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C O N T A C T : C H I P 7 email: chip7art@gmail.com website: www.chip7art.com
Chip7 at work in his studio 2009 |
Zephyr's Take on Chip7 Any concerns I had about writing about Chip by way of writing about Nace was put to rest in an exchange I had with Chip last week. In an attempt to discover a little about his inspiration, I asked, "Is H.R. Giger a big influence on you?" Chip's reply was immediate: "Giger's great but, my main influence is Nace." It was the end of the millennium and Nace was making power moves. He was excited that West had recently made his membership in FC official and he was doing extensive traveling, spreading his aerosol vision around the country. It was a Saturday afternoon around this time that Nace and I met at our usual pizza spot in Jersey for a quick catch-up before a night of freights. Nace pulled into the parking lot with H2O on the tape player, a trunk full of paint and a two-inch stack of photos-his latest work. Among the photos that day were some of has recent collaborations. He had been getting busy with Nesm, Sace and a name that was new to me: "Chip". I was used to Nace's collaborations with Nesm—their work together that celebrated their synchronicity. Nace's work with this "Chip" character was another story altogether. The photos I saw of Chip's work blew my mind. I had never seen anything like it within the realm of aerosol expression. Nace was a spaceman, collecting ideas on his journeys to other galaxies. So it was only appropriate to the laws of continuum of space and time, that Nace's new partner seemed to channel Mayan and Aztec spirits, while venturing into biology on a cellular level It occurred to me that gods and giants were speaking through this Chip guy. It's no coincidence that studies linking Mayans and Aztecs to extraterrestrial travel are plentiful. What the artist Chip was doing on freight trains threw my brain's very linear standard operating procedure into chaos. Clusters of strange faces, trolls or gargoyles, were exquisitely rendered, crafted in such a way as to appear three-dimensional. They came straight off the sides of the train, right at me. He painted strokes of sinewy fiber—muscles torn from the bone. There was his name too, and I made the comment "They look like chips." Nace laughed a little. And wouldn't you know it, on our next week's mission, as we rendezvoused outside a 7-11 across from the yard, I met the troll-master himself. There, riding shotgun in Nace's car, was Chip. I was immediately struck by his "doesn't look like a graffiti writer " appearance, with olive skin and Johnny Depp cheekbones he looked too pretty for freight work. But I knew Nace was an impeccable judge of character—there was no question that Chip was solid. And thanks to Nace's flix, Chip's avant-garde graffiti preceded him. I knew things were about to get different. Chip and Nace were pushing Mayhem hard and the upping the scale of their work even harder. A typical weekend for me was five bubble pieces. A typical weekend for them was a "Chip" wholecar, a "Nace" wholecar, six or seven standard burners, and a "Mayhem" wholecar thrown in for good measure. To facilitate wholecar painting, they had a ladder locked up at the back of the yard, and while I never employed it myself, we were all equally spooked when the chain was cut and the ladder disappeared. The yard workers were on to us, but we didn't care. Spooky too was the night when Chip and Nace and I were in that same yard and an automobile suddenly pulled into the parking lot. The windows on the car were tinted so dark that we couldn't see inside. It turned off its headlights and just sat. It was really odd; the Stephen King movie "Christine" played in my head while we watched and waited. Whether it was cops trying to be discreet, or a couple steaming up the windows- we never did find out. We left the yard, a "Nace-Gold" car we were doing was left unfinished. It was the last time I would see Nace alive. Nace was killed in Ohio shortly before 9-11, and I often think how he was spared that dark day in our world's history, and its aftermath—a topic for another time. With Nace's death the gang broke up. We were traumatized, numb—shells of ourselves. Nesm, one of the survivors of the car accident that claimed Nace's life, returned to his Japanese homeland emotionally and physically shattered, never to return. Nesm's injuries included a head injury which resulted in permanent hearing loss in one ear. Chip informed me that New Jersey had too many memories to endure,. He left. It would be quite a few years before I would hear from Chip again, although rumors of his whereabouts and activities circulated. One person told me he was with Newa, someone else said he was traveling the country with a rock band. I just hoped he was coping and painting. Art is our lifeline. Through my friendship with Met I