:::this is the way the world ends:::

Category: Art (Page 2 of 7)

If a Tree Falls in the Woods…

I managed to draw J.E.’s attention to the post of a recent image created to mark the anniversary of the Deep Horizon oil spill in the gulf so I thought I’d post the others. I made more than this, but these were the ones I decided to go with. I called the series No Horizon as both a reference to the rig that collapsed, but also to the fact that they have no real environment or background, which is unusual for my work. The Bluefin and the Loggerhead turtle images were made with oil and water and ink, and the birds were made with ink, water and soap suds. Obviously, the materials were important in the creation of this series. The names are tentative.

 

 

. No Horizon Washed

 

No Horizon Bluefin 001

 

No Horizon Blue Heron

No Horizon: Loggerheads

Here’s the first in a series dedicated to the BP spill. This image was created with ink, oil, and water (and Photoshop). The initial splotch was created, incidentally, in a sketchbook given to me by Toby.

 

No Horizon Loggerheads

Input

This is a new image in the TINAW series, one of three digital works I am constructing. Before I took the trouble to post it to my website, I thought I’d get your input.

 

You Might Get What You're After Final Flattened

Splendid Isolation

This summer, after being awarded a residency, I am going to be spending 19 days on Isle Royale National Park, on lake Superior. It is the location of the longest running study of a predatory mammal and its prey in the U.S. I will be on foot with no technology and likely will not be able to see the entire 46 mile island, but I hope to do some serious walking. Of course, I’m supposed to be making art as well.

 

Isle-Royale-National-Park-Map

 

Isle Royale

The Annals Say

VIII
The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise
Were all at prayers inside the oratory
A ship appeared above them in the air.
The anchor dragged along behind so deep
It hooked itself into the altar rails
And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,
A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
And struggled to release it. But in vain.
‘This man can’t bear our life here and will drown,’
The abbot said, ‘unless we help him.’ So
They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
Out of the marvellous as he had known it.

 

Seamus Heany – From Lightenings

 

Summer 2010 WI Church 001

Poetry

Remember the Hollow Men shared poetry with one another? Why did we stop?

Here’s one I clipped from the New Yorker and tacked to the studio wall a while ago.

StanleyMoss-Peace

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