Juanita Garciagodoy breathed the same as-yet-unpolluted air of Mexico City that Frida Kahlo breathed for two years before the latter died. She wrote a book about Mexico's Days of the Dead, and now she reads and writes mostly about Iberian romances of chivalry. Juanita Garciagodoy holds a PhD from the University of Minnesota in Hispanic and Luso-Brazilian Languages and Literatures, is a visiting assistant professor emerita at Macalester College, and lives with novelist George Rabasa by the Mississippi.

I was twelve when the Museo de Arte Moderno opened in Chapultepec Park in 1964, and my family went to admire the curious architecture of Pedro Ramírez Vázquez and the marvelous opening exhibition. That was the first time I saw Las dos Fridas (1939). I was and wasn't ready for it. I found the exposed hearts, the blood, and the veins very disturbing, though I was fascinated by the double self-portrait and compelled by the double gaze--still, steady, magnetic--to remain before the piece (though I really wanted to walk away from those painful hearts). It felt like the two Fridas were inviting me to be part of their ineludible dyad, calling me to know their silence, to reveal my thoughts and feelings to them, to open myself to the new acquaintance.

The painting made my heart ache for my best friend who had just been taken back to New Jersey by her parents. I'd met the sylph-like Monica Lee Schlick in fourth grade. Her brown eyes had jolted me into a friendship that made us long intensely to have been born twins. The best we could do was to become blood sisters, and that little ritual served partially to correct the incomprehensible cosmic error that had us born to different mothers in different countries, three weeks apart. Monica's and my sisterness was evoked powerfully for me that first time that I regarded Las dos Fridas, which, as Frida wrote in her diary, was inspired by her imaginary friend.

In high school, the double self-portrait still evoked my blood sister even though she had stopped writing me. As I looked at the Fridas' gently clasped hands, my mind filled with questions. I knew absolutely nothing about her. I was radically alone with this commanding painting, wondering at the metaphor for self and consciousness of self. What did it mean that Frida depicted herself as both prim and casual, European-Victorian and Mexican-timeless (because the dress of our Indigenous women does not change perceptibly until it's given up)? What did she mean by the still blood on the stage-right Frida's lap and the tiny portrait on the lap of the stage-left one? Was it a third self-portrait? Had she once seen herself as male, as I had done (as Salvador Dalí had, looking under the skin of the ocean in a girl's body)?

In those years, my brother "Manito," my cousin Carl, and I spent countless hours in the ancient Bosque de Chapultepec, including in its museums. We were intent on knowing ourselves and each other as honestly as possible: docile and rebellious; obtuse and insightful; strong and kind, fragile and cruel. Pre-Columbian and modern art was helpful in our quest.

As an adolescent, I was sure--as I am to this day--that Las dos Fridas was also a metaphor for self-knowledge and for acceptance of one's complexity and integrity. I was sure that Frida sought herself both in the looking glass and in her mental and psychological self-image, plumbing the mystery of who and what she was: docile and rebellious; mesmerizingly beautiful; strong and fragile; polymorphously sexual, sensual, playfully perverse…(I staunch the flow of adjectives with editorial hemostats).

The two women on the canvas, one with perfect posture, one slouching like me, gave me more of a sense of Frida Kahlo than one alone might have done. As a reader and a poet, I admired her artistic insight and inventiveness, her allusions to pre-Hispanic dualism and Christian trinitarianism. I admired the great skill that delivered the almost tangible skin; the sticky, hot and the cooled, dry blood; the rubbery conjoining artery; the smoothly combed hair. (Was it silky like Monica's or coarse like mine?) Myriad encounters later, I can, for a few weeks, stand in front of Las dos Fridas in Minneapolis, as often as I did in Mexico City. On my visit last week, I saw the painting as I hadn't before: Frida renders herself double, inescapable, practically life-size. There's no mistaking her, and she serenely, softly, firmly holds her own hand, such that she accompanies herself completely, sufficient unto herself. The picture of the child Diego shows a sharp contrast. He is in such a wee format that it's hard to recognize him, and he supports himself on a table. Frida, who wrote about Diego with mystical adoration, painted him dependent on her more than once, and in Las dos Fridas, while she is all there, twice, not reaching beyond herself at all, he is not even animate.

