Friday, January 28, 2011
Hop to it.
If I were a camera
you'd see how intense the fog.
If I were a sound recorder
you'd hear how quite it buzzed.
Ever wondered what the back of the Earl looks like?
The room where people watch zombie movies to alleviate the anticipation.
I'm always hoping for something gilded in gold and throne chairs.
Maybe some palm fronds and a miniature harp.
Jack of Hearts.
Jizzle of Hearts.
Jardin de Hearts.
They killed it, they really did.
And I have a new found appreciation for mixologist of the non-bar variety.
Ever wonder what kind of crazy outfits the Nappy Roots wear?
Root de Nappy.
Soul de Napped.
Let's move on.
Clearly it's not as cold inside as out.
Never saw any hair whipping
but I did notice a trend of hands
in the air.
With resignation I acknowledge the unintended ode to Volfy. He's good that way.
Monday, January 24, 2011
I think for maybe a year
I didn't see the world as being worth much of a picture.
Things change though.
People-full. It's the opening of "...After the Suburbs" at Kiang Gallery and that is a moss covered chair by Pandra Williams.
The show is curated by Karen Tauches, as she continues onward in her studious fascination with urban decay and suburbia.
Detroit artist James Griffioen sets the tone of the show with a grid of abandoned, comically tragic, and ready-to-be-rubble houses photographed Becher style.
It's like a perverse real estate listing you'd see tacked up on a coffee shop bulletin board.
This poor little house calls to me.
Steve and David D. said that Detroit is working on a program to auction off the land cheaply for the purpose of being converted into farms. An idea with potential! Apparently Atlanta needs to turn her suburbs into water reservoirs and quick.
Sarah Hobbs "Avoidance" C-Print, 2009, 60"x48"
I do enjoy a show with a good layout. Hobbs's photograph of aluminum-foil covered foyer windows greets you at the gallery entrance and sets a tone of quiet entrapment.
From there the show diverges into two categories
the prevailing being glimpses of wardened off exteriors - cooly geometric and foreboding - which threaten to kill off sentimentality (and perhaps the viewer's sympathy?)
but is brought into balance by Williams's spongy forest floor chair and even more by Nancy Van Devender's rolling landscape of ruffled fabrics.
Coy and subtly complex, Van Devender adds to the show a well-rounded musing.
Inclusion of an artist like Jessi Wohl would have been another nice counterbalance; providing a peep into the inner realm of theses cardboard cutouts.
It's a good time when two galleries exhibit shows that create an interesting dialogue between. Especially when the galleries sit side by side, and even better when it resultant of sheer coincidence in curation.
Like in 2010 when established Koran-American artist Jiha Moon was at Saltworks while emerging Korean-American artist Gyun Hur opened next door at Get This! Gallery.
Or when Sandler Hudson opens a group show dealing with the rather random topic of chairs while next door Kiang is opening a conversation about the exoskeleton of a house (with a chair sitting in the midst of it all).
It would seem like William's fern chair may have something to say to Ilene Sunshine's fantastically simple chair of Honey Locust Leaves on paper, but what do I know of chairs and their conversations?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The agave plant has seen better days.
The vegetable garden is undeniably finished.
Though I think the swiss chard could surprise us all.
The herb garden is definitely dead
and the cemetery too.
All the snow does inspire renewed appreciation for a stable home structure
when even the tombstones are getting buried.
The fates smiling
almost like Whitespace had planned it all
to add a touch more surrealism for Wendy Given's opening
of surrealist imagery in snow covered landscapes.
It was all shot in Oregon.
so beautiful I think I need to take myself there for a sojourn.
The further you go into the wilderness the more anything seems possible.
The show, titled "Turn Your Back to the Forest, Your Front to Me," is loaded with rabbit holes worth escaping into, to hope for a moment that Given's view may be true
"Of Augur and Auspice: No. 5 (From Under the Pillow)," Wendy Given, 2009, C-Print, 40"x40"
that nothing is quite what it seems.