INTERNATIONAL PANELING
Image by ANINA
Success, Hopelessness, Exhaustion and…Exultation?
by Leo Kuelbs
Berlin
As we head into another autumn, the harvest season, we wonder, “Hasn’t enough been harvested already?” I mean, a lot of people have just vanished from the planet. Good vibes have been blown away, families decimated by all types of loss. In almost every way, the world has become more bewildering and bombastic with sensory overloads emanating from an array of beings and devices, all competing, ever more desperately for our fraying attention. All messaging has become extreme, and the younger ones worry about a world the older ones (demonstrably) don’t seem to give a shit about.
I was thinking back to an article I read in Rolling Stone (Scone?) a while back about Evangelical Christians who do not worry about global warming because they will be “raptured” by that point. It’s the same with those who believe the vaccine is totally evil and that it’s better to die than be part of a devilish and diabolical plot to sully humanity, just before the good ones are lifted off the planet. BTW, it may be that being lifted off the planet means heading off into slavery for the aliens while they blow everyone else up towards global reset. Too much Ancient Aliens? I digress. Hey, if things are that bad, I think it’s GAME OVER, anyway.
The selfishness of this kind of thinking is what sucks about people. I can see doubting vaccinations, for sure. I mean, only Pfizer has been approved by the FDA in the USA. That was a few weeks back. I suppose billions of people have taken unapproved drugs, by this point. I mean, that’s pretty wild. But, if you do not want to take the shots, please respect those that will take them. Also, if you insist that people should not be vaccinated and/or should not wear a mask, then isn’t it okay for them to demand that you wear a mask and get vaccinated? Who gets to be right? The assumption that one has the complete right to tell another what to do is pretty hard to take. But isn’t it reasonable to accept the differences and take the appropriate steps to honor the perspectives of our neighbors while maintaining our position? Isn’t that a basics of Civics? They used to teach that in (now underfunded) schools. Now we have deal with this: Is wearing a mask or taking the vaccine really like being sexually violated? Really? It reminds me of my father (rest in peace) who would try to bait me into unwinnable arguments about all things “liberal.” I learned to just leave the cheese and say that it’s the really rich vs. the poor. Human nature is basically greed driven. All politicians are corrupt, etc. Those were the only ways to not slip down a slope of sloppy, drug-like hate banter. Which now has its own channels on cable (cabal?) TV!
It gets to be difficult when science mixes in with conspiracy theory with distrust of government with religion with the fallout of hundreds of years of unwarranted white privilege with confirmation bias with Instagram and Twitter and marketing and just plain old stupidity and ever increasing narcissism.
It gets to be difficult when science mixes in with conspiracy theory with distrust of government with religion with the fallout of hundreds of years of unwarranted white privilege with confirmation bias with Instagram and Twitter and marketing and just plain old stupidity and ever increasing narcissism. But the world has had huge changes before; and lest we start thinking we are the special ones who will see the world’s end, just remember all of the wars, the revolutions (industrial and otherwise) and the fact that there was a bunch of babies born after World War 2, who came of age at the dawn of television, radio, into the internet, etc. Their brands seem to last forever (Rolling Stones? Still on tour?). They control and expand the media to their benefit (not a conspiracy, human nature, I think). Life expectancy in some places has massively increased and no one wants to admit they are old or cede any ground to the kids.
But time always wins. The world will evolve and change. And just because we are fed a steady stream of annihilation and violence doesn’t mean it is our destiny. It’s entertainment! Life is not exclusively what we see online. Life is rocking out with friends, bonfires, weddings, funerals with family, tasty food and long walks. Yes, a lot of bad stuff has happened and will continue to happen. But let’s not forget that we live in this wild, dynamic world, which is part of a universe that we are only beginning to become truly aware of. Stay strong, stay curious and let’s ride this baby into the unknown future with a little more hope in our hearts. You’ve got friends everywhere, more than you know, who are already on the ride with you. Don’t be afraid to reach out and let them you are there.
Welcome to October 2021’s edition of International Paneling
Shorty of the Month! “Ghost Bike” by Chris Herbeck
Intro by Wolf Vest
Farmington, by the Stuckey’s Exit
Back in Ol’ DUMBO, Brooklyn, long before the highrises and the zillionaires appeared, there was a place called "DUMBO Art Center (DAC)” And at DAC, there resided a helpful fellow and artist by the name of Chris Herbeck. Chris liked bikes and toys and making trouble, locally. One day, Chris, who was making an art installation with his BMX bicycle friend, got a wild hair in the you know where. Anywho, Chris grabs his camera and makes this little old video which captures not only a drunken bicycle, but also a lot of the old streets before they paved ‘em all with GOLD!
