My Friend Zeke
An Interview and Studio Visit by John Vochatzer
Doing an interview or some type of piece of writing about my friend Zeke is a very long time coming, and it’s something I’ve had on the back burner for years now. I could probably write a short, wildly humorous and at times terrifying book about his and our exploits but I don’t think I’m quite ready to confront some of the traumas that that might bring up. A lot of my most memorable misadventures have had this guy somewhere in the equation, and it’s only now, years later, that I can bring myself to laugh at some of them. Aside from being probably the biggest and craziest piece-of-work of a human I’ve ever met, Zeke also makes some of the funniest, most unique, and least pretentious art out of anybody I know. He’s about as genuine as an artist can get (e.g. he doesn’t even have an Instagram) and makes things exclusively for his own pleasure. Being one of the artists featured in our next exhibit (appropriately titled “Wilin’ Out!) I figured now was as good a time as any to do that article, even if it is just the abridged version...
I first met Zeke when I was 16 years old. We both grew up in Stockton, California and we both rode freestyle BMX as a hobby. Zeke was the kid who everybody questioned if he was too big to be riding bikes that small (his hand is about the size of my head, for reference). He was also always cracking these weird jokes that I don’t think anybody really understood, and we probably just assumed that his sense of humor was just too far advanced for us or something. Shortly after that we also began talking occasionally on AOL Instant Messenger. It seemed like Zeke was always changing his username, but the one that I remember and he probably held on to the longest was “Skillcosby.” He had a little xerox zine going in those days called “Fun Times Magazine” and we were always planning to do some kind of interview with me about my synthetic parody metal band at the time. I can’t remember whether it ever happened or if it did and that issue just didn’t make it to the press (aka Kinkos). At the age of 18 I moved to San Francisco and by the age of 19 my communications with Zeke had more or less fallen off entirely.
We finally reconnected about 5 years later, at the height of our mid-twenties alcoholism and much to the detriment of our girlfriends at the time. I ran into Zeke on a Halloween; he was standing near the corner of 16th & Valencia wearing an orange jumpsuit. At first it didn’t click who this giant hulk of a Mexican dude that was talking to me was, but after a couple minutes I realized “holy shit, it’s Zeke!” We got each other’s phone numbers and some weeks later got together to catch up a little more “properly.” As it turned out, since our our initial knowing each other as teenagers, we had both discovered the chaotic wonders to behold whilst binge-drinking in San Francisco dive bars and alley ways. Our reunion was nothing short of a malt-liquor-laden match made in hell.
Hanging out with Zeke back then usually started off pretty innocently; a couple after-work beers or cocktails at the Nite Cap Bar, or the Brown Jug Saloon, between two old pals catching up on old times. But somewhere around drink 4 or 5 his eyes would go dead and he’d start accusing everyone of thinking they’re better than him. It was always downhill after that (and anyone who knew me back then can attest that I was pretty regularly prone to turning into a blithering menace myself). On a good night, we’d part ways with me trying to force his giant ass into the passenger seat of his sobbing girlfriend’s Honda Civic while he’d try to fight random passersby. On a bad night, it wouldn’t be uncommon to wrap up our rendezvouses in the back of cop cars or hospital beds. A trip to the drunk tank for Zeke however was not much more than a minor inconvenience, as on more than one occasion he’d call me the next morning after being released, asking where I’m at while he’s sharing a tall can of Steel Reserve with a drifter under the freeway somewhere.
We had a code word for going out and drinking together back then, and if mid-afternoon I got a text on my $30 Metro PCS flip phone that said the words “Jungle Time?” it usually meant that some grimy, Four-Loko-drenched, Jumanji-style trouble was just around the corner. Even though I figured out pretty early on that going out and drinking with this guy was almost certainly a bad idea, my nihilistic lets-just-see-what-happens attitude managed to regularly override any instinctual gut warnings I may have been equipped with for survival purposes. I’d say things sorta reached a climax when one morning around 8am he kicked in the front door of my apartment while blacked-out drunk. By sheer will I somehow managed to force his maniacal tank-of-an-ass back out to the street where it so happened to be trash day and he proceeded to pick up every bin on the block and throw it into the middle of the street. I spent the rest of the morning sweeping up garbage in a robe and slippers while Zeke periodically came back to try and attack me, and all with an audience of confused and concerned neighbors peering from their windows. I saw Zeke later that evening and he didn’t remember a thing but asked me why his teeth hurt (I had head-butted him in the face while trying to get him out the door, and had a giant gash on my forehead from it.)
