Someone likes our books!

As you may or may not know, UM recently participated in an exhibition called The Artful Scriptorium at Climate Gallery in Queens, to which we contributed our books Oh Inky Inky and Two Wounds. It has recently come to our attention that we were selected as one of the show's "Featured Artists" by Maddy Rosenberg, a curator at Brooklyn's Central Booking art space. We're not entirely sure what this means, but we're pretty sure it's good. If you have an interpretation of this event, please let us know by writing to um@uninhabitablemansions.com.

Here are a couple of images from the opening:

 

 

Sake Of The Song is an alterna-merch site for the independent music community. They display and sell everything that their favorite musicians make that isn't music, whether that be art, jewelry, apparel or even astrological readings, so of course Uninhabitable Mansions is hapy to be a part of it! Go check out some of our items on their site, along with lots of cool stuff from other cool bands.

 

 

Check out our Past Events section for links to photos and reviews of stuff UM has done.

 

 





 

Our distinguished history:


 


May 15, 2010

Concert | Pianos | NYC
NYCTaper 3rd Anniversary Concert

May 7, 2010

Concert | Middle East Upstairs | Cambridge, MA
Review: Kids Like You & Me

April 18, 2010

Concert | Glasslands | Brooklyn

April 3 - 25, 2010

Art Exhibition | The Artful Scriptorium | Climate Gallery
UM selected for Featured Artists Award

Objects Featured | Oh Inky Inky , Two Wounds

March 20, 2010

Concert | Latitude 30 | Austin, TX
SXSW - AIM/Moshi Moshi showcase
Poster

Concert | Doc's Motorworks | Austin, TX
SXSW - 'SUP in Austin 2010 'SUP Magazine's Austin Showcase

Cancelled due to bad weather. Poster for what would have been

Pre-SXSW Interview: Spinner.com

February 24, 2010

Concert | Bell House | Brooklyn
Benefit concert for Jiamini Scholarship Fund
Photos: amandamhatfield.com, Flickr - Green Shoe Lace

February 11, 2010

Concert | Cake Shop | NYC
Photos: Flickr

February 7, 2010

Concert | Kidrockers | The Living Room | NYC
Photos: Flickr

February 3, 2010

Concert | Kidrockers | The Living Room | NYC
Photos: Flickr
Album Release - Japan| UM008: Nature Is A Taker

January 21 - February 10, 2010

Art Exhibition | 20/10 Vision | Gallery Hanahou

Object Release | UM013: This Is Your Chance To Be Positive

January 30, 2010

Concert | Bruar Falls | Brooklyn

January 21, 2010

Concert | Black Cat | Washington, DC | with We Are Scientists
Review & Photos: Popwreckoning, There Goes The Fear

January 20, 2010

Concert | Johnny Brenda's | Philadelphia, PA | with We Are Scientists

December 20, 2009

Concert | Cameo | Brooklyn

December 15, 2009

Concert | Bowery Ballroom | NYC | with The Antlers
Photos & Recording: NYCTaper
Photos: Brooklyn Vegan, Prefix Magazine, Kyle Dean Reinford Photography, Cake & Ale, Flickr

December 5th, 2009

Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival | Our Lady of Consolation Church | Brooklyn NY
Festival website: www.comicsandgraphicsfest.com
Review: The Rumpus

Book Release | UM010: Epic Love

Book Release | UM011: Salads and Herbs: Subversion Project

Book Release | UM012: The Killer at the Beach

October 30, 2009

Concert - Album Release Party| Union Pool | Brooklyn, NY

Album Release | UM008: Nature Is A Taker

Reviews & Mentions:
We Listen For You, WLFY top of 2009
The Deli Magazine
Kids Like You & Me
In Your Speakers
Sputnik Music
Plug In Music
Indie Shuffle
Radfrnds Blog
Song-O-Matic

October 29, 2009

Concert | Rock N Roll Hotel | Washington, DC
Review & Photos: Brightest Young Things

October 28, 2009

Concert | Kung Fu Necktie | Philadelphia, PA

October 25, 2009

Concert | TT the Bear’s Place | Cambridge, MA
Interview & Photos: In Your Speakers

Object Release | UM009: Unidentifiable Monsters

October 22, 2009

Concert | Bell House | Brooklyn | Gothamist CMJ Showcase
Review & Video: Popten
Photos: Spin Earth, Flickr

October 14, 2009

Concert | Cake Shop | NYC

June 2009

Comic Newspaper | Smoke Signal

May 25th, 2009

Concert | Union Pool | Brooklyn | Fundraiser for Smoke Signal
Photos: Flickr

March 29th, 2009

Concert | Bell House | Brooklyn | with A.C. Newman

March 27th-28th, 2009

Music for Dance Piece | Silence and Resistance

March 4th-8th, 2009

Art Fair | Scope Art Fair, NYC

March 4th, 2009

Print Release | UM007: Domestic Creeper

February 27th, 2009

Record Release | UM006: Cobra/Strategy 7"

February 27th, 2009

Concert - Record Release Party | Union Hall, Brooklyn
Review & Video: Soundbites
Photos: Flickr

January 4th, 2008

Concert | Cake Shop | NYC
Photos: Flickr

November, 2008

Book Release | UM004: Two Wounds

Reviews & Mentions:
Work In Progress

September 20th, 2008

Concert | Mercury Lounge | NYC
Photos: Flickr

September 17th, 2008

Radio Show | The Long Rally on WFMU | Playlist - Blog

July 15th, 2008

Concert | Pianos | NYC

June 18th, 2008

Concert | Death By Audio | Brooklyn

June, 2008

Book Release | UM005: Oh Inky Inky

May, 2008

Book Release | UM003: Gline's Demise


October, 2006

Window Display | Census Window Project

Object Release | UM002: Uninhabitable Mansions Yardstick

Book Release | UM001: Census


Our illustrious future:

UM008
Nature Is a Taker
by Uninhabitable Mansions
more info





Album Download
$10.00
Get it Now


Album Download

itunes
.

