JESSICA WARRICK, CHUM FAMILY PORTRAIT - @JESSICAWARRICK ISSUE 151 | OCTOBER 2026 HOOPER: JONNY DESTEFANO CAT'S PAWS: KRYSTI JOMÉI BEN GARDNER'S BOAT: DANIEL 'DL' LANDES CHRISSIE WATKINS: DIDI BETHURUM ARC OF VISIBILITY: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH AMITY ISLAND: JOE VAUX ORCA: STEPHEN BENNY FRONT COVER: DAVE DANZARA, THE CREATURE IN 3D @LOSTINTIMEDESIGNS | BEST OF 127 BACK COVER: JONNY DESTEFANO, ANACONDASAURUS WHALE SONGS: DAVE DANZARA, BRIAN SERWAY, GRAY WINSLER, CHRIS AUSTIN, BRIAN POLK, ROB GINSBERG, JASON WHITE, HANA ZITTEL, MOON PATROL, JOEL TAGERT, PETE KORNOWSKI, ZAC DUNN, TOM MURPHY, MATTHEW THERRIEN RED AT NIGHT: JESSICA WARRWICK, STEVEN EHRET, CUMMINGS WALKER, RICK GRIFFIN, STACY PERALTA, ELAINE MAYES, DAN LEVY, BUB DAVIS, MIKE SHINE BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + SUPPORT INDEPENDENT ART: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US BIRDY IS UNFATHOMABLE, TENTACLES MONTHLY ©2026 BIRDY MAGAZINE, SIRENS AT SEVEN BELLS 1 J ROLLING OCEAN: MARIANO OREAMUNO, DS THORNBURG, PHIL GARZA, ZAC DUNN, ALAN ROY, KAYVAN S. T. KHALATBARI, CHELSEA PINTO, MATT HAVER, IZZY DOZIER, LAURA LONG, LINDSAY BRUCE, SCOT DARR SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS & BENEFACTORS: DENVER MUSEUM OF NATURE & SCIENCE, DENVER ART MUSEUM, RAINBOW DOME, MONKEY BARREL, THE CHAMBERS PROJECT, JUICE MAGAZINE, MUTINY COMICS AND COFFEE, PHOTO BANG!, BROOM BOOK & CANDLE, BENNY BLANCO’S, RADIO RETHINK, AIRBUBBLE, BRAND BABES FOLLOW US – IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE KEEP PRINT UNDEAD – MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP O E V A U X
MARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES - AUGUST 24, 2026 - RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA
BRIAN SERWAY, WOLF - @BSERWAY | BEST OF 106
The fire crackles before me, more captivating than any screen. Beyond its light, only night, and the noises of things unseen. A playground for the imagination, And fright, its primary creation. But the wild never scared me, not like the city, Millions of people hell-bent on their own way, Prone to wrath if a tourist steps in their path, With only “Fuck off” to say. Not here, in the wild, Nature is cruel but fair. Calm it offers, A reprieve from the city’s chaotic despair. I sat for hours, By the fire, Undisturbed. A cool breeze, Wind through the leaves, Was all that I heard. But then, In the distance there came a growl, or perhaps a howl, How near? The wind can play tricks and offer illusions to the ear ... Besides, I thought, wolves haven’t lived here for years … Maybe the howl was only an owl and my overzealous mind, Reasons for anxiety it is always desperate to find. But there is was again! An unmistakeable howl ... The guttural reaction, Of an animal on the prowl. Closer this time than before, Yes, it felt far too near ... But only a moment had passed? My thoughts filled with fear. Silence. Stillness. Only the wind through the leaves. And the sound of myself, trying to breath. Silence, still, My mind trying to calm itself, Until ... Twigs snapped in succession beyond the fire’s light, my eyes drawn east, nothing but darkness in sight. Fixed, my eyes remained, to the spot from which the sound came, Then, my gut drained, as its twisted snout broke firelight’s plane. Closer, it stepped, carefully placing paw by mangled paw, It felt like ages! Dreadful ages! As I stood there, Captive, In awe. Its eyes, Crimson red, Its fur, Matted with blood red. Its ears torn like leather worn, Standing upright in the firelight, Snarling with scorn, Its fangs I saw dripping, dripping yellow bile to the forest floor As it pulled back its lips and bared the tips of teeth like daggers Sharp, splintered and staggered Ready to sink into fresh flesh and wholly devour “Run!” was all I could think, my heart on the brink The Thud! Thud! Thud! of blood in my ears the only sound Yet my feet could only sink, sink further into the ground From its ribs came a growl, a primal expression of death, now the creature dropped to the forest floor, on all fours Rushing at me, my feet as immovable as before Drawing closer by leaps, dirt heaving behind it in heaps Death sure to come My innards soon undone Until a sound rung The shot of a gun And a screech of pain Emanating from the creature’s wretched mane Followed by a yell shouting only, “RUN” And so I did. Never looking back to the wood where I once stood. Not when there came the screams of a man gripped by jaws, innards ripped by claws. Not when there came the moans and aches as many bones at once break. Not when his marrow was mashed as the creatures teeth gnashed. Not when it ate and ate and ate the man who saved me from the same fate. I ran. And ran. Trying not to think about the man. Running until I reached the edge of the wood, Where the moonlight glinted of my car’s hood. And felt no peace, no sigh of relief as I drove home. Fear, deeply rooted in my mind for years to come. 5 BEST OF 091
