Rachel E. Watson

Ty Segall's album "Manipulator" came out Aug. 25.

Ty Segall, a rock musician I learned about recently, draws on the garage rock, psychedelic, punk and glam rock genres to create an addictive sound.

His newest album, "Manipulator," was released in August. Check out the song below, which is Track 2 on the album.

"Tall Man, Skinny Lady," by Ty Segall

Tall man and the skinny lady
I need to row
Come over here, I think you can make
Try to cure my soul
Ohhh
Tall man and the skinny lady
I need to row
Come over here, I think you can make
Try to cure my soul
Over here, I need your love baby
I need to run

The song "Tall Man, Skinny Lady" probably won't make rock history for the profundity of its lyrics. In fact, I'm not entirely sure those are the right lyrics, as the only transcription I could find online had question marks after just about every line. And I couldn't understand the words myself. Ha!

For this song, though, does it matter? I found myself drawn into the band's world the second I started listening. Segall stands lost in his own world at the microphone, flaunting his long, Cobain-esque locks.

Hear's what I heard and saw in the percussion underpinning the song: A dealer shuffling a deck of cards. The roll of the dice. Leopard print-clad women (and men) walking past the craps table. Sequins. Rolex watches.

The song is a soundtrack for a night in Vegas.

What do you hear?

If you hear and see a different world lurking in the bass line, skipping across the drums or snaking from his vocal cords, I'd love to read about it. Leave me a comment below or over at my Facebook Community page.

(Stock photo: Free images)

Have you ever had a dream so exhausting you felt physically sore when you woke up?

Wednesday morning before I awoke, I was trapped in a nightmare that had no bottom, no sides and no big, red “EXIT” sign.

Three monsters

I dreamt I was trying to get home. I came upon three monsters dressed in human form. They looked somewhat like stretched Barbie dolls with blue hair and Daisy Dukes. By the end of the dream, they had changed into young, professional Ken dolls.

Their game was simple on the surface. I met them guarding a pile of leaves in a rural driveway, and before they would let me pass, I had to follow their rules in a game they had created.

At first, it was a scavenger hunt. Collect a toy rabbit, a charm from a charm bracelet, a box of Krispy Kremes, a roll of toilet paper and some other odds and ends, then give them to us, and we’ll let you go, they said.

But once I had done that, they introduced stealing to the game. They were allowed to filch pieces here and there from my collection, so never at any point was I able to finish gathering the items on the list.

A quick side trip

[The dream suddenly veered off into a short detour. I found myself chauffeuring a group of 10 kids around the back roads in a five-seater car, necessitating tying a couple of them on the back of the vehicle and praying no cops would tail us until I could get them safely back to their house.]

Up a hill, down a hill

The scavenger hunt was fruitless. Eventually, it became clear I wasn’t on a scavenger hunt at all. I was on a road with a golden retriever, wearing running clothes and trying to run up a hill. Every time I reached the crest of the hill, the three monsters were at the top and would chase me back down the way I just came.

In a parking garage

In the next scene, I was trapped in a parking garage stairwell with several levels. The monsters’ instructions were to take a cord of three strands, made up of a long garden hose, a broom and a dustpan, and wind them up the stairway until I got to the top, racing alongside their cords of three strands, and whoever had the cord that made it to the top first would be set free.

The problem was, the three monsters waited at the bottom with pruning shears, and every time I was nearly at the top level, they would cut my cord and I’d go falling back down to the bottom. They were waiting there with new supplies for me, and I’d have to start the contest over again.

Unfortunately, I never learned from their tricks. I was still trapped in the stairwell when I woke up, my whole body drained and sore from fighting the monsters in my sleep.

I’ve felt a lot like this in real life at times. Fighting the same demons over and over, using the same tactics and emerging with the same frustrating results.

I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm fighting with new strategies.

Willing to share?

Isn’t it stunning and fascinating how the subconscious works through our fears and frustrations by weaving fictions while we’re asleep? I’d love to hear about some of your crazy dreams, if you’re willing to share. Leave me a comment below or over at my Facebook Community page.