CD + Download
$12.00 + s/h
Get it Now

Vinyl + Download
$16.00 + s/h
Get it Now

 

UM014
Radical Dads EP
by Radical Dads
more info

CD + Download
$5.00 + s/h
Get it Now


UM012
The Killer at the Beach
by Chris Diken
more info

Price upon request
contact: um@uninhabitablemansions.com

 


UM011
Salads and Herbs:
Subversion Project
by Maya Pindyck
more info

$20 + s/h

Get it Now
epiclove


UM009
Unidentifiable Monsters
by Uninhabitable Mansions
more info

$15 + s/h

Get it Now



UM006
We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion
by Uninhabitable Mansions
more info

$5 + s/h

Get it Now
cobra7

 

UM005
Oh Inky Inky by Robbie Guertin
more info

$20
special offer: free shipping!

Get it Now

 


 

UM004
Two Wounds by Chris Diken
more info

$10 + s/h

Get it Now

 

UM003
Gline's Demise by Chris Diken
more info

$8 + s/h

Get it Now


 

UM001
Census by Uninhabitable Mansions
more info

$8 + s/h

Get it Now

 

 

Uninhabitable Mansions is a Brooklyn-based art collective and band. We make music and publish books and do a few other things.

Uninhabitable Mansions on Myspace
Uninhabitable Mansions on Facebook
Uninhabitable Mansions on Twitter

UM makes music:
Chris Diken, Robbie Guertin, Annie Hart, Tyler Sargent, Danny Comer, Doug Marvin

UM makes art:
Robbie Guertin, Sara Jones, Chris Diken
with help from
Lindsay Baker, Maya Pindyck, Madeleine Fairbairn, Kristyna Comer


CONTACT US: um@uninhabitablemansions.com


 


Robbie Guertin

Radical Dads
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Love Rhombus

Robbie and Chris Diken play in another band with Lindsay Baker called Radical Dads. Listen and befriend: myspace - facebook

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Sara Jones

Sara's Website

go to top

 

Chris Diken

Chris's Website
Radical Dads

Chris and Robbie Guertin play in another band with Lindsay Baker called Radical Dads. Listen and befriend: myspace - facebook

go to top

 

Tyler Sargent

Tyler's Website
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

go to top

 

Annie Hart

Au Revoir Simone

go to top

 

Danny Comer

Danny Land

go to top

 

Doug Marvin

Pursesnatchers
Dirty On Purpose

go to top

 

Lindsay Baker

Radical Dads
New Mexicoe

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Maya Pindyck

Maya's Website
Project Voice

Maya has a book of poems. It is called Friend Among Stones. It is available online through Amazon and Powells among others. If you haven't yet bought the book and plan to, Maya asks that you order it from your neighborhood book store. That way, with enough requests, they might start carrying the book...


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Madeleine Fairbairn

go to top

 

Kristyna Comer

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Nature Is a Taker

1. The Speed Is Deceiving
2. Big Kick
3. Do You Have a Strategy?
4. Midnight Topography
5. Maps: Not Accurate
6. The Brain Is a Slow Wave
7. Static State
8. This Drift
9. Ex-Explorers
10. We Already Know

 

We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion

1. We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion
2. Do You Have a Strategy?

 

 

 

 

 

 




The Speed Is Deceiving

We'll go past the edge of town where
Buildings shake then fall down
We're sick of solid ground, and
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me

I took a shortcut on the way to your house
Dug you out and turned you around
"This evening, we're leaving"

We were swimming through land mines
Talking on dead lines
Inventing all our own signs
But nothing to declare

Count your qualms on your fingers and toes
Cut 'em off, now we're ready to go
The healing's revealing

I can drive through nights and states while
You count the license plates
And that's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me

Headlights search and survey
But these brakes lead us astray
The speed is deceiving

While you're busy looking askance
Waiting for your best chance
You mistook the distance
From pedal to the floor

Too late to call, too soon to quit
We heart attack at the thought of it, but
It's over, over

We lie in the grass and wait
Divide disintegrate
And that's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me
That's fine that's fine with me

Stories at night, stories at night
No ending in sight

Stories all night, stories all night
I want a rewrite

This is an admission if you wanna know I'll tell you right now

 

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Big Kick

You wanna go and watch TV
Waste a million-dollar mind solving uncommitted crimes
Alternatives all marching by
Following parades leading to our dying days
We drag the lake, pull nothing out
Just frozen shapes inside our heads, grinding teeth in unmade beds
Wake and try to make your case
For your noisy pantomime, I've been watching all this time

Under the street light, I can see your shadow growing
As we walk away it runs ahead escaping what has thrown it
I can see my breath, watch it drift into the night
All the pieces that we have to give go off without a fight

Big kick's all we want, it's got everything we need
Turn the dial on your machine, no transmissions to receive—it's over
Loud and clear, this new signal's all we hear
No more static in your brain, look into your eyes—there's no one there

My dear
The circuits have changed inside our minds
New stations picked up, leave the old behind

We'll find
There's nothing left to be desired
There's nothing here to see for miles
The dead of night is always true
Our big kick finally came through

 

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Do You Have A Strategy?