I’LL BE THE ONE ASKING THE QUESTIONS AROUND HERE! BY BRIAN POLK YOU KNOW HOW A LOT OF LEFT-LEANING PEOPLE STOPPED CHECKING THE NEWS BECAUSE THEY CAN’T STAND WHAT’S HAPPENING THESE DAYS? THAT’S EXACTLY WHY I STOPPED CHECKING MY BANK ACCOUNT. Much like the news, I know there’s nothing good happening in my bank account. So whether it’s listening to the horrors on NPR or soberly assessing my dire financial situation, I know that I’m fucked in all manners of living. So why confirm it? I kind of enjoy the ambiguity of not knowing. It’s kind of like Schrödinger’s cat — except if I’m honest with myself, I know that cat is deader than dead. But I feel like if I don’t see it with my own eyes, maybe the cat’s still alive? (Also, apparently I need a refresher in object permanence.) No. 151 IF A PERSON I MATCHED WITH ON A DATING APP DOESN’T RESPOND IN 24 HOURS, THAT’S PROBABLY A BAD SIGN, RIGHT? There used to be a stigma attached to online dating. Back in the late 90s/early 2000s, if one of your friends admitted to meeting their partner online, you would secretly judge them for being both nerdy and desperate. (I suppose sometimes you would outwardly mock them if you had that sort of relationship.) So now that I’m an old, whose worldview was shaped before I had a computer, cell phone, or access to the internet, I still find the concept of meeting someone online to be a little silly and sad. And it doesn’t help that I’m also really bad at it. For example, I will match with someone and message back and forth for awhile, but then it never gets to the point of meeting in person — so CHRIS AUSTIN, KING STREET PASS - @CHRISAUSTINART
STEVEN EHRET, BARTS NEW PET - MONSTER_STEVE I’m always getting breadcrumbed. (As you can see, I am also learning new lingo.) (And yes, I know that the term “breadcrumbing” has been around for probably a decade at this point, so please don’t point that out. Anything that happened after ‘03 is still new to me.) (And if you think that’s pathetic, feel free to talk shit about me on the newest social media platform; I definitely won’t see it.) So yeah, my latest “match,” who has agreed to go out with me in theory, has been a little slow in getting back to me. I’m certain one of the youths would tell me I’m being “slow faded” and advise me to give up hope on this particular match at this juncture, but I’m still checking my phone a few times a day just to make sure. Talk about being nerdy and desperate! (I swear, I used to be cool.) DO YOU EVER CALL IN SICK WHEN YOU FEEL FINE, BUT REALLY JUST NEED A DAY OFF, AND THE NEXT DAY WHEN YOU GO BACK TO WORK, YOU HAVE TO PRETEND LIKE YOU’RE STILL A LITTLE SICK? I hate that I have to do this, but I am definitely not above it. Sometimes you just need a day off so you can catch up on life, relax, or work on your thousand-yard stare. And when you go back to work the next day, you have to cough a little, maybe look a bit pained when you exert yourself, and say things like, “You don’t want to get what I had. Whoo boy!” Then by the time noon rolls by, you can give up your act and pretend the pills you didn’t actually take finally kicked in. Sure it’s pageantry, but since my boss and fellow coworkers expect it, I’m willing to trade a bit of shitty acting for a work-free day to myself. IS IT WEIRD TO YOU THAT THE PHRASE “CALLING IN SICK” AND “CALLING OUT SICK” MEAN THE SAME THING? Because it’s a bit weird to me. Think about it … DO YOU EVER DO THAT THING WHERE YOUR BRAIN CONSTRUCTS A TRAGEDY AROUND AN ABSENCE OF INFORMATION, AND THEN REALITY TURNS OUT TO BE MUCH MORE BORING THAN ANYTHING YOU COULD HAVE IMAGINED? The other day, I thought I left my dog in the backyard when I left for work. I totally freaked out and began imagining increasingly unlikely and unnecessarily violent catastrophes beset upon my innocent and loving dog due to my inexcusable negligence. These terrible scenarios included him running out of water and dying, getting stung by swarms of wasps, digging a hole under the fence and escaping forever, getting abducted by a murder of crows working as a unit to carry him away to their lair where they would feast on him for days, and/or spontaneously combusting under the exposure of the hot Denver sun — among other horrible circumstances. I tried texting my roommate, but he wasn’t getting back to me. I thought about contacting other people I know who work from home to go and let him back inside. Then I told my boss I had to go back to my house to check on my dog, who was most assuredly dead because of me. Right before I was about to leave, my roommate texted back, “He’s been inside the whole day, sleeping on the couch. I think he got up for water once, but other than that, he’s just hangin’.” I read that and relaxed. I guess I didn’t remember him coming back in before I left. But I was definitely glad none of my gruesomely concocted conclusions mirrored reality in any way. And while I am sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere, my anxiety, general sense of dread, and overactive imagination will sure as hell never let me learn it. UPDATE: IT HAS NOW BEEN 48 HOURS SINCE MY MATCH RESPONDED. THAT’S PROBABLY REALLY, REALLY NOT GOOD, RIGHT? I mean, I know the answer. I haven’t checked the app in a while, but I get the feeling Schrödinger’s cat is so dead, it’s beginning to fossilize. Sometimes having hope is the absolute worst. Just when you think that you’re finally at a place where you have accepted your current station in life, you realize there’s still a glimmer of optimism somewhere deep down in your soul that is excited about the prospect of meeting a new romantic partner. I wish I could consciously kill this insidious shred of hope, because being single really isn’t bad. I’m in charge of my own decisions, and I get to leave town for six weeks with my band and not have to miss anyone (but my dog, of course). I just don’t know how to suppress the deep-down yearning that demands romantic connection. Maybe I should get another dog. (Oh shit, this is how people end up with multiple pets, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I want to become one of those guys just yet.) (Okay, how about this? I’ll give it five years. And if I don’t find anyone by then, I’m going to the animal shelter, and I’m coming home with as many dogs as they’ll let me have.)