Sometimes I still ask questions of this painting, but soon enough, its beauty dissolves my questioning. Sometimes I feel vertigo before it, not exactly like that I feel before Las Meninas, but the two masterworks cast on me a mirroring spell.(Yet not the stupefying mirror-spell of poor Narcissus who lacked enough self-knowledge to survive his self-seeking.) Both Las dos Fridas and Las Meninas induce me to stand still and long in their presence and to seek the artists and to seek myself. Both canvases request that I give myself to their fullness, their inevitability. (Had Velázquez not painted the one, had Kahlo not painted the other, they must still have come into existence. But that's the quandary that perplexed Monica and me as children: If we had been twins, whose parents would have engendered us? Could we still be who we are? Would we still be friends?)

Today, everything I know about Frida melts away as I contemplate this poetic work. Both Fridas feel as thoroughly present, warm, and vibrant as my husband and my friends, as the Frida-tattooed lady and the reverent students in the Walker's Frida-enchanted galleries. That's the power and the mystery of Art.

Many of us can remember the impact that seeing Frida's work for the first time had on us. She is not for sale. But while seeing an exhibition of her paintings is a rare (¡wonderful!) privilege, we can buy, carry, or wear reproductions of them to remind us of the truth and the beauty of the vivid canvas; to continue to contemplate meanings; and of course, to honor an artist who has moved us so profoundly that we may experience her as very much nuestra Frida.

Lorena Duarte is a poet and writer living in the Twin Cities. She has a degree in Hispanic Studies from
Harvard University and taught a class on Kahlo for the Walker ArtCenter in conjunction with their current exhibit.

Whenever I think of Frida Kahlo, and her current status as pop icon, I think of Sylvia Plath's remarkable poem, "Lady Lazarus":

"The Peanut-crunching crowd / Shoves in to see / Them unwrap me hand and foot —— The big strip tease. / Gentleman , ladies / ...There is a charge / For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge / For the hearing of my heart— / It really goes. / And there is a charge, a very large charge / For a word or a touch / Or a bit of blood / Or a piece of my hair or my clothes."

There is this incredible, ravenous quality about the consumption of Frida Kahlo and Plath's lines kept running in my head this past weekend as I waited over half an hour to see the Walker Art Center's current Kahlo exhibit. Though largely white, the crowds nevertheless seemed to represent a wide range of folks, from young artsy-punky types, to stroller-pushing families, to distinguished silver bouffants and gold buttoned blazers. She seems to have seduced us all. Personally, I think Frida would laugh at all the fuss. But it is problematic, this consumption - for several reasons. First and foremost, is that a great deal of the furor around Kahlo is not related to her painting, it is biographical in nature. Who was she sleeping with? How many operations did she have? How many lovers?

That seems to me to be terribly disrespectful, if not unexpected, considering our scandal-worshipping culture. If you take a moment to learn a little about Kahlo's influences, intentions and innovations, her paintings are extraordinary; social commentary, mixed with indigenous and Catholic iconography, each one is a gem of mixed and hidden meanings.

And while her portraits I think are fair game for our examination, there are other aspects of her life, her diary for example, that are not so straightforward. While I adore the Diary, in fact, I am using it for a class I am giving at the Walker, it causes me consternation. Here, Frida loses her masks; all the control and self-mastery that are evident in her self portraits are gone. All her fears and foibles are there for our taking, and we take them indiscriminately. It is terribly conflicting, on the one hand, the Diary is a great source for a deeper understanding of this complex woman, on the other hand, would I want someone reading my diary and dissecting it in class?

But of course this is Frida Kahlo who we're talking about, and as with anything to do with her, nothing is black and white. We can't simply talk about her as a victim of crass commercialization by a sensationalistic, consumer-driven society.

