refound

Going through old slides (ah! the beauty of a well-shot film slide) for an upcoming class reminded me of two old art loves. Richard Deacon (above) and William T. Wiley (below). As far as I can tell, both are still very active as artists... hooray for longevity!

bear breath

{Image: Joey Bates}

Of necessity, at most times, our lives revolve around a small number of people, a small knot of concerns, the same streets or routes, all outlined by our particular emotional structures and reads. Even the well-traveled experimental sort falls into patterns in order to survive. But the breaks from these well trodden paths in the brain are blessedly welcome, however they come. I taught a whole symposium-style class one time called "Wanderlust" that explored this idea through art and literature about travel. We read books that encompassed actual physical travel, but also those that invited traveler-like thoughts about and approaches toward usual surroundings. And we looked at art-- especially performance-- that did the same thing. These breaks in the norm can and should be sought out, we decided, especially as students challenged their own comfort zones within the city where we found ourselves. One student who was afraid of guns went to a shooting range, another who had no specific religious practice was enfolded in a predominantly black Baptist congregation for a whole Sunday of worship and feasting (he thought it might take an hour or two but was swept up into the hospitality). A student who identified as Christian was warmly welcomed by a small group at the local synagogue, while another, who had very little exposure to gay culture, went with great trepidation to a drag show. The class that followed that assignment was electric with good stories and lively discussion. (...a future post is stewing on my increasing desire for cross-pollination and the ability to stretch toward other world-views without forsaking your own...)

So there's something to be said for making the decision to break your pattern consciously, but it's another thing to be broadsided by a mood or thought that creates a surprising bubble of freshness and sets you to gasping and blinking. A weird recent one for me happened when I was lying down to sleep a few nights ago, and it was so simple. As I was getting ready to drift off, the thought floated toward me that there were animals outside doing the same thing-- tucking in, bedding down. And it wasn't a children's book version, but it really struck me, especially being in the Northwest US, that there were wild bears with big warm skulls covered in musky fur curled up in the mountains getting some shut-eye. I could almost smell their gamy breath. This is another one of those duh thoughts that you know as a fact but that sweeps past you unexpectedly, becoming more real and weird in its reality than it normally is. I freakin love when that happens.

almost live in 2008

I don't go to very many live shows any more... it takes too much forethought and babysitting moneda. Seeing Rafter, after collaborating with him at a distance for Encyclopedia Asthmatica, was super fun and dance-inducing. And seeing my brother Josh (Garrels) perform at the inimitable Triple Door with Trace Bundy was a true treat. But that pretty much sums up the live-music year for me (yikes!). So I thought I'd funnel some of the moving pieces that have come to me via the humble, but helpful venues of the internet and late night television.

This cover of an Innocence Mission song by schoolchildren in NYC was sent to me by my sister-in-law Michelle, and pretty much speaks for itself:



I like Fleet Foxes. They haven't grabbed me as solidly as I thought they might, but I'm a fan. Seeing this cover by First Aid Kit, though, blows all of their own recordings out of the water for me. There's something about the setting in the woods, the fact that they're sisters, the plaintive and haunting quality of their voices, that makes this version ache and sway and gets right under my skin. First Aid Kit's own music, by the way, doesn't hit the same nerves. So it's just a match made in heaven-on-earth, I guess-- these voices with the Fleet Foxes' lyrics and melody:



But while we're on the subject, seeing Fleet Foxes on David Letterman was a rare treat, and made me wish I could see them live (for real):



And while we're on the subject of David Letterman, I was pretty taken by this performance by Sia. (Sorry about the Bruce Willis prelude... couldn't find it without the beginning blip.) After perusing more info and video about Sia, I don't necessarily want to buy a CD, but I really love the costuming/choreography (signing, or dancing?) along with her passionate performance. There's something about seeing someone sing with full commitment that makes any amount of theater believable, and I think this is a great example:



(Less convincing to me was the equally theatrical performance by Of Montreal... I had high hopes after hearing about their recent stage antics, but didn't sense that the people performing believed in it as much. The music itself, on the other hand, is undeniably smart.)

I gotta get out more.

nibbled

"I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...”

{Annie Dillard}

by the way...