ROB GINSBERG (D.A.S.A), GOOD NEWS EVERYONE - @ROB_GINSBERG JASON WHITE - @JASON_WHITE_ART No. 151
By Hana Zittel Bimbo Agitprop by Raquelle Jac Surrounded by fanatical evangelical Christianity, backwards viewpoints and constant abuse, Raquelle Jac’s upbringing in Midland, Texas was isolated and fear-filled. The child of divorced parents, Jac mostly lived with her mother, a woman suffering from a myriad mental illnesses. Prone to religious fervor, conspiracy theories and insecurity, she subjected Jac to her diverse range of emotions, crises and fabricated remedies. Believing that the cause of sin and almost any other illness was caused by worms or parasites, she insisted on bleach baths for herself and Jac. An Everclear-Blood Machine and Ozone Maker were two of the strange appliances her mother insisted would purify and aid them, despite the extreme proven dangers. When Jac went to visit her father, what would hopefully serve as a reprieve from the constant stress and chaos of her mother’s house, ended up being in many ways worse and more physiologically damaging. Beyond her father’s direct verbal abuse, matters were made worse when he remarried a true evil stepmother. Manipulative and horrifyingly dark, Jac’s stepmother found every opportunity to control and berate her, going so far as to suggest she end her life during many interactions. In a story fit for a fairytale, but without the happy ending, Jac’s stepmother stole her prom dress to prevent her from going and returned it to the store, buying something for herself instead. When Jac would plead with her father to come to her aid, he would ignore or deflect these incidents and at the very worst, join in with his new wife. Marked by extreme turmoil, Jac’s graphic memoir is also a story of survival, of finding tiny glimpses of a life beyond childhood where she could find her way and her people. Jac’s visual style is raw, sometimes exaggerated, and honors the underground comics of the 60s and 70s, conveying the range of traumatic and tumultuous events covered in Bimbo Agitpop. In this truly ambitious memoir, Jac manages to maintain such a sense of candid storytelling throughout her book that each tale remains completely captivating. Bimbo Agitpop is Raquelle Jac’s debut full-length book and marks her as a new force in the comic medium. The Wax Child by Olga Ravn, Translated by Martin Aiken “And they read: In this dusk of the world, when sin is flourishing on every side and in every place, when charity is growing cold, the evil of witches and their iniquities superabound. And they read: Where there are many women, there are many witches.” In 1621, four women were found guilty of witchcraft. Among them, Christenze Kruckow, a noblewoman by birth, had previously escaped this accusation when living in Funen, Denmark. There, Anne, a woman she lived with, had lost all of the many children she had birthed, most not living beyond a few days. Suspecting the cause being the devil living amongst them, Anne saw Christenze as the likely candidate as she was unmarried, and clearly jealous of the wed Anne. Before any punishment or trial, Christenze flees Funen to Aalborg and amasses a new community of women as friends in the town. They spend their evenings together, gossiping and sharing wine, and she falls in love with a woman named Maren. When the local pastor grows suspicious and angry about his wife attending these gatherings, he moves to accuse Christenze of witchcraft. Narrating this novel is a wax doll created by Christenze and carried by multiple characters throughout the story. The doll has otherworldly seeing powers, understanding politics, interpersonal relationships, and the ways of the natural world. Inconspicuously listening to and retelling all these events, the doll may have been created for innocuous reasons, or for something more nefarious. The Wax Child is peppered with sections of spells adapted by Olga Ravn from “so-called black books, grimoires and other such works, sometimes bearing the name Cyprianus, dating variously to the period 1400-1900.” This, like the actions and gatherings of the women and the creation of the doll, remain nebulous. Were they witches or were they simply women gathering out of companionship and finding ways to pass the time with games? The Wax Child is eerie, grungy, brutal and a literary triumph providing a gripping fictionalization of the era of witch trials. No. 151
JOE VAUX, NIGHT OF THE HUMAN - @JOEVAUX
PHOTO BY CUMMINGS G. WALKER No. 151
In September of 2025, I received a text from my old friend Glen E. Friedman that read: “Yo Stacy, I’m gonna call you at 9 a.m., I got something VERY interesting for you, totally different w/ a good budget! You’re not gonna believe it!” At 9 a.m. the next morning, not a minute before nor a minute after, Glen’s voice launched out of the phone, full of fury and without so much as a greeting into a pitch that had him crazy excited. What he had was a documentary film with good financing and what he thought was a “perfect fit” for me. He insisted I get on the phone with an independent film producer, a friend of his and his two associates. I asked him what the film was and he told me it would be about the artist Rick Griffin. Without hesitation I told him no. “Why are you saying no?” he asked. “The answer is no,” I repeated. “Are you kidding me? Why are you saying no to this, it’s just a phone call?” “Glen, I’m not interested.” “Just take the call!” My saying no was unacceptable to him. But no was my final answer. Now the problem with saying no to Glen E. Friedman is like saying no to the psychopath Don Logan, the character played by Ben Kingsley in the rip-roaring English gangster film, Sexy Beast. Under no circumstances do you say no to Don Logan. And if you do, there’s going to be consequences, like whether you live or die. Now I’m not saying Glen is violent. He’s not. In fact, he’s a vegan. But he doesn’t take no for an answer and he can be persistent to the point of being fanatical. Legendary producer Rick Rubin who considers Glen a friend says he’s the most difficult person he’s ever worked with. Having worked with Glen myself, I tend to angle towards Rick’s opinion. I’ve known Glen for most of my life. He was a 14-year-old teenager armed with a Pentax camera when he barged his way into becoming the second in command under Craig Stecyk photographing the early Dogtown skate scene. From there, Glen went on to documenting the very earliest days of punk rock and then did the same with the early days of hip hop music. He’s been at the starting point of three of the most culturally significant and rebellious art forms born in America and his photographs helped define all three. So it’s probably safe to say that only a fanatic could have accomplished such a feat. And Glen, like the gangster Don Logan, is a true fanatic. He called me again the next day, “Just take the call!” “But Glen …” “Just take the call, Stacy! All I’m asking is for you to take the call!” “But Glen …” “Do it for me!! Just get on the phone with them!” I love Glen and respect him dearly for all the work he’s done. But he’s a much better talker than listener and he didn’t care to hear a word I said. In fact, he had no interest in hearing anything I said unless the answer was yes. He followed this call with more calls throughout the day, but my answer remained the same and it wasn’t going to change. This was one time Glen was not going to get his way. After two days and feeling as if my brain and body were covered in bruises, I sent a text to Glen: “I will get on the call with the team.” I CAVED. I one 100 percent caved into Glen E. Friedman just as he knew I would. I know Glen well enough to know that he was never going let up on me. Like a pit bull, when he bites, his jaw just won’t let go. What Glen didn’t know was that I had legitimate reasons for not wanting to make a film about Rick Griffin. I already knew the project had been shopped around for decades. In 2001, shortly after I premiered my first documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys at the Sundance Film Festival, I was pitched the Griffin project by my friend and colleague Steve Barilotti. At that time, Steve was one of surfing’s top journalists and he had decided to make his 13
