Beverly Hills affair at the Gardens fall 2011

Thank you to all who came out to the Beverly Hills Art show: Affaire at the Gardens this past weekend. I had the pleasure of meeting some very cool and talented people. The Show had some very talented artists and it was an honor to be amongst them. I also got to work on my "Murderer" piece at the show and in turn attendees got to see a little bit of how I work.

Here we have the initial drawing of the Murderer. It was done in black ink and splattered with Red sparkle nail polish... dont ask.


this is the sculpture, which I was working on at the show, in progress...


I will be working this sculpt over the next couple of weeks and am hoping to have this bird up and flying by the end of November.

Once again, thank you all for coming out this weekend. I will be applying to the Woodland Hills Rotary Art Fair and to the La Quinta Art Festival by the end of the Month. If I'm accepted expect to see new works at the show. cheers!
-Red Rooster

...it's been a Minute

So I'll give you a quick up to date on whats been going down in Rooster town over the last year that ive been M.I.A. from this blog.

I have officially started Juan Balandran Studios. You can check out www.JuanBalandran.com or www.JuanBalandranFineArt.com. please tell me in what ways I can improve these two site. What Ive been doing with Juan Balandran Studios is Fine art fairs. This past may I was a part of the beverly hills affair at the gardens art fair. It was a good show, sold a bronze and got second place in the Sculptors category. Although I did fall short of my initial investment I did appreciate being recognized in such a respected show. I was also a part of the 1st annual Napa valley art and music festival over the 4th of july weekend. That show put me in a deep hole and I prefer not to talk about it.
Ive got a few new bronzes since we last spoke and over the course of the next few weeks I will be posting photos and stories.

Here are a few drawings that I made over the past year. Hope you dig.
-Rooster

Now I got an armature

Now I would like to explain how I made the armature for my sculpture.
First I went over to the copy machine and enlarged my drawing to 12 inches.
Second, I went ahead and cut an mdf board so that it may fit inside the sculpture. this particular sculpture is very simple. very similar to a relief sculpture.
third I screwed in a couple of 1 inch screws and started adding some clay.

Now, a quick word on armatures. when working with chavant, It really doesn't matter what you use for an armature just as long as its sturdy. I have gone as far as (not recommended) making one out paper cups, cardboard and duct tape. As a beginner I suggest you use an aluminum armature wire, found in any art supply store, and bulk it out with aluminum foil.

It starts with an emotion...

...or a sketch on a bar napkin; Ive got one too many of those.

Actually, to be fair, it starts with lots of hard work, practice, and tons of education. Now with out getting to deep in to this subject; An artist, or rather, a Good Artist is very much like a good writer or good public speaker. There is a certain amount of education and practice one needs in order to be able to properly articulate what it is they wish to say. In my opinion a good piece of art, like a good speech, is a well articulated expression. So, proper education, tons of practice, lots of hard work, and loads of ambition, are key to ones success as an artist.

I carry a note pad with me most of the time and I try and carry a pen with me all the time. I have a sketch book at home in which I further define doodles from my notebooks, bar napkins, or random pieces of paper. The key is to always be ready to draw, write or doodle an expression at the drop of a dime. Now, the more doodles or drawings that I make the better my chances are of creating something worth finishing. Most of the time I fail miserably and produce doodles that are similar to soiled baby diaper art. Out of those doodles, I'd have to say, I probably take 25% to the sketchbook for further refinement and out of those further refined, I probably take 10% all the way to a finished sculpture. One must fail, sometimes miserably, hundreds of times before producing anything worth a nickle.

