Harmony and Dissonance

Raiders of the Lost Park

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 14:18:00 +0000

For a couple of months now my friend Ty and I have been planning a bike ride to an abandoned amusement park, Parque de la Cuidad, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. Spring rain had canceled our last few attempts to get there, however, a few days ago, under a warm South American sun, we finally made it happen. According to maps the ride would take us through some sketchy parts of town so we packed light, and did our best to not look like outsiders. Unfortunately there's only so much two 30-something white guys over six feet tall can do to not look conspicuous in a part of town that doesn't get to many imports. It probably didn't help either, at least not while on the bikes, that we both had decided to wear white t-shirts and camouflage shorts that day, although later on I would be thankful for my choice of garments.

Parque de la Cuidad first opened in 1983 and based on what I've found online was open less than 10 years, making it left for dead for almost 20. When Ty first discovered this place a couple of years ago a security guard was posted at the main gate however people were still free to meander through the ramshackle never never land. Unfortunately when we arrived a few days ago we were saddened to see that the gates were gated and locked. Hating to have biked an hour just to see the outside of some old park we made the executive decision to lock up the bikes near the property line and jump the fence. We had no idea if security guards still patrolled inside and there was of course the chance our bikes wouldn't be there when we got back, but we decided to chance it anyway. The two hours after jumping the fence were probably two of the most surreal hours of my life.

(left) a sea of trams | (right) atop the big drop

Check out all of the photos Ty and I shot at the park on flickr here.

What transpired inside? The day after walking through the park I wrote down some of what happened. Below is what leaked out of my pen...

Raiders of the Lost Park - November 5th, 2009

Bike riding,
through city and shantytown.
On the outskirts of town.
Destination vacant amusement park.
Destination faded fun.
Main gates locked equals
time to jump the fence.
And we're in.
No sign of security.
And time stands still.

We walk through images of youth,
frozen and rusted over.
Void of people,
but full of brown flaking steel,
and sun-bleached plastic color.
Full of awe just the same.
Everything green is overgrown.
Birds squawk and holler everywhere.
Parrots, hawks, a sanctuary.
No sign of security.

We walk and we climb.
Climb on everything your not supposed.
Over turnstiles.
Up maintenance steps.
To the top of the giant coaster drop,
and back.
We climb on tracks.
On top of coasters.
We cut every imaginary line.
No sign of security

Nothing works,
and everything works,
in our heads at least.
We push moving parts.
They shriek and squeal.
We laugh.
We snap open Heineken's.
Two beers equals
part of "packing light".
We chill on a plastic and metal,
outdoor table for four,
next to the tower,
the "space needle".
We move on.
No sign of...wait.
Security!

"Down" says Ty under his breath.
We lie flat,
beers in hand.
75 yards away,
he's traveling by scooter on the access road.
He didn't see us.
We wait.
We sip.
He's gone,
and we're up,
heading in the opposite direction of 'him'.

Another roller coaster.
More jungle gym climbing,
and then to the carousel.
We push it,
like a merry-go-round.
It creeks, groans,.
and reluctantly spins.
We leave our beer cans on the revolving steel mass.
Our sign that life passed through today.
Off to the bumper cars.
We move 'em,
and blacken our hands
on decaying rubber.
Manual collisions.
Ty scrapes his arm.
Tetanus shots? We're both good.
No sign of security.

On through a figure eight go-kart track,
and its petrified go-karts,
parked like cars after the apocalypse.
We survey other no-named caged rides,
and survey the sun.
It's sinking.
We could spends days here,
but we gotta jet.
while there's still light.
Back to the bikes we head.
No sign of security.

We arrive at the tree line.
The property line.
Near the fence.
Cops!
Shit.
And a taxi.
What?
Are the bikes still there?
Yes.
We hide under the cover of trees,
and our camo shorts.
Why are they here?
How do we get out?
Deep breathe. We wait.
The cops leave.
A window of opportunity.
We head for the fence,
for the quick escape.
In haste I snag my hand on the barbed wire.
Blood.
Is it bad?
Shit.
Not sure. Gotta jet.
We unlock the bikes in negative 5 seconds
and were outta there,
both with minor injuries.
Battle wounds.
The hand's tender, but ok.
Just scratched up.
The taxi?
He saw us but no worries.
He was in a fender bender.
Thus the cops.
Just ironic timing and location.

I arrive home an hour later.
After dark.
I soak my wounds,
tell some stories,
and sleep like a rock,
or rusted roller coaster.
The sign of security.

(Two things - 1: There's no way I would have gone out there without Ty. It wasn't exactly in the best part of town nor open to the public (at least not when we were there). 2: Were it not for the previous bike explorations of my friends Jen and Ty I would never have heard about this place. Any photos I shot or things I make inspired by the trip are a direct result of their awesomeness.)

Currently Reading:
Monkey Wrench Gang
by Edward Abbey

Currently Listening To:
Song: Outlaws
Artist: Joe Purdy (myspace) (iTunes)

For more on how I first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

Bringing Halloween and Frankenstein to Life

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 22:34:00 +0000

This marked our second Halloween is Argentina. An interesting facet of living abroad is the loss of experiencing holidays as we know them, and the gain of a slew of holidays that are void of personal meaning. These "special" days combined with reversed seasons (summer in winter, etc.) are just enough to continually perpetuate the bizarro-world feeling that lies just under the surface of daily life. A kind of cultural limbo. We do our best to add some normalcy to the Holidays we grew up with. For our friends Jen and Tyler that meant carving watermelons. Yep. Pumpkins are out of season here so they found the next best thing. As for us, while there were a handful of expat halloween costume parties happening, we decided to avoid the thunderstorms that were drenching the city and just kick it inside. We threw Pulp Fiction in the DVD player and I set out to paint something that fit the occasion.

Say hello to "Frankie". Brought to life Halloween 2009.

Photo used as reference:
Boris Karloff as Frankenstein

Currently Reading:
Monkey Wrench Gang
by Edward Abbey

Currently Listening To:
Song: Borne On The FM Waves
Artist: Against Me! (myspace) (iTunes)

For more on how I first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

Rusty Piece of Crap Awesome Bike

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 15:02:00 +0000

Sketch of the Day: part of a sculpture at Plaza San Martin

Took a break from the studio and cruised the city on two wheels the other day. Found half an abandoned submarine, an abandoned 10 meter diving platform, saw a guy pee in the middle of Plaza San Martin, ate lunch next to three mullets at a street vendor in Puerto Madero, crossed the widest street in the world twice, went through Plaza De Mayo, past Congresso and made it home unscathed. All in one gear on my rusty, piece of crap, awesome bike.

(above) half a submarine

(above) a piece of the old city stuck in the middle of the new

Currently Reading:
Monkey Wrench Gang
by Edward Abbey

Currently Listening To:
Song: This Coastal Town
Artist: Reed KD (myspace) (iTunes)

For more on how I first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

A Sketchbook Entry

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:48:00 +0000

Balmy
A balmy Tuesday.
The sun is warm.
Welcomed.
Reading Edward Abbey,
Monkey Wrench Gang.
Wanting to burn down billboards
and desert mountain roadtrip.
I want to paint rebellion on suits
and dance to banjo blues.
Heading out into the city soon.
The concrete abyss.
Museum bound via subway.
Past a big pink house (Casa Rosada),
to put new noises in my head.
- Jimmy Danko 10-20-2009

We took a trip to the Fortabat museum in Buenos Aires the other day. The collection, which among others, includes the likes of Rodin, Dali, Klimt, Chagall and Warhol. My favorite piece of the day though was by an Argentine artist named Carlos Alonso. It was a portrait of Van Gogh on a bright red background called La Oreja (The Ear).

my latest sketchbook and favorite pen

I've been thinking lately about how I'd like to post my blog entries more frequently, at least on a weekly basis, so today (above) begins a new idea. In addition to my normal entries (that help save the world from imploding), I've decided to start posting some of the journal entries/sketches that find their way to the pages of my homemade coil bound books. Kinda like a weekly stream of consciousness.