To see if what is under us can be revealed
We'll make a sacrifice or navigate the needle:
Abandon all our riches and then set sail
For where the currency's worth more

You say someday our bones will turn to dust
Darling it’s true, but what’s the rush
A little rust wouldn't hurt you
Let’s stop right here
The days will wait for us

When thinking of escaping
Do you have a strategy?
Tunnel out to freedom
The buried can't help but see

This map has lost its landmarks
It's killer cartography
Missing words for places
Let's name them all after me

It's too hard to quantify
To break it down
Would only leave a trail of

Little sighs, little sighs,
Blowing on through the air
Little sighs, multiplied
Won't even compare

There's nowhere else
This is where the map ends
There's nothing else
Beyond is still uncharted

There's nowhere else
There's nowhere else to go so
Go nowhere else

When thinking of escaping
Do you have a strategy?
Tunnel out to freedom
We're buried too deep to see

There's nothing else
There's nowhere else to go so
Go nowhere else

 

go to top

 



Midnight Topography

Let’s stay up late and see what makes the night so great

I’ve been sleeping too long, simple equations now add up to nothing
You've got to watch out for those lonely figures

Cycles drifting slowly backwards
Wake up at noon then it's 4am again
You'll have to break it soon or it’ll leave me broken

My skyline is shifting, no shadows of the watertower
Holding mutations of memories, all floating away
From the moment, the sun's last opponent says
"I can't sleep at night
When you're not by my side"

Inside such fierce compression
Making decisions that crumble before us
Wait up, stay up
A little longer
Just a few more minutes

These mountains of maybes are leaning on my city walls
Landmarks discarded are making way for new creations that
Alter the sight lines with breathtaking designs
Well our lungs were unprepared
We’re gasping out for air

All that's left to do is just wait around till the summer's over
Unmade plans in your room and we still haven't climbed that watertower
Good intentions have faded the roads that they paved now lead nowhere
But we'll still get it right
We'll just stay another night
It is not what you take it's the things that you leave behind

 

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Maps: Not Accurate

Oh it's no, fair, no, fair,
You're picking pockets and I'm left out standing in
Thin, air, thin, air,
My ears were popping the instant we started this dare
I'm undecided on where, this lift off is landing me, everyone's handing me air
Ports and waves it's confusing me, all seems so simple until we're actually

There, there, there, there
Don't get excited it'll all be fine, when we're
There, there, there, there,
It'll all be sorted when we're finally there

Oh, you can't make me believe in your masterful lies that you pass off as business as usual
Any sign of regret, will send you leaping for morsels and tendrils
I would assume, that enough is enough but it's never enough so it's
Hard to be sure, I'm never sure but

It's just society's way
It's just society's way

They're just trying to tell you
You don't know

 

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The Brain Is a Slow Wave

I know who you were when you walked through my window
And I know who you were when you walked through my door
My dreams come so vividly
They come they come they come they come to me

I know who you were when you walked through my window
And I know who you were when you walked through my door
Clouds and trees and scattered scenes
They come they come they come they come to me

Open your eyes and find you'll find you'll find a way out
Open your eyes and find you'll find you'll find a way out
There's a way out
You're awake now
Open your eyes and find you'll find you'll find a way out
There's a way out
You're awake now
There's a way out
You're awake now

 

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Static State

I've been waiting a long time
I've been waiting a long time
I've been ready to go
I've been waiting a long time
I've been waiting a long time
I'm just letting you know

Cause it seems like we've been over and over
The same lines but I can't remember
And it could be we're just overreacting
But it seems like the same things been happening all the time

 

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This Drift

Our collision did allow
For us to get where we are now
A miracle that god only understands
A question mark left on the minds of man
The scar will drive us all mad

Staying up through the night
Sensitive but too polite
Silence rings and leaves us a crushing tone
Conspiracies are better left alone

We'll break them down
We'll look around
The corners
Find out
What was there all along

For someone with so much to say
I’ve got an infinite number of ways
To stunt our progress with delays
This mouth’s on holiday

We’ll never get too far
I won’t let us get too far

So now we're drifting, back again to where we started
Floating further, tired of just treading water
The same suspicions, circles don't get any smaller

Sorry thinking, sorry spouting all this nonsense
But I'm not waiting, I'm not waiting any longer
I'm going under, sinking into salty water

Soggy thinking, and I'm in love with salty water
But I'm not writing, I'm not writing you a letter
I'm going under, salty water feels much better

It is appalling to think
The shapes are starting to shrink
We're standing here with our hands buried in our pockets now
But I can't be the one to tell you what I'm not even sure about myself

 

