tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75520505740812456922024-03-13T08:29:50.981-07:00...anywhere but herea shoeboxla projectpwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-61390918374775432292014-06-27T10:54:00.000-07:002014-06-27T12:50:29.330-07:00ABH#6/Mary Addison Hackett<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 120%;"><i>1968. It Was a Beautiful Cake. No Moths</i>, 2014,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 120%;">Two panels, oil on linen/oil on canvas, 16 x 14 inches each</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Thus the hankering for houses is often a desire for a life, and the
fervency with which we pursue them is the hope that everything will be alright,
that we will be loved, that we will not be alone, that we will stop quarreling
or needing to run away, that our lives will be measured, gracious, ordered,
coherent, safe.”</span></i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ~Rebecca Solnit, “Inside Out”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve spent
every decade of my life as an artist in a different region: Southeast, Midwest,
West Coast. I’ve lost track of how many houses and studios. I held yard sales
with every move, anticipating a lighter footprint along the way. I am in the
South again. I wasn’t sure I’d stay. Even now as I write this and Google
“storage units,” I wonder whether I am nomadic by nature or if I take secret
pleasure in being bound by the objects I currently tend to from eras past. </span></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 120%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 120%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The recent
paintings are the result of field work and intense observation. Each canvas becomes
a surrogate for objects, memories or situations up for parole. The finished
painting becomes another object, but with repetition comes detachment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anywhere
But Here,</i> I baked a cake from a family recipe, and polished a sideboard—
two seemingly incongruent activities that resulted in the diptych, </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>1968. It Was a Beautiful Cake. No Moths</i>. During the actual process of painting, there
is no narrative and no objective other than to document the scene in front of
me. Shadows shift, the light changes, I move to the left or the right.
Everything is in flux. Within these small acts of negotiation, time falls away
and I feel most at home. ~<b>Mary Addison
Hackett</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 120%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">We came across Mary Addison Hackett's work at a big, hodgepodge group show in Los Angeles a couple years back; a show were everyone tries to overshadow the next artist. On our way out, we spotted a little corner area we neglected to visit. Hiding out here were a cluster of quiet yet sneakily persuasive paintings by Mary Addison. The wall flowers of the show. We were hooked!</span></span></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Mary Addison Hackett<b> </b>is a Nashville-based painter who has
recently returned to the South after an extended leave of absence. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.maryaddisonhackett.com/" target="_blank">artist link</a></b></span></span></div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-21094733347203302032014-05-15T19:44:00.000-07:002014-06-27T10:33:38.529-07:00ABH#5/William Conger<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmZTndZQeJZysUKEz022PGDXW71mLeyeuGg-l8_tpzYTS41hVFl0tJuudkmN-WeVg2L3Aq78wD725Umeou15kjJ2A0SufAnfbAacXfbNTNc_NVS7trQ71GwO9tCe1OtsHswtYbEQEEKs/s1600/conger_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmZTndZQeJZysUKEz022PGDXW71mLeyeuGg-l8_tpzYTS41hVFl0tJuudkmN-WeVg2L3Aq78wD725Umeou15kjJ2A0SufAnfbAacXfbNTNc_NVS7trQ71GwO9tCe1OtsHswtYbEQEEKs/s1600/conger_1.jpg" height="640" width="635" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Conger,<i> Mappa Mundi</i>, Gouache on Rag Paper, 8 inches
diameter, 2014.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>William Conger’s paintings are snapshots of a world going too
fast…Each work, however, includes little, hidden moments of hope and clarity – his
visions convey the sites and sounds of an individual grappling with so much
around him, determined to make some sense of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>William Conger makes art in Chicago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Chicago
is lucky to have him.</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>
</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>From the artist:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">English Medieval artist, map maker and chronicler,
Benedictine Monk Matthew Paris (c.1200-1259) made symbolic “T-O maps” of the world. They were
circular maps divided horizontally through the middle and then vertically from
the center to the bottom. The exact center represented Jerusalem
while the upper half represented Asia
(including the Garden of Eden; the lower left represented Europe and the
remaining lower right represented the northern coast of Africa).