This particular piece went through eight or nine versions and countless amounts of doodles, before I was comfortable with it. The idea is to produce a series of bronze relief style masks, each expressing a different emotion/feeling. (although, sometimes I fear they will all express frustration...jeez!) Along with the final sketch I have included a failed version with a couple of doodles. This is how all my sculptures begin.
-Juan Balandran (Red Rooster)

Happy New Year

First off I would like to thank all of you who check in to see what Im working on. So far 2010 has woken up on the right side of the bed. I have many shows planned out for the first half of 2010 and lots of new bronzes in the very near future. I will strive to keep everyone informed with current projects on a week to week basis. I am also currently working on a proper website where affordable artwork will be available to purchase.
I for see great things for us in 2010 and I'm glad to have you all along for the ride. Happy New Year and I'm wishing you the best for 2010! Cheers!
-Juan Balandran

Embracing my demons
Bronze edition of 8
17"x 9"x 6"
(Photography by Phil Holland @ www.phfx.com)

The Boxer

The Boxer (2009)
9"x5"x4"
Bronze edition of 5

photograph by Phil Holland www.PHFX.com

The Boxer

It was a hot summer night in 1986 and I was losing the Somerset Court Cruiserweight title fight. My opponent was Koquis, a ruthless fighter with a wicked left hook and a rock chewing smile. I had devised a plan that was failing miserably and was contemplating letting him tire out by beating me to a pulp. I was tired and wanted to quit. One of my gloves flopped awkwardly. The eighth round brought a barrage of punches that can only be described as a rain of fire and torment; I went down. I wanted to stay down, I wanted to go home, and I didn’t want to fight ever again. I wiped the sweat and blood away from my eyes as I focused my vision and staggered to my feet. The referee asked me if I could continue. So I looked to my left for guidance, instructions, someone to throw in the towel and found no one. In my despair, luck couldn’t have had better timing. I looked to my right and found the only thing that could get me out of that hell: inspiration.

Her name was Angela, and she was the court manager’s daughter. Her eyes were a piercing ice cold blue and with a glance she could turn a desert into a blissful winter wonderland. She had dark hair, fair skin, and a smile, that would make you turn the deed to your house over to her. She was seated near Koquis’ corner and as the ref asked me if I could continue, I saw her smile up to him. Koquis returned a smile full of rotten teeth, bad breath, and purple gums. Jealousy and rage filled my gloves and my stomach knotted up so tight a chainsaw couldn’t have cut through it. My senses stiffened, my vision sharpened, and my body numbed. I told the ref I was ready. I was filled with anger and poise as I shuffled towards him. He was expecting me to retreat so he rushed me for the kill. I stepped in with a cork screw jab. I dropped a straight right into his gut. I felt the wind come out of him and his hideous mouth trembled. He threw a straight right back at me and I parried outside to the left. He then threw a wild left; I ducked under, stepped to right, and came up with an uppercut. I saw his knee buckle as he tied up with me and he was not yet aware that the wind had been knocked out of him. I held on and dragged him towards the center of the ring and in that split second I heard the awkward silence of the crowd as they tried to register what was happening. I dropped a shoulder into his chest as I side stepped to the right, pivoted left, and delivered an overhand right straight down on his nose. He dropped, his nose was gushing blood, and his teeth gnawed the sky for air. The crowd went hysterical as they saw their 7 to 1 favored champ wither in pain. I walked back to my corner with adrenaline rushing through every vein in my body. I wanted him to stand up, I wanted him to come at me, and I wanted to destroy his wretched mouth so that it may never smile at her again

The bell rang, the crowd cheered, and I was lifted up on the people's shoulders as the belt was handed to me. "You beat him, You beat him" they shouted. "You're the champ, You're number one. We knew you could do it." There were many good fights, but none as good as the fight from summer of '86. Nothing will ever come close to the moment in which I won the Somerset Court Cruiserweight title belt, looked over to Angela, and saw her smiling back.... at me.

Veronica (bronze)

Ladies and gentlemen I introduce to you

Veronica (2009)
14"x7"x5"
bronze edition of 8



and If you haven't read her story yet, here it goes again.
----------------

Veronica

I met up with her at Ferns in Long Beach and by the sound of her voice on the phone she was on the last furlong towards rock bottom. Her short sleek black hair stuck to the tears on her face and her eyeliner ran like oil puddles on rainy days. She sat at the end of the bar near the restrooms and I was walking straight into an Etta James song. I swatted the barflies away and sat down next to her….

“What happened now, baby doll?”