I hear-tell Chris lives in New Orleans now. Wrangling with gators and record players. Some also call him, “NaughtyPie.” Look him up!
Image by Juliane Pieper
Poetry Corner
by Nicole Callihan
Brooklyn
Rations
In the stack of needles,
I found, finally,
a single piece of hay,
and with my bloody thumbs,
I sat under the sun
and sucked on it,
and dusk came,
then dawn, ad infinitum.
Add infinitum more.
I dreamed something
had hurt me, and it had.
But also, the dream
of feeding, of feeling.
The prophet in one poem
is the whore in another.
All this fodder for you—
and still, you can’t even
acknowledge the animals.
New South Wales in Lockdown: Scene/City Report
Image and Text by Stu Spence
Sydney
The whole state in which I live, New South Wales, is in lockdown. For an Australian, being in lockdown is a serious affront…akin to caging animals whose homes are the plains or the high jungle canopy. We do not like it. I live right on Sydney Harbour, I am lucky, very very lucky. I walk every afternoon out and around the southern headland at the entrance to our Harbour. It’s technically in a National Park, so cops don’t really get out there. I mention cops, because, out on the high rocks at sunset, couples, small families, buddies often congregate, illegally, starved of company, going loco, willing to break the law for some contact, if only for the time it takes for the sun to disappear.
As a single man living alone, this walk of mine has become vital, a lifeline to the world I used to know, the one not lived in my bedroom drinking beer and trying to find something to watch on Netflix. (I notice that, exponentially, the more I drink, the less Netflix interests me, which makes the nights extra long, worse luck). Whilst these walks have been a regular activity for me over the years, now they take on a different mode, a different intensity. Now every step counts. I can feel it, a rhythmic reminder, one foot after the other, of a psychological state that’s been shelved.
Calm. The calm from the familiar.
My little camera rests in my hand as I trundle around my headland each day. There is no particular compulsion to use it, but in the occasional free flow of impulse from brain to hand to camera, I notice change. My pictures have taken on a kind of pseudo religious flavour, redemptive and full of promise; cloud forms, backlit from the setting sun become halleluiah choruses, marker buoys in the shipping lanes flash ‘the way,’ waves smashing cliffs are forces trying to wear us down. Did I always shoot like this? As a ‘renaissance artist’ (i.e.: coming to fine art later in life), I have learnt not to question, simply follow the lead coming from…who knows?
I’ve engineered a kind on Messiah-like benevolent nod and smile as I pass my brethren on my daily holy crusade. How and why I chose to take on this delusion is beyond me…
And that’s where I’m at, day in, day out, relentlessly. I can see the strain in the faces of the locals in my tiny village, tension, fear and, that inevitable longing for freedom…like I say, caged animals. I’ve taken to caring for my mob, I’ve engineered a kind on Messiah-like benevolent nod and smile as I pass my brethren on my daily holy crusade. How and why I chose to take on this delusion is beyond me, but, hey, at least I’m not cussing and spewing conspiracy theories (as so many seem to be). My smile says, ‘It’s all gonna be fine, brother/sister.’ At least that’s what I’m going for.
Many believe that because we are water people in my hood, that life is easier, we can swim (the water is bloody cold right now), saunter along the shoreline, resetting our worried minds etc., but it’s not like that. We tell ourselves it’s like that, but we’re fooling no one, we’re in the thick, shitty Covid soup like every poor sod on the planet. But sometimes, just sometimes, our shared human condition lifts me; smiles seem more heartfelt, ‘How are yous?’ more sincere, and emotions living closer to the surface, even from behind those wretched masks. We may also sneak a covert glass or two with a neighbour over a fence, they’re my favourite times, random connections, gifts from above, or from the next house, really. These are the conversations that aren’t bogged down in the mundanity of life, these about now, and strain, and joy, and old times…we are primitives, sitting around a fire, storytelling.
Not so primitive, if you ask me.
Image by Briony M Davies
Cemetery Strolls with JCO: The Giggling Little Boy
by JCO
Baden Baden
“Do you believe in ghosts?“ I guess we all have been asked that question multiple times during our lives. Mostly we reply with a simple “Yes“ or “No!“.
But even people that say no, probably have experienced something unusual once in their lives. Unable to find a rational explanation, they lock it in a box deep inside their minds. At least I did before the following story changed my mind forever.
When I was a kid, I frequently visited my grandparents grave with my dad. I helped him with removing the weeds, planting new flowers for every season, refilling the watering can at the graveyard’s fountain. I really enjoyed our visits. They helped me to built up a connection with my grandparents who I never had the chance to meet in person.