Almost always I have a sketchbook with me. With exception of the metal coil, they're completely reconstituted from materials destined for recycling bins at the last advertising agency I worked at. Over the 3 years span I spent there I saved enough scraps to make almost 2 dozens sketchbooks, most of which sit waiting to be filled. When filling them the one rule I have is this: try to remember there aren't any rules. The cover of the current one is made up of pieces of newspapers from some of the cities I was in during a trip back to the States in July. Combined with a couple of text files on my computer, the pages inside exist as parking spaces for the traffic jams of thoughts that pass through my mind, well...the ones that both resonate and refrain from incriminating me anyway. The process of putting them down somewhere allows me to let go of them upstairs, making room for new crazy shit to fill up the space. I can come back and reference them anytime, but I don't have to mentally carry them with me. A way of putting order to the chaos. Method to the waves of madness.

So this is the first of hopefully many glorious and magical world-saving sketchbook entries to come. Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it.

Peace,
Jimmy

Currently Reading:
Monkey Wrench Gang
by Edward Abbey

Currently Listening To:
Song: Evelyn
Artist: Gregory Alan Isakov (myspace) (iTunes)

For more on how I first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

The Remodel Revisted

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 16:03:00 +0000

When we moved to Buenos Aires in July of 2008 the plan for living here was always open ended. We had no idea where life would take us and how long we'd stay. In some cases that hasn't changed, however slow but sure we've recently been hearing the States calling us back, and last week we decided to put our home here on the market. What does that mean? I'm not really sure since moving anywhere revolves around the sale of our home. Plus we have no idea where we'd even be moving back to, so a great deal of uncertainty stills abounds in our daily lives. In the meantime I figured I should at least share the before and after pics of the apartment I said I'd post while we're still actually living here.

Eight months of our time in Buenos Aires was consumed by the remodel of this place. When we found it, it was nothing but an empty space with concrete floors and pillars, on the top floor of a 25 story building. The bathroom was a closet with a broken toilet. There was no kitchen. What it did have though was an unobstructed view of the city and amazing potential. It was a blank canvas.

The eights months that followed were challenging ones. Anywhere a remodel can be a stressful and difficult undertaking, but doing one in a foreign country where they don't speak your native language complicates things even more, e.g. dealing with different construction techniques, different tools, etc.

During the final four months of the remodel we lived within it. Definitely not a strategy I recommend for staying sane, but in the end we survived. When we first moved in the windows were yet to be installed allowing the wind to come through unabated. Our kitchen sink was a 5 gallon bucket on the terrace, and battles with concrete dust, or 'muthaf##king concrete dust' as I often referred to it, were a daily occurrence. At night we slept on a single size bed split in two. I took the box-spring and Annie got the mattress. Eight months of construction didn't exactly help us make any fans amongst our neighbors either. One of them, an old retired cop, even went as far to call us his enemigos (enemies). I've never had someone tell me I was there enemy, and in Spanish no less. How awesome is that?

In the end though it was an experience I am thankful for. It was extraordinary interaction with the culture here where I learned not only a great deal about Argentina, but also about myself in relation to having the world around me flipped upside down for months at a time. As for the home, since it's completion I've come to think of it as a piece of artwork. One that I helped design and work on for many months. Until we move on it also remains, not only our home, but the place where I create, hang and share my newest work - Gallery 24B. Gallery 24B is open by appointment, and if you're interested in stopping by just send me an email and we'll figure out a time to make it happen.

Remodel Before and After pics (click to enlarge).
More info our place can be at www.rivadavia2151.com

Currently Reading:
Raditzer
by Peter Matthiessen

Currently Listening To:
Song: Pet Elephant
Artist: The Traditionist (myspace) (Daytrotter)

For more on how we first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

other DANK links:
Check out my artwork | jimmydanko.com
Facebook | add him as a friend
Twitter | follow Jimmy (on his quest to take over the world)

Got Sumo?

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 01:26:00 +0000

A few days ago I had the chance to go see a sumo wrestling exhibition. Serious. Yes, I agree. In my mind, going to see a bunch of mostly overweight men slam dance in a 10 foot ring while wearing not much more than a giant thong seems likes a freakish thing to go do. I imagine that statement holds true almost anywhere in the world outside of Japan. Ok, maybe anywhere it's true, however, the thought of seeing it in Buenos Aires seems even more incongruous to me. In a city that's best known for its tango night-life, empanada-filled coffee shops and grilled meat, going to see sumo wrestling exists not in the realm of something freakish to do but rather in the realm of fantastically awesome. Something that in ways seems so wrong but through extreme obscurity becomes so right. Who would have guessed that in this giant South American city a small band of men, and two women, would routinely congregate in a secluded, concrete-walled courtyard, behind a martial arts academy and gloriously battle in the name of sumo. Not me.

#72 on the life 'To Do' list - GO SEE SUMO WRESTLING. Check. I'm sure the vast majority have already seen live sumo wrestling, but in case you haven't, here's where to go to see it in Argentina.

Currently Reading:
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
by Dave Eggers

Currently Listening To:
Song: Fault Line
Artist: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (myspace) (iTunes)

For more on how we first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

other DANK links:
Check out my artwork | jimmydanko.com
Facebook | add me as a friend...I dare you
Twitter | follow Jimmy (and his newly acquired sumo style)

There and Back Again

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 01:12:00 +0000

After 3 weeks in the States I find myself in Buenos Aires again. It feels both weird, and good to be back. Home. Hmmm. To tell the truth, I can't say I really know where home is anymore, but this where my paint brushes and t-shirt collection reside, so I guess we can call it that for now.

While back in the States I tried to explain to friends what the three week trip to the U.S. meant to me. I told them that I felt like a battery on low needing to be recharged with Americana and the smiles of friends. And that's more or less what happened.

Geographically the trip started with a few days in San Francisco, took us up into the Sierras around Lake Tahoe, and then from there road-tripped us down the coast to San Diego. The following are some of the thoughts and experiences that stick out in my head from the journey. To put some of them in perspective, they come to you from the viewpoint of an American who hadn't been in America for over a year.

The first night in San Francisco I remember walking into a Walgreens in The Mission, and getting lost in sea of choice. My mind was overwhelmed by how much different shit there was to buy inside one store. No, I didn't need a quart of motor oil, a half-gallon of soy milk, my film developed, or a new hunting knife, but the fact that those things were all immediately available to me seemed fantastical.
A year is not a long enough time to forget how to drive. It is a long enough time to worry that you forgot. It is also a long enough time to forget I am part of an elite, highly adept group of 14 or 15 people who actually know how to drive.
In And Out. Double Double. Animal Style.
There is something in the pine trees and elevation of the Sierras that makes me want to disappear into the mountains, live off the land and periodically get into skirmishes with tourists and local law enforcement. Kinda like Rambo.
While standing in front of the infinitely long wall of cereal boxes at the grocery store, and knowing that this was my chance to choose the box of cereal I missed eating the most, I chose Life. (How awesome would it be if there was a cereal called Death?)
The foods I miss the most are sushi and Mexican. In that order.
Monterey is a beautiful place but I can't help but wonder what Steinbeck would think if he knew all the coffee shops there close at 6pm, all the park benches awkwardly double as tombstones, and Cannery Row is now an outdoor Disney-esque shopping mall.
There are few things in this life that are on par with being able to sit around a table with a group of friends you haven't seen in over a year and know subconsciously that those friendships haven't skipped a beat.
The drive from L.A. to San Diego is seldom uneventful. This time it included a pickup truck pulling a 5 foot trailer full of 20 feet of flames.
Going for a ride in your friend's two seater airplane and doing a complete loop is better than riding any roller coaster...on acid...with your Mom.
My dentist in San Diego, Dr. Joe, is the greatest dentist...ever.
On our final day in San Diego I got up at the crack of dawn, and drove on the empty Sunday morning freeways to the beach. I stripped down to shorts, walked through the cool sunrise sand and I went for a 20 minute swim/body surfing session by myself in the ocean. In a sense it was my way of saying goodbye to California and Pacific for awhile. It stands as one of my favorite moments of the trip.