was able to maintain info on Chip, but it was usually in the form of rumor. But then in regional graffiti mags I began seeing pictures of freights, highways, billboards and legal walls, all painted by Chip in different American cities. His work was better and stronger and more alive. His bizarre forms were evolving, challenging the parameter of aerosol work of the time. To me, his style made me think I was watching microorganisms and circuit boards coalescing on Mexico's Day of the Dead. But most importantly, I knew Chip was surviving, working through Nace's death—turning pain into color, protected by the totemic faces that rolled off his wrist. The work was always dedicated to Nace. But we didn't need to see written dedications to know the deal. We are the children of Nace, and he is the river that runs through us. With Chip out of town I made half-assed attempts to continue painting freights, but it proved impossible. I only felt comfortable painting with people who had been friends with Nace. When I rolled with other cats it just didn't seem right. At one point I headed west and Met and I spent three days painting pieces dedicated to Nace and talking about him nonstop. It was cathartic, like crying at a funeral or laying flowers on a grave. This is how we honor our friend. And then out of the blue I received an e-mail from Chip. He was back. He said it was time to get the gang back together again. New Jersey has it's own graff history, and there was a local movement before Kaws and Tdee and Nace left their mark there. But it is those writers, and their work from the mid-90's, that laid the cornerstone for what we see happening today. The painted highways of Route 80 and the Jersey clean train movement are now part of public record, thanks (or no thanks) to recent media exposure. Exactly what role this publicity played in the establishment of Jersey's vandal squad can only speculated on—also a topic for another day. But suffice it to say that after his return to the area, Chip and crew put in some long hours and blitzed the area with a barrage of high risk, high quality work. The talent pool that Chip collaborates with is too extensive to list, but Navy, Eye and Deja often flank him. His crew, and its extended posse, is an eclectic mix of style masters—made all the more exciting by the fact that everyone brings their own distinct vision to the mix. When I have had the pleasure of rolling with them, my pieces are always far too lazy and predictable, but they are good guys and don't seem to mind. I will forever be the old man of the bunch—a role I am not uncomfortable with, even as Eye remains determined to constantly remind me that I am older than his mother. Seeing Chip and company, the Mayhem crew, at work, is a remarkable experience. If Navy is the visual poet of the bunch, Chip is undoubtedly the mad scientist. The spontaneity/unpredictability, or 'unknown outcome factor' with regard to Chip's work is unparalleled. His process of creation should ultimately be witnessed first hand, but don't expect it to clear up any questions. Simply more questions will result. With this in mind, a camera has, finally been focused on the man "in action", and the result is an unforgettable segment in "The Art of Storytelling". In "Storytelling" we are treated to remarkable footage of Chip at work—or the mad scientist in his lab, so to speak. Simply put, Chip is a visionary. He makes visionary art. What exactly that means to me is that he culls his ideas from the rawest place where the purest inspiration comes from; the internal core located at the center of us all. In the macrocosmin/macrocosmic interchange, many would know this to be the Center of the Universe. A big confession. Even after the many years of knowing Chip, and our countless painting excursions together, it was not until viewing his segment in "Storytelling" that the full extent of his genius truly hit me. And hit me it did, like a two by four across the head. It was at that moment that I went straight to the phone and called him, praising him up and down and asking about his influences, the conversation I reference at the opening of this piece. My enthusiasm resulted in a request for a few paragraphs about his work for this website. If Chip was hoping I would don the 'art analyst' hat for this undertaking, he will be disappointed. The unique, writhing, organic configurations of Chip's work are best left to the dissection, dissertation, analysis and discussions of the viewer. If I truly believe I know what makes Chip tick, I should be deeply concerned for my own mental health. In the long run, it makes little difference what I think, whether Chip is a brilliant genius or not. By the way, he is. But here's a website of his work, and now you're provided with a golden opportunity to see the world through his eyes and then draw your own conclusion. Go forth, and explore. Enjoy!
- ZEPHYR |