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Ex-Explorers

We couldn't find any color in this artificial tundra
So we carved along the contours just to see a patch of sky
Our path along the mountains collapsed into a tunnel
And ice filled in the bones that we broke along the way

A cavalcade of ex-explorers thawing in the evening light
Pointing frozen fingers telling which way we should go
Avalanches sound no warning before when falling in the night
Noises buried under noises buried under waves of snow

Inside
You're turning blue
Outside
Waited for you
Inside
You're all alone
Outside
I'm headed home
Inside
Your swallowed whole
Outside
It's only snow
Inside
There's no more time
Outside
Left you behind

Left to our own devices
We lost in all our choices
This light is fading fast
I'll swallow one last gasp

We picked the wrong direction
Followed our own reflections
Could be my vision's bad
This map was all I had

Nature she is so senseless
She tore down all our fences
We feel the summit's weight
Too slow and much too late

Maybe it's all in your head
You made it up in your head
There's no escaping now
Can't bear to hear that sound

Take me out the next time you go, we'll find a place that nobody knows

 

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We Already Know

It really doesn't matter and it really doesn't matter
Cause you're gonna get old, and you've gotta get old and
Your house becomes a hideout and a history museum and
You're part of the show, you're part of the show

It's going on forever and it doesn't quite deliver
What we already know, there's no way to know
That nature is a taker and old nature is a butcher and
She's out of control, she's out of control

Staring at the ceiling and you start to get the feeling that
There's no where to go, to whom would you go?
When every thing's behind you and there's no way to rewind it and
The system is slow, it's feeling so slow

A major plan for action but where is the man to act on it
Well it could be you, but how could it be you?
When for all of your intentions and your efforts and your lists
Oh what did you do? Well what did you do?

At another time I would have been there too
It wasn't clear I did the best that i could do
We went along for all the curves and turns with you

At another time i would have been there too
I would have waited i can't wait to wait for you
We just keep talking all about the things

We already know


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We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion

Uninhabitable
This songs starts slow
You wanna speed it up
You think you've had enough

Spencer was a friend
Now she always sneaks around
She'll follow you and then
Well she don't make no sound
I don't think you know how to defend against what is about to come
At you

Mansions, whoa
So loud, I know
You wanna turn it down
There's a ways to go

Spencer was a friend
But she could take you down
She's loyal to the end
Right into the ground
Well you can't live in us we're not a house we are just human beings
It's nothing new

untrue
where are you?
where are you?

In the worst case
Going sideways
Under furniture
Pull the sheets back
Check the bookshelf
Look behind the map
No matter what it takes
We're gonna find you

 

go to top



Do You Have A Strategy?

To see if what is under us can be revealed
We'll make a sacrifice or navigate the needle:
Abandon all our riches and then set sail
For where the currency's worth more

You say someday our bones will turn to dust
Darling it’s true, but what’s the rush
A little rust wouldn't hurt you
Let’s stop right here
The days will wait for us

When thinking of escaping
Do you have a strategy?
Tunnel out to freedom
The buried can't help but see

This map has lost its landmarks
It's killer cartography
Missing words for places
Let's name them all after me

It's too hard to quantify
To break it down
Would only leave a trail of

Little sighs, little sighs,
Blowing on through the air
Little sighs, multiplied
Won't even compare

There's nowhere else
This is where the map ends
There's nothing else
Beyond is still uncharted

There's nowhere else
There's nowhere else to go so
Go nowhere else

When thinking of escaping
Do you have a strategy?
Tunnel out to freedom
We're buried too deep to see

There's nothing else
There's nowhere else to go so
Go nowhere else

 

 

go to top


 

UM001: Census by Uninhabitable Mansions
$8 each + s/h

Get it Now



A scientist once told us about her experience counting fish in a river in Venezuela. There were too many fish to count, but she counted anyways.

Handmade book with silkscreened cover and sewing machine binding. 5 1/2" x 4 1/4"
Made in a limited edition of 150.

This book is a printed companion to Census Window Project. It includes poetry by Maya Pindyck and P.M. Greiner, a short story by Chris Diken, and artwork by Kristyna Comer, Robbie Guertin, Jessica Jones, Sara Jones, Kate McCrickard and Maya Pindyck.


This book is also available in these shops:
Desert Island









UM002: Uninhabitable Mansions Yardstick
$3 each

Image printed on both sides. Useful for measuring and whatnot. Was also useful for making ladders for the Census Window Project

Exclusively available at the merch table.

UM003: Gline's Demise by Chris Diken
$8 each + s/h

Get it Now


Dead or alive, the real victim is optics. A short story by Chris Diken. Illustrations throughout by Robbie Guertin. Design by Sara Jones.

Handmade book with silkscreened cover and sewing machine binding. 5 1/2" x 4 1/4"

This book is also available in these shops:
Printed Matter
St. Mark's Bookshop
Spoonbill & Sugartown Booksellers
Unnameable Books
Desert Island





UM004: Two Wounds by Chris Diken
$10 each + s/h

Get it Now


When one is not quite enough. A short story by Chris Diken. Art and design by Sara Jones and Robbie Guertin.

Handmade book with silkscreened cover and sewing machine binding. 5 1/2" x 5"

If you would like to buy one, you can order it directly from us and we will mail it to you.