...if you've ever tried to look at my archives, they haven't worked for months. I figured out the tiny detail that was preventing old posts from being seen, so they're all good now!

Check out these hauntingly simple photos by Rune Guneriussen
(Thanks, Greg)

motherly love

{image above: Barnaba da Modena}

(images above and below: Pinaree Sanpitak)


At this time of year, when the Madonna and Child show up more often outside of their usual home inside Catholic and Orthodox churches, I've been thinking of motherly love (if you know Frank Zappa, you now have an irreverent tune running through your head) in emotional, but also physical ways. And, of course, my own body is swelling like a Louise Bourgeois sculpture. When you turn into a physical picture of fecundity, when you actually start looking like a seedpod set to burst, you start thinking about the elemental feminine form in new ways. There's an undeniably beautiful part of it, but also something alien and uncontrolled.

Thai artist Pinaree Sanpitak has built a whole career around elemental forms, most often the breast. She has this to say: "Although my works have changed over the last decade, I still consider them as part of the same concept about perceptions of one’s physical and spiritual being. I wanted all my senses to blossom: to give rise to all possibilities, and consequently learn more about oneself. I try to achieve this by examining and underlining the essence of the female being through the Self. The most important goal is to challenge the conscious and sub-conscious of not only the viewer but also my own."

I think I wrote about this in a blog entry of yore, but it occurred to me the last time I had a newborn that "Take eat, this is my body" is literal for a nursing mother. The whole conception of the female body and beauty takes a profound shift. There's a warmth and simplicity in the exchange that is conveyed well by this 1977 clip of Buffy St. Marie on Sesame Street (link discovered here). And-- again-- there's also a side that is less than romantic, a feeling sometimes that you're literally being consumed, physically, emotionally, personally. One of the great challenges of parenting is the relative lack of choice whether or not to give of yourself. The only other option is neglect, which alarms every mothering instinct and becomes a burning like fire in your bones, no matter how tired you are-- and keeps you pouring it out, even when it's a more psychological version of milk. I had no idea. But I'll take it. I'll take it. I'm all in.

P.S. I've linked to two images of nursing Madonnas that disappear a couple hours later. What gives? Here's hoping this one sticks.

jennifer davis

...just ran across this artist, Jennifer Davis, out of Minneapolis. I especially like this piece: Refrain. The in and out of worlds... the fret fingers.

click balm

{image from a downloadable ornament file from the etsy duo: hello handmade}

Those have to be some of the simplest most beautiful lyrics. Don't we all wish that all were calm and all were bright?

I just read a commencement speech last night by Anne Lamott, and it was balm. Here's a little portion, but click balm to read the whole thing. How often to you get a chance to click balm?:

I'd been wanting to be a successful author my whole life. But when I finally did it, I was like a greyhound catching the mechanical rabbit she'd been chasing all her life -- metal, wrapped up in cloth. It wasn't alive; it had no spirit. It was fake. Fake doesn't feed anything. Only spirit feeds spirit, in the same way only your own blood type can sustain you. It had nothing that could slake the lifelong thirst I had for a little immediacy, and connection.

So from the wise old pinnacle of my 49 years, I want to tell you that what you're looking for is already inside you. You've heard this before, but the holy thing inside you really is that which causes you to seek it. You can't buy it, lease it, rent it, date it or apply for it. The best job in the world can't give it to you. Neither can success, or fame, or financial security -- besides which, there ain't no such thing. J.D. Rockefeller was asked, "How much money is enough?" and he said, "Just a little bit more."

Finally, a little holiday song from ye olde Beatles. I used to have a cassette of all of their zany Christmas messages and I really miss it.

a cud to chew

I had a subscription to Art in America for a few years, but discontinued it, after countless perusals of new issues left me cranky, despondent and in need of a shower or a walk in order to re-examine why I make art. I mentioned this to a graphic design colleague, to which she responded, "Well, of course! It's designed awfully!" I don't know how much of my appreciation of Modern Painters is due to their clean and open design sense, but I sure have enjoyed having them around. A recent issue includes an interview with poet John Ashbery, who attributes part of his poetic style to his early interaction with Max Ernst and Joseph Cornell collages. "I realized that if you could make these wild associations of things in art, you could try it in poetry too." It also has a feature on artists around the world who work as collaborators, which is very interesting to me, since Zack and I have collaborated a bit and hope to continue to explore the possibilities. The issues are digested slowly for me-- one quick visual flip with subsequent revisits to read, usually with interest and yielding inspiration and rumination. Isn't that what you go to art mags for?