She created herself an icon. Like her paintings, which are so careful and intentional, so was she about her life, her dress, her image. She knew she caused a fuss wherever she went by her manner of dress, her rowdy behavior. She loved to cause commotion, and seemed to revel in shocking and offending people (the more pompous, the better). So perhaps she wouldn't mind being on coffee mugs, refrigerator magnets and t-shirts. Perhaps. Still, I would proceed with caution, and a good deal of respect.

Frida fits our stereotypes of so many things: the suffering artist, the femme fatale, the bohemian, the radical, it is really no wonder that she has become such an icon. I just hope that in the end, people will not ignore the art for the character that created it.

I'll end with Ms. Plath again, and not just because I'm a poet, but because it so perfectly suits: Frida is herself a Lady Lazarus, a woman who rises from the dead and haunts, lives among, has her revenge upon, and enchants the living:

"I am your opus, / I am your valuable, / The pure gold baby / That melts to a shriek. / I turn and burn. / Do not think I underestimate your great concern. / Ash, ash— / You poke and stir. / Flesh, bone, there is nothing there— / A cake of soap, / A wedding ring, / A gold filling. / Herr God, Herr Lucifer / Beware / Beware. / Out of the ash / I rise with my red hair / And I eat men like air."

Janine di Giovanni is one tough reporter. She’s been to some of the world’s worst war torn regions, met with some of the world’s worst war criminals, and seen human suffering first hand, yet she remains committed to reporting about the human condition and portraying her subjects with compassion and dignity. She was nearly killed in Kosovo, had to sleep in the car, eat candy bars for dinner, and jump into a ditch being used as a latrine when the unit she was with got ambushed in the middle of the night! She’s dodged her fair share of bullits and gives us some of the most honest and riveting firsthand accounts of war .

We are very lucky to host her at the Walker as part of our Writing Conflict Drawing War series. I was also very lucky to talk with her and get her thoughts about the future of newspapers, and how art can make a difference.

di Giovanni has been a reporter for over 20 years. She has won the Amnesty International Award for human rights reporting, has written several books, and like Lee Miller, is elegant on top of it all.

Allison Herrera: I know you haven’t seen the Brave New Worlds exhibit, but i’m wondering if you think art can make difference and make people take action against things they think are unjust.

Janine di Giovanni: I’m not up on contemporary art, but I certainly think art can make a difference. Just look at a painting like Guernica. If you know what it stands for and why Picasso painted it, it can make you cry.

I also think that photography can have a huge impact. Like the photographs Lee Miller took during WWII.

And in a place like Bosnia. During the war, a lot of people were making theatre based on their reactions and experiences about the war.

AH: You’ve been a war correspondent for many years and covered regions where the nature of conflict is very different. How has war reporting changed? Do you think reporters are targeted more now than they were in the past?

JG: Journalists have always been at risk. That’s what happens when you’re a war correspondent. This is a business where there is no half way. I’ve lost several friends. I think journalists are targeted when governments don’t want the outside world to know what is going on. Look at what happened to Anna Politkovskaya after she had been reporting on Chechnya .

The people who really deserve credit are the Afghani and Iraqi reporters who are always at risk of being hit by an IED, but don’t get the credit that Bob Woodruff did. The local fixer, or the local driver don’t get nearly enough credit for putting their lives on the line.

Particularly in WWII, there was a lot of censorship, and journalists were targeted then. It was Lee Miller who broke that censorship and instead of waiting for D-Day to happen like a lot of other reporters, she went out there and really covered the war.

Furthermore, I don’t believe in being embedded. You can’t get the truth that way or get the real stories or interact with real people that way.

AH: What do you think the future of newspapers is given that a lot of companies are downsizing their staff and trying to appeal to a market that might not be interested in reading “hard news”.

JG: I was lucky in that I was reporting in the “golden age” of journalism which was the 1980’s. I worked for the British press where there is a wonderful history of narrative reporting. When I was doing reporting, we were given a lot of freedom and newspapers had the budget to do it. I don’t know what it will be like for the next generation of journalists who don’t have what we had.