 

This book is also available in these shops:
Printed Matter
St. Mark's Bookshop
Desert Island



UM005: Oh Inky Inky by Robbie Guertin
$20 each ::: special offer::: free shipping!

Get it Now

The little Inkies run and run and run and run and run.

Handmade book by Robbie Guertin. Cardboard cover and pages all silkscreen printed by Kristyna Comer. 5 1/4" x 6 1/2" closed. Accordion fold book, 27 pages
Limited Edition of 200 books.


This book is also available in these shops:
Printed Matter
Desert Island




UM006: We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion by Uninhabitable Mansions
$5 each + s/h

Get it Now


Uninhabitable Mansions' first release as a band. Two songs:
-We Misplaced a Cobra in the Uninhabitable Mansion
-Do You Have a Strategy?

Performed by Chris Diken, Robbie Guertin, Annie Hart, Tyler Sargent and Danny Comer.

Recorded at Seaside Lounge by Phil Palazzolo in 2008.

Released in February 2009

White Vinyl 7 inch single record. Silkscreened cover, hand stamped record sleeve. 7 1/2" x 7 1/4"

Limited Edition of 500

Wanna sing along? Here are the lyrics

 


This record is also available online at Insound.com and in these fine shops:

Desert Island Brooklyn, NY
Sound Fix Brooklyn, NY
Other Music Manhattan, NY
Kim's Manhattan, NY
Academy Annex Brooklyn, NY
Waterloo Records Austin, TX
Cheapo Discs Austin, TX



UM007: Domestic Creeper by Sara Jones
$50 each SOLD OUT

- A limited edition print made by Sara Jones in 2009
- Linocut with sewing on Japanese Unryu paper and watercolor paper, 10" x 15"
- Edition of 6

This print was made especially for Cheap, Fast and Out of Control at the Scope Art Fair, March 4-8, 2009


UM008: Nature Is a Taker by Uninhabitable Mansions


Album Download
$10.00
Get it Now


Album Download

itunes
.

CD + Download
$12.00 + s/h
Get it Now

Vinyl + Download
$16.00 + s/h
Get it Now

Available in Japan from Rallye

This is our first album. It has 10 songs:

1. The Speed Is Deceiving free download at RCRD LBL
2. Big Kick
3. Do You Have a Strategy? free download at RCRD LBL
4. Midnight Topography
5. Maps: Not Accurate
6. The Brain Is a Slow Wave
7. Static State
8. This Drift
9. Ex-Explorers
10. We Already Know

Performed by Chris Diken, Robbie Guertin, Annie Hart, Tyler Sargent and Danny Comer.

Recorded at Seaside Lounge by Phil Palazzolo in 2008-2009.

Paintings by Sara Jones.

Released in October 2009.

Wanna sing along? Here are the lyrics




UM009: Unidentifiable Monsters by Uninhabitable Mansions
$15 each + s/h

Get it Now


Our first t-shirt! Drawing by Robbie Guertin

Handmade silkscreened t-shirt. Printed on light blue and light pink American Apparel shirts. Variations available with red and black pearl ink, but only red ink is available online. We are not machines! Each one is a bit different. Supplies are running low! Order now!

Please note:
The Men's sized shirts are this style of American Apparel shirt: 2001 Fine Jersey Short Sleeve T-Shirt .
The remaining Woman's sized SMALL shirts are also of the 2001 style, but the sized MEDIUM shirts are American Apparel shirts of something close to this style: 4305 Baby Rib Basic Short Sleeve T





UM010: Epic Love by Madeleine Fairbairn and Robbie Guertin
$4 each + s/h out of stock

Comics made by and about Madeleine and Robbie, wherein multiple questionable and embarrassing events from life are conveyed in comic format for all to see.

Comic booklet made and assembled by Madeleine and Robbie. 4 1/2" x 5 1/2". 36 pages

UM011: Salads and Herbs: Subversion Project by Maya Pindyck
$20 each + s/h

Get it Now


Salads and Herbs contains four volumes: reproductions of handmade, one-of-a-kind originals from Maya Pindyck's series of artist books. The poems borrow words from Salads and Herbs, a 1938 cookbook/handbook for upper-class housewives written by Cora Lovisa Brackett Brown. The images are hand-drawn or appropriated from various sources.

Designed and assembled by Sara Jones. 2 3/4" x 4 1/4".
Limited Edition of 10 books.





UM012: The Killer at the Beach by Chris Diken
Price upon request

Our first interactive reading experience. Wear the coat, read the book! Handmade by Sara Jones.

