ICY SIGNS

Inquries - [email protected]

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Im up waiting for you is a 6"x12" screen print by the esteemed Axelle Fine Arts Printing Of Broooklyn NYC. It is on 334 gram Coventry Rag and it is in a signed and numbered edition of 100. It is $100 plus tax and shipping. Proceeds go to more records and a new lightbulb for the bedroom. AVAILABLE IN OUR SHOP (screengrabs always free) 🎶when I climb the stairs, reach out and turn the key, please be there saying youre still in love with me 🎶 Thank you Luther V and Luther D

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Stephen Powers at Dismaland. Photos By:

arrestedmotion.com // hypebeast.com  // Hyper Allergic  // Jacqueline M Hade

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ICY SIGNS - Stephen Powers for D.O.T. Summer Streets.

Photos - Matthew Kuborn

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Stephen ESPO Powers for PS3 @ NADA Art Fair. Pt.2

Photos by Matthew Kuborn @mkuborn

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Stephen ESPO Powers for PS3 @ NADA Art Fair. Pt.1

Photos by Matthew Kuborn @mkuborn

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Miami Beach is as beautiful as ever. Its bright, hot, loud and laid. Shopping? You know we were at Sunsations copping flourescent orange board shorts and the matching SUNS OUT GUNS OUT tank top. Nightlife? You know we watched ten live episodes of Jersey Shore just standing on Washington Ave, when we saw too much we wheeled up and walked straight into the ocean. Lunch? Jugo Fresh was a solid $50 (US) at the Street Art Petting Zoo called Wynwood Walls. Culture? O man, OMiami Poetry Festival has poetry popping all April. And they made sure we'd have a home to paint as our own. I was Poet-in-Residence at The Carlton Hotel, directly behind their mothership The Betsy Hotel. They provided us with a blank wall, spraypaint, several 5 dollar coffees and above all accommodation, not only for the suite but the sweet sweet creative freedom to spray some Espoetry.

Miami, a destination and destiny. I was working inside the service industrial complex, so a lot of what I wrote was about the everyday life of the hotel, and what people get from the hotel experience. I like that its a box of sin and a place of peace, that its always in a state of change but maintains stability, like the tides a block away.

So as a poet who am I reading? O all the usual suspects, but Miami for me is (now) Campbell Mcgrath and Hyam Plutzik. Campbell McGrath writes clear and direct, Hyam Plutzik is an allegorical dreamer. Both of them spent time in New York and miami, and both of them work the words to a fine finish. And now me three! I’m proud to join them, even if its just on a time share basis. OMiami dont ever change.

In honor of the written world, I would like to offer this lovely cocktail napkin poem, “Looking and Telling”  composed on a long afternoon waiting for my ride home. Its a 12x12 two-color print on 334gram Coventry Rag. It is in a signed and numbered edition of 100. Its 50$ (plus S&H). Artists, like poets, draw and withdrawl every day and you can too. Send us an email at [email protected] and we'll send you a Paypal Invoice.

Que tenga un Buen Dia

Sun Burnt Stephen 

[icysigns]

Live at Luthers. Im here to check on the blend (nice) and approve that salmon (nice) that blue (nice) and that green (money). These beautiful 24"x 24" prints are an edition of 50 regular prints and 50 hand embellished prints on 334g coventry rag will be released next week, but if you really insist, you can pre-order from us starting now. The cost is $275 plus shipping or $400 for the emelished prints, email us at [email protected] and we'll send you a paypal invoice. and yes I owe you everything, obvs

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ICY Signs for Russ and Daughter Cafe

Photos by Daniel Krieger, Melissa Hom, Tasting Table, chezsasha and  Sasha Maslov

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WInter's Eve and I'm always the last to leave. This is a 12"x12" screen print on 334 gram Coventry Rag. Its in a signed and numbered edition of 100.

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Stephen Powers for La Colombe Torrefaction

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ICY Signs hearth dominating, mantle take over, Holiday Card:

Lovingly printed on a 4 color press this nearly seven foot fold out card is compiled from photos of A Love Letter to Baltimore, resonating on Eager St in Baltimore MA it can now do the same in your home.