I like buying newspapers. I get the International Herald Tribune, and a French newspaper. I don’t like reading news online. I like to get ink on my hands, I like to tear things out.

AH: How do you get people to care about regions of the world where there is a tremendous amount of suffering, but is so far removed from their daily lives? Does reading about it, having an awareness about it make a difference?

JG: I really hope so. I’ll give you an example of something that happened a few weeks ago. My husband, son, and I were coming back from the circus on the metro in Paris. An African woman got on and it looked as if she was pregnant. She had just given birth a couple of weeks ago and was living in a hotel for immigrants in Paris. They’re terrible places. One had burnt down a couple of years ago. She said she desparately needed money to buy food for her child. My husband and I looked through our wallets. I had a couple of euros, but noticed I also had 20 euros. I thought to myself,”She needs this more than I do.” I handed it to her and she threw her arms around me and thanked me and thanked me. We just stood there with our arms around one another on the metro while everyone else acted like nothing happened just reading their newspapers.

I am just a vessel for peoples stories and I hope they effect people the way it has affected me.

Joe Sacco is a Maltese-born comics artist and journalist known for his techniques of eyewitness reportage with graphic storytelling to explore complex, emotionally weighted situations in some of the most volatile regions of the globe. He earned his journalism degree from University of Portland, but found his prospects for doing hard hitting reporting very grim after working for the National Notary Association. He decided to return to Malta and try to make a living doing what he loved best-cartooning. There he wrote the first comic in a country that had no history of comic books. After traveling across Europe to chronicle the antics of a rock and roll group on tour he started doing research for Palestine in 1991. His encounters, stories, and research culminated in a serialized comic from 1993-2001, the first of which won the American Book Award. He then traveled to Sarajevo and Goražde, a small Muslim enclave, near the end of the Bosnian war to write Safe Area Goražde and the Fixer.

He lives in Portland Oregon and has recently written two pieces on the Iraq war which appeared in the Guardian and Harpers Magazine.

Education and Community Programs Manager Allison Herrera was lucky enough to interview him through email. Sacco will be here at the Walker on November 13^th to give us a visual tour of his work. His talk is part the Mack Lecture series Writing Conflict Drawing War , which is related to the exhibition Brave New Worlds. The second speaker in the series, veteran war reporter Janine di Giovanni, will be speaking on November 27^th. Her interview with Allison Herrera will be available on these pages very soon. Get your tickets here for Sacco's talk. Joe Sacco’s talk is being co-presented by Rain Taxi Review of Books

You were born in Malta–can you tell us a little about that country? I don’t think a lot of people know much about it. I also heard that you did the first Maltese comic book–what was it about?

Malta is a group of small islands in the Mediterranean, just south of Sicily. It's been an independent nation since 1964, but before that it was run by any number of historically dominant forces in the area. My family immigrated to Australia when I was a baby, but I returned to Malta a couple of times as an adult, once when I was just out of college. A publisher there saw some of my work and asked me to do a comic book series. He gave me a range of options, but I chose romance comics because I thought they'd be a kick to try. The series was called 'Imhabba Vera' (True Love). It was poorly drawn, but I amused myself with the plots. In one of the comics, a girl got pregnant and had to fly to The Netherlands for an abortion. Malta had no real history of comics, so there was no argument about whether or not such a story was appropriate - and this is in a Catholic nation that doesn't allow abortion. I can't call it the first Maltese comic book, but it was the first Maltese comics series. It lasted for six issues.

Having made books about places like Bosnia and Palestine, you have said that there are always stories that come out after the shooting stops. What stories do you think will come out of Iraq?

Well, it's always hard to anticipate the depth and breadth of the fall-out from the
Iraq war, particularly when the war is ongoing. But clearly one of the main issues is the huge number of refugees now living in neighboring states, like Syria and Jordan. Such large, dispirited foreign populations are bound to have an impact on their host countries and the future of the region. That's the sort of story I'm interested in because it's not clear when the refugees will feel safe returning to Iraq or what they will find there.