The Killer trench replicates the outerwear worn by the protagonist of "The Killer at the Beach," a short story by Chris Diken. The piece consists of a vintage trenchcoat customized with embroidered labels, felted buttons that spell "K I L L E R" down the front of the coat, and a wood-bound, pocket-sized volume containing the story. Edition of one.

contact: um@uninhabitablemansions.com

 

The Killer at the Beach

Without exception, the girls wear simple, tasteful bikinis, and the guys high-cut trunks that display well-defined quadriceps. The guys swim, cutting through the ocean, each confident that they can outpaddle the most vicious undertow, thighs capable of thrashing any rip tide into submission. Some perform shallow dives to casually approximate how long they can stay under, quietly competing with one another, quietly and unconsciously vying for the affection of the girls on shore, each secretly convinced that lung capacity somehow foretells the capacity for something much greater, the girls who during these contests shade their eyes and peer out across open water, wondering now what happened to Robert and Kevin and Stephen, only to see them resurface again and glisten, taking regular normal-length breaths. Hermit crabs are plucked from the sea floor and held gently with concern for the animals' safety and comfort while the guys swim one-handed, slicing through the feeble current, to the shore where they produce the crabs as gifts to the girls who cavort at the edge of the rolling surf as they discuss television programs which have portrayed their favorite celebrities at their lowest and basest and most totally uncensored. Blankets are spread on the beach, reclined upon by those with positive self-images, all of whom are careful to apply plenty of suntan lotion - not that the sun's harmful ultraviolet rays are something anyone at the beach needs to worry about, because none of the beachgoers have any family history whatsoever with melanoma or cancer in general or any other diseases. No sand is kicked up by wind, for there is no wind.

 

On each lifeguard stand sit two blond people charged with the security of the beach, naturally blond, not just blond because they are out in the sun for eight or ten hours at a stretch (although certainly this increases the intensity of the blondness), a guy with rippling abdominal muscles and an easygoing demeanor, the kind of guy you might set your sister up with if your sister wasn’t a boozeaholic, and next to him a girl, hairless legs crossed so that she can alternately scan the ocean and glance at the painted toenails of one foot; after a certain interval of time passes she switches legs so as to examine the other set of toenails, both sets merit equal attention, her eyes hidden behind mirrored-lens sunglasses so no one knows where she’s looking, but the lifeguards are really just there because it’s the law, basically just for show, such excellent swimmers are all of the guys, each such a Spitzian replica that it physically pains you to watch them because it makes you seem so sad and uncoordinated and pathetic in comparison, and the girls who frolic next to the white tumbling surf never actually fully enter the water because salt dries out their naturally moist skin.


 

The killer appears. He sweats profusely, for it is almost exactly noon, the sun the strongest it will be all day, and he is wearing his trenchcoat and felt-lined fedora. He stands at the edge of the boardwalk and surveys the beach, his hands in his pockets, ostensibly manipulating some unidentifiable objects, possibly a pair of Derringer pistols, or some spoons that he sharpened during his last term in the can and subsequently employed with great success during the implementation of his insane yet brilliant escape plan, spoons used to slit the throats of prison guards and other inmates and the warden’s wife who was unfortunately visiting her husband at work on the day of the killer’s insane yet brilliant decampment, spoons that he probably should have disposed of a long time ago due to the irrefutable DNA evidence splattered all over them, it wouldn’t take a minute for a jury to send him to fry in the chair, spoons that the killer continues to use, or at least keep with him at all times, out of nostalgia, a sentimental quality that for him engenders the kind of peace of mind he needs to go on killing in a cold blooded, highly calculated, mercilessly efficient manner, a manner that frustrates detectives to no perceivable end but also fascinates them in a morbid way so that yes of course they want to take him out and/or bring him down but they are also intrigued by the case and don’t mind that it sort of stretches out and takes its time in reaching a resolution. It would be presumptuous for anyone to say exactly what he was fiddling with, the coat’s pockets being triple-lined and not given to hosting silhouettes, the only certain thing is that the killer’s hands are jammed in there good and he’s engineering something, maybe trying to further hone his spoons on whetstones which he has sewn into the pockets’ innards, perhaps loading poison darts into separate blowguns, or maybe in the best case scenario jingling loose change or idly fingering his wallet, it might be a nervous habit, killers have tics too like every regular person is prone to having when they get irritable or worried or ennui’d, but it’s probably not a specifically nervous habit, this killer is cool, even now at the beach, on the outside sure his dark colors absorb sunlight, and he sweats, but underneath it all, at the killer’s core, he is absolutely calm and composed, the hand-in-pocket routine probably just something he mindlessly performs to pass the time in between random savage acts of unprovoked violence, but who knows really, it could also be misdirection, something to throw the Feds off, let’s not speculate though, it’s hard to tell from here.

 

The boardwalk on which he stands is not a carnival-style promenade replete with food vendors and games of chance and rusty children’s rides poorly assembled by half-competent ex-cons (not to say by any means that all ex-cons are half- or some other percentage or iteration of competent; take, for example, the killer), rather it is a bridge, a pathway that prevents foot traffic from disrupting the natural dunes and the manifold species of protected shore grasses that separate parking lot and beach. The boardwalk is not made of planks of wood in accordance with the kind of typical older boardwalk construction methods used in developing the typical carnival-style promenade, seeing as how genuine wood can’t endure all sorts of weather situations without cracking or warping or splitting apart and splintering off into shards and slivers which become embedded in the bare feet of boardwalkers. This beach’s boardwalk is part of the Keep Our Boardwalks Safe Initiative, as most beaches’ boardwalks are slowly becoming part of through local referendums and such forth. In order to comply with KOBSI the boardwalk on which the killer is standing and sweating and manipulating some very possibly sinister items in his pockets is composed of a synthetic polyfiber material, a kind of plastic that looks like wood and even sort of feels like wood but isn’t prone to fixing miniature wooden daggers into the skin of those who traverse it. The killer’s feet are always fully and imperviously booted, and he laughs maniacally at miniature wooden daggers, metaphorically anyway, his boots even sporting a steel insert in the toe and with it he could easily kick the living hell out of your regular old wooden boardwalk. He doesn’t even know what KOBSI stands for. But if he’d taken the time to read the weatherproof plaque posted at the boardwalk’s entrance, he’d probably have thought it was the sorriest most miserable thing he’d ever read, and consequently would have unloaded a few rounds into the synthetic polyfibers as part of his own personal safety initiative.

