I'm just putting this image here, so that in two months' time — when my Arizona blood is quailing at the thought of a Utah winter, when I wrack my brain for any possible reason why I have not moved from this barren tundra of winter waste during the warmer months, when I despair at the thought of another six months of snow-slicked roads, clenched muscles and gritted teeth — I will look at this and say to myself: this is why you stay, year in and year out.
This is the soil and the sky of the summer months that perennially make of me a palimpsest, scraping clear the winter wrath and ruin, and lulling me into another season of warm and hazy air writ large beneath our eternal mountains.
A few weeks ago, our paper rep from Zellerbach/Xpedex contacted me about a promotional project they were working on, a gift box of mini-prints on sustainably harvested paper in celebration of Earth Day, and asked if I'd be interested in participating.
The deadline was insane, so I pulled out my sketchbook and thumbed through to see if I had any ideas that would fit the theme. Fortunately, sustainability and stewardship are both things I think about a lot, so I fleshed out a sketch I had done a while ago, and had finished art off to our rep in about three hours.
Today I got a sample print back and I'm pretty stoked. The Mandate Press handled the job, and I'm really chuffed at how my drawing turned out letterpressed — I was nervous about the size and metallic ink; had I known Mandate was at the helm I would have just chilled out about the whole thing. I have no idea how the kit is being distributed, so I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for any details.
In the meantime, remember kids: if you have the option, always ask for FSC certified papers for your projects, it's one of the only ways to secure a sustainably produced sheet, and has a profound impact on the environment. And put out your campfires. And don't talk to strangers!
About six years ago, when I was living on the Big Island of Hawai'i, I had the opportunity to visit the hives of Big Island Bees. That was my first exposure to the world of beekeeping, and I walked away with more than a jar of their white organic Ohi'a Lehua honey. I left wondering if I could ever do something like that — I had felt a weird affinity there, strangely at home with the idea, despite the fact I'd never owned so much as an ant farm growing up, and had always been a little timid around bees.
Fast forward a few years, and I see the staggering New Hive from the guys at Black Sheep & Prodigal Sons. I learned about colony collapse disorder and the real threat it posed to the bees and the animals whose food depends on bee pollination (read: all of them, including us). From that point, I did what I always do whenever I get keen to something: I started reading anything I could get my hands on, and annoying everyone with an endless barrage of tidbits that I'd just found out. I learned about the history of beekeeping, honey productions, and even the worship of bees; I read up on beekeepers today with hives on their apartment rooftops in big cities, about large-scale pollination operations, and different Honey varietals: tupelo, clover, wildflower. I started collecting honeys where I could find them: amber mountain honey from Mendon, Utah, Black buckwheat honey from New York, and deep-red honey from Taiga Cedar in Russia. Partly I was wondering how different they could possibly taste (very) and partly it seemed like a very small way to support the beekeepers doing what I thought I could not.
About a year later, I discovered Sunset magazine's One-Block Diet, an effort to espouse locavore trends and revive a lot of skills that had been slipping from the American landscape: serious gardening, canning, and beekeeping. Here were people with no real experience just jumping into apiculture, and I though "well, if they can do it "
Last week I got back from a quick weekender to Los Angeles with Dave, Jac, and Jac's brother-in-law Mason. We drove out to see our friend Josh get a $30,000 scholarship to FIDM's Debut program, to photograph some dresses from a collection he's been working on, and to just get the hell away from this relentless chill.
While we were out there, we stopped in at James Jean's Rebus exhibition at the Martha Otero gallery in Melrose, shopped around at Suru and Crimie, drifted from shop to shop in Silverlake, and wandered around the Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas on the way back.
When Jac and I travel, more than seeing the sites, we're there to eat the food. Last time we were out there we were introduced to the Pantry and Fred 62 (Thanks, Kyle!) — this time we drug Dave and Mason to those again and added a few favorites to our roster: Casita del Campo was a campy delight, and BerlinCurryWurst was an absolute dream. Plus, the waitstaff at both are extremely easy on the eyes, to put it mildly.