Surrounding the circumference, the (flat?) earth was water and, beyond that, Heaven
and Hell. Amazingly, such abstract maps may have been used for travel, as for crusaders. Providing only a hint of geography, the T-O maps guided by means of
symbolic notations that were intended to evoke much fuller verbal knowledge
based on experience and scripture. Matthew Paris said he drew so that “the ear
hears what the eyes may see”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My <i>Mappa Mundi</i>, for the “Anywhere But Here” exhibition
freely uses Matthew Paris’ T-O map format. My abstract shapes and textured
colors are intended to imply that abstract painting also evokes a personal language or narrative that may explain an image as if it were something else
even though it maps nothing in the world.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.williamconger.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>artist link</b></span> </span></a></div>
</div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-57056486267503930622014-04-13T10:41:00.001-07:002014-04-13T10:46:00.482-07:00Where is the “here” than which it would be preferable to be anywhere but? “We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has
existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while
we have been making up our world entirely without it.”
-- <b>George Eliot,
</b><i><b>
</b></i><b>"Middlemarch"</b><i>
</i>pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-50649402463257108132014-03-08T11:39:00.000-08:002014-03-08T11:40:06.337-08:00ABH#4/Laura Sharp Wilson<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1_1RCXdLnYCXa79bCtM_FGXbruwYjvavVwV38KTVmnrUYtN6fsqbSj2krywzN0a-Fn5AFQJl4Dql4PzjOGrdcrcot2ED1-J7r3trxWVUOfPNPCoxsxhQ0uS5HTForHH8OxU1XpxLdfM/s1600/The+I+Want+to+be+Somewhere+Else+Option.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1_1RCXdLnYCXa79bCtM_FGXbruwYjvavVwV38KTVmnrUYtN6fsqbSj2krywzN0a-Fn5AFQJl4Dql4PzjOGrdcrcot2ED1-J7r3trxWVUOfPNPCoxsxhQ0uS5HTForHH8OxU1XpxLdfM/s1600/The+I+Want+to+be+Somewhere+Else+Option.jpg" height="640" width="636" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>The I Want to be Somewhere Else Option</i>, 2007, 38" x 38", acrylic, graphite and collage on Unryu paper mounted on wood panel.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Over the past fifteen years Laura Sharp Wilson has been making obsessive, flat, tangled images on mulberry
paper about being in this chaotic, contradictory world. </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.laurasharpwilsonpaintings.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>artist link </b></span></a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-50207937144516484052014-01-20T18:11:00.001-08:002014-01-20T18:14:30.009-08:00ABH #3/Amanda Church<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<i>Magic</i><i>
Castle</i>, 2010, oil on
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"The reason I made so many paintings about LA is now
becoming clear through the difficulty I am finding in articulating what I love
about the city. Apart from its newness to this born-and-bred New Yorker, along
with the expansiveness and a pleasure-oriented culture, something about
the city always fills me with an inexplicable sense of joy and freedom.
