008 - Shut up, Riku!

2011-03-02T13:18:00.000-08:00

I will keep my mouth shut for an entire month. You can read more about this project from http://shut-up-riku.blogspot.com/.

007 - The Groom & The Bride (photography)

2009-08-29T05:55:00.001-07:00

Just to make certain that you'll keep checking the blog for updates, here's a photograph pair "The The Bride" and "The Groom" from 2006.

The Groom

The Bride

The school starts next week. I'm so not prepared.

006 - Short story

2009-08-23T15:05:00.000-07:00

So, you want some new art? Here's a short story I wrote about a year ago:

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It had not been the best day for Harold.

He could have ignored the alarm clock malfunction in the morning. And the unexpected lack of hot water. And the toe he hit on the table corner. He could have even ignored the young vandal who had sprayed “WANKER” onto his car for no apparent reason.

What he couldn’t ignore was inside his pants. He was sitting in a conference room with a dozen or so of his colleagues and he had just shat his pants full. In a minute or so everyone would begin to smell the recognizable odour of human faeces. They would slightly raise their noses upwards and begin sniffing like bloodhounds for the source of the smell. It would be most embarrassing if Harold would have cared one bit.

“You have six months to live”, the doctor had told him. Six months. Harold was the kind of man who would write “remember to die” in his schedule if he had known the exact date. He had never really enjoyed his life the way other people seemed to enjoy it, but when you hear that you've got six months left, well, you get another perspective to life. At least this is what they tell you at the support group for terminal people. Terminal. People.

Harold actually had two homes; A small one-room apartment in the cheap neighbourhood of the city and his even smaller cubicle at the office. Unlike all the other cubicles, Harold’s didn't have photos of children (he didn't have any) or his wife (he didn't have one) or his girlfriends (he had had one in high-school for a month but just for pity). His cubicle was filled with papers and pens and staplers and all the usual office wanton. He wasn't in charge of anything but almost every document that the bank produced went through him. The fiscal plans. The development strategies. The early versions of selling platforms. He knew basically everything there was to know about the bank. He knew that you could get a loan of $5,000 for a number of reasons. He knew that you could get a loan of $50,000 easily if you were on the bank's "special customers list" (which officially didn't exist). He knew that the bank vault was guarded by two security guards day and night. He knew that the vault contained approximately 32 million dollars on a normal day, 40 million on weekends and additional 15 million dollars on Holidays. He knew that the bank manager had a mistress from Puerto Rico.

And here he was, the most aware person of the establishment, shit leaking down his pants. It wasn’t the first time for him to unexpectedly extract the chocolate pudding (part of his disease, the big C word) but he had never done it in public. Certainly not at work. Most certainly never at a conference room while next year's fiscal plan was to be published and negotiated. But it all somehow lost its meaning to Harold since he wouldn't be here next year.

The sniffing begun. A moment later all of his co-workers were staring at him. Even the sleazy Mark Norton who had been talking, had finally stopped. They didn't need to speak; their faces were forming the question by themselves. Eyebrows were raised. Someone coughed nervously and some pinched their noses. And Harold did everything he could, everything he ever did; he just sat there and blushed.

“Erhmh, hmm”, said Norton. “Why don’t we take a 20 minute break.”

You see, in the corporate world you need this internal dictionary for all the financial terms. Most of it is pure bullshit, so you need a filter to realise what’s important and what's not. "Utilizing and implementing an efficient fiscal policy" means "don't spend too much". “A temporary and strategic recall of the product line” means “abandon ship". And "Why don't we take a 20 minute break" means "Harold, did you just shit your pants?"

I think anyone could forgive Harold and Norton for not speaking to each other for the first two minutes while they were alone in the empty conference room. The sterile office environment was ruined by the organic smell of the contents of Harold’s rectum. They discussed it very briefly, Harold telling Norton what the doctor had said and Norton naturally apologizes and tells that he’s very sorry to hear that. "I'm so sorry to hear that" translates as "I’m glad I’m not you". And not only in the corporate world.

"Some unexpected diarrhoea”, the doctor had said. Yeah. What the doctor couldn't foresee was Harold's new nickname, the Diapers. Adult diapers are different from normal baby diapers in a few ways. First of all, adult diapers are huge. You can fit a number of objects in them; a bottle of Scotch or an English-Spanish dictionary. Second, you can't hide them under your clothing. It shows. Third, it is a non-ending source of fun for anyone around you. Imagine what it would be like to hear sniggering, maliciously smiling whispers, and repressed bursts of laughter wherever you went. Harold had got used to it ever since the elementary school but now everyone had a reason for it. He wondered how many nicknames he could get before he died. The Diapers. Shitpants. Smelly McGee.

In the corporate world, Terminal People are a burden. They can't handle long-term projects. They can't have self-development plans. They don’t motivate their colleagues. This is why Shitty McGee Harold Diapers had nothing to do for the next six months. He had to make a speech for the upcoming Christmas party. That was it. Six months of life left, and in two months he had to give a speech about it. The irony didn’t escape from Harold.