 


 

The killer as he stands overlooking the beach possibly wonders how the special synthetic polyfibers might act should they come into contact with the blood of his victims, would it bead up instantaneously as demonstrated in the late night infomercial for the world’s leader in water repelling technology? Where, the insomniac killer always thought, and maybe this is the insomnia talking, blood is symbolically replaced by water? Or it’s entirely feasible that as he stands on the boardwalk ostensibly surveying the area where he is possibly about to undertake a spree of brutality free of motive or reason, he imagines the sweat pouring off him as a cooling liquid that pools into a glass from which he can drink and experience an interior deadening whereby he might feel even less compassion for the living things around him, thereby engendering more destruction or, perhaps more alarmingly, the exact same amount of destruction, only conducted (because of the interior deadening) in a more brutal fashion. The killer does look unusually well-rested—it’s not impossible for him to have picked up a prescription.

The beachgoers are in general quite ignorant but on this day they seem to be particularly blissed out in their ignorance; say for instance if on this day no killer presented himself—say rather in place of a killer, a singular dorsal fin suddenly emerged, a fin that gradually moved closer to shore and to the oceangoing public in a pattern of speed and menace that anyone could immediately recognize from movies about willfully malevolent fish, for instance if this happened, the beachgoers would most likely, if we’re going to be truthful here, probably plain ignore it or chalk it up to the strange way that light reflects off the ocean, or identify it as the sign of a bottlenose dolphin coming to make friends. But each of these is in any case an unlikely circumstance since they all depend on the beachgoers’ recognizance of the fin in the first place, and with all of the gracefully powerful swimming strokes being hammered out, the subtly flirtatious shorebreak frolicking to distract them, with all the apparently innocent sexual tension wafting languorously around and numbing the beachgoers into a state of warm safe semi-aroused contentment, there’s just no chance that anyone is going to notice a potentially malefic fin coursing towards the beach in a manner that the Survive a Shark Attack! guidebook suggests is an easily-interpretable sign that a predator of the deep is about to impose its own hungry will on whatever unfortunate thing should get in its way. This just isn’t the kind of beach where death occurs—not once has a breath-holding contest ever turned deadly, no one has ever been swept out to sea, in fact no misfortune has ever headlined the beach’s complimentary monthly newsletter—not like at the other beach, the free one, located on the other side of the quaint shore community, which last year saw the loss of four lives not including that family of indeterminate Eastern European descent who clearly underestimated the American current, but one might say that they—in any case, it was a tragedy for the whole village.

 

 


 

The killer scans the beach with the gentlest head movement available, in order to attract the least possible amount of attention to himself. There are no children in view, thankfully. But it could be worse than just icing a kid, even, something that most people don’t even like to mention, but hey we can’t just pretend it doesn’t ever happen, although it would take a whole different kind, someone above and beyond a killer, more like your kidnapper or abductor or molester type personality, which is a number of degrees apart from a straight killer’s personality according to psychological profiling textbooks—even a killer who seemingly follows no set rationale or lacks reason for what he does doesn’t go around giving children what they (our children) are taught to describe as “bad touches” unless he has one of those rare killer plus sick abductor/molester dispositions. There are some children at the beach, but they are way down at the end near the jetty, exploring the tide pools, the boys practicing the transportation of hermit crabs and the girls are running away from them, shrieking and pretending that they are incompatible with all of it. If the killer even notices the children, he probably only sees them as small dark specks against the dark mottled background of the jetty rocks, some kind of human forms, surely, but most likely he doesn’t recognize them specifically as children—and again it really wouldn’t matter unless by some wild chance he was in possession of that horrible rare affinity, but typically a person suffering from such a condition focuses his attention on children and only considers adults as secondary targets, like for instance an adult might be victimized if he or she blocks the path between the killer/molester and a child, similar to a witless, bumbling camper caught between a mother grizzly and her cub. If this killer were doubly afflicted, as it were, by homicidal and pedophilic tendencies, he—again, according to psychological profiling textbooks—probably would have sought the children out directly, and since he hasn’t (unless he is successfully disguising his intentions), one may assume that he is strictly a killer, and nothing more.

 

The killer steps off of the boardwalk and onto the beachfront proper, where the footing is less sure. He stumbles at first as he sinks into the sand but soon he is crossing the beach, his trenchcoat's belt flapping gently behind him, fedora tilted back so that we can get a good look at the guy's face, at the emotionless visage which hardens itself even further just prior to an act of violence. Upon closer inspection the killer's face now seems a little soft at the edges, somewhat porky actually in the neck and jowl regions, but in the center right around his nose the face is rigid and constricted, pulled tight and devoid of expression and countenance, and as he approaches the lounge chair rental station he wipes the sweat from his brow and reaches into the interior pocket of his coat and produces a few dollar bills. Soon he is staking out a location for his chair, certainly an inconspicuous area is preferable but one which afford good visibility and a clear shot, if it should come to that. He covers the length of the beach several times in pursuit of the appropriate location, and feels more self-conscious with every pass, like more and more people notice him, an anomaly at their beach, the sweat is stinging his eyes and suddenly the chair feels almost too heavy to carry, but just as he prepares to give it up and pack it in out of embarrassment, he notices a lone piece of driftwood near the dune preservation fence. He unfolds the chair, and sits.

