Photo and Text by Nuno Bernardo
With his bandmates Noah Landis and Greg Dale, Scott Kelly led a warm and cozy performance as a man who seems to miss his home and his family, making sense of their name, Scott Kelly and the Road Home. The Portuguese audience was his family for two days – first at Passos Manuel (Porto) and then at Galeria Zé dos Bois, where I met him singing about his life and personal struggles on a very rainy evening in Lisbon. His songs from “The Forgiven Ghost In Me” are a clear way to heal Scott’s past wounds from Neurosis live experiences.
via Treat & Retreat
When people think of serial killers, they think of all the brutal carnage these sick individuals were responsible for. Sure, this group of twisted psychopaths have become notorious for their violence and destruction, but what people may not be aware of is their capacity for artistic self expression. The term “murderabilia” refers to the profitable niche market wherein famous criminals can sell their handmade wares to people who want to own a piece of disturbing history. The ethical ramifications of purchasing artwork from a known murderer is irrelevant to these collectors. They are drawn to these paintings and drawings that offer a fascinating glimpse into the depths of human depravity.
Many states have enacted laws to prevent murderers from profiting off the notoriety of their crimes in the form of book deals and souvenir sales, so as to protect the dignity of their victims. That hasn’t stopped businesses like Serial Killers Ink, an online murderabilia retailer, from capitalizing on the public obsession with famous killers and their artwork. While these convicted killers serve their time behind bars, they pass the days making truly unsettling drawings and paintings that provide a creative outlet. As you will see below, there is no direct correlation between artistic talent and insanity. This sampling of artwork represents a pretty standard cross-section of amateur attempts, some having more natural ability than others.
John Wayne Gacy
What could be creepier than clown paintings made by an actual killer clown? Convicted in 1980 for murdering 33 teenage boys and young men, John Wayne Gacy was executed by lethal injection in 1994. While he was on death row, the former clown performer would create paintings depicting his alter ego named “Pogo”. Another subject he favored in his artwork was the Seven Dwarves. In one painting called “Dwarf’s Baseball”, Gacy shows the dwarves playing a baseball game against the Chicago Cubs. To increase the value of this painting, an art dealer outside of prison took Gacy’s masterpiece to autograph conventions and had it signed by Baseball Hall of Famers like Ted Williams, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, and Joe Dimaggio (without telling them what it was they were signing).
Andrea Hasler’s Matriarch references the Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp, a historic protest in which 30,000 women gathered at a British air force base to stand against nuclear weapons. According to Hasler, the work metaphorically “[takes] the notion of the tents which were on site during the women’s peace camp as the container for emotions and [humanizes] these elements to create emotional surfaces.”
When did I realize that human beings could go crazy for a film? When the first Star Wars movie hit the street in 1977. I remember driving past movie theaters, looking out of the back seat our Datsun at long lines of people waiting to see this film. My mom thought everyone was crazy for sleeping in tents to see a movie, but she didn’t get it because it was not made for her generation. When I got the chance to see Star Wars, I became a fan instantly! No movie had ever been merchandized like this movie was, and it created collectors around the world. Even to this very day, when I see certain items from Star Wars it takes me back to my childhood. This is why I want to share with you this huge gallery of vintage posters from the film…May the force be with you!
Some voices have an effect on me that almost cannot be described because of the impact they have had on my life. Some voices are like long drives towards the desert horizon into an unforgettable sunset. Some voices are eternity and will always be a part of the fabric of your existence. This is how the voice of Hope Sandoval makes me feel – she is the come down that gets me high. So today CVLT Nation’s favorite tumblr is Fuck Yeah Mazzy Star. If you are a fan of hers like I am, you will be transfixed by the this site full of everything Star. Check out the gallery of photos and videos – now it’s time to get your daydream on!
Text via Another mag
As Irish Rich correctly said, “Bill Ray wasn’t the Lone Ranger…”meaning he wasn’t the only dude photographing the ’60s bikers/hippies/counterculture in a meaningful way – share the love.That being said, he did capture some really stunning images of the original Hells Angels of Berdoo and their striking “Old Ladies” for LIFE back in 1965. It is the Old Ladies (actually quite young), who in fact steal the show with their melancholy beauty and faraway stares. They hold me mesmerized as I search in vain for silent clues to who they were, where they came from, what brought them here. Truth is that there beauty is long gone by now, and they may have even left this world – yet somehow looking at these images they seem like ghostly beauties frozen forever in a place in my mind where time feels irrelevant. If I could only find a way back there. Truth is these Old Ladies are no longer available on the menu. Thank God (oh, and Bill Ray) for these images.
