Stevens Point (and neighbors) Calendar of Events Art
Film
Through February 19 Winter’s Garden: An exhibition of floral inspired art with live orchids in bloom. River Front Arts Center.
Music
Through February 18 Carnivale di Venezia. Q Artists Cooperative.
Through March 10 22nd Annual Midwest Seasons. Center for the Visual Arts, Wausau. Reception January 20, 5 p.m. - 7 p.m. Through March 15 At Dawn: New Work from Nicole Evelyn. The Scarabocchio Art Museum. Reception February 24, 6 p.m. - 8 p.m. February 4 Arts Bash 2012: In Support of Student Artists. 7:00 - 10:30 p.m., Noel Fine Arts Center, UWSP. February 12 - March 12 Xu Bing: Recent Work. Edna Carlsten Gallery, UWSP. Opening reception Monday, February 13, 5:00 - 7:00 p.m. Closing reception Saturday, March 10, 5:00 - 7:00 p.m. February 16 - March 15 Tapestry Weaving. UWSP Contiuing Education. Register by February 7 715-346-3838 or www.uwsp.edu/ conted February 28 - April 3 Finding Your Photographic Voice. UWSP Continuing Education. Register by February 20 715-3463838 or www.uwsp.edu/conted Dance
February 16 Fox Trot Dance Lessons with Toni Sage. 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
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February 16 The Lexicon of Sustainability. 6:30 p.m. at the Local Food Fair, SPASH. www.farmshed.org. February 4 DJ Abilities with Man Mantis (Electronic/dub-step). 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP. February 4 Irene’s Garden. 8:30 p.m., Kristin’s Riverwalk Food & Spirits. February 6 Galynne Goodwill on WWSP - live on 90FM at 3:00 p.m. February 11 Garnet & Rogers. 7:30 p.m., Jensen Community Center, Amherst. February 11 Galynne Goodwill and Mark on Drums. 10:00 p.m., Guu’s on Main.
Theater
February 10-12 and 17-19 Philadelphia Story. Friday and Saturday at 7:30 p.m., Sunday at 4:00 p.m., 1800 Theater. 715-3464100. February 10-12 and 15-18 The Normal Heart. All performances at 7:30 p.m. except February 12 2:00 p.m. matinee, Noel Fine Arts Center Studio Theater, UWSP. February 17-19 Annie. Jensen Community Center, Amherst. 715-824-5202. Other
Through March 3 Elbow Room Annual Operation Bootstrap Food Drive. Party on Saturday, March 3. Icky Friction will provide the music. February 11 Nelly’s Echo (Slam Poetry). 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
February 17 Sick of Sarah with Define Tension (Alternative Rock). 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
February 16 Local Food Fair. 5:30 p.m., SPASH. www.farmshed.org
February 18 Galynne Goodwill and Mark on Drums. 4:00 p.m., The Book Bog, Tomah.
February 18 Spring Gala, featuring slam poetry, live music, and juried student art show. 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
February 24 People Brother’s Band (Jazz/Funk). 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
February 23 Chad Daniels (Comedian). 8:00 p.m., The Encore, UWSP.
February 25-26 Cental Wisconsin Symphony Orchestra. Saturday 7:30 p.m., Sunday 4:00 p.m., 1800 Theater.
February 24 - April 6 Basic Photovoltaics Online course. www.midwestrenew.org/workshops
If you would like to see your event in The Bitchin’ Kitsch next month, please email the details to chris@talbot-heindl.com.
