This show appeals to that part of me that loves the dark world of Tim Burton and cemeteries and Halloween and walking through the woods at night and why October is my favorite month of the year. This show captures the bitter sweet of death in a really well put together, excitingly experimental show. For me this show takes full advantage of all that the Eyedrum gallery space is capable of facilitating.
This show could be an Emily Dickinson poem.
Suzanne McQuaide, "Underground"LXIII
AMPLE make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.
Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.
XLVI
"A DEATH-BLOW is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun."
Ruth Standford, "Alfresco"
It's great to see a show were almost everything is organic - a living show that faces expiration, with each visit things will have further shriveled or fallen apart, decay is inevitable, but the present is stubbornly alive.
Katherine Taylor, "In Memory, Loving"
LII
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.
Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.
XLVI
"A DEATH-BLOW is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun."
Ruth Standford, "Alfresco"It's great to see a show were almost everything is organic - a living show that faces expiration, with each visit things will have further shriveled or fallen apart, decay is inevitable, but the present is stubbornly alive.
Katherine Taylor, "In Memory, Loving"LII
AS by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here,—
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!
Angela West, "Sweet, like..."
There's got to be a good story behind this one. The deflated cake of saccharine flowers.
Alison Weldon, "Tomorrow Never Knows"
I love this piece - the huddled purple flowers look like they are drowning in their own perspiration as the red wall looms so menacingly.
I think Stan Woodard had something to do with this, for my part, very badly documented installation.
The mound by Pandra Williams is amazing. I've never seen a pile of dirt and bricks look more like a womb in my life. And from what I hear Williams hand made all of the clay bricks lining the inside of the tomb. I propose giving this piece a permanent home somewhere in this fair city - like Oakland Cemetery or in my backyard if I had one.
XXXI
DEATH is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
And there was a performance piece by, I'm not sure who, maybe Lori Guarisco?
She emerged from the mound like a wood nymph and reciting common plant names with a sing-song relish that slowly aged into a bitterness of life lessons learned - or at least that is what I got from the chanting of "cattails, dandelions, and clovers..."
Bret and Jody (with bling in tow)
Claire Paul, "Lungs"
ok ok... just one more.... I could sit here and do this all day...
LIII
DEATH sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With “This was last her fingers did,”
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then ’t was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,—
At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here,—
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!
Angela West, "Sweet, like..."There's got to be a good story behind this one. The deflated cake of saccharine flowers.
Alison Weldon, "Tomorrow Never Knows"I love this piece - the huddled purple flowers look like they are drowning in their own perspiration as the red wall looms so menacingly.
I think Stan Woodard had something to do with this, for my part, very badly documented installation.
The mound by Pandra Williams is amazing. I've never seen a pile of dirt and bricks look more like a womb in my life. And from what I hear Williams hand made all of the clay bricks lining the inside of the tomb. I propose giving this piece a permanent home somewhere in this fair city - like Oakland Cemetery or in my backyard if I had one.
XXXI
DEATH is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
And there was a performance piece by, I'm not sure who, maybe Lori Guarisco?
She emerged from the mound like a wood nymph and reciting common plant names with a sing-song relish that slowly aged into a bitterness of life lessons learned - or at least that is what I got from the chanting of "cattails, dandelions, and clovers..."
Bret and Jody (with bling in tow) 
Claire Paul, "Lungs"The opening was so full of people to talk to that I never got to see the entire show. I plan on making my way back over there soon (more pictures to come). The installation of this work created a space I truly did not want leave. In continuing celebration of the theme, there are events from now until the closing party on November 24th 2007. Check out the schedule on the Eyedrum site and be sure not to miss the experience of this show.
ok ok... just one more.... I could sit here and do this all day...
LIII
DEATH sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With “This was last her fingers did,”
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then ’t was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,—
At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
4 comments:
The Wood Nymph is indeed Lori Guarisco.
i just wanted to say thank you for your beautiful documentation of the dead flowers show at eyedrum. you should see it now..its all started to decay and mold. gives the art a completely different feeling and meaning. emily d would have loved it.
I'm looking forward to seeing the Dead Flowers show again. I wanted to attend the Funeral Procession but ended up getting stuck in the Cohutta Mountains until Monday and missed it.
Well-then make sure to come to the Day of the Dead Picnic-it should be awesome.
http://www.pd.org/~eyedrum/calendar/index.php?eventTypeId=2&id=1690&month=11&year=2007
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