I read the piece you did for Harper’s about US troops training the Iraqi Army. Are you working on any other stories based in Iraq?

Well, I'm not working on any other Iraq stories at the moment, but I have two or three in mind. It's all a matter of available time. I'm working on a long project now that needs almost all of my attention, and it's hard to switch gears from one idea to another, at least for me. Anyway, I don't think I have enough material from my short Iraqi excursion - which was not even four weeks - for a cohesive book.

There is a moment in Safe Area Gorazde where Riki continues to sing after he eats breakfast with you and Edin; he’s leaving to join the battle lines. You wrote, “at that moment I came as close as I ever had to bursting into tears in Bosnia”. What was it about that moment that got to you, when you have heard so many brutal stories about the war?

I think the answer to that question should lie in the pages you mentioned and not in any exposition I can make now. Like many other writers or artists, I've fallen into the bad habit of explaining myself in interviews and at talks. I am beginning to understand that the work needs to speak for itself, and that the reader's imagination has to be allowed to put things together. I realize that will be an unsatisfactory answer for people who are unfamiliar with the work, but...

You are able to seize an emotion, a moment, so clearly and then make it resonate–what kinds of strategies, visual or otherwise, help you do that when you deal with so many interviewees, so much information? How do you bring those stories and information back to the quiet of your home and produce books of such emotional weight?

I think any journalist or writer who travels listens to his or her gut. The way I look at it, what resonates with me will probably resonate with my readers. What makes me laugh will probably make my readers laugh. What makes me want to throw up will - well, you get the picture. I am on the same level as my readers, when it comes down to it. I'm not overly analytical or ceaselessly morose. As far as visual information is concerned, I take photos for reference or I write "visual" notes to myself so that I'll be reminded of the atmosphere when I finally get around to drawing. When I get back home, I go through all my notes, journal entries, and interviews. I index and cross-reference them. It can take weeks or even months. I write a script. Another few months. I start drawing. A book can take years. The problem is always what I am going to leave out. It's difficult cutting poignant stories, but sometimes it's necessary. I try to bring out some of the emotion I felt when I was there without bombarding the reader with so much visceral information that he or she feels overwhelmed. I make a lot of personal connections "in the field" and to the extent that I can I try to connect the reader with the people I met. I want the reader to care about these people like I did. That's all. But it ain't easy!

Art Spiegelman says that cartoons are defamatory by nature, referring to political cartoons. While I know you aren’t a political cartoonist per se, what do you think of that genre? Has it become either too soft or too controversial?

I am a great admirer of political cartoonists. Their specialty is summing up the essence of a situation in one stroke. It doesn't necessarily allow for nuance, but it sure has an impact. The recent Danish cartoon controversy is a case in point.

What has been the reaction to your work in the Muslim world, if any?

Well, I can't talk about the impact of my work in the "Muslim world," if any. I think that in general Arab readers have been positive. I'm showing something of the reality of the Palestinian existence under occupation, and they mostly appreciate my efforts. My reaction from Bosnian Muslims has also been generally positive. But we're talking about populations that have felt sidelined and victimized, and it's no wonder that any work sympathetic to their viewpoint will be relatively well received.

The year was 1991 and I had recently moved to San Francisco from my small home-town of San Luis Obispo in central
California.

It was Dia de los Muertos and I was living in the middle of one of the nation's oldest Latino neighborhoods: the Mission District. You could still expect mariachi bands at various Mexican restaurants, and middle age men selling roses at your table to make extra money. The neighborhood has changed dramatically and what was the family barber shop has been replaced by boutiques and hipster bars. And what do some of those boutique stores sell? You guessed it. Frida Kahlo accessories. Earrings, key chains, t-shirts, bags, cookbooks, and tequila!

I was in on it with the rest of them. Full on Frida worship. A good friend of mine, who happens to be a fantastic artist, made sure I had the best make up job in town. Of course admired her!! She was a confident, passionate, beautiful, talented woman. Everything I wanted to be. I still admire Frida and think she remains one of the most important artists of our time, but I wonder what effect all the reproduction of her image, and all the commodification that has accompanied it had on the strength of her art? Because, that is why we admire Frida, right? Her ability to convey emotionally charged subjects such as fertility, womanhood, sex, marriage, and identity is admired by many other artists, male and female. Sometimes I think that gets lost when so many people insist on owning all accoutrements that accompany someone as famous as Frida.