content february 2012 Bedside - Amiee Wetmore
cover
Calendar of Evens Musician Interview: Rev. Norb from Boris the Sprinkler samuelbeaton
2 4-5
Late - Eric Krszjzaniek i miss your face: triplet - Chris Talbot-Heindl i miss your face: steve and carosene - Chris Talbot-Heindl
Rachel Peeters - pg. 10
Tanya Haller - pg. 12
6-9 6 7
The Empress - Wlkn_Fire
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i miss your face: nikki - Chris Talbot-Heindl
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i miss your face: mama t - Chris Talbot-Heindl
9
Here We Go Again - Jan Haskell
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on the front cover:
Robin I - Rachel Peeters
10
Bedside
Robin II - Rachel Peeters
10
Amiee Wetmore Photograph
natalie - Doug Somers
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Forgotten - Tanya Haller
12
The Mild Things - Robin Lee
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inside back cover:
Snow Walk- Robin Lee
13
Grrr - Michelle Wojtaszek
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Caroline Reynolds Screenprint
seal the deal - Doug Somers
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krash your computer - Doug Somers
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Your Fertile Heart
about b’k:
bitchin’ kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. it exists for the purpose of open creativity. if you have something you want to share, please email it to chris@talbot-heindl.com.
donation:
we love our donors. If you would like to become a donor, email chris@talbot-heindl.com and make your pledge.
Donors & Index
14
Your Fertile Heart - Caroline Reynolds
15
advertising:
bitchin’ kitsch is offering crazy low rates of $5 for a fourth-page ad, $10 for a half-page ad, and $20 for a full page ad. book yours today by emailing chris at chris@talbot-heindl.com.
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samuelbeaton. Musician Interview: Rev. Norb from Boris the Sprinkler By guest columnist: samuelbeaton
I was watching America’s Next Top Model when Rev. Norb called me back to let me know that the day was, in fact, going to happen. How do you prepare for such an event? I started with Bud Light. About an hour later, Norb came dashing down the narrow roads as I stumbled down the steps. As I sat myself into his car, we immediately knew the game plan. Let’s go to a bar. Who cares if it’s 1:00 on a Wednesday afternoon? We slink through about 3 blocks of bullshit before we see the (AlwaysThere) Party Line. I’ve seen Boris The Sprinkler many times in my youth, so it was with pleasure that I got to buy the lead singer some pizza and beer while we discussed the possibilities of a reunion, the tough times, and our favorite political backdrafts. As always with Norb, I was left in a Star Wars type of mystifyed justice. For all I know, kids have been trying to get this one-on-one for years. I couldn’t blow this chance. Yet, I did. samuelbeaton:
So, what was the original line up of Boris?
Rev.:
Rev: While Boris had different lineups on each of their first four albums -- 1995’s “8-Testicled Pogo Machine” and “Saucer to Saturn,” 1997’s “Mega Anal” and 1999’s “Suck” ((with 2000’s “Gay!” being back to the 8 Testicled POgo Machine album lineup)), plus a fifth lineup for our final 7-inch, the OFFICIAL post-breakup Boris lineup is 1997’s “Mega Anal” lineup -- Rev. Norb on mouth, Paul #1 on guitar, Ric Six on bass, Paul #2 on drums.
samuelbeaton:
We should get another pitcher of PBR.
Rev.:
Rev: Indeed.
samuelbeaton:
Off the subject, I know we are both left wing supporters. Who do you think will win the GOP safeguard election this year?
Rev.:
Probably Mitt Romney, just because he has an even more stupid name than Newt.
samuelbeaton:
So, Boris isn’t so much a local thing anymore?
Rev.:
Well, it is and it isn’t. Boris members currently live in Green Bay, Rhinelander, Door County, and New Jersey.
samuelbeaton:
We’re going to get a pizza.
Rev.:
Do it.
samuelbeaton:
So, is it a hiatus with the band or what?
Rev.:
It’s.....I’ll just say that we will release at least one more album. It will only be on vinyl, but we will be giving the online versions away. And no, we haven’t recorded it, and don’t know when we
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samuelbeaton (con’t). will. samuelbeaton: Rev.:
So, a reunion isn’t out of the picture? No, no. But nothing has been set up. We’re not against it.
I know that there should be more questions, and I am sorry that I forgot them. The day then delved into a set of pitchers of beer and finding security cameras that we thought were somewhere that they weren’t. Waving our hands around and causing a great disturbance in the smoking room was something I can only imagine would be funny to a sober person. This happened to be some of the best parts of that day. Norb is fun, youthfull, and a rare species. Also, one of the best drinking partners a guy could ever have.