PHOTO BY ELAINE MAYES own directorial debut with a documentary film about Rick. Steve and filmmaker Ira Opper spent the next 25 years trying to obtain financing. They even spent their own money shooting several interviews over those years and at times seemed close to getting funding, but it always fell through. So at some point, Steve either let go of the reigns or just got tired of the decades-long hustle. But there were two other reasons that turned me off to the idea. Every article I’d seen over the years featuring Rick Griffin always included the same five photos of him. It was as if those five photos were the only photos ever taken of his life. This left me with the assumption that there was very little documentation of Rick’s life. As a filmmaker, I need good documentation in order to make a film. How do you tell a story without visual evidence? You can’t make a film that consists primarily of talking heads. Can you imagine Dogtown without photographs and Super 8mm footage of us skating inside of empty swimming pools? I couldn’t have made the film. The other issue was that Rick died in his mid-40s. His early death extinguished the possibility of a third act. He was just about to exit act two and enter act three when he crashed into a truck. How do you make a film about a character with no third act? The third act is where we resolve the story of someone’s life, where we come to terms with their decisions and maybe walk away with a new perspective or the ability to relate to their journey. Without a third No. 151 act, there’s no closure. These were major problems as a filmmaker I didn’t know how to solve. And if there were solutions, then I felt finding them was above my pay grade. I therefore had no interest in getting on the phone with anyone trying to convince me otherwise. Strangely enough, I had always thought that Barilotti was a little naïve for wanting to make the film in the first place. But to be fair, I knew he had always had a soft spot for the early influence Rick had on his own life through the comics in Surfer Magazine. I will admit that I too had a soft spot for Rick’s talent. I first came upon his drawings in Surfer Magazine when I was an 11-year-old boy, which of course is a very tender and impressionable time in a young life. I learned to draw faces and people by studying the imagery of Mad Magazine, and I learned how to draw waves and surfers by studying the drawings of Rick in Surfer. To this day, I believe he captured the power and beauty of waves in ways no other artist ever has. There was a magical quality in his work that transcended the page as he drew with what seemed like a sixth sense, as if he could feel the water while drawing. I was transfixed by so many of his images. It’s fair to say that Rick Griffin was one of the first influences on my own budding artistic passions. Even still, as a filmmaker today, I couldn’t let nostalgia and sentiment be the motivating factors in deciding whether or not to make a film. I knew what I needed and I just didn’t see it. HOWEVER … had it been anyone else in the world other than Glen who was banging on me to take the phone call, I would never have agreed to it. But it was Glen and you just don’t say no to Glen E. Friedman. So a few days later, I took the call. It was a four-way call with the independent film producer Johnny RICK GRIFFIN INSPIRED DRAWING STACY PERALTA (AGE 11) SOUNDPROOF EYEBALL
GLEN E FRIEDMAN, TONY ALVA, STACY PERALTA, JAY ADAMS, (©) DAN LEVY, JUICE MAGAZINE Scalese, Hollywood special effects wizard Trevor Tuttle and art gallery owner Brian Chambers. These three individuals were connected in various ways and said they represented someone who had amassed the largest collection of Rick work in the world and that he had the money to finance a Griffin film. I don’t remember all that was said, but I do remember how at ease I felt with these three from the get-go. Their performance on the phone was not the typical Hollywood fast-talking hyperbolic nonsense I was used to hearing. All three spoke softly and yet with enthusiasm, and from a position I could tell had been hard-earned from years of wading through the trenches of independent filmmaking. Their collective humility and experience had the affect of softening me. I told them my two fears regarding the film and how troubled I was by them. They said they understood. I told them that though I didn’t think I could get involved in the way they wanted me to, that I could help them put a team together that could produce the film. I relayed that perhaps once the team was in place I could act as a distant producer but have none of the day-to-day responsibilities of running the film. They accepted my offer and I went to work finding the necessary people. I spent the next few months reaching out to various filmmakers I’ve worked with over the years: Josh Altman who edited my film Bones Brigade: An Autobiography and Paul Crowder who edited my films Dogtown and Z-Boys, Riding Giants and The Yin And Yang of Gerry Lopez. I then reached out to Sam George, my sometimes writing partner who co-wrote two of my films with me, Riding Giants and Crips and Bloods: Made in America. He and I also won an Emmy for a film I produced and he directed called Hawaiian: the Legend of Eddie Aikau. Various combinations of these three were considered: Sam and Josh would co-direct with someone else editing, but then Josh fell out due to another project. Then Sam and Paul might co-direct with Paul editing. This merry-go-round of changing positions and changing people went on for about six weeks. During that time, I told Sam he needed to solve the two big problems plaguing the film: How do we make up for the dearth of photos and how do we make up for the lack of a third act? Within a few weeks Sam came to me with some surprising news. He had reached out to Rick’s daughter Flaven and it turns out there were hundreds of photos taken of Rick that the family had been quietly amassing over the years. To a documentary filmmaker this was a jackpot, like finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. The photos Sam presented to me were comprehensive, vivid and phenomenal. Suddenly this film, which days ago seemed an impossibility was becoming a possibility. Sam also figured out the true third act of Rick’s life. I won’t mention it is here because I don’t want to give it away, but that revelation evaporated the doubt in my mind that I could do this. As I got more involved in putting