Over the course of the next few months of the exhibit, this blog will have a dialogue about those subjects. We will be inviting local scholars, writers, and even a marketing/advertising person to write about Frida's effect as an artist, and the impact capitalism has on the strength of someone's artistic work.

Frida for Sale will consist of five posts beginning the first week of the Frida Kahlo show. We will be inviting guest writers from different perspectives, and professions to weigh in on the impact surrounding the commercialism of Frida Kahlo and her art. Guest bloggers will include, Lorena Duarte, journalist and spoken word artist, Julie Hellwich, founder of the Smart Women company, and Juanita Garciagodoy from the Twin Cities arts collective Grupo Soap del Corazon. Each writer will answer the question, "What was your first exposure to Frida Kahlo?"

Each of the blog posts in this series is open to comments from the public. However, it is not a forum. We want people’s comments on the show and the ideas it is raising. Our intention with the blog series is not to encourage the infantile conversations about Frida’s bedroom partners. However, that is a casualty of the mass marketing of her image, and would make for an interesting discussion.

You won't catch me going to the Frida Kahlo exhibit dressed as her (although, maybe that's a good idea!), but I probably will be wearing my Frida Kahlo earrings. Yes, even though I admire her art, I still have a desire to wear an image of her. Maybe that's my way of expressing solidarity with her. Viva Frida!

Mike Hoyt and his Norae Shanty seem to be attracted to Minnesota’s extremes. The last time I was singing karaoke in the Norae Shanty (when I met the Zoll family) it was sitting on inches of frozen ice, the weather was below zero, and I was wearing at least five layers of clothing. Tomorrow the shanty will be perched on the green grass of the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden in the 90-degree heat waiting for families to fill it with sound at the Walker’s Free First Saturday. Karaoke isn’t the only fun happening at this City Pages A-Listed event. You and your family can create an art project and installation inspired by Frank Gehry’s Standing Glass Fish, see a performance by local ska band Umbrella Bed, and take a tour of the sculpture garden together.

The Norae Shanty is based on Korean karaoke rooms called "Norae bangs" (song rooms). The Norae bang (pronounced "nō-rāy-bŏng") is essentially a scaled down version of a karaoke bar, a small room with karaoke equipment and comfortable seating that groups of people rent by the hour. These bangs provide participants with simultaneous visual, audible, and emotional experiences. Yet unlike the sometimes competitive and embarrassing nature of the karaoke bar experience, the norae bang provides up to a dozen participants a cheerful and supportive environment for a more comfortable exchange. Ice fishing and ice house culture is similar to the bang phenomenon in Asian urban centers. Bangs, like ice houses, serve as a retreat, a small and isolated space for groups to participate in a shared activity away from the stress of everyday life. The Norae Shanty was developed to provide new and intersecting populations with the opportunity for soulful exchange.

To preview a list of tunes you can sing and to learn even more about his Norae Shanty check out Mike’s website.

Two goals of the Walker’s Education department spring directly from the Center’s mission to be a catalyst for the creative expression of artists and the active engagement of audiences: to continue to support and champion diversity and help people become comfortable with new ideas. As project director for mnartists.org I have developed program goals that include building greater awareness of the Walkers commitment to local artists and diversifying mnartists.org membership geographically, artistically, and culturally.

On Saturday, June 23 at the Neighborhood House in St. Paul, mnartists.org held a professional practice and registration event in partnership with the Metropolitan Arts Council, Springboard for the Arts, and the Minnesota State Arts Board. I have been doing these events frequently around the state in partnership with the Regional Arts Councils to assist any artist who needs it to get their work on mnartists.org. In the past two years, more than 500 artists have gotten their work on the site as a result.

