
WHAT: artshow2008 MBW solo show
WHEN: June 18, 2008 7-11pm
WHERE: 6121 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles (MAP)
WHY: to witness all the hype
An artistic culture is a breeding ground for creativity. It allows the growth of thoughts and promotes the exchange of ideas. Coffee shops chatter with developments as minds overflow with projects. A once shy village drops its inhibitions and becomes comfortable with the expression of emotions. Closets spill once hid ideas. A creative outburst of music, painting, theater, literature and dance explodes onto our manicured village like candy scattering the front lawn after the burst of a plump pinata.
An artistic culture strengthens with the addition of each mind. Artists from neighboring communities become interested and seek the shadowy streets of our village for inspiration. As the public eye becomes more interested, ideas become more visible. Inspired youth pluck melodies in the parks and amateur painters search local thrift stores for supplies. Coffee shops buzz with spontaneous poetry slams and rundown antique stores support local projects. Visiting artist begin sharing ideas like fluttering seeds blown in an Indian Summer wind.
This roadside doodle was found accompanied by a small Rhino Art sticker form Encinitas. Is this the signature of a visiting artist? Has Carlsbad gained the interest of other artistic communities?
Is an artistic culture developing in our village?
An open mind invites observations. Your eyes frolic like giddy children and scamper like irritated insects. Your vision works as a liaison, connecting sites with your mind. Your eyes are the middleman that direct the visual towards a conceptual analysis. How often are your eyes on the clock?
A lush landscape provides sites and stimulates thoughts, but do you limit your observations to the obvious? Do your eyes clock out like a disgruntled employee at the end of an unemotional day or are they like the passionate whose work is also their hobby? Deconstruct the cubicle walls in which your eyes work within. Let them wander and let them play. Let them observe as if it was recreation and soon their passion will become your hobby.
I sat in a dark bar surrounded by incoherent chatter and the flickering of many overhead televisions. As my pint emptied and my belly swelled, I let my eyes wander. I watched a gray bearded man sip whiskey as he mumbled accusations to himself. A long legged lover winked flirtations across the bar and a mosquito buzzed. Footsteps smacked like the a little league dugout and the scent of cheap cigarettes wafted through the front door. A bartender counted tabs while a security counted heads and a skinny man sat in the back corner plucking a guitar to Neil Young favorites. I tilted my head back and caught a quick glimpse on the two overhead televisions. A man glided down the organic face of a warm tropical wave as another slid across a block of frozen ice. As if my eyes smacked my mind across its face, I awoke with wild thoughts and soon began to analyze the juxtaposition of the two television scenes…
When your eyes wander, what do you see…what do you think?
I have been asked why I never post my name, art or any personal information on carlsbadcrawl.com. I am answering that question along with any others you, the readers, can dish out.
A full interview with your questions, along with photos of all my most recent work, will be posted in the near future.
Here is your chance to probe carlsbadcrawl.com’s “the artist.” Write a question as a comment to submit it for the interview. Question my art technique, probe my background and dissect my beliefs…
Help make an interview!
Solo show in the works…
Untitled by Candice George
Click HERE to see photos of Candice working on this painting!
Have you created something you would like to share? Submit it to theartist@carlsbadcrawl.com!
A stagnant lagoon separates Carlsbad from Oceanside under the low gloom of a sleepy late Spring day. An artist, with supplies in hand, sets out for her subject. She wanders the streets of Carlsbad while scanning for her hidden muse. Like a hound in pursuit of a sly fox or a hobo in search of a empty can, she scopes, knowing that her jewel waits quietly. Her senses intensify as she scouts for balanced compositions and harmonious colors. Like a wide eyed street performer, she juggles the blues of the sea, the greens of the high palms, grays of the sagging sky and the endless palette of storefront paint jobs. She weaves through buzzing cafes and finger tapping coffee shops. Her toes shuffle in the cool sand and her boots trample through dry thorns. She watches tourists mope as June plays havoc and chats with locals in Hawaiian tshirts. She laughs at local bar drama and pays 
respect to guitar strumming hobos. She snacks a burrito con todo and sips a pint. Her search carries her through long lulls and colorful bursts of creativity. She hones skills of a tiger, willing to crawl for extended periods of time, but able to prance at a moment’s notice. Her search stretches as she battles the impatience of her brushes. She weaves through salt soaked apartment complexes and battles pesky mosquitoes as she picks up the scent of a luring muse. With her eyes eager to examine and her fingers frothing, she arrives at a bluff overlooking a tranquil gray lagoon. Green plants line the coastline, stiff and precise like the a black stroke around your favorite cartoon character. A strip of blue sits with arms wide open in the distance. Birds glide and butterflies flutter. The artist sits after a long journey and tells her epic through each stroke of her loaded brush.