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eric krszjzaniek, chris talbot-heindl. Late
By: Eric Krszjzaniek With hand-muffled brow he sat in the hall, staring towards the heavy oak door. A sullen fluorescent light crept through the crack between the door and the floor. Entering the hall, the light mixed with the muted pallor of a rainy autumn morning from the adjacent living room. The colors blended giving everything they lightened a heavy, melancholy fog. The door, heavy with a history known only to it, had shielded for one hundred years the showerings, the pissings, the defecations, and the bathroom habits of generations. But it was only at this moment, at this point in its history, that the power of a door and its segregation of two lives from one another was made known. It was through and beneath this door that he heard the first unwrapping of plastic, the crinkling of paper instructions and the pioneering drops of a stream of piss that held two futures in the balance. Ten seconds of interrupting the stream was all it took. His belief in god stayed or stuttered with the sway of a hip or the slip of a day. The fewer the increments of time, the intensity of memory echoed greater and greater and greater. It was her smile that had many times over taught him the virtue of patience.
Eight seconds. Love. Love as he saw others obtain, was always out of reach, always a thing to be admired, to be given, but never reciprocated. He longed for understanding and another, any other, to touch his fallen and imperfect ideal. Love had been to him what a thunderstorm was to the drought-ridden farmer kept awake at night by the storms in the distance that always passed without incident, without the sacred baptism of relief. He wished for someone to see inside him what on his best days he could not even see of himself. All he knew of her, all he ever needed to know of her, was in her miraculous smile. He had seen that smile before he had seen her. It lit him inside and would illuminate his dreams when he closed his eyes at night. It drew him in so unguarded that he could have been spit out; he didn’t care. He didn’t read the book she suggested because of the book’s greatness, but read it because it would mean something to her for him to read it. Seven seconds. When he kissed her for the first time, he had drawn his head back and discovered secret freckles he had never before seen. Ever since, he had been able to see her
Nine seconds. He had had dreams of her before he ever knew who she was. Troubling dreams of a person who understood him and whom he understood, in which smiles begat smiles and long afternoons were spent in conversations, which consisted little of any audible speech. Fantastical dreams that gave the waking life a hint of bittersweet, because the dreams were not real. Not yet. And perhaps would never be. He had made many mistakes in his life. Decisions that troubled him for a time, decisions that had hurt others, decisions that he had regretted, but he was adept at being himself and made no apologies to himself, least of all to others. His salvation was his own, and he did not request anyone else’s.
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i miss your face: triplet Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and watercolor sketch www.talbot-heindl.com
eric krszjzaniek (con’t), chris talbot-heindl. smile and those freckles through his closed eyes – a superpower second to none. Six seconds. When he first glanced her in the flesh, he regarded her as a lovely novelty, an anomaly in an imperfect world, and a quaint distraction; anything but the living, breathing specimen of femininity and sexuality that she would come to embody, wholly and uniquely, in his heart, in his soul. Five seconds. No one could have foreseen, least of all himself, the depths her beauty and effacing charm would plumb inside him. Seeing the men – the boys – that she collected was of little interest to his indifferent eyes. Who ever notices or cares about the inner lives of strangers, anyhow? Some do and some may, but they are not meant for this world, and he, at this moment, at that moment, was most indebted to this world and had to be of it, good or bad.
custom of ensnarement, the practice of inner-city drug lords everywhere – just a taste, then you are hooked. Her body was an intoxicant, which his hands, eyes and lips imbibed with the frenzy of sincere madness. The night was his pinnacle, a melding of passion with relinquished desire; it was an afterthought of a notion to her, forgotten and repressed without sympathy of notification. Three seconds. She wasn’t cold-hearted; she was just raised this way. A confluence of outer stimuli, experience with bad boys, uncertainty and prudence that did not belong to her time, nor her inner struggle to maintain composure in a life she felt she held no sway over if a man was allowed to enter too deeply. Two seconds.
Four seconds.
He did not enter her that night, deeply or otherwise, and she permitted him intermittent visits to her gate thereafter. Time can be the greatest locksmith, eroding walls, bars and iron, as well as locks. And soon, in the terms of a life, time became his key to her gate.
