Things are moving right along.
Big things, lovely things, some covered in paint.
Celebrated the end of my twenty day no alcohol liver cleanse
with muddled berries, St. Germaine, Cassis, Sloe Gin, Rose Champagne.
It makes for a party
celebrating (ok, more like lamenting) Skulzie's departure.
Hmpf.
Went to Dance Truck Friday night.
This duo was pretty funny
though I'm not sure if they meant to be?
And the Beyonce bit was clever.
They danced to a voice mail recording of a woman giving a laboriously long description of how they need to learn Beyonce's Single Ladies dance via watching a video online.
And since we're already at the Contemporary thinking about how much warmer we'd be if we were dancing instead of watching other people dance
let's take a detailed look at the fine detailing of Stephen Schofield's dancing sculptures.
More than meets the eye.
Oh my!
This is where you insert the leaf blower.
I'm actually not kidding.
These sculptures are inflated, and then coated in a sugar/water mixture that dries to stiffen the fabric. They're simultaneously massive and light as a feather.
The fabric is intricately tailored. The majority of it is from men's dress suits Schofield inherited from his partner's side of the family.
The dimensions and proportions of the figures relate to Pliny The Elder's tale of the origin of drawing in which a woman traced her lover's silhouette by candlelight, thus creating the first expressionistic portrait.
Schofield similarly traced his partner's distorted silhouette and created three-dimensional patterns from it. It's an incredibly complicated process to go through. I tried to make a pattern once and was defeated.
And I was only trying to make a very two-dimensional ascot.
You can bike through the heart of Atlanta in complete solitude on a Sunday afternoon
and consider the appeal of a migratory life. Ascot or no ascot.
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