One thing I was glad to play around with throughout the trip was the Instagram app on my iphone. Acejet 170 recently published an entry about the app's ability to "polish a turd," and while I woudn't go that far — I've taken more than a few unpolishable shots — it does save, for me anyway, more than a few pics from the bin. It manages to make the mundane lovable, and seems to encourage keeping a visual accounting of your comings and goings. Pair it with Momento, and you have a well-designed, dynamic daily record.
If you're on Instagram, look me up: I'm under the user name "jorydayne"
All in all it was a visual smörgåsbord: inspiring and arresting; it left me not a little overwhelmed, but on the whole deeply satisfied. Back at home it's still blustery and frigid, but there are tell-tale signs of spring popping up everywhere. This is the busiest time of year for me, and I've got projects coming out of my ears.
Look, this much is certain, Robyn is a busy, busy woman. I don’t know how she does it, but she is everywhere, on every track, and she is killing it every time — and I, for one, welcome our new robotic overload.
If she isn’t teaming up with the Savage Skulls, she’s singing in the background of a Likke Li video — if she’s not recording with Royksöpp, she’s laying down tracks with Snoop Dogg. I’ve had Body Talk in all its incarnations on a near constant rotation since it came out last year (or frankly, well before) and I still haven’t tired of it.
One moment she's making punch-dancing look cool, the next she looks like she's jumped straight out of The Littles. She's impish but elegant, and ballsy as all hell.
Over at These Roving Eyes, Jason's gone so far as to mark her as this generation's Björk, and if you need confirmation, check B's own stone-faced observation during Robyn's gorgeous performance of “Hyperballad” at the 2010 Polar Music Prize.
Anyway, all of this to say that “Fembot” is the jam, y’all — and that when that Swedish android rolls up into Salt Lake, I am going to be there with bells on.
This past Saturday, Dave and I drove out to the shore of the Great Salt Lake. The whole area is a study in gorgeous desolation: a bizarre amalgamation of a long-forgotten Coney Island-esqe amusements, Soviet-style refineries, and blasted heaths. A plywood billboard, barely 10 feet tall declares that the Great Saltair is closed, but the beach is still open. A half a mile away at the deserted marina, boats float noiselessly in the harbor, heavy under snowy blankets. The wind whips over the shore, through the masts, and pulls the clouds down low over everything. But out there on Antelope Island, where you can just imagine the buffalo hunkered down in their giant herds for the winter, the sun is cutting through the dusk…
It feels like it's been winter forever. And while I can handle a strong winter, it's the intermittent sunny days — breaking 50°F at midday, only to plummet hours later into the low 20s, accompanied with freezing rain and snow — that really get me. I'm leaving next week for a trip to the coast, to Los Angeles, a trip that I seem to be making more and more often. Hopefully a little sun will tide me over 'til Utah decides it's done with all this blustery nonsense.
My friend and long time co-worker/collaborator Steven Stone has recently released a pretty comprehensive portfolio of his work. I was privileged to work on about 0.1% of the site, and am so excited to see it live. Steven's been working with everyone from Harley Davidson, Jeremy Jones, Milk studios in NYC, and many others.
Tuesdays are rapidly becoming my default painting days: I typically have little to prep for Wednesday's work, there's left-overs in the fridge from Monday, and Dave volunteers at the library 'til late.
I've got the whole house to myself, so I lock myself in the studio, crank the music up, and get to work! This piece is about 10″ x 10″, and a combination of acrylic, photoshop, and vector. You can view the painting alone, on Flickr.
I've made myself available via email, twitter, or by phone, so feel free to drop me a line regarding just about anything. However, I'm a big fan of signal over noise, hunty, so why don't we just keep our Linkedins to ourselves, okrr?
My name is Jory Dayne — I was named after a campy 1971 pulp western by Milton R. Bass. I'm an illustrator slash interaction designer slash beekeeper living in a vale between a lake and some very large mountains in Utah. I like it very much, in fact.
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