ArtPrize is here once again, which means three square miles of the city of Grand Rapids have been transformed into an art gallery for works of every kind imaginable: sculptures, paintings, performance art, mixed media installations, film, photography, art in nature and art indoors — you name it, and it's competing for a piece of the contest's $560,000 purse.

What I love about ArtPrize is that, for 19 days, and free of charge, I'm invited to meet with souls from across the world. In viewing their works, I get to connect with a part of what makes them human: their creativity.

Sure, I could find those connections in galleries or museums. But for the span of two weeks in the heart of my own city, the art is inescapable. It practically comes to me.

The question I get to ask myself anew each year is, "What speaks to me this year? This week? In this moment?" And during each visit to ArtPrize, I answer that question differently.

This year, I've noticed myself being drawn to works that illustrate the fleeting nature of life and the frailty of humanity.

That which is fleeting

"The Shed Is on Fire," by Katrin Albrecht (Photo: Rachel E. Watson)

My photograph above doesn't suffice to capture "The Shed Is on Fire." The sculpture, which is on display at Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, depicts the shell of a structure, an imaginative portrait of the remains of a fire. The "bricks" are made of old clothes, cast-offs donated to the artist's project by friends and family members, and the bricks appear to be melting as if from intense heat.

This work made me think about how we accumulate so many things — clothes included — that we think will add value to our lives, but when they go up in flames, do we miss them? Not in the same way we miss the people we've lost. Those are the relationships we really need to treasure, enjoying each moment, investing in the currency of memories, building a life on joy and love, rather than on a collection of inanimate, soulless objects.

"Peralux," by NewD Media

"Peralux," by NewD Media, aka Detroit-based duo Gabriel Hall and Daniel Land, is a time-based, visual installation that features animation projected onto sculpture inside a room on the fifth floor of the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts.

The projected video takes viewers through a series of scenes. One made me feel I was flying through outer space. In another, I felt like I was swimming with the fish in the ocean. In another, I felt like I'd stepped into a scene from the movie "The Fifth Element" — all of those hot, orange tones colliding and filling up my senses. And in some scenes, I felt like I was in a game of laser tag, and my friends could be about to jump out from behind a corner and "tag" me at any second.

The artists managed to take me on several journeys within the span of probably two minutes or less. I left the "theater" space with a smile on my face, feeling like I'd just witnessed something I'll always treasure. Something that's here for ArtPrize but will be gone thereafter.

That which is frail

"Feather Child 1," by Lucy Glendinning (Photo: Rachel E. Watson)

This sculpture on display at Meijer Gardens is of a small child at rest. Instead of skin made of flesh, the child's body is covered with feathers. I found this touching, delicate and tender. I thought of how a mother hen protects her chicks by gathering them under her feathery wings.

In her artist's statement, sculptor Lucy Glendinning references Greek mythology, the story of Icarus, who created wings fastened with wax to escape from Crete, but flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, and he fell to the sea and drowned.

The connection to a story meant to illustrate hubris, and the fact that the artist chose to depict a small and innocent child, reminds me that one of the common threads to be found throughout all humanity, whether child or adult, is that we are vulnerable. Mortal. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."

This is one photograph in a series of self-portraits called "Home Sweet Home,"
by Danielle Owensby. It bears this caption: "This room was going to be my bedroom,
once the house was finished. Ten years after moving out, it's still a construction site."

"Home Sweet Home," on display at the Grand Rapids Art Museum, was arresting. I found it incredible that the artist was able to be so vulnerable, depicting scenes that are painful, revealing and evocative, both for her — and I'm sure her parents — and for the viewers.

The series is visual memoir. I saw her posed in various attitudes in her childhood home, dressed in clothes like she would have worn as a child, but which now are incongruous with her size and age.

For me, the bedroom scene I've included above was the saddest photo of them all. That her room was never finished lingers deep in her psyche. Putting myself in her shoes, I can imagine the feelings I would have felt: "Will this ever be 'home'?" "Where do I truly belong?" "Will I always be waiting?"

The human mind is a powerful organ, but also very frail.

Share your favorite entries

Have you been to see any ArtPrize exhibits this year? If so, I'd love to hear from you about what themes you've been noticing and connecting with, or maybe just share a little about your favorite entry so far. Leave me a comment here or over at my Facebook Community page.