My three weeks in the States were important ones. They were a reminder I can always go back. To all the friends old and new I saw on the trip...thank you. I carry your energy with me now as I walk once again on a different continent far away.

My friend asked me a couple a days ago in an email to define the word 'romantic'. I told him this: To me 'romantic' is getting to a place in life where you have no idea where home is anymore, and quietly knowing that when 'home' want's to, it will find it's way to you.

I have no idea where home is anymore, but I know it's out there looking for me.

Currently Reading:
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
by Dave Eggers

Currently Listening To:
(on this recent trip I had a chance to see a friend from my San Diego days play gig at Slim's in San Fran. She was good when I left, but she's kicking even more ass now. Check her out.)
Song: All The Same To Me
Artist: Anya Marina (myspace) (twitter) (iTunes)

For more on how we first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

other DANK links:
Check out my artwork | jimmydanko.com
Facebook | add me as a friend...I dare you
Twitter | follow Jimmy (and the rise of the Gorilla Empire)

28 Hours Later

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 15:02:00 +0000

"This is your Captain speaking...Welcome to the United States of America."

After 28 hours that included a 45 minute taxi ride, 3 planes, one three hour delay on the tarmac, crossing the equator, flying from the East Coast to the West Coast, the cities of Buenos Aires, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, and San Francisco, a 20 minute ride on the BART, and a 15 minute walk to a friends house will all the luggage, I am finally taking a deep breath and breathing in Californian air. During this crazy long trip these are some of the things I've noticed:

It's warm here.
I have a love-hate relationship with my u-shaped airline neck pillow.
It is amusing to see the contents of a seven year old girl's pink Barbie bag dumped out and checked for WMD's by a large mustached security guard.
It was good to see the good ol' brown skies of L.A. and the augmented views beneath it.
I can speak to strangers freely...in English.
It's 2009 and I could be 10 feet away from the gate agent talking on the PA system and the speakers still make it sound like she's sending communiqué from Saturn...through her ass.
3 take-offs, 3 landings, and 3 "single-serving friends" is probably too much for one day.
It's good to see black people again. America is an incredibly diverse country.
I'm kinda over using airplane bathrooms for awhile. I don't understand how can have to go so badly in my seat, but after I make the grand isle walk in front of everyone, and I'm standing in that sanitary plastic, vibrating, slanted-ceiling closet in the sky I have to spend three and half minutes talking myself into letting go of all the terrorist-free bottled airport water I've been drinking.
After one day in the confines of a secure cookie cutter airport community, I feel ok about blogging about going to the bathroom.
I feel called to complain about arriving 6 hours late in San Francisco but then I remember the comedian Louis CK and think about how I just jumped the eqautor and like five fucking time zones, not to mention the fact I was flying there the fucking air, I guess I got some time to spare.
And lastly, I need a shower.

It's good to be home...

Currently Reading:
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
by Dave Eggers

Currently Listening To:
Song: Nick Drake Tape
Artist: Clem Snide (myspace)

For more on how we first ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

other Dank links:
Check out my artwork | jimmydanko.com
Facebook | add me as a friend...I dare you
Twitter | follow Jimmy (and the rise of the Gorilla Empire)

A Trip Home

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 17:45:00 +0000

In a few short days I will set foot on American soil for the first time in over a year. Three weeks along the coast of California. In many ways the idea of that is hard for me to comprehend.

For over a year I've been disconnected from many of the people, places and things that have helped shape who I am today. For the majority of my time in Argentina when I would be returning home for a visit remained up in the air. Because of that uncertainty of return I learned to hold the things that I missed most at a cautious distance. I think of it as a survival technique more than anything. Buenos Aires is a vast flat noisy concrete city. If I constantly thought about how much I missed the Sierras in California and the solitude that can be found within them, my mindset here would be clouded, heavy and lack the focus that would enable me to take in all that is beautiful and different here.

As months went by that cautious distance became a way of life. I learned to muffle my longings, i.e. eating good sushi, having Thomas' Honey Wheat English muffins for breakfast , slicing open a juicy pomegranate or seeing the face of an old friend on a bar stool next to me. It never meant those longings weren't there or that I didn't invest time into staying connected with friends, but I had to choose how tight I'd let the grasp of those things be on me day to day in order to maintain the health and stability of my own smile. When we purchased our airline tickets about a month ago that wall of cautious distance began to slowly come down. I started thinking more and more about all that I missed because I knew soon I would have access to again.

For all the beauty and growth that has come to me during my time in Argentina, it does not negate the fact that after a year away I miss home (the U.S) something fierce. To be around the culture that flows innately through my blood, the language that drips from my pen, the landscape that's worn out the soles my favorite brown boots, and the friends that road-trip through my highway of memories.

I wonder when I return if there will be parts of home I won't recognize, or if home won't recognize parts of me. I imagine on some level both those things will be true and that is how things are supposed to be. Nothing is static except change. I also imagine this first trip home will be the most moving just because it is 'the first' and I have no previous experience that I can relate to it.

What I wonder probably most though is what it will be like to step off the plane in SFO, see a friend for the first time in more than a year, and know that I'm home.

Currently Reading:
Cannery Row
by John Steinbeck

Currently Listening To:
Song: California Stars
Artist: Jeff Tweedy

Links:
Artwork
Facebook
Twitter

One Year in Buenos Aires

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:53:00 +0000

Exactly one year ago from July 5th I left the United States to give this whole 'living abroad thing' a shot. I can't say at the time I really knew all that I was getting into but I guess at heart of it all that was kind of the point. To enter the abyss of the unknown. To attempt to see the world from a different perspective. To immerse myself into the art world of Buenos Aires. To learn.

When I look back it doesn't seem like a year. More like 2 or 3. It hasn't always been easy either. In fact there were times, like when we were living amidst the concrete dust of a never-ending remodel, that I'd climb atop the water tower on our rooftop, lie on my back despondent, and wonder what the fuck we were doing here. As Winston Churchill said though,"If you're going through hell, keep going." And we did.

Living here has given me a new appreciation for the word immigrant, and how difficult it can be to be one. I look at my Grandparents and Great Grandparents, who moved to the U.S. from Poland and Slovakia before the time of internet, email and Skype, and marvel at the spirit they must have held to be able to leave their homeland, venture out across the Atlantic into a big unknown world, all while knowing their were most likely on a one way trip. If they were around today a million questions I would have for them. They spoke little or no English, yet just like countless other immigrants, each played their own small part in making America, a country of immigrants, what it is today.

During my year in Buenos Aires I have also learned to live without certain things. DVD's and books have taken the place of cable TV. Email and Skype are my cell phone. Buses, taxis, the subway, my bike and my feet have taken the place of driving a car. I still find it hard to believe though that I haven't driven in over a year, especially with how much I love a good roadtrip. Eventually, I know one day I'll have these things back again in varying degrees, but I imagine I'll hold them in a different light next time around.

Definitely the high-water mark of our year here came this past Friday, July 3rd. After 9 months of remodeling the place we bought, followed by 2 straight months of me sitting in front of my easels, we opened the doors to our home/gallery, Gallery 24B. It was a special night, one I will not soon forget. The perfect culmination to one year of living here. We figure around 100 people came through our doors, many to see my art, some to see our home, and a few who had no idea why they were there, but were willing to celebrate anyway. I think of it as the pinnacle of our time here thus far, but for me, it was the realization of a vision that's lived a life that's extended much longer than one year's time. I think back to when I was a kid. There were two things that made sense to me more than anything else - creating and exploring. I loved getting lost in my ice cream bucket of crayons as much I liked getting lost in the corn fields that surrounded my childhood home. That desire for exploration, both creatively and geographically, grew more with each passing year. Thus to be on the top a building in the Southern Hemisphere, standing in a room filled with my art and people who had come to see it, was indeed a surreal moment. I tried to talk to each person that made it out that night, and lost much of my voice in the process.

the calm before the storm | see more pics from opening night at Gallery 24B here.

photo by Beatrice Murch | see more pics from opening night at Gallery 24B here.