I turned around and there was a little boy standing 15 meters away from me. When I asked him to stop laughing, he ran way.
One day—I was around 7 years old—we were walking to my grandparent’s grave, when my dad realized that he had forgotten his little shovel in the car. He said that I should go ahead. When I arrived at the grave, I looked around me to be sure I was alone. Because whenever I felt unobserved, I would talk to my grandparents. I told them about my day, the problems I had at school, random stuff. So, I did on this particular day, when suddenly laughter interrupted my conversation. I turned around and there was a little boy standing 15 meters away from me. When I asked him to stop laughing, he ran way. My dad arrived seconds later, I told him that boy who had been laughing at me. He only replied “What boy?“
Weeks later I had dinner with my parents at a restaurant. The restaurant was a one and a half hour drive away from our home. So, before we left, my mum asked me to go to the toilet, so they didn’t have to stop on the way.
I was in the toilet booth minding my business, when I heard laughter again. I looked underneath the door and I saw two little feet standing in front of my booth. I really got scared and just wanted to be with my parents again. So, I took all my courage, opened the latch, kicked the door open and ran to them. I couldn’t answer when my mum asked me about what happened. While I was sitting in the car, I realized that the door that I had kicked open didn’t hit anything. Even though the boy was standing in front of it just seconds before. He somehow had magically disappeared.
Fifteen years passed, and in the process of becoming an adult I completely forgot this strange encounter - or maybe I wanted to forget?
Years later, I was home for the holidays between semesters, when my dad told me that the city administration was planning to relocate the graveyard. We decided to visit my grandparents grave on its original location on last time. I was on a stroll with my best friend and asked my dad to meet me at the graveyard when I finished. I arrived at the graveyard a bit earlier than expected, and as I was standing there in front of my grandparent’s grave, I remembered how I used to talk to them when I was a kid. And then I heard it—the laugh. I turned around but I didn’t see anyone. Suddenly it hit me, and I remembered the boy I saw as a kid. I started to feel the that old icy chill up the spine. Shortly after, I saw my dad in the distance walking towards me. I knew it was over, and I was so much relief.
It’s Time for 3 Questions with English Mood Rocker, Mark Fernyhough!
Intro by Leo Kuelbs
“Dapper” and “Dashing” are two words that come to mind when listening to the music of Mark Fernyhough. Style, fashion—these are other tasty treasure in Fernyhough’s fanny pack of fun! Coming out of London and spending time, most recently in Berlin and Edinburgh, Mark’s music is interested in international perspectives, sounds and styles—a universal coolness, if you will. Along with his musical pal Agata Demon, a couple of videos popped up during the lockdown period, which were very much a tonic in the troubled times. And here’s another tasty tonic. Also very stately and elegant!
Here are the questions we sent over to Mark and his mysterious muse:
1. Mark, can you tell us about your background and influences?
2. What are some of your favorite performance memories?
3. Where are you living these days and what new projects are coming up?
Under the Tree
by Disha Iris Lundberg
Berlin
Crypto Freedom: An Explanation of Understanding the Future
by Mark Bailey
St. Paul
The legacy financial system was never designed to serve people like me. It was designed to prey on people like me. Although I've been aware of this for many years, it was only recently that the crypto economy emerged to begin providing a viable alternative to the legacy system. I bought my first bitcoin in 2014. Today, I live about 80% in the crypto economy.
Now, I'm not an investor and can't speak to the investment value of any crypto token. I've done some profitable exchange trading over the years, but the truth is that trading stresses me out. It's like being in an intense math contest against a world full of people who are all better at math. So, I'm neither an investor nor a trader. And yet, I use crypto every day.
As a writer, I have clients all over the world who pay me in crypto. This year, one client even started paying me in non-fungible tokens (NFTs), such that I now have a respectable little assortment of digital collectables on the Worldwide Asset eXchange (WAX). I can transfer the funds I receive directly to friends or spend the money using credit cards tied to crypto wallets.
This makes cryptocurrency as convenient as national currency, though it's admittedly a bit more complicated when tax season comes around. But convenience isn't what inspired me to embrace this emerging technology. Freedom is what inspired me to embrace it.
There's freedom in actually, maintaining custody of one's own financial assets. I n some ways, too, there's freedom in irreversible transactions. But these examples are somewhat abstract. More concretely, crypto facilitates censorship-resistance and affordable international remittances.
When Wikileaks published documentation of the US military doing horrid things, the US government established a financial blockade of the organization. Wikileaks' bank stopped providing services. MasterCard and Visa refused to process transactions. Instead of folding under this pressure, Wikileaks created a bitcoin payment channel in 2011 and survived for several additional years. So crypto made it impossible for a national government to silence a media organization using traditional financial mechanisms.