The night she caught his interest was also the night she almost gave her body to him entirely, as was her
And when they were finished, he kissed her neck gently, and she did not kiss him. And his countdown to exile
i miss your face: steve and carosene Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and watercolor sketch www.talbot-heindl.com
7
eric krszjzaniek (con’t). had begun. But he did not know this; he could not know this. To know the ending before the start is of ancient Greek practice, not that of a world over the cusp of a new century numbered in the twenties. Anything could happen, and, in time, it would prove to.
him towards the living room where there was laundry to fold. Her mind meddled in the matters of her heart until she could no longer discern what she loved from what she loathed, and so she said nothing else and walked to the laundry that eagerly awaited her attention.
One second.
The love of a child was still theirs to give; neither was prepared to receive such a horrible blessing.
He thought only of the past now, and he missed her for her, whatever that meant and whomever that was. Sometimes the overcast sky made him feel claustrophobic and trapped. Finishing trickles and a flush. Regret. Panic. Psychic pleading. Hurt. Love. Anger. Lust. Hate. Agony. Helplessness. Acceptance. The doorknob turned. The heavy oak door opened. Redemption. “Well?” he asked. “I have to wait three minutes,” she said, looking past
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She remembered the first act – that led to many – vividly as she drew upon the sofa a pile of socks to be divided evenly and paired together with their mates. The socks held a simplicity and quiet devotion that mocked her inability and fear of being paired by design, not by choice. Her round hips had bucked against his. The room filled with an intense liquidity of heat and drug, controlling the pace with ecstatic patience, she drew herself on him to milk and coax every drop out of him. As quickly as a neuron firing, a decision had been felt, no precautions and in the world entire, not another action took place
eric krszjzaniek (con’t), wlkn _ fire, chris talbot-heindl. at the moment their reward was reached. Sound seared into silence of heavy breathing, arching backs and flexed hips. A deep, longing kiss on lips and hips, intertwining their bodies and their souls. In between this conquest of caution and the consequence of creation, theirs was an ecstasy of promises and horizons leading away from the mendacity of sorrowful pasts and requited fears. This was theirs. And then, simple and painful like chasing the sun to never see night, it wasn’t. Eternity is measured in three-minute increments.
The Empress Wkln_Fire Ink and watercolor on paper
i miss your face: nikki Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and watercolor sketch www.talbot-heindl.com
i miss your face: mama t Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and watercolor sketch www.talbot-heindl.com
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rachel peeters, jan haskell.
Robin I Rachel Peeters Solar Etching/Monoprint www.wix.com/rpeet811/rpeeters
Here We Go Again By: Jan Haskell
If for some reason you have been caught unaware, it is election time ones more. “But didn’t we just get done with that?” Well, yes, but we seem to be in that silly season of, I’m not quite sure myself. Oh I know some will say the world is changing, and we are fighting for something. What that something is seems to change day to day depending on who wants to control the yoke. You see this constant push and pull to fight has got me a little down. Not because I don’t think there is a cause to believe in or fight for, but because what we 10
Robin II Rachel Peeters Solar Etching/Monoprint
www.wix.com/rpeet811/rpeeters
are being asked to do, asked to risk is for the agenda of others. On one side there are deep pockets of rich conservatives, and their special interest groups. On the other side is, well deep pockets of the liberals, and their special interest groups. This contest is best exemplified in Wisconsin. The political games in Wisconsin have gotten so volatile that both parties, Republican and Democrats, seem as though they are fighting for their lives, and in some respects they are. The problem, however, is that neither party is willing to give an inch. Within this struggle are out side forces, not fight for Wisconsin, but rather their own agenda. These groups are willing to spend millions in order to take what they can and
jan haskell (con’t), doug somers.
natalie Doug Somers
Print leave a scorch earth behind. They have pinned brother against brother, sister against sister. Are we not tired of these games yet? Is the yoke on our shoulders not heavy enough, the whip not harsh enough? Here is our chance, a chance to show both parties and their carpetbaggers that we, we in Wisconsin are done being pushed, done felling threatened. Let their mouths wag, let them frail their tongues, but this is our state. It is our beautiful Cardinal flag that they have stained blood red with the mark of Kane. And I say lets kick them all out. Let us show them that money can’t buy our state, that we will no longer fight their war, that we can self determine the direction we wish this State and country to go in. Let us no longer blindly give our consent and our state away while others rape it for nickles and dimes.