A final piece of art not only is a visual painting hung in a bright gallery or a song on a shiny CD…art is a description of a journey, a portrayal of heroic deeds and adventures over a long period of time. It is a story of one’s life and an analysis of their thoughts.
Next time you experience art, ponder the adventure which led to the piece you interact with. Imagine the highs and lows, the perils and rewards. Imagine the epic of an artist.
click HERE for the pictured artist’s interview and HERE for her recent work!
Once upon a time there was a wall who begged for attention. He desired the obscure conversation and jumped on any chance to entertain. His passions belonged on the stage and his heart in the eyes of the public. His thoughts, educated through world wanderings and long reads, belonged in the ears of cool cats and productive hermits. His ideas sought underground publications and coffee stained crossword puzzles. He ached for an escape from the uniformed lifestyle of his stagnant community, but was grounded after each attempt. He watched the sun rise every day over the stream of speeding motorists and cried as the sun set behind him in a magnificent explosion of unfamiliar colors. He sobbed as cars honked and closed his eyes.
The honks continued as his tears fought with the oils of the neighboring highway. Obscenities lashed his rough face and battered his will. He cringed at each verbal attack as he tried to hide his swollen eyes. Trash, once tossed onto the sticky asphalt, now flung with the intent to splatter upon his flat facade. His hair became mangled and his fists clenched. His legs weakened and his mind bruised; he collapsed along the highway, weathered by a squall of insult and misery.
With his face in the mud and his hands white with anger, he realized his breakdown had been watched by each passing motorists. Their interest had spread creating a long winding stream of red brake lights like the overflowing lava of a recent eruption. What incited his downfall had also ignited his revival. He raised to his feet and stood strong as beams of sunlight timidly watched through June’s gloomy sky. The ground he firmly stood on, though far from the coastal excitement of the village, entered each passing motorist’s sight. By default, he had been seen by all.
The past dreams of a far off stage had fogged the importance of his current location. Why would he want to join the frothing streets of other struggling entertainers? Why would he want to join a market saturated with talent and ambitions? Why would he enter the unforgiving pursuit of fame, the overcrowded agencies and the swollen heads of artistic competition? He didn’t need the hype of a community made shiny by the ill rubs of fortune and greed. He didn’t need a resume filled with glamorous venues and headlining references. His home was a silent stage, his community a lonely canvas and he was an artist with a brightly colored palette.
Stacey the Slayer
WHAT: Lisa Solberg’s current show “I SPY YING YANG”
WHERE: Swiv Tackle Circus Gallery in Oceanside (MAP)
WHY: To support Lisa, Swiv and the emerging North County art scene
WHEN: NOW!
“I believe in expressionism with a mural/street art façade. Raw, energetic,
truthful and as little thought as possible. Refined & Edited & Purged until
you have nothing left besides the truth. Simplicity is a vehicle to expose
authenticity, the pure and conscience reality in which we all strive through
this mayhem world. My comfort level lives in a chaotic world, the beauty of
the unknown and the absolution in a numerical equation. I am a slave to
natural numbers and have shapes and colors swimming through my head. I
consider this Visual Beat Writing.”
-Lisa Solberg
Upcoming shows include: (2008)
• Solo exhibit at Kinsey/DesForges Gallery in Los Angeles on October 11th
• Two person show at Holster Projects in London on November 12th
Congratulations Jennifer and David…she is a masterpiece!
She’ll be crawlin’ the streets of the village in no time!
The gray coastal clouds were left to droop as I entered the dark, but animated, chaos of the Pacific Beach Bar and Grill. Waitresses swarmed like nibbling fish and swollen security guards wore shades. Red faced marines and washboard tone bellies pounded the bar as drinks flowed and fried appetizers crackled. I awkwardly inquired about the evening’s contest and was soon pushed in route to the main stage.
Bright lights and the constant explosion of flashes lit a row of bulging bellies as I rounded the first corner of the bar. Wide screen televisions replaced windows and promotional banners hung in the dank air. Drinks clanked and bellies burped as the happiest hour in PB greeted each visitor. Balconies bounced with livid supporters and paramedics forgot why they were there. The main stage sagged low as 21 swollen bellies bounced into the spotlight, each a senior in their last term.