P.S. The name of the publication is a weird little misnomer-- it's about every medium in (generally) visual art. I think I remember reading an editor's note about this, but I don't recall the actual argument. In any case, above the title on each cover are these additional tags:
Art | Architecture | Design | Performance | Film

2nd annual etsy christmas sale

I started an Etsy page last Christmas in order to make online sales of some of my artwork a bit easier. Well... it's that time again... Both Zack and I will be posting items, especially through this weekend, so check in if you'd like to give someone a Bent original! (As the main page says, if you would like something before the 25th, please make your order before the 15th, to be safe. I'll still ship things after that date, but can't guarantee their arrival by the big day. If you live in the Seattle area, we can arrange a pick up of some sort.)

egg & nest

This looks good, eh? And it doesn't hurt that the lauded author of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and Everything is Illuminated has this to say:

"What kind of genius is Rosamond Purcell? Is she an artist? A scholar? A documentarian? A living cabinet of wonders? Her originality defies category, as does her newest triumph, Egg & Nest. Crack its shell." -Jonathan Safran Foer

Excerpts and slide show from the book here.

...but is there child care?

From Hankblog (The Henry Art Gallery here in Seattle):

Seattle’s Artist Trust, the awesome non-profit that supports Washington State artists in multiple disciplines, will be hosting an Artist Networking Event called “Finding Balance: Artists Raising Children” that is open to the public. Details below!

December 9, 2008

6-9 pm

Artists/parents of Washington State are encouraged to participate in this Artists’ Networking Event. Meet fellow artists who are practicing the art of raising a family while simultaneously practicing their art.
A panel including Spike Mafford, Alex Martin and Michelle Templeton will be moderated by Miguel Guillen, Information Services Manager for Artist Trust and followed by a Q&A. All artists are invited.

The event will take place in the Artists’ Assets Area, an artist’s resource room housed at Artist Trust’s office location at 1835 12th Avenue on Capitol Hill in Seattle. Refreshments provided.

little drifts

kombucha: I probably won't continue to drink it because the jury's still out for kombucha and pregnancy, but I very much enjoyed my first taste of this high-probiotic wonder drink (a fermented tea) that a friend gave to me. I didn't realize it was something of an upper, though, and gave some to 3 1/2 year old Ezra, who was entirely unready for a nap at nap-time, choosing instead to run and flip and jump with joy.

weatherspoon: Since she has remained anonymous on this super-engaging blog, I won't reveal the identity of my friend who has started writing anecdotes and thoughts based very loosely on the weather patterns of the Northwest. But you should read it if you need a good dose of humor and wisdom.

Australian football*: My husband Zack and I have really strikingly similar taste on most things. One of the things I just can't seem to jive with, though, is college football. Tennis, yes. Basketball, I can hang. Baseball, nostalgic and soothing. Football makes my mind wander and my eyes go bleary. And then I saw Australian football. My goodness gracious. I think it's the most beautiful and athletically diverse sport on God's green earth. Fast-moving, both because of the insanely large field and the variety of ball handling options, it's like a gorgeous cross between soccer and American football. And instead of wearing helmets and shoulder pads, they wear knee socks. Often striped. (*I actually preferred watching a whole fluid game over the highlight reel, but the link will give you a taste if you've never seen it)

the planet

Zack and I just watched Planet B-boy when we were supposed to be making food for Thanksgiving (made T-day morning a bit more hectic but it was worth it). I am always shocked at how close dancing is to my strongest emotions. The trailer itself choked me up-- just the sheer beauty of dance when it's really really felt. And then the film itself adds familial drama and some very real-feeling glimpses into the different ways that Asian kids struggle with their respect for elders and their desire to pursue things (in this case-- acrobatically amazing b-boy dancing) that might not have much cultural clout. But seriously-- it's the dancing. The dancing that makes me sob. I had a conversation with my brother once about the person that is just under the surface of our actual lives and abilities-- the person we feel we were meant to be. His beating heart is connected to a certain woodsy adventurer. Mine is a dancer. And not, somehow, in the forms that are necessarily part of the usual route-- I don't want to choose tap or jazz or ballet. It's more an almost spiritual recognition of something that happens when I see someone's body (or feel my own) saying something and responding to music that is way beyond words. And, like most things, that only happens rarely, but I love it love it when it does.

