April 28, 2013

Diorama Dilemmas




Some works in progress. This is what happens when I can't get to my paints. . .


Mixed materials are cardboard, paper, plastic, styrofoam, paint, glitter and hot glue.

April 12, 2013

WHEN CAN I START BURNING BRIDGES & Cultural Comradery

It's a confusing world out there. I'm discovering that the more people I communicate with, the more chance there is for miscommunication.

It's the ultimate dilemma between being stuck in the isolation of an art studio and occasionally coming out to mingle with the world.

Owning an art gallery kind of brings that all to the forefront. Not like I didn't already know that. Granted it's a risk, this type of publicity, but simply put, I need the company. Life in a small town will do that to you. Although there is considerable value in my particular community service, contrary to other types of noble and necessary community functions, I consider my art enterprise a little more than a selfish ploy for cultural comradery. Connectivity is quite warming.

Which brings me back to the burning of bridges.

These miscommunications have led me astray. I'm constantly wondering is it me, or is it everyone around me.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I hereby declare: non-reciprocal relationships I will no longer accept.

Sufficient to say, if you'd like my services I'll be in the studio... as soon as I close the gallery...





April 8, 2013

Frizzy fly-aways!

I've been on something of a vacation from the Art House for over a week. I told my daughter yesterday on our way out how good it felt to be able to leave at 2:00, to come and go as I please, but how it won't feel so good when I can't go back at all after I close. I will miss it. I like having it there waiting around for me.

Perhaps I'll miss it the way I miss sugar in my coffee, or the way I miss martinis before dinner. Maybe I'll miss it the way I'd miss T.V. if I didn't have one. They're all nice to have but not really necessary. They're all bad habits that make you unhealthy in one way or another...


Running a public art space is like that for me, more of a vice and a guilty pleasure than it should be. Although it adds to my life in many ways, I end up spending all my time trying to make it work which ultimately takes me away from my true intention which is to paint and make art.

INTENTION is such a strong and important word. Something that should be kept at the top of every list under every category. Without it we flail about undecidedly, confusing everyone around including ourselves. Even so, I have to admit, sometimes even the most purposed intentions lead you in unexpected directions...

...art wrestling

I wish I were a better writer and could actually control this pen in my hand. My writing is more of a purge at misgiven times. Unannounced recordings that occur the moment before they combust in my brain. I wish I could learn to corral them more successfully, I mean more intentionally. It's the same way I go into the studio with all these intentions and come out with something completely different all the time.


Reminds me of the conversation I was having the other day with Jocelyn, my good friend who also cuts my hair. When you have this curly hair that I have you don't really have control over the thing, you're just sort of in charge of it. It will ultimately have it's way no matter what. Sounds like my writing. Sounds like my artwork these days too. In fact sounds like pretty much everything these days.

Maybe all art is that way, coming and going and flailing around as it pleases. We're just the officers in charge for the day trying to corral those frizzy fly-aways!




February 22, 2013

A Better BEACON


This morning at 6:30am the sky was completely filled with a warm salmon and purple color.
Amazing how color in thin air can be so warm and cozy while feet on a ceramic tiled floor so freezing.

Speaking of color, last weekend we took a trip. We are officially on the lookout for greener pastures, an expression I should look up the meaning to, along with the grass is always greener...
(I imagine the world was filled with a lot more grass filled pasture-land than it is now).
So, yes, we made it through another road trip adventure!
This time from Manahawkin, New Jersey to Beacon, New York. 151 miles of changing scenery, traffic jams, and mixed CD's. Here's some advice: Never stay at a $99 hotel. For fifty bucks more you'll get a mint on the pillow, a mag under the mattress, and a floor that's actually been vacuumed within the last century.
 It all worked out though. We just spent more time out and about exploring the town.

DIA Beacon is amazing if you've never been. Their collection of works from the 1970's-80's gives a well rounded education on the art world of that decade. The vast space of the ex-Nabisco printing factory is a sight to see, and apparently only a train ride away from NYC. The shops and galleries on Main Street are very cool. Homespun Foods for breakfast and The Hop for afternoon handcrafted brews are both incredible, and Hudson Beach Glass never fails to hook us up with a present to take home.



