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Marathon, Not a Sprint…Wait, It’s Over? Part: 1

Posted on February 23, 2012February 23, 2012 by Varg

Can’t really seem to get a narrative going about this year’s Carnival so I’ll just do bullets…

– Raged, RAGED against the dying of the light in the majestic Krewe of Mama Roux and finally learned what it must be like to be an adored superstar. Yet somehow, in spit of all that adoration, some superstars still get hooked on crack. Cocaine is a helluva drug!

– Was buying my wife a Guided by Voices CD for Valentines day and saw Galactic’s Carnivale Electricos on sale a bit early at Louisiana Music Factory. Picked it up and popped it in where it played non-stop till Tuesday.

– All Fat Tuesday costuming completed before Thursday due to frenzied pace and much listening toi indian music.

– Caught Muses at Laffayette Square where there are baffrooms nearby and I can bring a six pack of beers an an “orange thing.” Unfortunatly, not only was my two-years streak of shoe-catching snapped but I think I walked away with perhaps four strands of beads and no real special throws in spite of my handsome good looks.

– I DID however witness a SHOE FIGHT! This one involved the Popo as a member of my party and an old lady got into it over ownership of a shoe. At first I thought perhaps my friend was at fault for ganking the shoe but the behavior of the old lady and the rest of her group the rest of the night seemed to suggest they were no angels themselves. Also, I love seeing “throw fights.”

– I slipped a bit from the “marathon not a sprint” technique Thursday night and consumed all the beers in the orange thing plus a shot of whiskey. A shaky base in which to build on.

– Having only missed one Bachuss and one Orpheus and zero Muses and D’Etats since 2006, I was determined to keep up a decent run of appearances over the years on the Thursday / Friday / Sunday / Monday night parades so I ventured back out Friday night, caught up with some friends and drank copious domestic lagers to further weaken my marathon stance. Also, throw drought continued as I honestly don’t think I caught a single item in D’Etat and only a few in Hermes. Fabulous floats in Hermes as always. Caught that parade on Canal by myself next to a very enthusiastic old couple who were acting like I did way back in 1983. Including the couple beers I had at work that day and the wine with dinner I think I had like 8 beers that day. Marathon not a sprint?

– Since the chance of rain was almost 100 percent on Saturday I stayed home from the Square and recovered from the hangover I incurred from the night before. Unfortunately for all of Algiers, our only neighjborhood parade, NOMTOC was cancelled and moved Uptown, ruining a lot of my neighbors and probably the participants’ good times. Haven’t heard anything about how it went.

– All throughout Saturday as the rain approached I wondered how Endymion’s “super campers” were fairing in the weather and could not help but delight in a tiny bit of schadenfreude at the deplorable conditions at the parades onset. Worked out for everyone involved in the end thankfully.

– The weather conditions did not bode well for sales at the Square but I put on last year’s funky pope costume and went on out anyway. Didn’t make a lot of money but did enjoy hollering at the Jesus freaks who now actually have divided into two camps, a nicer “we don’t want you to go to Hell” camp and a “You’re fucking going to Hell sinner!” camp. I just yelled “Zealots!” at those guys. Next year, I plan to make some signs with William Blake and Ecclesiastes quotes on them. Don’t they know “eat, drink and be merry” comes from the Bible?

– As a result of having worked, I missed Pants in Toth.

– More throw drought endured at Bacchus believe it or not but it was still better than previous parades. Beyond the fact that I just wasn’t getting thrown to a lot, when I was thrown to I wasn’t catching the fucking things. I felt like a bad wide receiver.

– I could blame a bit of my Bacchus issues on my positioning which was: On my right African American family of five with three kids ranging in age from 3 – 9. Behind me, three six-foot tourist men from Midwest. On my left, two high school girls from North Shore on boyfriend’s shoulders. No chance. When I moved, throw numbers increased.