What now? I know Buenos Aires is not my train's last stop and I have a longing to be back in the States, but I don't feel like I've done everything I've set out to do yet in Argentina either. I do feel like the most difficult part of my time here is behind me though, and that's a good feeling. There are still many parts of the culture I want to see and experience, and my Spanish definitely still needs quite a bit of work. More than anything though, I want to keep painting and getting work out into the world, and I know this is a good place to do it. A close friend of mine congratulated me yesterday for climbing this mountain, a mountain that's taunted me for so many years. I told him that indeed the mountain has long laughed at me, however somewhere along the way I learned to laugh back, and once I did it's power over me shrank with each passing day. What I've also come to learn though is that it is not a single mountain, but a range, and none in that range I climb alone. When someone where's my shirt, hangs my work in there home, or merely passes on words of advice or support to me, they climb it with me. Right now my eyes are on the next mountain - making a living off of this stuff...and yes, I'm doing my best to laugh at this mountain too.

Staring at the city from atop the water tower above our apartment.

A big shout out to Annie, my partner in crime through all this here in B.A.
No one deserves my thanks more than you babe.

Currently Reading:
Interviews with American Artists by David Sylvester

Currently Listening To:
Song: Fuck Was I
Artist: Jenny Owen Young (myspace) (itunes)

Links:
Artwork
Facebook
Twitter

And so it begins... (evil laughs)

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 13:10:00 +0000

The time has come for me to begin sharing my artwork in a much bigger way. This week I am officially releasing the Orange Gorilla from his cage and out into the world.

The first part of that release starts now with the roll out of my new Jimmy Danko Orange Gorilla website. Check it out.

The second part of the release is a part I hope you all to be part of. Almost exactly one year ago I moved to Buenos Aires, Argentina. During that year's time I've helped design and build not just our home, but a gallery for my art on the top floor of a 24 story building. We call it our Piece Of the Sky - Gallery 24B. This Friday I invite you all to join us as we open the doors to it for the first time.

In preparation for this occasion I've created the very first Dank T-Shirt - Necesito Más Mono (I Need More Monkey). It's available on my website right now (U$S15 - Mens & Womens: click here to purchase) or you can get one directly from me here at the gallery (50 pesos - Mens & Womens).

If a magical monkey t-shirt wasn't enough awesomeness for you, Friday I will also be unveiling a few brand new paintings. It's going to be an insane night. Not just a night to share my art and the Orange Gorilla, but a night for Annie and I to share what we've created here in this big crazy South American city. So please join us to throw one back and toast to a new chapter. Invite your friends. Invite your friends' friends. Spread the word to anyone you think might want to come check it out. We want to see our place bouncing and alive with friends and strangers alike.

Special Thanks: I want to say thank you to all of you who have supported, guided and encouraged me in the pursuit of my artistic endeavors. What ever doors I walk through, I walk through with your energy in my thoughts and in my bones.

Peace and much ape love,
Jimmy Danko

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jimmydanko
Twitter: http://twitter.com/JimmyDanko

*Please forward this on to anyone you think might be interested in checking out my artwork or coming to Opening Night. Muchas Gracias.

For more of how we ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

Gallery 24B

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 03:58:00 +0000

Since the beginning of May I've been holding the day July 3rd in my head as the launch of Gallery 24B. What is Gallery 24B?

When we moved to Buenos Aires way back on July 5th of 2008, our intentions were to open a joint yoga and art studio. The months that followed had us looking at one business space after another while simultaneously learning in detail about the mystifying bureaucracies that go behind running a business here. It wasn't long into our search that we purchased a home. Well not really a home per say, but an empty space on top of a 24 story building, just two blocks from the Congress building in the heart of Buenos Aires.

Formally an office for one of the yellow and black taxi companies, the space had no hot water, no kitchen, no shower. It was a single empty room full of pillars, half-painted walls, a concrete floor, left over construction refuse, and a couple of old taxi signs. What it did have though is an amazing amount of potential and a view of the city that was unlike any we had ever seen. For me it was a blank canvas waiting to be painted and turned into something more, and it's elevation above the city offered solitude and escape from the frenzied buzz of the streets below.

In September (2008) we closed escrow and began the remodel. As the year progressed we searched and searched for a business space to lease but to no avail, and then it happened. The U.S. economy flipped upside down leaving the world both shaken and stirred. For awhile we weren't even sure how we stood in the volatile aftermath. As the dust settled we began step back from it all and eventually made the decision to refocus and rescale our attack. Instead of having a yoga and art studio somewhere in the city we decided to turn the place that we bought, apartment 24B, into both our home and a gallery space. Gallery 24B.

At the beginning of May, with all the major work of the remodel behind us we picked Friday, July 3rd as opening night, and since then have been working both day and night in preparation for it all. The living room area has been my makeshift studio where the midnight oil has been bringing a couple of new pieces to life. Ape t-shirts have been designed and are being printed. Paintings are being framed and hung. Gorilla stickers sit ready to disperse in the pockets of patrons in droves. Final touches like painting wood trim and installing terrace lighting are seeing their conclusion. The last bugs are working there way out of the new Jimmy Danko Gorilla Empire website and content is being flowed in (launches in a few days). And last but not least, wine and wine glasses are being ordered to toast to the night.

It's going to be a f@#king awesome night (sorry I got excited). Not just a night to share my art, but a night for Annie and I, partners in crime, to show what we've created here in this big crazy South American city. So keep Friday night July 3rd open. We love to see you here.

I will post all the event details (where, when, etc.) in the next couple of days here on the blog as well as on facebook and anywhere else I can find to spread the Orange Gorilla.

Currently Reading:
Interviews with American Artists by David Sylvester

Currently Listening To:
Song: Tip of the Tongue
Artist: The Donnis Trio (on myspace) (on iTunes)

For more of how we ended up in Buenos Aires check out the first post of Harmony and Dissonance .

A Southern Loop - Chile and Back

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 04 May 2009 20:01:00 +0000

On April 12th, 2009 we left Buenos Aires on a 20 day journey that would take us on a voyage around the southern tip of South America (Cape Horn) to Valparaiso, Chile, followed by a bus ride over the Andes, through Mendoza, Argentina and back to Buenos Aires...a "southern loop". The following are some of the things I saw the last week of the trip between Chile and home.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

Day 13 - Puerto Montt, Chile and color green
Puerto Montt is one of the last places reachable by car without the use of a ferry in southern Chile. Surrounded by national parks we made it our sole goal here to get out into the mountains and away from civilization.

it was interesting to see that even in these remote faraway places a common thread of artistic voice is sewn on the walls.

we took a taxi out to the mountains. yes, taking a taxi to a national park to go hiking seemed like an odd thing to do, however it was cheaper than renting a car and our driver was our personal guide through all the backroads we took to get there. when we hiked through the mountains later he merely slept in his black and yellow car at the park entrance till our return. win win for everyone.

Alerce Andino National Park was where our feet hit the ground. a lush, green, wet place. all around water flowed and dripped. it was hard to imagine it ever being dry there, the proof being in the street signs blanketed in rust.

below misty mountain tops

today was brought to you by the color green

looking down on the park from the base of a 2300 year old tree.

Day 14 - Surrounded by color in Valparaiso, Chile
On day 14 we said goodbye to the ship and hello to land for the remainder of the trip.

Valparaiso
Corrugated tin houses.
Stacked on a mountainside,
with rickety mountain cloud elevators.
Color on top of color.
Stray gray dogs,
with old dog eyes,
guarding graffiti ghosts
and dry dripping mural-ed voices
that descend into slanted canvas alleys,
framed with worn-in coffee shop wood,
all perched on a salty southern Pacific doorstep.

this stacked city is full of mountain elevators (ascensors).
280 Chilean pesos (US .50 cents) gets you a ride up or down.

covered in orange sunset tin

magic painted doors

"gorilla" riding the city bus

a 15 minute bus ride north took us to the beach town of Vina del Mar. there I got to take a Bikram class with my two favorite yoga instructors Don and Annie. it was a breathe of fresh air to travel to the other side of the continent and come upon the smiling face of a friend. (Don I'm jonesin' for some more of that bad-ass veggie/Chilean bread suprise you made us.)