The trip ended with an intangible evening at Alex and Allyson Gray's art sanctuary in Wappinger Falls. Led up a dark winding driveway by a guy holding a flashlight to a smaller footpath filled with ice and mud, we had no idea what we were in for! When the sign at the door to the house said please remove your shoes, we looked at each other quizzically. The evening turned out to be an exceptional experience. We left feeling rejuvenated and refreshed.  I can't decide what was more inspiring, Dusthead's otherworldly performance, the dancers, the music, the artwork or all of the above. Talk about good vibes! If it wasn't for the smelly hotel, we would've never wanted to leave!

Yesterday while driving to the Art House, I saw a street sign for Beacon Avenue. One I've never noticed before. Not surprising since all the streets in our neighborhood are named with nautical references. A beacon is a light, a signal post, a guide. And Light is a symbol for Truth.
I realize that what my husband and I are looking for has a lot to do with this, that we're not really in search of greener grass at all, but maybe just a warmer light, which is fine with me...

February 8, 2013

Laundry Meat


Laundry Meat is an ongoing project started in 2009 as a collection of shredded tissues caught accidentally in the laundry cycle. Originally dyed with vegetable dyes made with beets and carrots, the material looked like shredded pulled-pork, hence the name Laundry Meat. When photographed or manipulated Laundry Meat looks strangely similar to human/animal organs. And when mixed with different mediums it has the feeling of dried flesh. This fits perfectly with my interest in bodily forms and speaks of both interior and exterior worlds at the same time, which is at the core of my work.

Here's how it's made.. 

Tissues after the laundry cycle

Red dye

Black walnut ink

Left to soak overnight
Still soaking
Done soaking
Laid out to dry
Drying
Still drying...
Done for now


Finished product from Laundry Meat rope project






February 5, 2013

Snow Days at the Art House



 Pastel drawings

Lots of coffee

Pictures of me

More drawings, in acrylic
Block printed Thank You cards



February 2, 2013

Road Trippin'


Every year my unwritten new year's resolution includes seeing more art and making more art. This year is no exception. Last week when I saw the announcement for the opening reception at the Locks Gallery in Philadelphia I marked it on the calendar. Leave work early for a road trip to Philly with the family. Great plan. 

Driving through the Pinelands' empty two lane highway, the sunset gleaming, my husband's homemade "Road trippin" CD playing, we were on our way. My husband was feeling especially smug since he had worked all week in Pennsylvania and thought he had figured out the better way to get to Philly from Manahawkin. 
The beautiful sky, horse corrals and empty fields were fitting seamlessly into the lyrics of songs like Phish's Tires on your car, Cat Steven's On the Road to find out, and Neil Young's Long May you run. By the time Road Trippin' by The Red Hot Chili Peppers came on we were basking in road trip exuberance. Little did we know the foreshadowing accuracy of the lyrics "let's go get lost, let's go get lost". 



Apparently there's a reason why the roads were so empty. It turns out my husband does indeed know how to avoid Camden traffic at 5pm on a Friday. Two and a half hours later, much worse for wear, with 15 minutes left to the opening, the GPS slurring his words, we arrived at Washington Square. 
There's nothing like the comforting welcome of little plastic cups of white wine and heated beautiful art galleries. We were so relieved to get out of the car and make it to the show we soaked up every single fiber of canvas and layer of paint and pigment. 


The show was lovely. Not in an overwhelmingly gorgeous way, but neat and succinct. A sensible mix of artists. Besides the obvious black and white nature theme there were a few lush and tactile gems such as the handmade paper and stenciled pigment piece by Leonardo Drew, and the juicy acrylic iceberg carelessly painted over a static xeroxed seascape by Marcus Harvey. The other stand out and my daughter's favorite was a fabulously worked over woodcut by Orit Hofshi. 


On our walk to get something to eat we stopped at another opening at the Bridgette Mayer Gallery on Walnut street. A much livelier crowd but with less seasoned art. We enjoyed the installation of hundreds of little wooden spools with red wool but wished the other pieces in the show were as obsessive and striking. 


As we sat at Moriarty's with our cheeseburgers and onion rings we laughed about  how the evening would look a lot better in my blog and how I was glad in the end that we didn't turn the car around and go home hungry and miserable. 

Is there a moral to this story? 
Firstly, I have to say to all our New Jersey friends who are so in love with Philadelphia but have yet to take us on a guided tour, you're 9 years too late. In the three efforts we've made since living here we have yet to experience what everyone is so in love with. The moral of the story, alas, is not try, try again. It's definitely not third time's a charm either. More like three strikes you're out. The moral of this story is stick with what you know. Put us on a bus, subway or taxi anywhere in New York and we're good to go…

I think next time I'll pay a little more attention to the lyrics in our family theme song.