Friday, July 13, 2012
It's Sunday in Ohio. Church and breakfast are the day's priorities for the natives. David, my traveling companion, and I are nearing Delaware, OH and David requests a pit-stop. Foretelling, because no sooner had we pulled over, then I saw grey goo squirting from the tire of the trailer in tow. (right side) After a trip inside myself, thinking, "maybe the grey goo is just normal, you know, like sweating," I retruned to pancake flatness. Time to put the spare on. But first, we needed to unload the trailer, probably about 800 pounds of wood in managable batches. That done, I realized we have no lug wrench and a trip inside confirmed that our handy pit stop didn't go as far as servicing vehicles (They would later also not be able to even offer me air, "oh, they took that out a year ago..") Traveling about 20 miles, I purchased a lug wrench from a very nice man at Advanced Auto Parts. I then returned to where I had left David, the trailer and all the trailer's contents. But wait, I jumped! The nuts had been removed by some kind fellow traveller with a spark plug socket. Great! I used the new wrench on the other tire--you see, the spares were a different size than the originals, so if we changed one, we changed both. Next, fill with air. I used a small electric pump I just happened to have in the back of my truck. A little water on the tire to test for leaks and bummer; Don Ho's "Tiny Bubbles.." became more than just a fun song. The spares leaked. (Time check: 3hours since we pulled off.) Now David and I both ditch the trailer and all my wood, strewn about the front lawn of the service area, to go find tires, on a Sunday, in Ohio. I knew from years experience that most components of a sculpture look like trash to civilians. So I trusted no one would steal my stuff. After a long trip through rural OH, we hit Delaware proper and I went into the first open store I see, a Tattoo parlour. So this is where the other half hangs until 1pm. The nicest man directed me toTractor Service Center "just down the road," which always turns out to be an eternity if you're not from the area. So, 4 hours into the stop, we have 2 new tires. An hour later we are on the road.
In 2010 I was invited to install a work on the lawn of the Lexington Art League. Long--impossibly long--story short. The work was 1.crushed by a 200 year old tree 2. burned by a homeless man in an effort to "keep warm."The final work was much different than my initial idea, and I have been fortunate to be able to install my latest work in Lenox, MA as part of the annual SculpureNow show. I don't know what got in the way in Lexington. I probably never will, but the twice loss of a work did teach me something; the press loves disaster. My misfortune generated tons of press. I'm told it even made the crawl of the Today show. Onward. (caption: The tree obviously didn't have it in for the cheap lawn furniture.)
Here's a traveling tip if you find yourself in the Albany, NY area. The hotels that surround the city fill up on weekdays not weekends. It's opposite from what you encounter in most parts of the country. Typically, Friday and Saturday are the busiest days for most hotels, but In Albany (and maybe other capitol cities) the rooms are booked during the week. This is because the state legislature is in session and assembly men and women must travel to the state capitol in order to engage in sausage making.
Just a friendly reminder when you find yourself in Albany on a Monday!
The artist accompanies a Park Ranger on a backcountry patrol. Patrols may accommodate the artist to a certain extent, but artists must be both physically fit enough to attempt such a journey and possess the skills and experience for extended, rigorous wilderness travel. Each year there is one Artist in Residence Patrol of 10 to 14 days. Residencies usually take place during the summer from July to Sept.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Sculpture engages our bodies and our minds. Sculpture is a physical exploration of relationships within and between forms and ideas. In Sculpture we tackle physically essential dilemmas; drop something, it falls to the ground; strike a blow on a material, you’ll leave a mark. Yet art making is also the act of giving shape to spirit. Artists make the invisible tangible, they conjure something the world doesn’t know it needs, yet something the artist desperately needs to see for him/herself. In sculpture we explore the technical aspect of making art, its mythical/conceptual aspect, and methodologies artists use to make work. Through exploration, we come to realize these facets are inter-connected.
From an interview with Art Is Moving
Can you talk about your sculpture?
My work is rooted in physical and poetic understandings of nature, (and I mean nature in the sense of an inter-connected web of people, places, and things.) I place a special emphasis on the relationship of these understandings to my own emotional life. The invisible life of emotions is fascinating to me, and while I’ve used many materials over the years, wood, intensely familiar and knowable, remains the best-suited material for constructing three-dimensional objects that serve as metaphors for human stories. For me, the most prominent – and interesting – characters in these stories are unfulfilled desires, fear, and the expression of a longing for safety and comfort in all its manifestations. I make vessel or “basket” informed work – pieces I call bascauda, from Latin meaning kettle or table-vessel – and think of these as keeping places for past remembrances. I also make work I callmembrana – from Latin meaning parchment or that which covers members of the body – these works recall boats and/or shields, essentially objects that cover and protect the self. My work method involves a lot of laminated wood construction, weaving, binding, etc. I’m drawn to very low-tech assembly methods because I like the direct connection with the materials. I use machines and current technologies, but simply can’t stand the “distance” this puts between me and my work. I like to think of the layers of wood like layers of memories accumulated over time that, like memory, possess both a sense of certainty and a sense of the uncertain.