Day 16 - The capitol city of Santiago
A 2 hour bus ride from Valparaiso took us inland to the skyscrapers and big city energy of Santiago.

Bus to Santiago
Afternoon front seat bus ride.
Seven dollar fair for:

Pacific marine clouds
burning off inland
into never-ending blue skies.

Rolling dry vineyard hills,
chaparral mountains,
and a dusty wide-open Chilean freeway.
California dreaming,
steady guardrail climbing.
Santiago skyscrapers,
grown amidst mountains.
Big city bus station arrival.

war of the titans

"gorilla" in capitol of Chile

looking down through the smog from the top of San Cristobal.

one of the greatest stores I have ever seen

Day 17 - Bus to Mendoza, Argentina
We were told by many that if we cross the Andes by across when we head back to Argentina it is a ready that is best done during the day. They were right. The ride to Mendoza is about 6 hours plus whatever amount of time it takes to pass through the border checkpoint. It took us 2 hours and from what we heard that was apparently fast. Aside from the ascending scenic drive into the mountains, most interesting part of the bus ride came at the border. All the border agents were donning there protective masks. The swine flu scare was in full swing. When we presented our American passports to the border agent he took one look and made a waving motion to some men on the other side of the building. Two soldiers shortly arrived and escorted us, along with a Swedish guy, across the large open bus-filled building to the enfermaria (sick bay) where doctors and more military personnel were standing by. The U.S. and Sweden were both countries known at the time to have reported cases of the flu, thus the reason we were pulled out of the line. We hadn't scheduled any time in our travel plans for being quarantined quick talk kept us from having to go through it. Once she explained that we hadn't been to the States in almost a year we were free to go. I never did see what happened to the Swedish guy, but I know that an enfermaria in a foreign country, in the middle of nowhere, would probably not have been the coolest place to hang out.

up

looking back at the snake of mountain switchbacks

fire hose border "gorilla"

the other side

Day 18 - Mendoza, Argentina

Wine country. Argentina is the 5th largest producer of wine in the world and Mendoza stands as the epicenter of it all for the country. I could go on in further detail about wonderful wine is here was but I don't really want to. Instead I rather share some of the more random things that happened here and the ideas that followed because of them them:

1. We spotted the mythical smile-producing dredlock mullet. I can't confirm this but I am fairly sure Argentina is the number one producer of mullets in the world.

2. Next to an abandoned velodrome we watched three Argentines learning how to fly-fish.
I am thankful to have had the chance to use the words velodrome, abandoned and fly-fish all in one sentence.

3. Rented bikes and bought ice cream from a grumpy old lady in the park. Conclusion: Grumpy old ladies do not have the power to buzz-kill ice cream when you're on a bike ride.

4. Trees are awesome. I miss trees.

5. How long does it take before selling ice cream in a park makes you jaded? Answer: not sure

6. Found old dilapidated swings and made them work again. Conclusion: Finding old dilapidated swings and making them work again is good for the soul.

7. Heard the song "More Than Words" by Extreme 3 times in one day while walking through the city of Mendoza. What the f**k?

8. The sidewalks in Mendoza are tiled, not paved.

9. Fireworks randomly going off throughout the day like cannons never gets old.

broken

unbroken

abandoned velodrome

Currently Listening To:
Song: The Moon
Artist: The White Buffalo
(when I lived in San Diego there were a few Southern California musicians that I was lucky enough to see on a regular basis. The White Buffalo was one of them. If he ever makes it to your town check him out.)

A Southern Loop - Day 9 - The End of the World

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 21:26:00 +0000

It's after 10pm and I've managed to find a quiet corner of the ship void of people. The night is overcast so the sea is as dark as the sky is black. This is the second day in a row 'at sea' and I've found that my biggest challenge isn't dealing with the rocking and swaying of the Southern Pacific, but rather the near impossible task of finding a quiet place to sit with just the voices in my head as opposed to the voices of all the passengers aboard. As of right now, the solitude I've managed to find has come by way of downing two cups of coffee and then lurking in the shadows of the upper decks of the ship.

After Cape Horn we veered northwest towards Ushuaia, Argentina, the southern most city in the world. The city is located in a region of South America known as Tierra del Fuego, and has been a semi-frequent topic of discussion since we moved to Buenos Aires. Also known as Fin del Mundo (The End of the World) this place has stood as a distant curiosity to most people and despite my added research it remained shrouded by a blanket of translucent details. I had never met anyone who had actually been there, thus what little of it I heard from people had been passed on from friends of friends, adding a mythical air to this extreme southerly place.

Ushuaia's modern existence began as a penal colony and what I expected to see was a barren "end of the earth" port city, however unlike the islands that surround Cape Horn it was far from barren. It was a place that reminded me about what I missed most, outside of friends, about home (California). Like getting to a place that is absent of concrete. Where crowds of scrambling rambling people are replaced by the silence and stillness of towering masses of trees. Ascending a mountain and elevating a view. The smell of wet dirt, aging bark, and all of the other things that pervade the nose in the absence of consumption and exhaust. As I walked through the autumn air it didn't take long before I knew that some day, many months from now, I would eventually find my way back to this place, for just like the empty shadowy places I've grown found of disappearing to on this big moving mass of steel, the forested mountains of Ushuaia were a quiet place for the traffic jam of thoughts in my head to decongest themselves.

approaching port from sea

the "End of the World" post office

postal Gorilla

April means Fall in the Southern Hemisphere and every year this is the first place in the world that the colors of the leaves start to change.

Bahia Lapataia: where Argentine Highway 3 goes to die

looking down on the city of Ushuaia

Currently Reading:
Winslow Homer
by Carl Little

Currently Listening To:
As many of the voices in my head as I can and ...

Song: Where Is My Mind
Artist: Pixies
Album: Fight Club Soundtrack
(for T.Baas)

A Southern Loop - Day 8 - Cape Horn

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 11:48:00 +0000

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

450 miles from Antarctica.
With the wind scowling,
howling,
we run the Horn,
and dance with the two oceans.
Atlantic.
Pacific.
South of South.

On Day 8 of the 'Loop' I found myself for a moment completely south of South America. Cape Horn, a Chilean Island that lies just 450 miles north of Antarctica, is the place where the continent of South America ends and the two titans of the Pacific and Atlantic meet face to face. With the wind howling and a cocktail mix of two oceans surrounding us, our ship "ran the Horn" (circled the island). It was a strange thing to see and do. It wasn't strange to circle an island in a ship, but it was strange to be in a place that until now was just some extreme point on the shadowy bottom of a light-blue spinning, cardboard globe, or a little thought about answer on a 4th grade history test. The rawness of this place sits virtually unchanged since the discovery of its existence hundreds of years ago, and in its solemn desolation I couldn't help but feel like I was somehow moving, drifting through the shipwrecked ghosts of history.

Currently Reading:
Lord of the Rings
Fellowship of the Ring
J.R.R. Tolkien

Currently Listening To:
Song: Life On Mars?
Artist: Seu Jorge

A Southern Loop - Day 6 - Puerto Madryn, Argentina

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 01:46:00 +0000

A Southern Loop - Day 3 - Montevideo, Uruguay

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 18:18:00 +0000

International Postal Love

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 22:52:00 +0000

International post office.
Package from my Mom waits for me.
A two-train subway ride away.
I eat my Wheaties (oatmeal),
and make the ride.
Morning rush hour.
Packed like sardines.
Then a walk.
4 more blocks.
Past sidewalk vendors.
There's a sale.
Sandals. Maté. Empanadas.
Past train station.
People everywhere.
I tag a gorilla sticker.
Past bus station.
I arrive to my postal line.
30 people ahead of me.
The waiting begins.
An hour passes.
I graduate to another line.
Times slows, and another hour passes.
I graduate again.
This time with a Masters in Line-ology,
And Dying Slow-ology.
I second guess my Spanish.
Maybe I shouldn't be waiting.
No I should be.
Everyone is.
It's how we roll here.
I start noticing little things.
The postal uniform is a white labcoat.
The AC is on.
And the doors are open.
And it's not hot outside.
Hey, that guy's missing a leg.
Why didn't I bring more food?
Or a flask.
I'm the tallest person in the building.
What if I die here.
Better carve my name in the wall.
Dank was here 2009.
Then, just before I lose consciousness,
my number is called.
The one that been on loop in my head.
968258
Nueve, seis, ocho, dos, cinco, ocho.
The glorious exchange is made.
45 minutes later I'm home.
With care package in hand.
And not dead.