a team in place I found myself getting more involved in the film itself. Unbeknownst to me, the story had taken root and sprouted up inside of me. I began daydreaming about the film all day long and creative sparks started blowing up inside of me. I was being pulled toward the film the same way the sun pulls the earth. It was pure filmmaking gravity and I was going to end up working on the film whether I liked it or not. It’s early September 2026 and we are now three quarters of the way through production and it’s become one of the best filmmaking experiences of my career. The Griffin film is unlike any film I’ve made. I enjoy the day-to-day creative problem-solving and I love the story that the film is telling. I am entirely grateful that I didn’t stand my ground with Glen and that I caved into his maniacal persistence. I also accept the realization that I can never again say no to Glen E. Friedman. We will be done with the film by December 2026. It is our hope to premier it at some of the better film festivals in the world next year and getting a sale to one of the studios or streamers. LEARN MORE: GRIFFINTHEFILM.COM | SEE MORE BY RICK GRIFFIN: @RICKGRIFFINDESIGNS | RICKGRIFFINDESIGNS.COM SPECIAL THANKS TO THE CHAMBERS PROJECT FOR PROVIDING ARTWORK & PHOTOS OF RICK GRIFFIN: THECHAMBERSPROJECT.COM 15
RICK GRIFFIN, JIMI HENDRIX EXPERIENCE 1968
MOON PATROL, WELCOME TO THE SINGULARITY
BEST OF 135 No. 151
Wisconsin-based artist Pete Kornowski creates narrative-driven acrylic paintings blending folklore, strange encounters, cryptid creatures and believable realism. His work drops viewers directly into the middle of an unfolding moment, leaving intentional gaps for the imagination to piece together what just happened or what’s about to occur. Though Sasquatch and UFOs may be his subjects choice, his work runs deep, stoking questions about life as we know it on this plane of existence. We had the chance to catch up with Pete to talk about his self-taught path, building atmospheric worlds, and the lore that drives his work. Birdy: Pete, what is up, good sir? We love your work, your cryptids, your realism, your beautiful landscapes. We’re curious about where you grew up, if nature was always a part of your life and if art was too. Pete Kornowski: I had a very happy, safe, pretty standard American childhood in Wisconsin. I was born in ‘81, so I grew up before what we’re experiencing now with screens and everything decided for kids. We were outside imagining, making up games and characters, and all of our toys had backstories to them. My brothers and I had a very creative mindset, and my mom and dad did as well. My dad would just make up bedtime stories. That right there is maybe one of the core things that still finds its way into my art — how I have made-up stories that are made into pictures. My mom was very good at drawing and was always into different crafts: basket weaving, watercolor painting, No. 151 jewelry making and sewing. She was always making stuff, and that definitely rubbed off on me because I’m still like that now. Aside from my artmaking, I just like creating stuff, having an idea and bringing it to life. Art classes in school were always my standout subject where I could relax and thrive. I definitely stood out in my ability to draw and handle whatever teachers showed us. I always felt safe and comfortable in those classes. Art was always my identity — I was the art kid, the art guy. Birdy: Art kind of chooses you. Some artists struggle with calling themselves an artist. Having that as part of your identity early on allowed you to nurture it, to own it. Pete Kornowski: My wife and I talk about that a lot. She’s also an artist, and we define it as our superpower. Some kids are really good at sports and popular because of that — art was my superpower, and other kids knew me because I could draw. I’m not immune to self-doubt and I probably wasn’t even the best artist in my school, but it was something that made me feel good and I always got positive feedback for. Most kids are handed crayons and markers and they draw and scribble. I started that same way, but I just never stopped. In middle school I was drawing logos of my favorite teams and making my own football cards. As I got older, no one ever had to tell me to go practice — that’s just what I wanted to do with my time. I was naturally getting better at it incrementally because I was just all in. It’s still that way now. My THEIR PATHS MEET
MARS DISCOVERY DESERT ABDUCTION 2 WATCHED BY THE CREATURE HOLIDAY MIRAGE mindset is different because I’m running a business to support my life and family, but if you stripped all that away and it wasn’t a job, I would still enjoy drawing, coming up with an idea and executing it. That’s still just part of who I am. Birdy: Love that. It’s like with music. Someone can go to a Guitar Center and play all the riffs, but can they write a song? You have the talent to paint and ambition to learn, but you also tell a great story with your art. You have that in spades and it definitely stands out. How did you discover this aspect of storytelling, especially evolving as an illustrator into the painter you’re known for today. Pete Kornowski: For me, it started with picture-making, even from a really crude pencil sketch. As I got a little older, kids in school would ask me to draw specific people, or draw a scene that told a story. That’s how I think of my ideas now: what would be an absurd scene or situation, and how much of a story could I tell in a single flat image? How many things can I pack in there that fuel the imagination? I took every art class in high school, but I never painted much then. I got into painting later as an extension of bringing a drawing further to life with color, light, shadow, form and shape. It was a natural transition of taking a simple drawing and turning it into a more elaborate, colorful painting. One day I decided to paint, and next thing you know, that’s what I’m doing all day every day. Birdy: That’s good living. Other than art classes, you didn’t go down WE FORGOT MOTHMAN the traditional school path. Pete Kornowski: In high school, my art teacher was grooming me to go to Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design, the big art college in Wisconsin. I applied and was accepted, but at 17 or 18 I didn’t really want more school. I just wanted to start my life. I look back now and realize if I had been saddled with loans right from the jump, that would have screwed me over for years, even if I had a good art school experience. I came out completely debt-free, working and still making art, and eventually built my business. I had a bunch of other jobs that had nothing to do with art for almost 20 years while still making stuff that whole time. I’m selftaught in the sense that I was always doing it, always exposed to other people doing stuff, and learning along the way from my own interests. When people ask how we built our business, there isn’t a playbook. It’s taking opportunities as they arrive, making the best decision with what’s in front of you, making the thing you want to make, seeing how it works out in the world, and adjusting to whatever opportunities come with it. Birdy: Do what you love and the rest will follow. When did you start getting into your paintings as they are now — with cryptid characters and the viewer seemingly walking into the middle of a scene? Pete Kornowski: It comes from drawing scenes, combined with the mystery aspect, legends, lore and cryptids. Those things were always interesting to me as a kid. Back in sixth grade, in the early days of the 23