I sat at my table with other fellow supporters watching the stage, as well as the giggly crowd. I sipped a pint as I pondered how others, mainly the elderly from more conservative generations, would react. I took out my camera, but hesitated as a sense of decency sagged low over my head like the wet clouds outside. Drunk hoodlums barked like a fettered dog and the sticky floor smacked as the crowd marched towards the stage. I winced as the upper stands began their chants of high pitched hackles. I grabbed for a chicken tender as the finalists were announced.
The two standouts, Amanda the hippie chick and the sailor girl were brought out along with three others whom, though both attractive, lacked the novelty of a gimmick. Five total finalists stood proud as the crowd erupted in a final attempt to persuade. I smirked as I envisioned scenes from a John Waters movie, but easily shook the filth in which I pictured as images of Divine’s adventures haunted.
The road up to this point included a variety of rounds including flinging pudding into a newborn man and shooting milk through a super-soaker. All was slightly entertaining, slightly humorous and slightly disturbing.
A hush fell over the crowd as the host pumped up the crowd like an overly charismatic cheerleader. Banners waved in the air as favorites were tallied. The lights went dim, fallowed by a lone spotlight in search for the 2008 Pregnant Bikini Contest winner. 
Shockingly, the crowd favorites took home 4th and 2nd place, leaving the title to a prego which had reached the finals by hiding in the shadows made by larger and more beautiful bellies. Our pick and fellow Carlsbadcrawler took home 4th place and a check for $150.
I returned to Carlsbad and reflected on the spectacle I had witnessed. I remembered how odd I felt upon arrival and how I questioned the decency of the event. I imagined an elderly lady lost and stumbling into the back of the main room. How would she react to today’s generation of entertainment? MTV is now no more shocking than the animated doodles of a Saturday morning cartoon and our shock level has become as diluted as a Rosarito Beach cocktail. I shrugged it off and laughed to myself as I took out my “things to do in my lifetime” list and scribbled a thick check after #101.
You looked great Amanda…Congratulations on the final round!!!
A corner property on a frequently traveled street screams for the chance to announce a message. It stands naked, bored and fading as unprovoked motorists pass.
Give a stranger the gift of curiosity. Fill your yard with thought provoking ideas and see how passing motorists react. Your yard is a stage and your idea is the headlining act. Your yard is the front cover of your favorite magazine and you are the art director. Your yard is a canvas and your creativity is the palette. Paint an idea and let each passing mind be the judge.
What do you have to say and how can your express it?
That’s right… a Pregnant Bikini Contest!!! Come support Amanda and her bulging belly during an evening of bikini strutting fun!
WHAT: Pregnant Bikini Contest
WHERE: PB Bar and Grill (MAP)
WHEN: Fri. May 23rd (today) from 3-7pm
WHY: the $1000 prize could buy a lot of diapers
The winner is based on crowd participation so gather up your loudest friends and come make a scene. The rumor is appetizers are 50 cents too!
The fee is a sunburn and the wait is the relaxing drifts between sets. A spotlight shines overhead while energetic hoots play in the wind. A concession-stand becomes the local 7-11 and a glass of wine is a deceitful Big Gulp. A Vegas jackpot is a hollow wave and a debt is the momentary sting of a jellyfish. A suit and tie give way to trunks and flip flops and the scent of the affluent becomes the skin soaked stench of sunblock. Carefully powdered chins sag as salty cheeks are sun-kissed and a cool ride is a clunky beach cruiser. A beauty mark is a freckle and a dimple is a scar. The probing chatter of a therapist is muted by the repetitions of rolling waves and an enemy made is just a line drawn in the sand. A lost ticket-stub is a sandwich in the beak of a sneaky seagull and a vibrating cellphone is message in a bottle.
When your days are slow and your pockets are empty, what do you do?
circa 2005
Before the camera, artists crawled the cobblestone streets of their village searching for an image to capture. With sketchbook and charcoal in hand, they let their eyes guide them up steep hills and through thick shrubs. Their will to continue was fueled by visions of secret landscapes as virgin as the empty sheets they carried.
Unlike the hours of sketching, contouring and shading of the early days, we are able to capture observations instantly. The digital camera has replaced the wobbly easel, oily paints and cumbersome canvas and has given a skill once honed through years of practice to anyone willing to stop and shoot.
As Lancer Dancers prance, an artist observes from the background.
RSS Feed-Posts
Recent Comments