But rather than go into too much more detail about the imbecilic hijinks of our drinking days (of which the stories are a dime a dozen) I’d rather take some time to delve into Zeke’s creativity which is (or at least ought to be) of more interest to this article. There’s a rare combination of rawness and minimalism to Zeke’s work that I don’t come across very often, and which I think probably ties back into the fact that he creates almost exclusively for himself. Perusing through one of his several zines, some of the content is downright hilarious. But most of it I find myself questioning whether these things are funny, whether they’re even supposed to be funny, or whether they’re supposed to mean anything at all. There’s a unique brand of prankster absurdism to Zeke’s art, and the only other work that comes to mind that I can really compare it to is the early writings and drawings of Harmony Korine.
My favorite of Zeke’s creative ventures, however, would have to be his stunts in the world of outdoor public art. From graffitiing his social security number around town, to a mysterious and short-lived wheat-paste campaign under the alias “Mingo Bingo”, to getting his own 1-800 number and posting faux xerox advertisements with it to light-posts across the city; Zeke is always cooking up some wild new scheme to engage with unsuspecting strangers. There’s other examples I’d love to cite, but he made me promise not to include anything incriminating in this article...
Anyways, Zeke, if you’re reading this, I just want to say I’m proud to know you. I think about you every time I look at the watercolor painting of Saddam Hussein you painted me for my birthday that’s now hanging in our bathroom at the gallery. Everybody else- please enjoy this interview with the man, the myth, the legend himself: ZEKE.
INTERVIEW
Hey Big Papa. One thing I like about your art is it’s funny. It makes me laugh. How’d you get to be so God damned funny?
I’m glad it makes you laugh, that’s my goal with most everything I make. I don’t wanna paint stuff that’s serious because then I’d be bummed. Painting/drawing for me has always been about being funny. That’s it. There’s no deep meaning to anything I’ve ever done other than I think it’s funny. Most everyone in my family is always joking and talking shit so I’m sure that’s where I get it from and it just translates over to whatever else I’m doing.
You and I both grew up in Stockton, CA, but more or less immediately booked it over to the Bay Area as soon as we were old enough. I’m sure we’ve talked about it before, but what was your experience like growing up in Stockton? How do you think your life would have been different if you stayed there?
I hated Stockton growing up but we were poor so I’m sure I would’ve hated anywhere I lived because being poor sucks no matter where you are. I’m not sure I’d be much different if I stayed because it shaped me in so many ways that by the time I dipped out I was pretty much who I am. It’s not like I got to San Francisco and became this new person. I was just some Stockton hoodrat that lived somewhere else.
One of my favorite things you do is taping the posters with your 1-800 number to light posts. One of them say’s “Meth, Crack, Mothafuckin’ Malt Liquor? Your life starts today! Act Fast!” Another one is a picture of a coffin and appears to be an advertisement for something called “Dongo Brand Condoms.” Now to me, stuff like this is funny. Can you tell me where you got the idea to start doing this? And what’s up with that 1-800 number? Do you still get a lot of calls on it?
I got the idea from just seeing all the 800 numbers on TV and on billboards and shit. It just hit me one day that I should have my own number. It was easy to set up and it’s like $50 a year. Pretty cheap to have my own 800 number where I can change the message to whatever I want and use it to advertise products that don’t exist or whatever else. It just goes back to making me laugh. Do I need an 800 number? Of course not, but I think it’s hilarious. I haven’t been putting up flyers as much as I used to but every time I do I get a lot of messages. People leave drunk messages or complaints about the flyers being offensive. I’ve also gotten messages from reporters wanting to know what it’s all about. I never call anyone back, it’s just for amusement. I’d like to make a zine with all the flyers and include a CD of all the messages people leave.