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Tim, I feel like it's been months since I last wrote, it's bothering me like I'm walking around with cut hair under my collar after a haircut (it looks sharp). So here I am, scratching my neck and scratching out a letter to you. Your girl and your daughter came past the shop a few weeks ago, all elegance and poise. Your girl has that arched eyebrow and your daughter has a perfect report card personality, together they form a wall twice as tall as the wall around you now.   Once you climb out of jail you can try climbing back into their hearts. It helped to give them some money from the painting you sold—you might of clipped one strand of barbed wire at the top of their defenses. So, PROGRESS. I read an interview with Bernard Hopkins recently, everything he says is all saavy and cement, a real role model for you. He said the hardest part of his career was the 9 years he spent on parole. I know that's going to be your trouble and triumph too, having to succeed in spite of everybody expecting (encouraging and enticing) you to fail. And you have to do it by yourself. At least you got some grown-ass friends to advise you. Maybe you'll listen (maybe). Anyway enough about you. As promised, here's flicks of what I'm working on. I started it in April when I painted "I owe you everything," and then i left it alone until 3 days ago, when I thought I better have something new to show you. It's about half done now, just like my life haha! The best work I do takes me new places, so that wall I painted when I was 16 and this painting I painted yesterday at 46 conjure the same feeling of satisfaction and suprise: I painted it because I hoped I could, I thought I could and the hope and the thought led me to a new place. Now you know what's up, I'm getting lost in my head and selling tourist maps. The bullshit you've done has led you to the hole and the work you've done in the hole is going to lead you home. Key is in your hand, hold tight. Anyway, I'm putting your print up for sale today, I'm sure it will do well. In the meantime, pump iron, read books! Holler! S This print is based on a painting Tim Agua Curtis painted in jail in western Pennsylvania. It is a hand pulled, 8 color screenprint on cheap rag paper. It is 18" x 24.5" and in an edition of 75. Each print comes with a signed sticker affixed to the verso and a certificate of authenticity. They are $100 plus shipping. Send us an email at [email protected] and we'll send you a paypal invoice. Thank you!

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Keith Haring painted a mural in Philly in 1987, I didn't know exactly where until I moved a few blocks away from the wall in 1989.  I remember stumbling across it, dumbfounded. I took some photos, and since the paint was peeling off the wall in sheets, I took some chips and stashed them in my black book. I was mad that I missed an opportunity to paint with Keith, mad enough to tell anybody who'd care that I helped paint the wall on 22nd street. I've told a million lies in my time, but this one was different in that it was meant not to impress (ok a little), but to visualize the wildest dream I could dream. to paint alongside the only artist that mattered. It wasn't long after I saw the mural when Patty told me Keith Haring died, issuing the bulletin from the back seat of Mary Anne's Chevette. I was struck numb, and then cold when she followed up the news with a question, "You met him didnt you?" I replied with my well-polished tale in the automatic tone of an outgoing answering machine greeting. We then rode in silence, my obvious grief filling the car with awkward dread. Mary Anne dropped off Patty at her train and seeing me falling to pieces, drove us back to her rented room on Chester Avenue and I confessed that I never met Keith Haring, that I had only lied because I knew one day I was going to cross his path and I tell him myself what a liar I was. Then me and Keith would laugh and maybe go to Danceteria. So there I was, a liar left with half a story in need of a new ending. I wont bore you with my memoir of  20 years in search of Keith Haring, but finally, in 2009, when we started painting Love Letter in West Philly, I started making work in public with the public. Its usually not a perfect collaboration, Keith's walls aren't either, but when we get close to 50/50 its magic. I might have upped Keith in running community meetings, but then again by this point, he probably would be painting the Washington Monument (thats easy to visualize, right?!). This is not the ending, this is only the beginning of the ending. The ending is the beginning of a friendship with a guy named Kermit Oswald who walked into ICY SIGNS in March and hung out for an hour just shooting the breeze with Matthew. At the end of his visit, he put a couple paintings on hold and left an invitation for me to meet him for lunch. I met Kermit and his daughter at Fanelli Cafe, a restaurant chosen specifically for the fact that it hasn't changed, ever. Over grilled cheese and tomato soup, Kermit told me his life story, of which I knew very little at the time. He and Keith Haring were friends from back home in Kutztown PA, a 3 hour drive in straight line from New York. They attended SVA together, and as Keith started becoming Keith Haring (TM COPYRIGHT C), Kermit was the craftsman that gave him technical support and structure that now I see in Keith's work. On a wall at Kermit's house is an early Haring piece, all layers of i wood with a top panel perfectly carved with a skull laced with Keith's figures. Kermit shop talked its construction: "Dremel carved, then we cleaned out all the burrs with a #12 screw, primer, florescent paint, (in the carving)  then dry roller with enamel on the flat surfaces". I'm hearing the ingredients for soda, but the visual result is champagne. I was at the house to deliver the paintings Kermit now owns and are hanging next to the Harings. While I was there he gave me the tour of his vast Keith holdings, and of course,  I tripped out on every little nuance. Keith is still alive in Kermit, its awesome and affirming to see. In the face of all that legacy I took inventory of how much and how little I've lived up to the line that Keith Haring left for every artist working in the street to pick up and continue. I can lace up 300 feet of wall with only a can of black paint in my hand . I can collaborate with a community to make work that speaks for and to the community. But I haven't made enough art that speaks against the everyday horror that washes over humanity like so much sewage. Ok, I'll work on that. And thanks to Kermit, I got a  fresh battery in my back to power on, and a true story to tell. - S