 

 


 

He sits, then, prodded by what may be the blades and semiautomatic weapons concealed beneath his coat, he shifts in his chair, stretches his legs out, pulls them back in - it's probably hard to get comfortable with that kind of arsenal strapped to your person. Some beachgoers wonder whether he's going to expose himself on account of the trenchcoat. They wonder if he paid to get on the beach or if he snuck on, maybe slipped through a gap in the dune preservation fencing, or made himself a gap with wire cutters. It’s not clear to them if the killer is wearing the mandatory beach badge and his hands are engaged under his coat, observers thinking, God, if he's playing with himself, I'm going straight to the surf cabana and calling the beach police.

 

He's not playing with himself, although the prospect of laying waste to an entire beach does arouse him slightly, but not exactly in a sexual way. His psychological state is calm but prone to stimulation by the smallest input, and as he watches a family pass, an exhausted mom still trying to hold it together and her husband who categorically denies the obvious fact that his children are deeply morose because of something huge and scary that neither of them can quite articulate except through mumbled one word responses and shrugged shoulders and secret hopes each harbor about one day having the courage to forge a murder-suicide pact, he feels a quick pang in his chest for each of them, a strange sensation of pressure to which he attaches no meaning whatsoever. It might just be the buckle of his shoulder holster poking him in the pectoral, the definition of the pectoral produced by countless bench-press reps in the center of the prison yard, he wasn't the strongest guy in the pen as far as brute force was concerned, but far from the weakest, and definitely the strongest at the beach as far as potential raw force generated by the body, he could crush an esophagus while whistling (You're A) Grand Old Flag, so solid is his own wind. The killer reaches down next to his rented beach chair and picks up a shell and runs his finger along its ridges. Not a major thing to slice a femoral artery with a shell. Just a swipe in the right place and no tourniquet could cut off that supply. He releases the shell and crushes it with the heel of his boot. Application of crab claw to jugular, stray picket from beach preservation fence conducted with stabbing motion, enticement of sharks via chum from severed appendage, liver trauma by way of pointy driftwood causing self-poisoning and long slow sad death on sandbar at low tide with tiny waves lapping over chest and sun not far from horizon, sky lit pink the last moments a mixture of shivering and overheating while body shuts down.

 

 


 

Halfheartedly, the killer tries to read a magazine, but the heat makes him drowsy. His neck muscles begin to have a difficult time holding his head up. He lays the magazine down next to the chair and resettles himself, resting his head back on the nylon webbing. He regards the beachgoers individually, and when possible, as a group. It wouldn't take much. A plan of action would barely be required to just stand up and reach into the depths of the coat. They certainly wouldn't be suspecting.

 

The beach is quiet. It's still a fine day, but the sun is going down. The beachgoers have all departed in order to patronize their community's excellent seafood restaurants. The wind has picked up and it fans the trenchcoat of the killer, who is asleep in his rented beach chair. His jaw slack, his fedora crooked, the killer dreams of his childhood, which was, by all accounts, a very pleasant time in his life.


UM013: This Is Your Chance To Be Positive
by Uninhabitable Mansions
SOLD

A collaborative drawing by Robbie Guertin, Sara Jones and Chris Diken. Ink, watercolor and thread on paper. 5 1/4" x 11 1/2"

Made for Gallery Hanahou's 20/10 Vision, an exhibition about how awesome this year is going to be.

 

contact: um@uninhabitablemansions.com




UM014: Radical Dads EP
by Radical Dads

CD + Download
$5.00 + s/h
Get it Now


Uninhabitable Mansions presents Radical Dads, a band consisting of Lindsay Baker, Chris Diken, and Robbie Guertin. This three-song EP is their first release. Silk-screened cover with hand-stamped text throughout.

Recorded by Sean Greenhalgh.

Limited edition of 100.

Read more about Radical Dads on myspace.



If you would just like to hear the songs rather than buy the physical cd, you can! Listen in the player below and download the songs for free below that.

 

 





Uninhabitable Mansions Past Events: Silence and Resistance - an MFA thesis concert by Katherine Kiefer Stark


Uninhabitable Mansions was honored have music featured in Katherine's dance piece.

event information located here

 

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Uninhabitable Mansions Past Events: Silence and Resistance - an MFA thesis concert by Katherine Kiefer Stark





This was the program for the event.

 

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Census Window Project by Uninhabitable Mansions

A project made for Chicago's 2006 Art in Display exhibition using space donated by the Alliance Bakery.
Mixed media installation (including Uninhabitable Mansions Yardsticks), Census Drawing Show and the book Census.

participants include: Robbie Guertin, Sara Jones, Chris Diken, Madeleine Fairbairn, Kristyna Comer

 









 

 

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