October 17, 2005
Allow me to say, right off the bat, that artists, those wonderful, hungry, wistful, socially conscious adornments of fate and destiny, have always inspired me, and driven me to spend more money than I have.
Ok, with that said, I must acknowledge, again, someone who I hold dear as an amazing artists, and social contemporary; whose work speaks beyond the band they are promoting for; someone who knows that his silkscreened work will last long past the event, and will bring memories, for those who attended the event, of a performance perhaps better than actually witnessed. You see, this is the work of someone who could quite possibly be the best soap opera writer of our day. The star: usually a cuddly little teddy bear that you would be best not come anywhere near. The story: like any good daytime soap: he keeps you guessing. The feeling you get when consuming the message: a bit queezy at first, then euphoria.
Jermaine Rogers of Houston, Texas has his finger on the pulse of the underbelly of the American Day, where we wander around bright streets and avenues in the inner city, waiting for the bar to open; not so we can drown our miseries in a pint, or a shot glass. No! But so we can share our true selves with the other loesome creatures who share a desire for pranksterism.
It’s cowboy kareoke. It’s punk rock twister. It’s Bad Movie Night. It’s comments from the bartender like “drink this. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been pouring all of the overfilled drinks into it all night.” And you drink it, not giving a shit who sees, or doesn’t see. It’s not about who sees you. Who cares about being seen? it’s about knowing that the only thing getting you through your existance is knowing that there are others like you out there. Good luck America. You’re going to need it.
Jermaine Rogers: I salute you brother.