working models

Oh, the waves of mental processing. At one moment, I am awash with ideas and the taste of potential-- an hour later, my mind is a peaceful, but blank place. A different sort of potential, maybe-- a space to start letting other sources mix and mingle. I'm always fascinated by those blue-moon moments when the imagination is like an overgrown garden-- one thought or idea growing wildly over another--and I get to ride on the wave of new images (hopefully tracking them along the way... no guarantee that they'll be able to be recalled). Other times are like this morning: fertile, but trimmed back. A few ideas that seem fun to manipulate and mold. And then there are the dry starts-- the "just start working" discipline-- that often leads into an active imaginative space... but not always. Sometimes it's just shuffling leaden feet that remain heavy as I plod through worn ideas and pet tricks. Those are almost the worst. But the very worst is just not doing anything at all. That REALLY gets me down. Inertia is against me then, and psychological challenges are greater there than in the midst of a project that might not be working. It is as Maria Montessori suggested: "Never give more to the mind than you give to the hand." (that's paraphrased from memory). Having been a Montessori preschooler, I'm finding her marks as I study her methods on behalf of my own kids, and this one is a gem. It helps me understand a little more of the need I have for tactile, experiential work that goes beyond the verbal or abstract.

P.S. The image is a detail from a newer work on the wall of the SPAC space. Before I get it up on my website proper, more shots can be seen on flickr.

*

showing sooner than later

Coming up this Saturday (November 15th) at the Helm in Tacoma is an Asthmatic Kitty Unusual Animals event, for which Zack and I and two other artists, Nicholas Nyland and Ellen Ito, will be the visual art component. The show opens at 4pm, and then it becomes a sort of traveling affair with a music show at another location. Grampall Jookabox will be there, along with Allan Boothe and Alexander and the Optimistics. So. There you have it.

more of both.

I'm fascinated by the overarching response to my third pregnancy as inviting something unthinkably difficult into my life. I know the norm has shifted in our generation, but how many of you came from families of three or more kids? I experienced another version of this with my second pregnancy because my first two were spaced so closely (17 months). An almost derisive, "How could you let this happen?" warning about how I was going to have my hands full would often be strangers' response to my swelling belly. Well, I do. Have my hands full. And I don't regret it one bit. As one friend who has four kids said, "more chaos, more joy."

outer reaches

My boys have stopped being interested in playgrounds. Other kids swing and slide and climb their little hearts out, understandably: the whole set-up is designed for extended play. But my two bruisers go down maybe one slide, take a few swings, climb a ladder, and then they're off. Their prime source of entertainment from then on is perusing the very outer borders of whatever play area we're in. Jetting down paths through woods if they can, climbing over fences and up hills of wood-chips, picking up bits of trash, pulling leaves off of trees. This is a source of frustration and fascination for me. In other settings it takes this form: a common thoughtful Seattle thing is to have, in a coffee shop, for instance, an area for kids to play. The same pattern holds there. If the play area is not gated closed, my boys dabble lightly and take off... behind the counter, under tables, over chairs, to the windows and doors. They talk to everyone that will get eye contact and to some who are trying to avoid it. And I am the scooping and herding mama, trying in vain to direct their attention back to the humble cache of toys and books, until I give up and leave. Whenever my husband sees this pattern in action, he sighs, "They're going to live on the other side of the world from us." And I sigh back, with a mixture of appreciation and resignation for these consummate explorers.