I love the personal commentary Ray shares regarding some of his favorite shots, and the behind-the-scenes escapades while out on assignment with writer Joe Bride covering the San Bernardino Hells Angels. The story for LIFE would never see print as it turns out, but the shots have become legendary despite that and are available in the book Hells Angels of San Berdoo ’65 | Inside the Mother Charter which is definitely worth a look. But don’t stare at the old ladies too long. They will lure you into the deep, dark waters and drown you.
Two of the women riding with the Hells Angels hang out at a bar. According to LIFE writer Joe Bride’s notes– “The girl kneeling by the jukebox is Ruthie and she’s the ‘Old Lady’ of Harvey, a Diablos member from San Bernardino. Harvey attends Angels’ meetings and rides with them but is not a member. It’s only two in the afternoon but Ruthie has already ‘crashed’ from beer and bennies [benzedrine].” Bill Ray has a real liking for this particular photograph. “This is one of my favorites from the whole shoot. There’s something kind of sad and at the same time defiant about the atmosphere. Ruthie is probably playing the same 45 over and over and over again. A real music lover.” –photograph by Bill Ray © Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images
When you walk through a subway in NYC, all sort of things run through you mind, both conscious and unconscious. Billboards are everywhere, with messages shaping how you navigate this urban weirdo landscape. The new art project by Jon Burgerman entitled Headshot shows how violent and threatening many of these ads are…Read what Jon has to say below and check out how these billboards will be the death of him!
Jon describes the work as “interventions staged in public” and each image features a violent advertisement found in the New York subway. I’m particularly impressed by how simple and effective these images are at highlighting the violence that exists in ads. Most of us pass these types of images everyday and yet we never stop to notice just how violent they can be.
JK Potter is an artist with an imagination that is rooted in the magic of the underworld and for many years. He has created horror images that could even give the dead nightmares. I love the way his work has mad scents vibe about that keeps my eyes glued to every piece. Without even trying JK Potter pictures have a place in the underground scene and you can tell he has inspired many artist we all respect. Today CVLT Nation celebrates the dark art of a master JK Potter. Check out this gallery of his pieces and have every braincell in your mind kicked into a black hole of horror!
As a kid and burgeoning adolescent I spent almost every weekend for a period of years longer than I’m willing to admit at the local shopping centre. When you start to measure the passage of time by shopping mall additions and renovations you know you’re in trouble. It wasn’t just that I was dragged along every week by my shopaholic mother and enabling father, although that was certainly a key factor, but that I genuinely found some comfort in that palace of commerce and all its sterile, air-conned glory. It wasn’t even for any semblance of a family outing; apart from the obligatory lunch together during which I would dread being spotted by anyone I knew, it was the parting of the ways. My father would get a newspaper, plant himself somewhere and usually fall asleep until my mother was ready to go; my mother, a small unassuming woman who came into her own each week in that maze of products and price reductions. This was her element, and in it she became a woman on a mission, disappearing into a few hours of blissful, driven consumerism. As a budding consumer and capitalist flag bearer myself I would disappear into my own day of spending, or rather, a few minutes of spending, preceded by a day of anxious decision making. At that age I was dead in the midst of a self-induction into the wider world of music, graduating from what my older brother and friends turned me on to to what I discovered for myself via the internet, and each week my pocket money went straight into a new CD fraught with possibility and risk. Risk, because in those days of low bandwidth dial-up internet and my father’s fear that the smallest flaunting of anti-piracy laws would result in the Feds breaking down our front door within minutes, I could read about a ton of new music but I couldn’t listen to it, and so the weekly expedition to pick up a new album by somebody I’d never actually heard was loaded with anxiety and excitement, and you can believe the choice between two or more different CDs was not a light one. I would spend all day staring at album covers, track listings and spine labels, trying to imagine what was inside those mystical plastic-sealed jewel cases.