The annual Christmas party was a routine ‘let's get drunk and cheat our husbands/wives’ kind of party. It was held in the office space, and everything was decorated in irritatingly bright colours and carols were sung and sangria was drunk. Harold had always hated it. It felt like the familiar work environment had been hidden by a clumsy retarded child. The powerless computers were covered with plastic decorations. Elves made of red paper were attached to the windows. Even the company's safe was painted green and red, even if it was accompanied only by the two guards. The actual reason why Harold had begun to hate this event was that even if all the lovely secretaries were as drunk as possible before passing out, they never picked Harold for a quickie. Some rumours told that even the Mexican cleaner had gotten some pussy last year, and he didn't even speak English. Harold usually sipped a few plastic cups of non-alcoholic punch and got home. This year they forced him to make a speech.

When you know you’re dying, every moment feels more significant. One would imagine that during his last months one would go mountain hiking or bungee jumping or travelling or anything. Harold sat in his cubicle and wrote his speech. He had actually no idea what he was going to say at the Christmas party. "Something inspiring", Norton had said. But how inspiring can a walking dead man be?

And in December, while all his colleagues prepared themselves for a night of excessive alcohol consumption, Harold walked in with his adult diapers and the written speech in his pocket. It was a good speech, it’s amazing how good a speech you can write in two months when you've got nothing else to do. After Harold finished nervously with a small joke, everyone stood up and applauded. He had always dreamt of getting that kind of attention but now that he got it, he just blushed and got off the stage as quickly as he could.

And as Harold exited the conference room, no one followed him. “Going to clean himself up”, he heard someone say just before the door closed behind him.

You can fit a number of things in adult diapers. For example a complete set of china. Or three large books about mythology. Or a 9-millimetre pistol, a diamond cutter and plastic explosives.

The security guards smiled when he walked in. “Diapers”, the other one thought before a bullet ripped his intestines to pieces. “Shitty Harold”, the other one thought before another bullet opened his neck artery. They both thought "what the fuck" just before they died while they were watching Harold cutting a neat hole into the safe and installing the plastic explosives.

You can fit anything into those diapers. For example, as Harold learned that day, approximately 12,300,000 US dollars.

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It still doesn't have a title, so any suggestions are welcome.

005 - Claustrophobia (photography)

2009-08-23T11:46:00.000-07:00

I guess this set is from 2007. It was one of those "mandatory assignments" which I hated, but IMHO it turned out quite good. I remember having some order for them but I've forgotten it already.

One towel

One set of clothes

One roll of nothing

One lock

004 - Random Photography

2009-08-23T07:55:00.000-07:00

These are old, as well. I actually haven't used a camera in a year since my old one broke down. I hope this is something that will change when the school starts, they have some excellent cameras there. Anyway, here's a few old photographs that I still like.

Happy pills

Lances of Routine

There She Blows

(wouldn't believe this is from Tampere Central Square, right?)

Always Late

An anonymous and a meaningless nature photograph

003 - More Fractal Art

2009-08-23T07:50:00.001-07:00

What the hell, a few more!

Un-unnatural

Inner Analysis

Corona

The Rabbit Hole

River Styx

002 - Fractal Art

2009-08-23T06:47:00.001-07:00

These are not new - but if I'm going to dump my art to this blog, it might as well function as a portfolio. So, here are a few of my favourite fractal art pieces I made in 2005 and 2006.

Multitudes of Mathematics

Depth of Insomnia

Racecar racecaR

Mind Construction

Here Be Dragons

No, I still haven't learned to come up with titles that aren't completely ridicilous.

001 - Back to the drawing board

2009-08-23T05:37:00.000-07:00

So, the school starts in a few days.

Let's go back three years when I started to study Visual Arts at Tampere University of Applied Sciences (the name isn't nearly as fancy in Finnish) : I had done art for some years, never professionally but I was always trying new things like photography, painting, drawing, writing, video, and everything in between. I was eager to learn new techniques and share artistic perspectives with others, not alone to use the school's resources for my sky-reaching projects.

What could go wrong?

Well, somehow making art became a mandatory burden for me, just a way to get the student grant monthly. It felt like a job for me, and it was no fun. That's when I realised I don't want to work as an artist, I just want to make art for myself (and perhaps sometimes to a relatively small and well-selected audience). I don't want to blame the teachers, they're great (well at least most of them), I guess it's just something that isn't for me.

So I took a year off, travelled a lot and tried to unlearn what I had learned. It was a great year altogether (not that the three previous were bad either) and now I'm finally beginning to remember what making art was all about. I’ve filled three sketch books in a few months and I'm starting the fourth (would be 5 if one hadn't been stolen) and not long ago I wrote a 12-page short story in one session. Perhaps this is nothing compared to an active artist, but a satisfying start nonetheless.

So, I'm facing the fourth and the final year with conflicting emotions, to say the least. Will I find the long-awaited motivation there or will the school simply annihilate whatever's left of it? We'll see, wish me luck and prepare for some attempts-of-art soon.

The Truth from a Certain Point of View