This Sunday we engage in a welcome reprieve from the city. An escape from all the lines, people and fast paced energy that the concrete is home to. Ahead of us is a 20 day excursion consisting of a two week voyage around Cape Horn, and a week long journey by bus over the Andes and across the Argentine plains. I have no clue what we will all see and do, but that's kind of the point - fresh air and the unknown.

FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH: About a week ago I woke up to see this sunrise in the East and simultaneous double full rainbow in the West. One of those moments where the Earth makes you smile. I grabbed my camera, shot some consecutive frames, and spliced them together. I thought they were worth sharing. Check 'em out.

CLICK TO ENLARGE

Currently Reading:
The Thor comic book and book of Rudyard Kipling poems that my Mom put in the care package

Currently Listening To:
Song: Reaching For Light
Artist: Lizzie West

Suitcases and Sledgehammers

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 23:35:00 +0000

It's been an entire month since I posted something on the blog. Over the course of the last 30 days I've found myself consumed by the final work of our apartment here. Painting walls. Installing tiles. Wood floors. Lighting. Moving boxes. Throwing random things off of our 25 story terrace. It's the final push before we can say our 'home' is complete and I can get back to my artwork.

Over the course of those 30 days an assortment of milestones were reached. Small things that I have learned to live without for the past 3 months were suddenly being incorporated back into my daily life. A working toilet that didn't require a bucket to flush. A kitchen sink that was actually a sink in the kitchen rather than a 5 gallon bucket on the terrace. Eating our first home cooked meal since Christmas thanks to Annie and our newly connected stove.

There were larger milestones that were surpassed as well. Since I left San Diego last May I have been living out of two suitcases and a backpack. This past Saturday, after nearly 10 months in storage, we moved our things into the apartment. My clothes found a new home in closet drawers and suitcases were emptied and packed away to await their next journey. I opened boxes and discovered things that I had forgotten about. After living for so long as if I was perpetually on the road some things no longer held any importance to me, while others like my t-shirt collection and stacks of books were old friends I was happy to see. The box spring I slept on for the past three months was exchanged for a real bed and the night stand was actually a night stand rather than my guitar cases stacked on top of one another. It actually has begun to feel like I'm living in a home as opposed to squatting in an abandoned warehouse.

On the other end of the spectrum a milestone was reached that left part of me feeling a bit empty this weekend as well. Our friend Mauricio, who has been here since last September, flew back home to Tijuana, Mexico. For the past 7 months he has been my right hand man in making our home become a reality, helping us overcome as best we could all the cultural and regional differences that come with remodeling a property in Argentina. Construction processes and supplies differ significantly from North America and literally each day brought it's own set of puzzles for us to solve. Together though, with his Spanish and construction skills leading the way, our collaborative efforts would always bring us to a solution. I will miss seeing his smiling face with coffee in hand every morning at the front door, and all the optimistic laughs we shared when the venture brought us to a recurring and disconcerting state of confusion. He is a good man. I hold a deep gratitude to my friend and I hope one day I can return the favor.

As the apartment nears completion, for the first time in over a year I feel the ground solidifying underneath my feet. I have no idea how long I will call this place on the Eastern Coast of South America my home. Maybe another year or so. Hard to say, but for the time being it will be a good place for my old comic book tees to see the light of day and my brushes and paints to start dancing again, while hopefully learning some Spanish along the way. I miss the States and all my friends and family that live there. I miss California and the Pacific that graces her side. I'll make a deal with you. I'll keep representing down here for awhile if you keep holding down the fort up there until I make it back. Deal?

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE

Sometimes the great part of building something new is destroying what was old. We lived with this broken toilet for almost two months. I promised myself that after the new one was installed the old broken one would meet it's end.

Me + sledgehammer + old toilet = me laughing and the old toilet in a thousand pieces.

Mauricio and I on his last day in Argentina. I miss you bro...

Currently Reading:
Lonesome Traveler
by Jack Kerouac

Currently Listening To:
Song: Blow Ins
Artist: Bell X1

Fight Songs and Kettle Drums

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 23:04:00 +0000

These days there aren't any major sports I pay much attention to anymore. For example, I know that the Super Bowl happened not to long ago, but I couldn't tell you who played in it, much less who won. This is not to say that I don't have a great appreciation for sports, but my time for following teams has come and gone. Soccer is probably one of my least favorite games to watch. The constant back and forth with nominal scoring does little to hold my attention as a spectator. However when my friend Mauricio's phone rang Saturday morning in the middle of us plastering and painting walls, and he looked at me and asked if I wanted to go to a soccer game in La Boca, I knew this was an experience I couldn't pass on.

Within a few hours we found ourselves in a taxi on our way to see Boca play Newell. Soccer is as much a part of Argentine culture as tango dancing, grilled meat and protesting in the streets. Thus going to a professional game was something I knew I had to do at some point. There is a certain air around going to see Boca play. They are Argentina's most famous soccer team and their fans are known for being rowdy, if not riotous. As our cab approached the stadium Mauricio told me our seats were in rowdiest hardcore section. My grin grew wider because I knew I'd be meeting up with my friend chaos. One of the quickest ways to remind yourself you're alive, to break free from the monotonous routines of life, is to walk through disorder, through the unpredictability of a moment and come face to face with the uneasiness, excitement or fear that accompanies it, through chaos. From all that I heard a Boca game to be, it felt like this indeed was where our path was headed.

All around people were converging on the stadium donning the navy blue and gold colors of Boca. The neighborhood of La Boca where the stadium is located is one of the less affluent areas of Buenos Aires, a place you probably wouldn't want to be caught walking the streets at night by yourself. This knowledge combined with the scores of police in full riot gear, in and around the stadium, all contribute to the aura of going to see a game here. We exited the cab 5 or 6 blocks away and joined the march in the humid sun towards the game, stopping first by a friend of Mauricio's who had waited in line all morning to get us tickets. We had stopped long enough to make the transaction, however after uttering a few hasty words in Spanish the friend sprinted off down the street. Apparently the police were searching for ticket scalpers and he was less than innocent. While laughing I thought to myself, "Sweet sweet chaos. I missed you so."

After the Tickermaster's departure, I was introduced to cleft-lipped guy who I think of more as The Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper, wearing Boca gear from head to toe, was in his early twenties and lived in the area. He would be the local who would safely shepherd us the last few blocks to the stadium and to our seats. Most of the remaining blocks were fenced off, funneling the masses to specific entrances. There were no signs telling people where to go, but the Gatekeeper had walked the labyrinth of fenced streets surrounding the stadium many times before. Eventually we were corralled into a line hundreds of people long, in between metal barricades and surrounded by police in riot gear. Then, like cars staggered on freeway entrance ramp at rush hour, every few minutes 30 or 40 people were released to the next holding area of the line. Very quickly I became aware of the need for the staggered entry. This was not your ordinary calm and complacent line waiting to buy groceries. No, this one more closely resembled a mosh pit whose volume started on low and was progressively being turned up the closer we got to entering the stadium. At some areas of the line we passed through checkpoints where random searches and breathalizers were administered. I was told that no alcohol would be for sale at the game and that if they caught you tanked they wouldn't let you in. The further we progressed in the line the more intense and eroded it became, still the Gatekeeper was able to keep us close together. Soon the stadium was towering ominously over us while booming kettle drums and fight songs were reverberating through nearby streets and dilapidated store fronts. The line began to bounce and sway. Adrenaline filled my veins. As the drums and chanting increased in volume I felt as if I was being primed for war. Surely at the next stage of the line I would be armed with a sword and shield. When we were released everyone now ran to the next checkpoint where we were funneled in 10 separate lines and patted down one last time. At the feet of each officer lay dozens of colored lighters confiscated from those entering the stadium. This mad rush continued to the ticket collectors. At the time I remember thinking that this glorious charge on the stadium gates all seemed unnecessary, but I had little desire to go against the grain.

