StrangeLove
what if… ?
Sean Cliver
A probable argument could be made that I’ve been trapped under ice since 1992. This isn’t to say I dwell in a nostalgic forest of the past and can’t see shit from shinola through the present day trees; 1992 just happens to be the joyous year in which I mentally embarked on an endless summer where I often forget that 26 years have since tripped the light fantastic. All idiotic poetics and developmental excuses aside, it’s also the year I started working alongside Marc McKee in the World Industries art trench.
a rambling word (or 2,958) on screen-printing
Sean Cliver
Since we are about to finally cease treading water in the Sea of Inertia, I may as well expound and expand upon the topic of screen-printing, seeing as it's a trumpet I perennially blow like a blue-in-the-face Israelite attempting to bring down the gates of Jericho.
the unnecessary tale of the holy roller
Sean Cliver
Rest assured, StrangeLove is in full production swing—slowly but surely, I've seen the screened-pass proof—but in the meantime, I'd like to shine a small spotlight on my contribution to a group art show that is taking place this Friday, August 3, in Eastham, MA.
an ode to skate chauffeurs
Sean Cliver
While doing some "research" for this first fabled* drop of ours, I ran across something in a Shiloh Greathouse interview—posted on the great historical archive of skateboarding that is The Chrome Ball Incident—that sparked the memory of an article we'd always wanted to do in the infantile stages of Big Brother.**
the stark mad ravings of an american lunatic
Sean Cliver
Unless you’ve been living a life of fancy-free solitude off the Facebook and Instagram grid, it’s been a lot of hot-shit debates, big-time controversy, and divisive* comment-bickering from triggered** minds around the skateboard world. So it continues to boil out in the real world, as well, where the baseball bat*** is even now swinging for the high humorless bleachers with deliberations over politically correct emoji-usage.