StrangeLove
strangelove vs. the new deal
Sean Cliver
For most of my working life I've had this unfortunate habit of taking on more than I can logistically handle; or, I don't know, maybe it's just a thing where I have a really hard time saying "no" to people? Hmm. Reading that now it's clear I'm a prime candidate for a manager, but then again I'm also nowhere near those big, dick-swinging, there-goes-10-percent-of-your-income leagues, so it's not exactly a viable option in my small fry shoes. All of that is neither here nor there, though, aside from the fact I dug one hell of a deep hole for myself last summer when I agreed to participate in the Subliminal Project's 30th anniversary art show for The New Deal—a skateboard company started by Andy Howell, Steve Douglas, and Paul Schmitt way back in 1990.
the strangelove coronart contest
Sean Cliver
Soon after the United States started shutting down—well, some of it at least, because god knows how spring breaking must go on come hell, high water, or deadly pandemic—we decided to throw an impromptu art contest for anyone who wished to creatively span the unexpected time indoors.
locking the gnar with ben narloch
Sean Cliver
So you've met Wisconsin's Max Murphy. Now meet Minnesota's Ben Narloch. His name actually sounds a bit to the Scottish side, but I never really asked about his heritage in this interview. In fact, I mostly asked a lot of nonsense, but in my book that's how you get to know someone best.
meet hank scorsese… i mean, max murphy
Sean Cliver
So which is it, Max or Hank? Because I’ll be honest, I was confused as fuck at first and didn't know what the hell to call you.
My name is Max, but my nickname is Hank. I was probably 19 or 20 when my friends started calling me Hank. It was during the flip phone era, and I was at my friend joshs having a barbecue when I got a text message saying “hank?” My friend Tim had tried to text me “ganja?” but his flip phone autocorrected it to “hank.” So after that all my close friends always called me Hank.
we make a fine pair
Sean Cliver
Growing up, I had what you could call "Nike envy." (Yeah, yeah, First World problems, I get it, but just go with my consumerism malady for the sake of story time.) The brand wasn't even remotely close to the sandlot of our family household budget, so whenever a new school year rolled around and it was time to upgrade my sneakers I knew it was just another bummer of a trip to the local shoe store. This was right around the time the first Air Jordans were released, too, which only further irked my inner green-eyed monster—or rather the red- black- and white-eyed monster, I guess—as I sulked out of Shippy Shoes with yet another damn pair of price-point New Balance* on my feet.