After passing the entrance turnstiles The Gatekeeper assembled our disheveled group back together. We had done it. We were in and he had kept us in one piece. We had only entered the stadium but it seemed like we had accomplished some great feat. Boca's stadium is known among locals as La Bombonera, or the chocolate box, because of its shape. As we ascended the mustard yellow stairs to the top of the stadium a chocolate box was the last thing on my mind. The old worn concrete structure and the noise within it had me visioning epic Roman gladiator battles inside rather chocolate covered nuggets. When we got to the top there were no ushers to walk us to our seats. Hell, there weren't even seats. Rather is was a set of concrete stairs divided by metal railings that descended all the way to the ground level. There behind each goal a 15 ft wall rose up that was topped by barbed wire with police in riot gear on the other side. It was a place of extremes. Even the stadium's largest sponsor, Coca Cola, had given in. Because the color of Boca's rival team is red, the stadium is said to be the only one in the world where billboarded Coca-Cola logos are black and white instead of their traditional red. Another small riot preventing measure I guess.

We squeezed are way into an open area directly next to the band. The band consisted of 5 bass drums and 2 snare drums and played nonstop for the entire duration of the game. In unison our enraged section, mostly 18-25 year old men, would sing fight songs for the entire duration of the game as well. Interestingly half of them never even watched the game. Instead they faced the crowd and pumped their fists in the air shouting the songs at the top of their longs. At times I felt like my watching the game was an act of betrayal to our section and any lack of yelling on my part would only be causing Boca to lose. As each song finished and drum roll ended, another would immediately begin. Not even the two goals by the other team quieted our section. Normally at sporting events, when the visiting team scores at a crucial moment the home crowd is hushed by blanket of disappointment, however here the visiting teams goals only caused the hardcore to continue their song louder. Perhaps if they sang loud enough the goal would be erased or the opposing team would simultaneously combust. I'm not sure what the exact thinking was but the thunder of my section was deafening.

Boca would go on to lose the game 2-0. My only explanation for the loss was that we as fans had failed the team. We had not sung loud enough at crucial moments nor torn down any walls. Nor had we made a ritualistic sacrifice to the soccer gods of any kind. The riot police, barbed wire, muted soda logos and lack of alcohol were all too much to overcome. They had prevented us from reaching our full strength and carrying our team to victory. Sure my comrades had snuck in enough weed for everyone, but our chanting and raging discontent would not be enough be enough to turn the tides. Of course we were not allowed to leave at this point. In one last measure to contain us, we were locked inside for another 45 minutes while all of the visiting team's fans were escorted out of the stadium by police. Damn. We couldn't even shore up our bleeding pride by fighting the other team in the streets.

In the end exiting the stadium was significantly less eventful than the entry, almost even orderly. As we emptied into the streets and walked towards the bus stop I contemplated all that we had seen. We didn't get to storm the field, tear down goal posts or light anything on fire, but our friend chaos had still made it to the game and it was good to see him.

Currently Reading:
Mother Jones

Currently Listening To:
Song: My Hanging Surrender
Artist: The Wheel

Buenos Aires Remodel: Day 147

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 11:26:00 +0000

When we started the remodel of our apartment in Buenos Aires 4 months and 24 days ago I figured there would be parts of the process that would challenge me, but as I stand here 3 - 4 weeks away from completion, I can say that I had no clue what kind of precarious Argentine roller coaster ride we were stepping onto.

I've never even owned a home before, let alone remodeled one, but being no stranger to tools, or home depot back in the States, I was stoked to embark on making my first one come to life. Finally I was giving in to the subconscious baritone man voice inside my head. The one that's steadily been declaiming to me throughout my adult life, "COLLECT TOOLS. BUILD HOME. COLLECT TOOLS. BUILD HOME."

The place we bought way back in August was an open loft apartment on the top floor of a 25 story building. It was formerly the office for one of the black and yellow taxi companies here in Buenos Aires, and it's elevated location in the middle of the city had made it an ideal headquarters for dispatch. For us it was the view and the solitude 25 stories up that were the biggest pulls. Like any mammoth city, Buenos Aires is always pulsing and alive. Taxis, buses, people - they're everywhere. It is constant food for the senses. When you're on vacation the sensory overload goes along with the experience, but when it's the place you live it can be important to be able to remove yourself from it.

We had originally hoped to move into the place when the remodel was finished, but as the economy imploded last year so did our ability to afford to keep renting a temporary apartment. We moved in two days after Christmas. At the time there weren't even window's yet, allowing the wind to whip through unabated. Our amenities would include: a toilet and bathtub in a tileless raw concrete bathroom, a microwave/mini-fridge shrouded in a rain poncho to keep the dust off, a couple of light bulbs hanging from naked ceiling wires, a five-gallon bucket that served as our outdoor kitchen/bathroom sink, and lastly a single-size bed that we divided in two - Annie got the mattress and I got the box spring.

Since that day of moving in much has happened. Work has consistently progressed, and various mental states have come and gone. I've seen the cabinets hung, and I've learned to sleep through howling empty-window nights. I've seen the windows installed, and gotten used to brushing my teeth outside on the terrace. I've lost my patience living under a blanket of concrete dust, and held onto enough of it to laugh the day our one and only toilet accidentally got smashed. Just like we had to learn and adapt to the types of food we can and can't get here, we've had to do the same with local building supplies and tools. For my first home I looked forward to smelling fresh cut 2x4's and meandering down the infinitely long isles in search of solutions at Home Depot, however this city is built with brick and mortar and the gigantic superstore business model hasn't quite caught on yet here. Whether or not either of those things is good can be argued, but at the very least it is definitely different. As for my own tools, ever since that first Phillips screw driver I bought for my college dorm room 15 years ago, I've been amassing a collection of them. When we were filling up the cargo container bound for Argentina and deciding what got moved and what got sold or given away, the tools made the cut. What I didn't know at the time was that the many of them were basically coming here to die. The concrete, and their constant use against it in the remodel would wear them away. Handles would break. Power tools would burn out. Non-metric tape measures would be rendered obsolete.

I can look at and dwell on the difficulties of this remodel on many levels, but as the days go by here that is a place I try not to go to for very long. The longer we live here amongst the dust and the frustrations of all that is different, the more I try to remind myself that experiencing something different is ultimately why were here. I hold onto a laugh because ultimately it's all we have. I try to remind myself of the bigger moments, like knowing that the process of all this has put me in connection with intimate parts of the Argentine culture that I would have never otherwise experienced. Or defining further my own levels of what can be physically and mentally be endured, and learning through necessity how it is as humans we instinctively adapt beyond them. Or taking comfort in the knowledge that a few of the tools that my Grandfather used to work on his home back in Wisconsin, were used to help build my own here on a whole other continent. Or engaging a further disconnection with the material world. I ask myself what's necessary? What's not? What's important? What do I really miss? After living out of a suitcase for 9 months it gets a lot easier to answer those questions. I sometimes think I still hear that man voice in my head, but now he says stuff like "GROW A BEARD. GO TO THE MOUNTAINS. GET A PET MONKEY. SAIL ON A CARGO SHIP. EAT BACON." I'm not sure what all that stuff means, but I do know once we get the stove installed I think I'm going to start with that bacon.

home sweet home

installing the plumbing | a single bed divided into two

glassless windows | the carpenters

Miguel in makeshift rain poncho | Jorge...the master of breaking concrete

I will miss Mauricio the most when this thing is done | Miguel the King of Conrete (Rey de Concreto)

Fernando and Izzy installing windows | working on the ledge 25 stories up

sealing out the wind | rolling with the flow

Annie grinning at the granite | daydreaming of my canvas and brushes

Currently Reading:
The latest blog entry of my friend Jackson Bliss:
"Running in Buenos Aires"

http://waterandsoul.blogspot.com/

Currently Listening To:
Song: Blackbird
Artist: The Beatles

Changin' Times

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 18:43:00 +0000

There were many reasons I moved to Argentina last July, one the biggest ones being to open up my own art studio/gallery. Like many people, we've walked an interesting road as a result of the crash of the economy in the States. For awhile, our plans here seemed to shift by the day keeping life ever-exciting. Even now they are anything but solid. We have learned to hold them loosely.