The average cost of international remittances is in the neighborhood of 7 percent. Most recipients of these remittances live in the developing world and have little money. They're essentially being robbed by the legacy system. Crypto makes it possible to transfer money anywhere in the world for significantly less than 7 percent. Some cryptocurrencies, such as EOS and HIVE, have transfer fees of zero.
Image by ANINA
The freedom to move funds independent of the legacy financial system is meaningful. It means circumventing political grudges and onerous fees. It can also facilitate censorship-resistance in smaller ways.
The freedom to move funds independent of the legacy financial system is meaningful. It means circumventing political grudges and onerous fees. It can also facilitate censorship-resistance in smaller ways. Mainstream social media companies sell ads, sell data, and censor content. Sites like Hive.blog put all data on a public blockchain and pay users in crypto for uncensored blogging.
If freedom is crypto's upside, its downside is risk. Criminals are a known risk, and not more of one than criminals in the legacy system. But there's also unknown risk associated with the expansion of a decentralized token economy, in general. As of this writing, this token economy has a value of over 2T. It's unclear how this emerging market will interact with traditional markets. How regulators will ultimately treat crypto is also in question. The risks inside of these unknowns are nontrivial.
Fortunately, it's possible to explore cryptocurrency and blockchain technology while minimizing risk exposure. This can be done simply by reading about the tech or by playing with applications into which blockchain tech has been integrated, such as Hive.blog or the Brave web browser. The rapid proliferation of apps like these is bringing crypto into the mainstream. As this happens, an increasing number of people will begin to see the advantages of finance unmediated by big banks and governments. Personally, I see this as empowering, though I doubt the new crypto economy will ever fully replace the legacy system.
Scary Fairy Tales with Erika Eichenseer!
Intro by Leo Kuelbs
Berlin
International Paneling is thrilled to bring you a special treat this month and next in celebration of the Autumnal season. Erika Eichenseer is responsible for discovering and organizing a set of about 500 old fairy and folk tales collected in the Oberpfalz area of Germany, which is pretty close to the Czech Republic. The stories were created and embellished by the local people over several generations, and were collected by a fellow named Franz Xaver von Schönwerth in the middle of the 1800s. Much like a Natural Scientist, von Schöenwerth recognized that these stories would be lost to history without conservation.
Unlike the Brithers Grimm, von Schönwerth kept the stories in their natural state, as told to him, with no embellishment. Eichenseer was teaching children through the use of improvisation in the 1950s and found fairy tales to be an excellent starting point from which to engage and foster creativity in a manner that was both universal and local. Since then, several stories and books have been published in many, many languages. The von Schönwerth stories also serve as the basis for the Digital Fairy Tales short film/video series, which is currently in preparation for its 8th album of creatively interpreted works.
Grab the kids and get ready for a special treat as these fairy tales are difficult to access in English!
Looking back at Max Ernst’s ‘Nightmarish’ Paintings
by Adrian Pocobelli
Berlin
I remember once when I was a college student asking my dad what he thought of Max Ernst’s paintings. He replied suddenly and forcefully, “They’re nightmares!” My dad is a thoughtful man and has a pretty good grasp on the history of art, and, surprised as I was by his response at the time, I’ve come to partly agree with his assessment over the years, although I would add the caveat that nightmarish is not necessarily a negative quality.
So, as Hallowe’en approaches, I thought we could take a closer look at a few of Max Ernst’s more haunted works to see what may or may not be taking place in this unique oeuvre of 20th-century art.
The Wavering Woman, 1923, Oil on canvas
https://www.max-ernst.com/
A woman, seemingly in motion, is entwined with mechanical parts on a raised platform. Her arms steady her off-balanced position in a posture reminiscent of Christ’s crucifixion. The balancing act seems to create a kind of erotic tension, which is exacerbated by the presence of two phallus-like steam shafts on either side of her, a motif that openly references Giorgio de Chirico’s metaphysical paintings. In the background, there’s a seashore underneath a green-grey-blue sky, while in the foreground, on the platform of the machine, lies a lone, enigmatic rock. Enigma, technology and eroticism all combine to produce a unique and charged image.
Nightmare rating: 6/10
Collage from Une semaine de bonté, 1934
https://www.max-ernst.com/
Max Ernst’s collage novel Une semaine de bonté consists of several collages made from 19th-century engravings often found in popular publications at the time. Employing Surrealism’s main technique, to mix two disparate realities in a new context, Ernst reshuffled the visual vocabulary of everyday life by subverting the original images and recontextualizing them for both wicked and humorous results. In this image, we see a bird-headed man who has just stabbed a naked woman through the foot on a side street. The result is simultaneously dark, absurd and somewhat disturbing, particularly the odd piercing of the knife through the extra sensitive bottom of the foot.