You make a lot of zines. It seems like every time I see you, you have a new zine. They’re usually a combination of drawings you do, and found images collaged with random words and sayings. How many different zines do you think you’ve made in your life? And what was your favorite?
I’ve probably made over 50 including some I’ve done with friends. There’s times where I’ll make 5 copies of a zine and leave them somewhere and then that’s it, I’ll never make that one again. Then I have ones where I’ve made hundreds of copies and continue to keep printing them. I have no system. My favorite is this tiny one that I put into little baggies. It was a hassle getting the measurements right to fit in the bags but when I was done it was just so funny because it was completely unnecessary.
You’ve had quite a few jobs since you moved to San Francisco. How do you feel about work and jobs and shit like that? How do you feel about money?
Sweet Jesus! You trying to rile me up? I work because I have to. Just like most people. I’ve never felt any kind of loyalty to any of my jobs because I know what it is, I’m there to earn money in exchange for my time. It’s that simple. I try not to put too much emphasis on money because I’m not into really owning much stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I like certain things just like the next dude, but I don’t want it to be this motivating factor in my life. It bums me out to see people work multiple jobs and still not be able to afford a basic lifestyle. It’s bumming me out just having to answer this question. Thanks.
You have a 5 year old child now that you call “Chainsaw.” You’re also sort of like this giant unpredictable maniac. What’s it like being a maniac and having a kid?
The maniac side of me isn’t there around him. It’s like when that little kid fell into the gorilla pit at that zoo. The gorilla didn’t act like a maniac, it protected the kid and was loving and shit. I’m like that gorilla.
I’ve often heard you talk about wanting to paint a “masterpiece,” and expressing that you feel like you haven’t yet. Off the top of your head, what do you envision when you think of the word “masterpiece”? What painting or work of art that you’ve done so far comes closest to this? What are you most proud of?
I envision a painting that I wouldn’t be able to part with. Everything I paint I don’t really care about getting rid of so I imagine it would be something that is so dope that I couldn’t let go. I’ve had a few paintings that I kinda felt like that then the feeling wore off so maybe it doesn’t even exist. I don’t get proud of paintings, that’s not really an emotion I have when I make shit. I did make this painting of two palm trees and the way I did it was so fuckin funny and I gave it to my mom but whenever I go visit I have yet to see it hung up. She was always bugging me for a painting and I finally give her one and she pulls some hater shit like that. Unbelievable.
What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?
I do a lot of shit that other people say is crazy but seems normal to me so I can’t answer that. It’s all subjective.
I’ve had one of your stickers on my bicycle for years, it’s just a picture of a nice old lady with the words “ANGEL DUST” written on it. What’s the story behind this sticker? I always forgot to ask.
Pretty much just like everything else, the old lady looked funny and angel dust always has people doing some funny shit. My cousin was high off that shit one time and he was ass naked acting a fool at my aunts’s house and when the cops showed up they captured him with a net like he was a fuckin sea creature. Pretty funny stuff if you ask me.
One of your all time best art series (in my opinion) was the Kim Jong-un watercolors. You did a set of like eleven or something, and I remember you displayed them at Massive Gallery in Oakland for their very first show. Tell me a little bit about that series. Do you think you’ll ever paint Kim Jong again?
I painted those cause of a deadline and he was all over the news at the time talkin shit and being serious which made me laugh. I never liked those paintings and I’ll never paint him again. After painting the first two I realized the mess I got myself into by even thinking I should paint the same thing more than once. I don’t have that kind of concentration. Plus, I don’t even like using watercolors, I hate when it makes the paper all warped. Maybe I’m doing it wrong.
Last Question: Do you think you’re better than me?
You bet your sweet ass.