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Could be Brooklyn, could be home cooking, could be a speeding dollar van, could be a sleeping policeman, could be a latte, could be a schmatte, could be the the B103, could be the gingko trees, could be Atlantic, could be Pacific, could be general, could be specific. It could be what should be, it could be what would be, it could be could be could be could be. This is 12"x12" screen print on 144g Coventry Rag in an edition of 100. it is 150$ plus shipping, email us at [email protected] with your location and we'll send a paypal invoice ARIGATO

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200 cans of spraypaint, 100 gallons of latex, 81 conversations, 33 words, 12 hand painted signs and 9 walls are the stats (so far) on Love Letter Baltimore. The number of conversations doesn't include all the sidebars, periphery comments, anecdotal discussions and inquisitive concerns I've engaged in almost everyday for the last two years. People love Baltimore—sure the TV show plays a part (pick one, theres a few)—and the auteur and the poet and the musicians and the sports teams make people care where they sprang from. But beyond the cultural contributions, people everywhere have a red-brick nostalgia for the city that belies its small stature.

For me, it was the hardest city we've painted in so far. We had to operate in the gulf between riches and despair, and in that space create work that actually works for the community. What made our job easier is that the community, on every wall, had ideas and demands for what the walls should accomplish. So Ricky in Westport was thinking "People should know this is home," and Glenn on the East Side was thinking, "Break the disconnects and change the game," and ICY SIGNS was the visual sound system to broadcast these signals.

The ICY Signs shop at 224 N. Paca is still there, waiting on more wall permissions and accepting commissions (email us at [email protected] to see if your  Baltimore business qualifies). We look forward to continuing the visual communication of conversation soon (soon, soon).

Back at the home base in Brooklyn, we have this new screen print dedicated to the Stagger Home, my nightly dance move on the 2 train. It is a 24" square of violet riches and black despair, in a signed and numbered edition of 75. It is $200 plus shipping. Please email us at [email protected] with your mailing address and we'll send you a paypal invoice. Proceeds in part will pay off the ICY sign mechanics, because in love and art, labor costs the most and pays off the best. Thank you Stephen

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I met Jerry Johnson on a cold, rainy day in Coney Island in March of 2003. I was early and soaked when his car pulled up to the corner of Surf Ave and Jones Walk. I jumped into a car packed with the debris that comes with a sign business office that doubles as transportation, and I started pitching fast balls, none of which bothered the strike zone. I told Jerry that we were painting new signs for the businesses of Coney Island and that he was the top artist on our list. I assured him that Creative Time, America's premier Public Arts Organization (our collaborator/benefactor/instigator) insisted he be given carte blanche over Coney, and any number of losers would be at his beck and call to haul paint and get sandwiches. I don't remember Jerry saying much, but his white knuckle grip on the wheel and his thousand-yard stare out the windshield spoke loud and clear. I rolled up the welcome mat myself, and as I stepped out of the car, left a copy of my book, a pro-graffiti memoir that I'm sure sailed out the window at the next corner. The next day, Jerry wrote one of the angriest letters I ever read, criticizing me and Creative Time for working with me. My co-curator on the project, Peter Eeley, wrote back and told him off in a way that mixed Yale and jail. I was grateful that he, and by extension the art world, stood up for me, but I knew it was gonna sting like a beanball to the spine of old Jerry Johnson.

