Future Past

Happy National Popcorn Day. Enjoy the show!

 

Rusted Foam

Last night, I had the pleasure of visiting Arches Brewing's new location at the historic Atlanta Utility Works building in East Point, Georgia. The occasion? A casual friends-and-family gathering, offering a sneak peek at the space before its official opening next week.

While the interiors are still very much a work in progress, the raw energy of the space is unmistakable. The building itself—a former industrial hub—brims with stories, its bones steeped in the patina of age and industry. Rusted beams and weathered brickwork add a kind of gritty charm that feels ripe for artistic intervention. This isn't just a brewery in transition; it's a canvas waiting to be activated.

As I walked through the unfinished halls, I couldn't help but imagine the possibilities for gallery shows here again. The new format is markedly different from Arches' previous space—more expansive yet filled with its own set of quirks. Those quirks, like the rusted pipes and industrial remnants, could be seen as obstacles. But to me, they're opportunities to create installations that speak to the history of the building, inviting dialogue between the art, the space, and the people who gather there.

Of course, the vision will have to wait until the space is fully realized. But there's a clear sense of potential here—a space where craft beer and craft art could coexist, each amplifying the other. It's a reminder that sometimes the most compelling creative opportunities lie not in polished perfection but in the beauty of transformation.

Stay tuned. Once the dust settles, this could be a place where the rust sings.

Story Walks

Big moves are happening—my domain, thomasarthurschaefer.com, has officially been pointed to its shiny new site builder. After spending the entirety of 2024 revamping the site using Wix, I’m thrilled to finally see it come to life. Why Wix? Let’s just say I got tired of hand-coding everything. The original site, born in what I can only describe as my "digital stone age," was a hard-coded relic. It lacked an SQL database to organize my work and information properly, and it was designed exclusively for desktops. Back then, mobile web browsers were about as reliable as a car running on two flat tires—they just didn’t do justice to anything remotely artistic.

Fast forward to today: the new site is fully optimized for both desktop and mobile platforms. This isn’t just a redesign; it’s a rethinking of how I share my work. Admittedly, I hadn’t added substantial updates to the site since 2015—aside from the Works on Paper series—so this overhaul was long overdue.

For the past eight years, I’ve run the ABA Gallery website on Wix and appreciated the platform’s flexibility. Now, I’m bringing that same versatility to my personal site. One feature I’m particularly excited about is the ability to integrate custom JavaScript. I’ve already coded a dynamic script that adjusts the horizontal height of images in grid and gallery views. It’s a small detail, but for someone obsessed with presentation, it makes all the difference.

Looking ahead, we’re also adding an online store, slated to launch within the next month. My ABA Gallery shop proved to be a hit, so I’m stoked to bring that energy here. Expect to see sneakers, shirts, and other merch, alongside large-scale Works on Paper pieces—specifically 48x62-inch canvases. For those who’ve already snagged a piece from this series, you know what a statement they make. It’s about time I shared more of these works with the world.

Launch Countdown: January 19, 2025
The site is set to go live in just 48 hours, and I couldn’t be more excited. Transitional moments like this always feel charged—both personally and globally. I can’t help but reflect on how technology, culture, and even art presentation have evolved since I first started coding my own sites. What was once a purely desktop experience is now a seamless, fluid design accessible anywhere.

Passing Through

David Lynch passed away today at the age of 78. The world feels a little dimmer without his enigmatic presence, but his legacy remains luminous. My friend Aaron Barker said something that struck me deeply: "We are so lucky to have shared the earth with him and to watch his movies come out in real time, in theaters." I couldn’t agree more. Experiencing Lynch’s films as they debuted—a new puzzle to unravel, a new dream to inhabit—was nothing short of a privilege.

Beyond his films, I’ve always been drawn to his other creative pursuits—his paintings, sculptures, and the raw, tactile worlds he created outside of celluloid. I’d love to see some of his larger works in person someday. There’s a visceral energy to the footage of him painting on his patio, cigarette in hand, surrounded by Los Angeles light and shadows. Something about that scene—the juxtaposition of his methodical chaos and the serene environment—feels universally appealing. It reminds me of how creating art can feel like carving a sanctuary out of the ordinary.

Of course, Lynch’s patio was perched on Mulholland Drive in Los Angeles, a place that served as a muse and backdrop to much of his work. And here I am, on Dogwood Drive in Hapeville. But perhaps that’s the beauty of it—art blooms anywhere, in any space we carve for it. There’s something serendipitous about reflecting on Lynch’s creative spaces now, as I’m contemplating setting up my own. A little haven where ideas can ferment and evolve, where raw energy can take shape, and where the everyday can be transformed into something extraordinary.

David Lynch taught us to embrace the strange and the beautiful, to find the sacred in the surreal. He showed us that art is not confined by geography or convention—it’s born of a desire to create, to understand, to connect. Today, as I think of Lynch and his patio, I’m inspired to build my own space. Maybe it won’t overlook the glittering lights of LA, but it will be mine. And that’s enough.

Rest well, Mr. Lynch. Thank you for the dreams.