During this time, despite my studio/gallery being put on hold indefinitely, and feeling a bit like Tom Hanks in The Money Pit with our apartment remodel here, I have still managed to get my brushes wet while making sure to tag my Gorilla Sticker whenever and wherever I had the chance. It's been awhile now since I've shared any new work, but I felt compelled to put this one out there today. It's called Changin' Times Revisited. The black and white photograph I used as reference was taken of Bob Dylan in January of 1964 (45 years ago) to promote his album 'The Times They Are A-Changin'. At the time the U.S. was just two months removed from the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and on the verge of sending its first combat units to Vietnam.

Changin' Times Revisited
70cm x 90cm - Acrylic and oil on canvas

(I will soon have limited edition prints of Changin' Times available for $50.
If you're interested in a print or the original piece please send me an email at jimmy@jimmydanko.com)

(Original Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

Today, on Martin Luther King Day, we stand on the doorstep of a new era. It is a new time, not just for the U.S., but for the world as a whole. Even though I reside on another continent, in another hemisphere, the sounds of what is transpiring now in America can be heard echoing in the streets here. They flow through the newspapers. In taxi cabs and on TV's. There are even some Argentines throwing parties to celebrate our transition of power. They are ready to hold our country and it's policies in another light. As an American I'd say many of us have been waiting eight years for this, but really, the energy that flows now runs much deeper than a mere 8 years. There are people, like the Tuskegee Airmen of WWII, who have been waiting generations, and that is something alone worth taking pause for.

Currently Reading:
"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." Martin Luther King, Jr.

Currently Listening To:
Song: Sky is Falling
Artist: Blackalicious

Still Standing

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 16:57:00 +0000

I've always wanted to live abroad, but after 6 months of doing it I can say that the sunshine of the dream is sometimes brighter than the sun that actually shines. The realization of the imbalance of luminosity culminates not in regret or as a complaint, but rather in the further understanding of the value of the deconstructing of one's self to the foundation. To the core. To the place we surround with walls bricked with fear and insecurities. Deconstruction is rarely, if ever, a smooth or harmonic thing. It is usually more closely related to implosion or the torrent of a raging river, or both.

As 2008 fades to memory I am thankful to have stumbled upon and crashed into some partial answers. I say 'partial' because the totality of them does not come in between the sunrise and sunset of a sole South American day. No, it turns out these answers I search for will come from night upon night spent sleeping on a single size box spring while my belle sleeps on the mattress half next to me. They are the kind of answers that come from swallowing my stubbornness and accepting the truth of how little I know about the world. They come from when pride has frozen our ability to grow and we decide (or are forced) to break our barnaclized minds free of the giant Caribbean cruise control ships named 'Comfort' and 'Easy'. They are answers that come from walking with chaos until it loses the potency of its dissonance. They come from believing heat and dust, or cold and snow, are no longer formidable adversaries. They come from when we decide second-guessing ourselves is a hindrance to living. They come from the acceptance that if everything we owned disappeared we would become more defined rather than less. The answers come from understanding that I am not what I create, nor am I what I destroy, but I always am. Like Vishnu.

When we decide to live there are repercussions. Our weaknesses stand naked and the more we try to hide them from the world around us, the less we are alive, the more the river will rage, and the more we'll look the fool.

2008 has been a crazy amazing ride. If all goes well 2009 should be more of the same. My best to all of you in the new year and be sure to keep an eye out for the orange gorilla. Take care. Take chances.

Peace,
Jimmy

CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE:
I took this photo a couple of days ago - one of the last sunsets over Buenos Aires in 2008.

Currently Reading:
demonstration signs

Currently Listening To:
the wind howling through our glassless windows

Exploring the City on Two Wheels: Ride 1 & 2

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 17:30:00 +0000

It's been about 6 months since I've had a car. In Buenos Aires there's really no need for one. Mass transit blankets the city well. Between the subway, buses and taxis you can get anywhere you need to go, and you can do it for minimal cost. While I've been enjoying the absence of a car, and all of the responsibilities and cost that go with it, what I have been missing is my bike. After 5 months of storage I finally got a hold of it a couple of weeks ago.

Pedals have been my favorite means of transportation since the first time I biked to school by myself when I was 8 years old. That metallic red dirt bike I had back then granted me my first tastes of freedom. With it I was able to escape the boundaries of my childhood home and the cornfields that surrounded it. Its fat knobby tires allowed me to be off on my own exploring long before I ever had my driver's license and was able to embark on road trips. And best of all it didn't cost me a dime.

Sure, in the beginning I could only go a mile or two before I ran out of juice. One of the great things about being a little kid though is that you don't stay little for long. As my legs grew so did my radius of exploration. Eventually I was able to commandeer my older sister's sky blue 10-speed Peugot which meant not only could I escape my neighborhood, but I could escape the entire town if I wanted too as well. It was my choice. Out on the road my mind was left to wonder, regulated only by the headwind that confronted me or the tailwind that followed.

As time has passed a bike has not only remained a way for me to find some peace and/or escape a city, it has also been one of the greatest ways to see, hear and breathe one. Buenos Aires is a huge metropolis, by far the largest city I've ever put the wheels down in. The idea of leaving it on a bike is an endeavor in itself. So rather than trying to escape and find some exploratory peace outside the city, my first few rides thus far have focused on escaping and exploring within it. Since there's so much of it I haven't seen, it doesn't take long for me to get to somewhere I've never been.

Ride 1: To the boardwalk along the Rio de la Plata and Jorge Newbery Airport

pedestrian overpass | a thousand poles and no fish

broccoli boardwalk | solo fisherman

curved river pier | three-wheeled hydration man

Ride 2: Puerto Madero and back

look up | no gas needed

x-ray vision | next to laguna de los coipos

bad-ass old iron street sign | calatrava bridge

puerto madero boardwalk | retired shipping cranes on the port

el congresso

Currently Reading:
street names, and getting lost (on purpose)

Currently Listening To:
Song: Paint a Face
Artist: Neil Halstead

Odd Fact of the Day:
South of the equator, today is the first day of summer and longest day of the year. It is also the second time we're celebrating those things this year. The first was in Harlem, back in June.

Jimmy Danko + spray paint...

jimmydanko@gmail.com (Jimmy Danko) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 15:44:00 +0000

Jimmy Danko + spray paint + xacto knife + holidays + war =

On my first visit to Buenos Aires before moving here, one of the things that intrigued me most was the frequency at which the city's artistic, social and political voices were represented on the streets. I would argue that graffiti exists more as part of the culture here, rather than completely independent as it's own sub-culture. All around street lamps, over passes and construction sites are covered with political propaganda and/or advertising, while barrios like Palermo Soho and San Telmo are tagged densely by artists whose messages span the gamut.

While I've been pasting my gorilla sticker anywhere and everywhere since we got here, it's not the same as busting out a can of spray paint, and after living here 5 months I've been starting to get the itch. What finally tipped the scales was a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago my friend "DOTS". He said he would make a pact with me that if I started tagging Buenos Aires he would simultaneously start tagging in Milwaukee.

Deal.

So yesterday morning, just before sunrise and with Annie as my partner in crime (photographer/lookout), I found a couple of dilapidated structures for my paint to dance on.

Currently Reading:
The Old Patagonia Express:
By Train Through the Americas
by Paul Theroux

Currently Listening To:
Song: Raising Hell
Artist: Run DMC