She doesn’t answer. I ordered up another round and I give her a few minutes to compose herself. I knew she had just given her old squeeze the boot; she had been announcing her single status rather heavily.

“That video hurts so fuckin' much Rooster.” She quivers

“I know it does doll,” I respond whole-heartily.

The video she speaks of is a video of her freshly released ex-boyfriend being rather provocative with some girl at one of those college bars full of douche bags. Someone found it on the internet and sent it to her, funny thing is they really thought they were doing her a favor.

“His fuckin’ face in her muthafuckin’ ass! In her fucking ass!!” she shouts while griping her glass of wine. “He was just smiling, looking so enamored with her while his nose is in between her ass cheeks… Just fucking smelling it.”

I saw the video and I envied the fucker. It’s the kind of thing that separates you among other men. The kind of shit you brag about when you’re drunk. It’s like some one saying I climbed Everest and then you saying that’s cool but have you ever had a big fine ass rubbed in your face? I know the fucker was beaten up over losing Veronica – but I swear you could literally see his heart mending as he went further and further into her ass. That’s how nice that ass was.

“She don’t know me Rooster, she don’t know how much I meant to him. That bitch needs to know how much I fucked him up. How I made sure that he was damaged before I sent him out in the world to meet girls like her. How he'll never be over me,” she says that last line with broken pride.

“He fucked her didn’t he? By the looks of that video you know he ate her pussy too! I was his first, Rooster! I was the first girl he ever went down on! And now he’s just out there eating pussy left and right. I want to tell her… no… no… I want to SCREAM at her: I taught him that, you fucking cunt! That fucking orgasm that you just had in my man’s mouth you owe that shit to me! You’re fucking welcome!”

I order up another round and the tears start rolling again.

“Every time I look at their picture and at the fucking video I break down, Rooster. I literally have lost count of how many times I’ve looked at them,” she cries.

I wish I could say something to her to make her feel better but a broken heart is not so easily cured. If you want to know what it feels like to have your guts ripped out of your body - fall in love, then break-up.

“Rooster, do you think he loves her?” she asks in a pitiful voice.

“Darling, don’t ask stupid questions just have another drink”. I am against drinking with a broken heart; no good ever comes out of it. You cry and cry then you drink and drink but the pain never numbs. Also, you always reach a point when you become a bit belligerent and you stop caring about everything and Veronica was no exception…

“He looks so fucking happy in the video Rooster, happier than I ever saw him with me. And in the video he looks like he's having the best time of his life, but did he have to spank her so many times and so fucking hard?” Then she blankly stares off into space and starts to scream, “He used to spank me harder… bitch! Fuckin' bitch! Fuckin' Chipmunk looking cunt!! Fuck you Rooster if you think she’s cute! And, furthermore, I'd be very careful to mention that I was the asshole in the relationship and applaud the fact that the stupid asshole has moved on!!” Her rage is full force now and this ship is headed for disaster.

I know the kind of damage Veronica did to this poor sap – so, yeah, I do applaud the fact that he was able to bring her down to this point – but I don’t tell her that.

I grab her and we smash into the street before we get kicked out from the bar. I hail a cab and hog toss her into the back seat. She was barely coherent when I dragged her up to her place. I tossed her in bed and gently took off her shoes. I went into the restroom, stuck my finger down my throat and purged out my own sorrows.

When I go back into the bedroom she is standing on top of the bed with a strange look in her eyes. She starts screaming and crying… a combination of drool and snot coming out of her. “Why, Rooster? Why did he do this to me? Does her fucking pussy taste better than mine???? Does it?! I refuse to believe that a night of licking her ass erases 3 fucking years of me… of my pussy, of my ass, of OUR life! My pussy tastes sooo good, so much better than hers!” She falls to the mattress and sobs. I hold her till she falls asleep. I can see her chest raising and falling under her tight top. My mind starts going wild with thoughts... if she weren't so drunk, if I wasn't so drunk, if she wasn't so broken, if I had a condom.... I fall asleep.