RIDE LIKE HELL PENDING REPAIRS internet, I built a Bigfoot page on a website called GeoCities with the few pictures that existed at the time and wrote dumb Bigfoot stories. My family would tell ghost stories camping, or my grandparents would tell legends and lore, and I just ate up those types of stories. Since most of that stuff isn’t something you can go outside and study or get a reference for, you have to imagine it. Coming up with my ideas is fun because you get to imagine what this would look like, and mix in a real story and reality so people relate to it, and then conjure up a “what if.” “What if” is the biggest theme of all my art: What would it look like if such and such happened? Birdy: That absolutely comes through in your art. Though each piece has your personal stamp of imagination in it, your work is always seemingly open to the viewer to put their personal touch on it. Pete Kornowski: I sell at art fairs primarily, interacting with customers directly, and seeing people’s reactions is so cool. It triggers or reminds them of something very personal, or means something completely different from what I could have ever intended. When you’re making stuff every day, sometimes you just make something because you treat it like a job and need to work. Then you show it to somebody and it makes that connection. The power of that fascinates me every time because I could never plan for it. Birdy: You’re putting out good energy through what you’re doing, making a positive impact on people, which is pretty dope. But also staying true to your vision as an artist. Pete Kornowski: Thanks. Some people come into my art fair booth and say, “I love your sense of humor,” or “That one really makes me laugh.” I’m not trying to make my art silly, goofy or comical. I want it to be like, “What would this really look like if …” But I also don’t want it to be scary. I don’t want real violence or anything brutally over the top in my paintings, but I want it to be a little bit shocking. Like what would that moment look like and feel like if you encountered this creature or saw this craft? I try to walk that line where it’s not silly, but it’s not scary — just believable. Birdy: You capture that perfectly. And you create that mystery where the viewer has to use their imagination, which makes it interactive. No. 151 Pete Kornowski: When you can tap into the viewer’s own imagination, it saves you the trouble of having to explain it all. Whether it’s a written story or what I try to do in my images — you don’t have to explain everything. You get to use the viewer’s imagination as one of your tools in the painting. People ask me all the time in my booth, “What is happening?” or “Where is this from?” And I say, “That’s for you to answer. My job is done. I made the picture, now you get to tell the story.” That keeps the painting alive forever. There could be a whole backstory, a future, and it can intertwine with other images. I love the open-endedness of it because that’s how I see life. I don't have all the answers, and I don’t want to know all the answers. Birdy: You’re speaking our language. Being a full-time artist how do you stay disciplined with making art? What’s a day-in-the-life of Pete Kornowski like? Pete Kornowski: Staying motivated for me is easy because for a long time I had a non-art job. Every day I thought, Man, if I could just do something else. It wasn’t the hardest job, but I knew I wasn’t using my superpower. Now, any moment I feel like I don’t want to fulfill a print order or don’t feel like painting, I remind myself, Dude, you could be plunging a toilet right now at your last job. As for the practicality of a real day, we get up, have breakfast and I usually have a plan set up from the day before. Leave something to start on from the previous day — whether it’s a painting, initial drawings, or printing and packaging wholesale orders. Once I start working, it leads me into the next thing to do. We’ve created a flexible lifestyle mixing in time with my wife, our daughter, and family stuff around our property. But I start the day by working, trying to do at least five or six hours on something each day, sometimes much more. My mentality is to treat it like a workday: show up and get something done. At the end of the day, it’s a fun, creative small business filled with Bigfoot and UFOs. But it is a business. Like an electrician, I still have to find customers, fulfill orders, pay taxes, order supplies. I remind myself it wasn’t always like this. So if I can’t enjoy this, what else am I going to do? Birdy: When you’re self-employed, it’s not a linear path, and it’s
THE EVENING NEWS CREATURE IN THE STREET certainly not easy. But you have to have gratitude for the fact that we get to deal with art and creatures and fun. Pete Kornowski: It’s gotten easier for me over the years. Early on, being self-employed felt really fragile, thinking a month ahead at a time and worrying where the next job was coming from. But after 10 years of doing it, you realize you always figure it out and things build up to get stronger and more stable. I do feel pressure from time to time to come up with new ideas that are as cool or better than what I just did. I go through waves of feeling confident and then feeling like I want to throw it all away, before waking up the next day realizing what an awesome life I have. Birdy: You definitely have it covered. You come up with new art all the time that blows people away. Pete Kornowski: Thanks, man. People ask where I get my ideas, and I say I just follow my own general interest in legends and lore. But really, I have so many ideas there’s not enough time to do them all. The real problem is picking which one is going to be the strongest so I don’t waste the day. I get waves of inspiration where I want to go in a totally different direction, and that channel is always on. Ideas are just always there. Birdy: How do you exist in this digital, high-information world as an analog artist, especially with things like AI advancing at lightning speed? Pete Kornowski: I grew up seeing the whole evolution of the internet, so I lived a life without it and saw how people really interacted. The idea of making something with a human touch that stays alive and gets passed around, I just stayed in the momentum of my own creativity and never worried about it too much. When I sell to people in person, they calm down. They sit and stare at a painting for a few minutes, the wheels turn in their mind, and they ask a question or share a story. People still have that connection to a real piece of art, especially when the artist is standing there and they can see the artist’s hand in the thing that was made. They’re getting a little piece of you. I think that is still alive and well despite technology. As for tools like AI or digital art, it’s just like when photography or printing came along. Painters panicked, but people can tell the difference and want the real thing. AI is cool for solving problems and creating shortcuts, like a power tool for a carpenter. Art is the constant, and these technologies are just little