On Saturday over 30 artists showed up, including Khun Lwin and Mahamoud Ali, both new emigrants. Khun is from Burma and Mahamoud from Africa. Mahamoud said he has lived in Minnesota for a year and because he was with a group of artists he finally felt at home here. The individual stories of these artists is a big part of the story of mnartists.org and the Walker’s community engagement. Meeting artists and working with them to get their art on the site is extremely rewarding for me, and while personal satisfaction is not necessarily an institutional goal, it is a perk.

One of my favorite observations (or maybe critiques) that I hear from visitors to the Walker is “My kid could make that.” To me this is part of what makes contemporary art so dynamic. This weekend First Amendment Arts presents DESSERT!: The Collaborative Art of Cohen Morano. This exhibition features art made by 6-year-old Morano with artists like Shepard Fairey, Barry McGee, Tim Biskup, and others. Check out the press release below and make sure you get over to First Amendment Arts to taste the sweetness.

First Amendment Arts is proud to present "Dessert," the collaborative art of 6-year-old CohenMorano. Much like the title of the show, the art has no grand illusions to be anything but a sweet feast, but for the eyes rather than the taste buds. When asked about why he named the show as such, he simply replied, "Dessert is really good."

From the age of two (with a little help from dad, Gangsta Rap Coloring Book artist Aye Jay), Cohen's watercolor paintings have traveled the globe to a "Who's who" of modern art, spanning graffitists, fine artists, printmakers, tattoo artists, as well as clothing and toy designers. Once in the artists' possession, they have carte blanche to do whatever they wish to one of Cohen's watercolors before shipping it back to eager little hands.

What has come back has been nothing short of stunning, from Barry McGee's intricate pen work, Shepard Fairey's iconic stencils, Chris Ware's animals on parade, to Mark Ryden's interpretive use of negative space. With the number of pieces now well over one hundred, artist Jack Davis (of Mad magazine fame) called Cohen "another Ralph Steadman." Other artists involved in the show include Juxtapoz regulars Bigfoot, Kaws, and Gary Taxali, Ego Trip’s Brent Rollins, rappers Rammelzee and Z-Man, gig poster giants Art Chantry and Frank Kozik, and Burlesque’s own Aaron Horkey, Todd Bratrud, and Mike Davis. While these collaborative pieces will not be for sale, this is a very rare opportunity for Twin Cities art enthusiasts to come see work from all of these artists in the same place at the same time.

When not painting or drawing, Cohen is your average 6 year old. He loves going to kindergarten, watching cartoons, eating mac and cheese, and everything Star Wars. This last October, Cohen was asked to design a skateboard for Foundation's limited edition "F Art" deck series, and his work has been featured in recurring blog entries on the respected art website http://fecalface.com

The show will run from June 16th through July 17th, 2007.
We will have an opening reception on June 16th, 6-10PM (note: no late night afterparty) with music from DJ Mike the 2600 King.
Both Cohen and Aye Jay Morano will be in attendance.
We will also be serving a giant array of desserts, so come hungry!

First Amendment is located at 1101 Stinson Blvd at the corner of Broadway and Stinson in NE Minneapolis.
(612) 379-4151
http://firstamendmentarts.com

Gallery hours:
Monday - Friday: 12 - 5PM
Weekends: by appointment

Some other links of interest:
http://www.mumblemagazine.com/407lilcohenmorano.htm
http://www.foskco.com/fartdeckprogram

While the Walker gets my full-time devotion, I give my part-time devotion to the management of two apartment buildings in Minneapolis. You can share the joy and grief of 64 residents with me here. Not too long ago the neighborhood artists finally got their butts in gear (we haven’t had any decent street art in SUCH a long time) and now my building and parking lot are sporting some new acquisitions:

I’ll have to scrub the stuff on the building off, but I’m really hoping the property owner lets me keep the parking lot pieces. They add a little something extra to the space.

Last night's meeting of THE ARTIST'S BOOKSHELF covered a wide array of topics ranging from funeral homes and obsessive/compulsive disorder to Camus and the complexities of human sexuality.