– Thought Will Farrell was a good Bacchus, he played a little cowbell for us and the rumor was he was tossing cowbells as throws. Still think Hulk Hogan was the best Post-Katrina king.

– Managed to teetotal a bit this night but my neighbor more than made up for it.

– Lundi Gras always has a real nice vibe to it. In spite of the huge Christian concert that occurs in Washington Artillery park and also in spite of people’s binge’s pretty much reaching their receptive ends of the lines and hitting rock bottom. For those that can handle their drugs and alcohol, you can see the look on people’s faces in the Quarter that it’s been exhilarating for them. And they buy lots of presents for their friends and fam.

– My mom got in on Monday night and we loaded up the orange thing and checked out Orpheus where she delighted at all the celebrities. She thought every float was going to have a star on it.

– Hollered at my friend and fellow Jackson Square artist chaperoning St. Aug both nights. He told me earlier in the week he used to be the drum major back in the day. Never knew.

– Okay when I die and yall do my second line, here’s what I want: Rent the Smoky Mary float, put my casket on the locomotive part, all my friends ride in the back and throw throws while brass bands blow through the speakers. Yall make that happen for me please.

– Again, I took it easy so to prepare for Fat Tuesday and just go crazy so I only had a few beers.

Part 2 coming soon…

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3 Noble Truths

Know yourself. Know the Universe. Know yourself in the Universe.

Rev. Varg’s Artist Statement

Rejoice!

I say that a lot. I sign many pieces with it. I do this because I believe our lives are a true happenstance. A brilliant occurence from nothingness. We are so rare. We are so unlikely. And simply being born isn’t enough. From there we must survive, endure. So each morning, after our Sun departs and is reborn again. Please, for the sake of your ancestors and the Universe in general, hoist that cup of joe up and say, “Rejoice.”

Ours is a soulful existence. No matter how many McMansions, polyester fabrics, auto-tunes, modified foods and social networks we surround ourselves with, we are all still native, passionate beings made of ancient matter. We are organic and we have soul.

Wood also has a warm, soulful quality. Wood has a memory. It retains smells, traumas, events. It even has a calendar. This is why I have chosen it as my medium, for its old soul. I like to think the wood in my work is in its third incarnation. First a tree, then a home and now art. If you have a room that needs a little soul, get a piece. A room can never have enough soul.

My inspiration and subject matter comes from many sources, among them: Humanism, old ballads, trickster tales, flora and fauna, science, myths and folklore, stringed instruments, brass bands, amber spirits, lady vocalists, general relativity and quantum mechanics. Some of my pieces are there just to make a short, simple statement about what’s important in life. Some are more diffuse and abstract in meaning. A personal drama, an enduring line from a poem or novel, a poignant song lyric, the legacy of an important person, a fleeting thought … these are the subjects of my art.

I use hearts often because they are a very abstract way of depicting the human soul without also employing the very subjective human form. The symbolic heart is an apt representation for a person’s experience and essence. A body can immediatly conjure happiness, sorrow, youth, age, anger, bliss. These emotions can get in the way. Sometimes it’s simply about the experience.

I am the son of a sailor and a social worker, the grandson of a gypsy, a dancer and a nurse. I spent my youth moving from port city to port city, watching a lot of road go by and reading World Book Encyclopedia. After my parents settled down on the Gulf Coast, I was a miscreant youth, destroying cars and taking the wrongs things too seriously and the right things not serious enough. Eventually I began replacing my imagination with experience.

I will use any salvaged wood but prefer swamp cypress and longleaf heartwood pine.

I despise waste. Particularly the waste of organic matter. Trees are magnificent. They were here before we arrived and they’ll be around after we are gone. I’m making an effort to save as much wood as possible. Creating art is fun too. But beyond communicating with folks, but beyond making money ad providing for myself, beyond rescuing flooded parts, beyond reveling in the ethereal aroma of heartpine that hasn’t seen the light of day in 400 years, beyond all that, I am trying to make a simple comment on waste.

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