satellites around the outside. A handmade thing or a live performance made with someone’s own hands doesn’t change, and you can’t really replace that. Birdy:They both can exist. But the human will always win with art. Pete Kornowski: I have conversations with artists about this who worry it’s going to ruin business, but there are billions of people on the planet. Even if AI becomes popular, there are still going to be hundreds of thousands of people who want to buy paintings from you, and you’re going to be fine. That world is so fake too. Real people are feeding content into it, but it’s really easy to just look away from the screen. I know they’re designed to addict and people use them for business and entertainment, but it’s pretty easy to check out and go do something that doesn’t involve a screen. Get out a piece of paper and write something down, draw a picture, go outside and play with your kids, or make up a game. All the old ways of entertainment are still there. They didn’t go anywhere. So I don’t fear technology or AI in relation to my art business. I don’t feel it pressuring me to do anything or to not do anything. I’m just going forward with what I want to do no matter what. Birdy: Speaking of tuning out the visual noise of the screen, do you listen to music or podcasts when you’re working, or do you paint in silence? Pete Kornowski: I have my go-to podcasts and radio programs, like Sasquatch Chronicles. Every once in a while I’ll throw on a movie in the background. I usually have something going on — painting UFOs in my basement in complete silence would make me feel like a psychopath. Birdy: Do you only work in acrylic? Pete Kornowski: Yeah, I own tons of other kinds of paint, but most of my techniques and process I’ve learned over the years are with acrylic. When I decided I was going to paint more, there just happened to be acrylic paint in the house, so that’s what I used and learned from there. For the way I like to make a painting, acrylic works great for me. I can 25
GRAVEYARD FIGURE finish something, hang it on the wall, and sell it the same day. Birdy: Okay, top favorite cryptids, creatures, monsters? Pete Kornowski: Oh, Bigfoot all the way. I always loved the “what if” aspect of it. When I was a kid, I used to go up to my grandparents’ house in northern Wisconsin, dropped in a national forest in the middle of nowhere. I’d run around in the woods and my grandpa would say, “Watch out for black bears or cougars.” My imagination was always painting a picture: What if you walked around the corner of the trail and saw a bear, or saw a creature? Even driving at night, coming over a hill and seeing headlights catch something on the road. There’s that excitement of crossing paths with a creature in that moment. Bigfoot, to me, seems the most plausible. I’m not adamant that I’ve seen it or experienced it, but I love the idea, the stories and the legend of it. People tell me so many cool Bigfoot, UFO and paranormal stories in my booth when they see my artwork, and some end up as painting ideas. So Bigfoot and then Dogman. Those are my top choices. What about you guys? Birdy: Bigfoot is definitely our hero. Jaws, Godzilla, Yeti — no wait, No. 151 Bumble. Anyway, you’re so great at what you do Pete. We really appreciate your art and it’s an honor to have you be a part of Birdy. Pete Kornowski: Thank you both from the beginning for just including me. You know, I didn't know what to expect when I submitted some things, but the artists that you guys have involved — to have my name alongside them and in the same circle is pretty freaking cool, from my humble situation of just drawing my fun pictures in my basement. Birdy: We think they’re all lucky to be seen with your art. It’s all about community. Leaning on each other for support and inspiration. So really the honor is ours. Pete Kornowski: Thanks. We’ll, I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll keep making my art. PETE KORNOWSKI: SOLO EXHIBITION OPENING RECEPTION JANUARY 15, 2027 | 5PM ON VIEW THROUGH FEBRUARY 26, 2027 PLYMOUTH ARTS CENTER | WISCONSIN | PLYMOUTHARTS.ORG SEE MORE: @PETEKORNOWSKI | PETEKORNOWSKI.COM
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Lennon had McCartney. Kerouac had Cassady. Bukowski had Cutty Sark. Me, I got The Shack. As muses go, it would turn out to be a strong one. I first met 14 Old Bolinas Road 23 years ago, when it was a plain, old, grey, run-of-the-mill cabin. Like a sketchy mutt rescue, I think I saw something in it that others chose to pass by. It did have decent bones: a big deck, vaulted ceilings, a sleeping loft and an open floor plan. But it also had a lot of lame features like rickety aluminum windows, chipboard kitchen shelves, stained beige carpets and damaged floors. I really liked the location more than anything. I’d taken to the town of Bolinas, California after several years of steadily surfing weekday sunrises, and spending weekends with my young family in a funky, inexpensive hotel there. They loved the town too. So in 2003, we cobbled our savings together and put a down payment on the cabin that we named The Shack — a humble weekend escape that would come to change our lives, mine in ways I could never have foreseen. It wasn’t a fiery relationship at first. We got off to an ordinary start. We were pretty broke after making the down payment, so my wife, Marianne, came up with the idea of decorating it ironically with inexpensive 70s No. 151 furniture. We had fun, finding a rare orange 8-track deck, round JVC TV set and Apollo orb phonograph. And the Shack seemed to silently tolerate our odd initial aesthetic overtures. But soon it seemed to start putting ideas into my head. Like, Why not paint the outside orange? “Why?” I silently asked. It quietly answered. “Because you were formed in the 70s. It was a weird decade. Orange was the color. It’s a weird color. Clockwork Orange is your favorite movie. It’s a weird movie. So own it. Don’t be a chickenshit. Paint it orange.” So that’s really how we began our true creative partnership, right there. The Shack wasn’t just an enabler, it was a provoker, a needler, and at times — an ass kicker. In fact, it was the Shack that first convinced me to become an artist. Before our meeting, I had renovated houses, designed and built cabinetry and furniture, and was a creative director in my own advertising firm. But I had yet to truly pick up an artist brush. “What are you going to put on the walls?” the Shack seemed to be nudging me. I had to admit, it had me in a tough spot. The walls were bare, and so was our savings account. The Shack even provided me with my introductory art education — the comic