the test of time

I've been peeking at Allison Sommers' work for a while on flickr, and thought I'd post one of her wonderfully grotesquely sublime pieces. It seems a good match for me this morning; I've been up since 4:30 with a weirdo almost-two-year-old. I know some people get up at that time regularly, but they go to bed before midnight, usually, too. It's so hard for me to shift my mind and be okay with being up in the wee hours. I'm a wussy sleep lover. And even though my household is far from normal when it comes to night-time (every night we do some sort of musical beds), this cutting short of a night of sleep feels like a personal insult. Luckily, the warmth of affection flashes in at intervals... watching little legs pad around in the dark, feeling little hands on my face (until they experiment with a little slap), hearing a little voice play and sing and ask questions in pure curiosity and excitement.

special announcement

I heard the heartbeat yesterday, so now it feels official enough to be completely public. Child #3 is scheduled to make his/her appearance in the family Mid-May! We're rejoicing, with far less trepidation than the last go-round. That time, we found out we were having a baby the week after Z told UW he'd be coming for their MFA program... putting the due date two months into his first year. Yikes! And we survived that one, so bring it on! Bring on the little hands and face, the suckling, the yellow poo.

silent flaming arcs of hope

The subject line is from a beautiful collaborative song between my brother and his wife, called "Jacaranda," which is also the title track to his new CD... It's been stuck in my head for a few days. The coming election both entirely engages me and exhausts me (and I'm not even campaigning!). My nerves, especially regarding some of the big ethical-voting fights among family and friends, are frayed. So this simple little phrase, a description of fireflies in the song itself, is a welcome spot of quiet. Away from the clamor of fightin' words, and speaking to the hope that is, according to Emily Dickinson, the "thing with feathers...

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all..."

robleto et al

Dario Robleto: At War With The Entropy Of Nature/Ghosts Don't Always Want To Come Back, 2002.

Cassette: carved bone & bone dust from every bone in the body, trinitite (glass produced during the first atomic test explosion at Trinity test site circa 1945, when heat from blast melted surrounding sand), metal screws, rust, letraset; audio tape: an original composition of military drum marches, weapon fire, and soldiers' voices from battlefields of various wars made from Electronic Voice Phenomena recordings (voices and sounds of the dead or past, detected through magnetic audio tape).

I was just reintroduced to the work of Dario Robleto, and he has recaptured my imagination. His alchemical use of materials (he considers himself to be a sculptural sampler-- like a tactile DJ) is really beautiful, lending even his lists of materials a magical poetry. I love the sacramental respect for the history of objects-- such a deeply human drive, and one that gets a bit blurry in our age of thing-overflow. Here's an interview with him and his gallery page at ACME Los Angeles.

...and...

The post I had a few days ago included a graphic that must've been blocked, so the whole punchline was gone. On the same post, I had a link to Zack's feature on Archinect. Since I deleted the other post, I thought I'd re-post Zack's article... Here.

diem chau

I was just reminded of the delicate work of Diem Chau, and thought I would pass on the link.

...and it's official.

I am honored and excited to be included in the ranks of the approaching Northwest Biennial at the Tacoma Art Museum.

(the image above is "Alamo Pinata" by Jack Daws, another artist in the biennial)

Puryear for reference

When I want to think elemental and elegant, with a poetic sensitivity, I often think of Martin Puryear. I somehow forget to include him on lists of influences, but he's such a standard reference for me. What an extraordinary sense of form he has. A small selection of his work above. Enjoy! In looking for Puryear images, I also ran across this great slide show at the New York Times of the show "Second Lives."

ruby mag

The new issue of rubymag is up, and I'm humbled to be one of the featured artists. I appreciate the format-- entirely visual. Even though I have a verbal streak, I sometimes hate artist's statements. I'm not supposed to say that as an art teacher, but I do think that the languages of image and text sometimes harmonize and other times jar one another. There's a reason, often, that a visual artist hasn't chosen the path of a writer... because they're clearly more fluent in visual rather than verbal language. So it's nice to just get a shot of pure image. Plus, I almost always respond to the majority of work rubymag posts. It's evocative, international and diverse. So. Check it if you want a shot in the eye. (The image above is by Irana Douer, the Argentina-based editor)

Also, I failed to post this prior to the opening, but a suite of my work is hanging with Allegoric friends in Chicago at Architrouve for the rest of the month. If you're in the neighborhood...