I woke up with a mild hangover and the sun shining down on my face through the window. I get up and raid her medicine cabinet for mouthwash and a couple of Alka-Seltzers. I go over to check on her to make sure she survived the night, sadly she did. The only thing worse than drinking with a broken heart is being hung-over with a broken heart. It hurts so bad that you wish you would have never woken up. She wakes up and even though she has been through a hell of a battle – she has never looked so beautiful. Damage and all.

“Rooster, how the fuck did we get home?”

“A cab”

“I don’t remember leaving the place. Hey! You didn’t fuck me while I was out did you?”

“No.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“I'm still here.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sorry for suggesting it. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. Let me give you some cab fare.”

“That’s alright, I copped a feel on you as I carried you up to bed, I would feel guilty taking your money after that.”

She smiles.

-Red Rooster and Anonymous Doll 2009

Jazz baby!

These are a couple of sculptures commissioned for the 1st annual San Diego Jazz musicians guild contemporary art show. The theme was "What is Jazz to you?"
Photographs taken by Phil Holland www.phfx.com

The Abstract Trumpet
5" x 8" x 3"
Bronze edition of 5



Abstract Sax
9"x 5"x 2"
Bronze edition of 5

Show time

I'll be presenting new works at this groupshow

The Hive Gallery Group show and Performances
"November sculpture show"

November 7th, Saturday 8PM-12:30AM
$8 at door/ $5 for those dressed in Black and Yellow costume
Show runs November 07- 28

Embracing my demons

Embracing my Demons

A friend once told me that the only thing that keeps me going is this belief that my art will set things right for me one day. I asked him if that was a good thing. He told me, “it all depends on which day you wake up on. Some days will suck others not so much. The second you doubt it; all is lost”. I knew from the get go that my decision to be an artist was going to be a bit of a gamble. I knew about the rocky relationships and the shaky bank accounts before hand.

It was 2 am and I had been trying to start my car up for over half an hour. I was draining my battery and my patience and so was she. “We should have brought my car” she said. “I’ll get it started, relax” I told her. I knew, from the moment that I glanced into her eyes that she was no longer having it; the car, the Artist, this relationship, no more. A few days later she broke up with me, gave me the boot, over the phone. “I need some one better than me to push me, to make me feel better about myself” she told me. “Maybe if you were more successful” she said. “Think very hard about your decision baby doll”, I told her, “Because if you leave, this is it; There aint no coming back. There aint no coming back”. She didn’t even hesitate with her decision, “Ok then. That’s that”. I grew a bit bitter over the following weeks and dwelled in and out of depression. She really did a number on me. The main reason for my depression was not because she was gone but because I was looked down on as a failure by her. I became the deadbeat artist; the thing I dread most

Truth is, the last thing that I need is some girl who has trouble loving who she is and relying on me to push her. I don’t need some one making me feel bad about my decisions; about who I am. I’ve got goals that need to be met baby, I’ve got an agenda to stick to doll, and more importantly I’ve got the balls to get it done momma. Ol’ Honey throat himself, George Burns, said it best, “I honestly think it is better to be a failure at something you love than to be a success at something you hate”.

My car started on the first turn of the ignition today. He roared as he woke from his sleep. Every one down the street turned and stared as he strutted all of his American made Chrysler steel down 109^th street. Don’t get him wrong He’s not an arrogant car, he doesn’t claim to be the best car on the road, nor does he try. He is well aware of his faults; leaky transmission, leaky oil pan, his weak power steering pump, his faulty automatic choke, all his lights don’t work, below par body work, and he’s got a faulty gas gauge that always seems to get him into “interesting” situations. No, he’s not arrogant at all; on the contrary my car is confident. When my 1973 dodge dart strolls down the street, wrapped in black with tinted windows, sporting a set of Cragar SS rims, aware of his faults, people compliment him on his effortless sense of style. Drips I can fix, dents I can repair, but a sweet ride is hard to come by.

I am not a perfect man; I have demons, I have problems but I confront them and I have learned to embrace them. They have made me the artist, the sculptor, the rooster, the man who I am today. Sometimes they knock me to my knees sometimes they slap my in the face, but I always punch back.