books and record albums on our shelves. (Influences that still weigh heavily on me 25 years later). Our artistic partnership would develop quickly. At first I made paintings for the walls, on chunks of driftwood I collected while surfing. I developed a style that sort of mimicked the comics in my collection, with the fonts on my LPs. Then, the Shack convinced me to mural directly on the walls, gently at first. Then eventually everywhere. Before long I was hooked on painting. Although my career as a partner in my own advertising firm required 50 plus hours of my time per week, I was painting for gallery shows and museum exhibits and installations within a few years. Don’t ask me how. I got by somehow on crazy passion and very little sleep. In 2009 the Museum of Craft and Folk Art in San Francisco commissioned me to build a very faithful full-scale reproduction of the Shack inside its museum walls! Although I had three months to prepare for it, it nearly killed me. And we did it again the following year at the Laguna Art Museum. Then we built it again (in smaller form) at Art Basel in Miami. With the help of my late friend Tony, we were able to pull off these impossible building feats as well as continually renovate the “real” Shack with custom windows, heating, appliances, plumbing — the things we actually needed. (Tony, wherever you are today, you are a saint among saints.) I was also being pulled away from the Shack on large projects, doing gallery shows and installations at White Walls in SF, at Copro Gallery in LA. Soon I began adding performances with my mephistophelian character Dr. Flotsam into the mix with even larger carnivalesque installations at galleries. Then for seven years I created an entire installation and stage show at the Outside Lands Festival in SF called Dr. Flotsam’s Hell Brew Revue, complete with games, folky bands, jugglers, sword swallowers, knife throwers and my own reverse funeral with valkyries, bagpipes and 25 carnies in kilts and droog makeup. Our entire “fairground” was a creepy, swampy 1800s-style carnival of banners and artwork I’d painted over the years. During this time I also travelled nationally and internationally, doing murals and pop up shows at galleries, and writing travel articles for Juxtapoz Magazine. I did about a dozen trips to places including Nashville, Asheville, Asbury Park, New Orleans, Israel, Palestine, Belfast, Dublin and Berlin. Oh yeah, I did in fact retire about 12 years ago from my advertising company to pursue all this full time. And I moved to live and work at the Shack full time also, when I’m not travelling. My kids have long since grown to become adults, each thriving in creative occupations: an actor, cinematographer and art director. All heavily influenced by our endless hours creating at the Shack. It’s been over two decades since the Shack and I met. Today I’m sitting in a giant art studio workshop on the boardwalk in Asbury Park, going on hour 14. I’m working with another artist, Porkchop, preparing for a large installation called Dr. Flotsam’s Carny Island. We’ll be taking over an entire island. We’ve got a budget and a bunch of talented artist collaborators and five weeks to go. To me this is about as good as life can fucking get. I often wonder what might have happened if the Shack wasn’t for sale that day. What if we’d settled on a different home — one that was more modern, or traditional, or normal, or whatever. One that didn’t speak to me. Shit. It’s crazy to think about. I’m lucky I don’t have to dwell on that too often. But I do wonder, Do we make our luck? Or does it find us? SEE MORE BY MIKE SHINE: @SHINANOV | SHINELOUNGE.COM 29
A PLACE FOR OWLS – ALL THIEVES VOL. 1 An intimate examination of the roots of the impulse to compete with others that seems so deeply embedded BY TOM MURPHY into the American psyche. With a production style that sounds like it was all recorded in a backyard shed studio on tranquil weekend winter mornings, these warm and fragile songs explore human connection and what it means to be in community. Not as a slogan, but as the organic bonds that develop whether we consciously recognize them or not. BLEAKHEART – A STONE THROWN TO SILENCE The key changes that flow though this album takes an already beyond devastated melancholic sound into even deeper and darker territory. There are times in life when it seems like you’ve hit rock bottom with your emotions. And if you’re dealing with a series of personal losses or chronic, serious illness, it feels like you’ve reached another painful low with no real hope for getting better. The sheer heaviness of that experience can be uncomfortable to express. Yet BleakHeart’s goth slowcore here conveys it all completely without dragging you down. Because with life, there is hope. BLOOD INCANTATION – ALL GATES OPEN – ORIGINAL MOTION PICTURE SOUNDTRACK The minimalist synth soundscapes and the aesthetic of the album is like something that exists in the same creative universe as the Pink Floyd video for “Welcome to the Machine.” At it’s core there is a sense of wonder and leaning into the acceptance of new experiences human history has yet to document in other parts of the universe, which few, if any of us, will get to witness firsthand. It’s like a Krautrock soundtrack to finding elusive stargates in Sedona and Mexico’s Zone of Silence. BLOOD OUT – BLOOD OUT #2 Weaving together oscillating, distorted drones with free jazz saxophone akin to leftfield innovators like Albert Ayler, Peter Brötzmann and Anthony Braxton. The way Ayler was inspired by John Cage’s approach to improvisational composition, one hears an obvious attempt to synthesize techniques of expression. Highly detailed electro minimalism and modal jazz maximalism work in perfect sync to create a sonic headspace well outside of mundane reality. CATASTROPHE RISING – S/T A coldwave epic that both celebrates countercultural existence as an act of resistance to fascism and pointedly critiques the authoritarian program. At once intentionally lo-fi, sonically gritty and atmospheric, these 16 songs draw on the righteous and angry energy of punk and the caustic social commentary of early deathrock. One gets a palpable sense that these tracks are informed by how late capitalism demands everything and more from you with nothing to give back. But also, the deep knowledge that you don’t have to go along with the program without biting back. CHROMA LIPS – CHROMAZONE There is a distinctive mood and visual sense the band seems to be evoking here. Musically it’s a pure fusion of R&B-infused psych garage and Krautrock. Pairing soaring female vocals and male vocals that sound contemplatively observant. It’s like music from a future time — after the American Empire has fallen, with much of it neglected beyond control of any particular political entity for a while. Before national unification is accomplished again with plans to revamp what “America” used to be. Where people will drive darkened highways searching for thrills and meaning and projecting possibilities onto the sprawl of civilizational decay. SHOCKER MOM – MEAT DAD Moody, ambient trap backdrops to stories and narrative portraits of American disassociation and self-rediscovery in a time when it would be easier and often preferable to retreat into a low-key personal villain era. Robin Walker is a gifted and powerful singer. Here she opts for a vocal style that reflects how modern reality feels so mediated that the simple intimacies of analog life can feel dispiritingly out of reach. But through ambient beats, distorted synths and genuinely creepy soundscapes, Walker guides us through present-day anxieties with a gentle touch. Her starkly emotional and poetic honesty is something we deeply need in a time where so much is thrown our way that we can become numb to our humanity. This album reminds us that it’s better to feel the feels and not ignore them even when they’re uncomfortable. SEE MORE: QUEENCITYSOUNDS.ORG No. 151
MATTHEW THERRIEN, HALLOWEEN BOB - @MT_ILLUSTRATION
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