the shape of a day

With a recently minted graduate degree and several exhibitions and publications on the rise and a half-time teaching position and an every-now-and-then job with a record label and two high-energy little boys and the various short-term jobs that cross this family's doorstep, we've entered a new phase of life. It's not entirely unlike the past two years' juggling of school and adjunct teaching, but it's a little stranger. Something like a cross between being on an interminable vacation and being busier than we've ever been. It has to do with time flexibility-- a blessing and a curse. It's entirely up to us to make the shape of our days... to finish what's in front of us and hunt down more opportunities as artists in order to survive as a family in an expensive city. Because our lives don't take the shape of a typical clock-in job, I think both of us sometimes feel incredibly lazy and useless, even as we chase our boys in circles and feed them and take them for walks while the other person corresponds or frames or works on drawings or researches boy scouts. By reading journals of other people involved in disciplines like ours-- writers, musicians, other visual artists, etc-- I know this feeling is common. There's so much in-between time when you're not cranking out work, but you have things brewing and steeping and waiting to be formed. What's goofy is that even forming this humble blog entry helps me put a form to the formless, and gives me some sort of relief. I start to understand why someone like Gerhard Richter has a set schedule every weekday (this quote taken from a Michael Kimmelman NYT article):

"He sticks to a strict routine, waking at 6:15 every morning. He makes breakfast for his family, takes Ella to school at 7:20 and is in the studio by 8. At 1 o'clock, he crosses the garden from the studio back to the house. The grass in the garden is uncut. Richter proudly points this out, to show that even it is a matter of his choosing, not by chance. At 1 o'clock, he eats lunch in the dining room, alone. A housekeeper lays out the same meal for him each day: yogurt, tomatoes, bread, olive oil and chamomile tea.

After lunch, Richter returns to his studio to work into the evening. ''I have always been structured,'' he explains. ''What has changed is the proportions. Now it is eight hours of paperwork and one of painting.'' He claims to waste time -- on the house, the garden -- although this is hard to believe. ''I go to the studio every day, but I don't paint every day. I love playing with my architectural models. I love making plans. I could spend my life arranging things. Weeks go by, and I don't paint until finally I can't stand it any longer. I get fed up. I almost don't want to talk about it, because I don't want to become self-conscious about it, but perhaps I create these little crises as a kind of a secret strategy to push myself. It is a danger to wait around for an idea to occur to you. You have to find the idea.'' As he talks, I notice a single drop of paint on the floor beneath one of his abstract pictures, the only thing out of place in the studio."

When I first read this in graduate school, it made me feel claustrophobic. Now it is utterly relatable. Though my personality would never allow this much structure, the appeal is palpable. But even Richter feels that he "wastes time"!

indiana-animalia

We pulled up in the evening, and opened our car door to a rousing chorus of cicadas and crickets. A small toad hopped across the rocky driveway. Zack caught it and showed it to the boys; it hopped wildly around the car a bit before we could catch it and let it go back out. The next morning, we drank coffee in the backyard, where countless bees and flies buzzed around our legs and flowers, along with flitting moths and birds. The impersonators are the hummingbirds, who make sonorous bug-like dives behind your head. Sammy, the family golden retriever, is a kid favorite, of course, and becomes a pillow or a running partner on command. The stray cat is a favorite, too, though not of the grandparents, who are trying to avoid taking in these sorts. And then there's the lithe little lizard with a slinky blue tail that runs round the deck and front porch, the catfish that Zack caught and let go on a night-time fishing trip, the five-inch long praying mantis in the backyard tent, and the fat cicada crawling up a brick wall with dirt still crusted on its back after being born out of the earth (when it falls back into the plants, we find it again by watching where the leaves are twitching the most urgently). I tell you, we spend our time in the city visiting aquariums and zoos to get close to animals, and Puget Sound's shore is an ecology that is more new to me, but being back in the country in the midwest reminds me how much wildlife is present in the day-to-day here. Of course, we've had our raccoons and squirrels quite close to home, as you know if you've read this blog for a while, but it is a very different experience to have to stop your car in order to move a turtle out of the road. When you get out of the car, the air is thick with the smell of cows in a muddy little valley, and you swat a mosquito that lands on your neck.