Jerry, since 1977, was the owner and chief walldog of Orange Outdoor and was justly famous for a series of billboards he painted at Atlantic and Nevins in Brooklyn, a spaldeen toss from ICY Signs on Fourth Avenue. They were technically excellent and hilarious—truly art with a subversive edge that still cuts, decades after they were painted. I remember seeing one of them and being knocked flat. It was audacious and accomplished in a way I couldnt comprehend, but the feeling it inspired became a puzzle piece and I looked for the other pieces that fit with it, in the hope that one day I would understand. Justin Green had a piece of Jerry's story that didn't fit, but I kept it just the same. Matt Wright got a call to help him on a job, and after a long day of working together, Matt made an attempt to compliment him on his billboards. Jerry froze and shut down the conversation like a well-oiled riot gate. Then our oldest newest co-worker, Eric Davis, our Brooklyn Sign Expert, filled in some great details. He remembered Jerry as a long haired figurative painter at Pratt in the early 70s, and remembered him even more respectfully as a well-regarded student at the Art Students League. Fast forward to 2007 (or so) Eric saw Jerry on the street, told him that he remembered him from Pratt. Jerry denied knowing him and withdrew.  Jerry was trained to be a great painter in the classic tradition and it being the seventies, his talent wouldn't get him a show in Soho. So well trained, and possessing great talent and wit, he made a career shoehorning his abilities into advertising, an obviously painful fit. The billboards he painted for himself were a funny antidote to the advertising that was his day job, and they served the highest purpose—to be beyond everything just for the sake of being beyond. He had at least one client that met him halfway. Michael Pintchuk walked into the shop last night and, unprompted, mentioned Jerry Johnson. I turned off the stereo and patted his pockets for any missing puzzle pieces. Jerry painted several ads for Pintchuk Hardware at the corner of Flatbush and Bergen. One reimagined "American Gothic" with the farmer holding a paintbrush. Ok, not that funny, but beautifully done just the same. "What's up with Jerry?" I asked. Michael shook his head, "No idea. Haven't spoken to him in years, but hes a real artistic wit."  No doubt. So Jerry Johnson, wherever you are, you are respected and remembered. I hope this finds you well and at peace. The irony is not lost on me that at this moment there are people that want to put me in shows or present me with accolades or bestow upon me kinship to their endeavors. Some bear gifts and some gift bears.  I want to thank you all, and I want you all to know I think you're awesome and you should keep doing what you're doing without me. I've got to realize my potential and that means working just past all limits of imagination and time. Every opportunity you are offering, even if it's the good one, is just a detour to delay. But hey, while you're here, have you seen my prints? Check this baby out. Its a 12"x12" print on 334 gram Coventry rag paper in a signed and numbered edition of 100. It is $150 plus shipping. Email us at [email protected] with your mailing address and we'll send you a paypal invoice.

[icysigns]

I'm headed back to Baltimore on train 185, the 8:10 that—when it arrives at 10:43, if it arrives at 10:43—will allow me 17 minutes to make my way across town to my 11:00 meeting. It's a good thing everywhere in Baltimore is close. The plan is to be in a few different meetings in a few different rooms, talking to crowds of a few different sizes and a few different backgrounds. I'll ask one question, "What do you love about Baltimore?" and I'll get more than a few different answers. It's in the asking and the answering that I learn what's important to people, and there is something important to every person. When we talk about what we love, it's a way of measuring distance between each other. What we share love for (The Ravens!) shows how close we are, and what we differ on (Westport! Waverly!) shows how far apart we are. Of course this would be endless and exhausting in politics, but in art, it's like sharing a fish sandwich. So we'll chew the fat and we'll choose the words that charm the city. That reminds me, why do they call it Charm City? I'll ask. Back at 72 Fourth Avenue we are making love and dealing with shit, like everybody else. Nine years ago, I doodled in pen on a wall "EVERYTHING IS SHIT Except you Love" and it made me laugh and cringe, which is the sign of a good sign. So I made a painting of it. The painting sold and and I was asked for another, so I painted another. Again and again I was asked and again and again I painted. It bears repeating, and it's built like a record. It is my love song, my "Naive Melody"—I paint it like David sings it, in half despair and all devotion. And like the song, it's a hit. Hit songs get made into singles, hit paintings get made into prints: Mona Lisa, Starry Night, that Patrick Nagel painting of the white girl, and now "Everything Is Shit" prints are available to decorate your home or (in Patrick's case) your hair salon. The first edition of the print sold out, people asked us to make another, and we made another. Again and again we were asked and again and again we printed. We invest love and effort and we give a shit about every print we make. We've created seven unique editions to date, and all in all there are 600 or so "Everything" prints in the world. If it was a record we would be going wood as opposed to gold, but as a print it is building an audience that loves and gives a shit about what I do, so it's solid gold just the same. So all that said, here is our latest edition, in two different colorways. The Purple edition is a 24" x 24" print in a signed and numbered edition of 50, printed on 334 gram Coventry Rag paper. it is $250 plus shipping. Email us at [email protected] with your mailing location and we'll send you a Paypal invoice. The orange 12" x 12" edition will be released next week. If the work resonates with you and the ones you love, maybe you'll get it. If you don't want to spend the money, you have my blessing to print it out and pin it to your wall. If you're looking for something to buy and flip, don't buy my art, buy gold. Love you, no shit, Stephen