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tanya haller, robin lee. held in dry white rooms. There’s rarely a wild rumpus. If there is it seems subdued. All the wild things are tired from working the whole week through. Their minds are dazed from the computer. Their yellow eyes are glazed from the screen. The wild things are no longer wild, they’re no longer scary and mean. Heck, they’re barely even hairy their heads’re bald, their faces shaved. They’ve lost that fire in their eyes, they’re just too well behaved. Where did all the wild things go? They’re all trying to pay off all their loans. They’re working for insurance and their mortgage for their homes. All the wild things are tired, but they don’t get peaceful sleep. They’re always having nightmares of their work piling high and deep And Max has no time for his children, they watch T.V. at daycare. The only way they can communicate is through empty soul-less stares.
Forgotten Tanya Haller xxx http://vawness.deviantart.com
The Mild Things By: Robin Lee
Max had no time for dinner. There was too much work to do. Now that he was an adult. Now that he up ‘n grew. Where did all the wild things go? 12
Where did all the wild things go? How’d they let their wild side die? Where they went, we all know But we have to wonder why? Well, they went to work as well. They had to brush their gnashing teeth and hide their terrible yells. There was no more swinging from the treetops or howling at the moon. There were only meetings
robin lee, michelle mojtaszek, doug somers. Snow Walk By: Robin Lee
The time has come for the first snow walk, with shades of tinted gold. Time to get bundled and booted. Time to face the winter cold. Johnny’s on the corner, I stop and pet her hi, and transfer to the false Frenchman, his identity a lie. Kids slide down Mt. Demetral guarded by the samurai’s sword who lurks in paintd sunset protecting the homes of hoard. The dog walker is beautiful delicate and fair. Even though she’s bundled I see through every layer.
Grrr Michelle Wojtaszek
Ink on paper
The plastic owl stares abysmally, with ominous owl threat. There is danger out here and nobody should forget. The Starkweather creek is frozen and blanketed snowy white. I turn ‘round at the loop-bridge, cause I’ll soon be out of light. Shovelers keep on shoveling. The blowers continue to blow, Door to door, engage in the war thats been waged by the snow. Bare burch branches in pre-sunse.t Twiggy shadows spindling. Action starts to pick up, as the day begins a dwindling. The time is done for the first snow walk, with shades of tinted gold. Time to get unbundled and booted. Time to leave the winter cold.
seal the deal Doug Somers
Ink on paper
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doug somers, donors, index. advertisers Bitchin’ Kitsch mcfishenburger MREA Basic PV Online Course
8, 16 9 11
Second Space
5
www.talbot-heindl.com
5
artists Tanya Haller Jan Haskell Eric Krszjzaniek Robin Lee
6-9 12, 13 10
Caroline Reynolds
15
Doug Somers
Photograft
10-11
Rachel Peeters samuelbeaton
krash you komputer Doug Somers
12
4-5 11, 13, 14
Chris Talbot-Heindl
6, 7, 9
Amiee Wetmore
cover
Wlkn_Fire Michelle Wojtaszek
we love our donors!
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We love our donors, and to prove it, we’re going to let you know who they are. Without their generosity, the Bitchin’ Kitsch would probably not make it through the year. If you would like to become a donor and see your name here, email chris@talbot-heindl.com and make your pledge. acquaintences of the bitchin’ kitsch ($1-10) Colin Bares, Casey Bernardo, Eric Krszjzaniek, Dana Lawson, Jason Loeffler, Justin Olszewski friends of the bitchin’ kitsch ($11-50) Charles Kelly lovers of the bitchin’ kitsch ($51-100) Scott Cook, Jan Haskell partners of the bitchin’ kitsch ($101 & up) The Talbot-Heindl’s, Felix Gardner
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a talbot-heindl project 1600 reserve st, stevens point, wi 54481 www.talbot-heindl.com