Nightmare rating 8.5/10
The Horde, 1927, Oil on canvas
https://www.max-ernst.com/
The Horde is taken from one of Max Ernst’s most mysterious series. In this work, he seems to be showing several anthropomorphic shapes violently fighting one another to reach the top of a mound. Underneath the mayhem, a pile of lifeless bodies lie discarded as the battle rages under a beautiful light blue sky. Is this Ernst’s commentary on human relations and society, a spiritual portrait of our underlying instinctual desire to dominate everyone around us at any cost?
Nightmare rating 9.5/10
Europe After the Rain II, 1942, Oil on canvas
https://www.max-ernst.com/
Made during World War II, Europe after the Rain is often considered to be a commentary on a bombed-out Europe. Using the decalcomania technique, which puts paper on paint and peels it off while it’s still wet, Ernst constructed an almost bony-looking landscape devoid of life and plant matter. In the background near the center, two figures—a woman and a bird-headed creature holding a spear or flag of some kind—survey the damage. Meanwhile, an ambiguous blue sky shimmers overtop of a barren landscape that humanity has pulverized.
Nightmare rating: 8/10
The Beginning of Shadows: A Dark Ride through 90’s Memories
by Leo Kuelbs
These long nights, all alone in my dark apartment, sometimes old memories would flicker in my mind, as if in firelight. Then they clicked into color and suddenly I was back in the 1990s in my pickup truck with my old girlfriend, as we returned to my college town in Western Wisconsin.
Still a few hours from home, after some random days exploring the roads and forgotten bars of the Midwest, fIREHOSE crackled in from a college station in Iowa. The song was new, but I didn’t feel the thrill anymore. Somehow, that summer, what had been sweet was going sour and I was beginning to realize it. Soon enough, the tragedy of my then girlfriend’s life would start to reveal itself, and the dark history of my college town would blink into view.
I had heard about the devil-worshippers who had been inhabiting the area, reportedly, for well over a hundred years. Based somehow around an old mental hospital, the creepy caves and odd names on some gravestones all began to fit together that September.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when we got back. We had skipped our Monday classes for another night of drinking beer in a cheap hotel, listening to AC/DC on the boombox. We were in a transitional space between traveling and returning to our temporary home with our mostly temporary friends in a twisted little town. “Do you want to meet at Emma’s later for a beer?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied. Then, “Look at that.” She pointed to a black cloud hanging over downtown.
Once the truck entered the village, the rain began. Heavier and harder it fell, until balls of hail were almost denting the Ranger.
“Yikes! Is that a tornado? There’s no other clouds around.” We both shook our heads and kept looking up as we pulled into the outskirts of town.
Once the truck entered the village, the rain began. Heavier and harder it fell, until balls of hail were almost denting the Ranger. I pulled around back of the clothing store I lived above and parked in a spot facing the river. We waited a minute or two before deciding to make a run for the back stairs.
The apartment was a smelly set of old offices converted for profitable student use. One of my roommates was inside the paneled den, doing his homework in the half-light. “This is some weird shit,” I said.
“Yeah. It’s been a fucked up few days.” I looked at him. “A kid shot himself Sunday night in his car. In the parking lot of the Christian Students’ League.”
“I guess I heard about that. You would think the Christian Students League would have been more help.” I replied.
He went on. “Yeah, well did you hear that yesterday a girl jumped off the suspension bridge? Died on the rocks, by the river. They just took the tape down this morning.” The bridge was a five-minute walk away. “It’s just a lot of bad vibes,” he said, pretty much blowing the whole thing off and turning back to his books. After that, the girl went home, and I went into my shitty room, turned on the Kinks and took a nap, hoping to dream of my future life.
In the months that followed, a tide of bad heroin went through the nearby city and took out several young people. In another single week, I knew two who were killed from robbery and random violence. Then Kurt Cobain died and a whole kind of music went with him. A few years after that, we would begin to understand the meaning of “Borderline Personality Disorder” and that many of us had been physically or sexually abused.
That black cloud marked a turning point. From then on, trouble would always be near, and innocence was always to be protected. But somehow the realization of all that darkness allowed me to better see the bittersweet beauty of plainness, simplicity and, ultimately, love.
Thank you for spending some time with us here at International Paneling!
Prepare thyself for more scary tales in next month’s issue!