Everyday activities like driving along the freeway always seemed strangely
special. <i>Magic</i><i> Castle</i>'s eponymous name comes from one of the
handful of Hollywood-area motels where I have
spent time over the past few years. I did a series of drawings of the view from
my balcony, which spawned this particular painting. There are other works which reference different locales and architecture, foliage, swimming pools, and even a
Surrealist-influenced self-portrait as a sun-drenched, secret West Coaster."-- <b>Amanda Church</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>... you got that special kind of sadness<br />
you got that tragic set of charms<br />
that only comes from time spent in Los
Angeles<br />
makes me wanna wrap you in my arms...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>(from the song <i>Time Spent in Los Angeles</i> by Dawes)</b></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amandachurchart.com/"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>artist link</b></span></a></span></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<br />pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-17215748789523434262013-12-04T19:56:00.000-08:002013-12-04T19:57:32.066-08:00ABH Traveler #2: Louise Bourgeois<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZV-OsWkTlX5SoTwbgh72sioTWCl7cWyyq4qwU5Qo-OqD9IoIo1OGteh9wpSXLDesLxdgNdx6_gutNa1u-FwFJst24JfElZlnLyzzCtDL4aOyxNVLcZWoWdnlwfONL92aRJoXKf1dixFc/s1600/bourgeois.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZV-OsWkTlX5SoTwbgh72sioTWCl7cWyyq4qwU5Qo-OqD9IoIo1OGteh9wpSXLDesLxdgNdx6_gutNa1u-FwFJst24JfElZlnLyzzCtDL4aOyxNVLcZWoWdnlwfONL92aRJoXKf1dixFc/s640/bourgeois.jpg" width="508" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div id="stcpDiv" style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Louise
Bourgeois, Cell (The Last Climb), 2008. Steel, glass, rubber, thread
and wood, 151-1/2 x 157-1/2 x 118 inches. Collection National Gallery
of Canada, Ottawa. Photo: Christopher Burke - See more at:
http://www.artcritical.com/2010/06/18/the-grace-of-silence/lb/#sthash.UoKbIsBv.dpuf</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Louise Bourgeois,<i> Cell (The
Last Climb)</i>, 2008. Steel, glass, rubber, thread & wood, Collection National
Gallery of Canada, Ottawa.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div id="stcpDiv" style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Louise
Bourgeois, Cell (The Last Climb), 2008. Steel, glass, rubber, thread
and wood, 151-1/2 x 157-1/2 x 118 inches. Collection National Gallery
of Canada, Ottawa. Photo: Christopher Burke - See more at:
http://www.artcritical.com/2010/06/18/the-grace-of-silence/lb/#sthash.UoKbIsBv.dpuf</div>
<div id="stcpDiv" style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Louise
Bourgeois, Cell (The Last Climb), 2008. Steel, glass, rubber, thread
and wood, 151-1/2 x 157-1/2 x 118 inches. Collection National Gallery
of Canada, Ottawa. Photo: Christopher Burke - See more at:
http://www.artcritical.com/2010/06/18/the-grace-of-silence/lb/#sthash.UoKbIsBv.dpuf</div>
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</div>
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<div id="stcpDiv" style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Louise
Bourgeois, Cell (The Last Climb), 2008. Steel, glass, rubber, thread
and wood, 151-1/2 x 157-1/2 x 118 inches. Collection National Gallery
of Canada, Ottawa. Photo: Christopher Burke - See more at:
http://www.artcritical.com/2010/06/18/the-grace-of-silence/lb/#sthash.gtVeT5Kn.dpuf</div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-56550733419900693082013-11-26T09:48:00.002-08:002013-11-26T09:53:55.518-08:00Where is the “here” than which it would be preferable to be anywhere but? <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"You see I usually find myself among strangers because
I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to
me." -- <b>F. Scott Fitzgerald, "The Great Gatsby."</b></span></div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-53462642772633570502013-11-21T11:01:00.000-08:002013-11-21T11:01:23.865-08:00ABH #2/Mary Jo Bole<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjrD_UvYvE8wi_Gtt9LFK89UqYzVxpcbmIZuyycCxXTDZu67iasD0pw6_5V95KvlU65sQ-1RMFmJrYgqG1qvH8M1Ozqkkx5dbtcbTimvf-LjEdIJCeQclFnI50Em5NA67NmpoXJTJJMM/s1600/my_then_requiem_for+_a_family_tree_small++copy.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="577" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjrD_UvYvE8wi_Gtt9LFK89UqYzVxpcbmIZuyycCxXTDZu67iasD0pw6_5V95KvlU65sQ-1RMFmJrYgqG1qvH8M1Ozqkkx5dbtcbTimvf-LjEdIJCeQclFnI50Em5NA67NmpoXJTJJMM/s640/my_then_requiem_for+_a_family_tree_small++copy.tif" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 120%;">My Then: Requiem for a Family Tree, 2013, </span></span></i>32.6 x 36 inches, pigment print on rice paper</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="BasicParagraph">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="BasicParagraph">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 120%;">I grew up very free to roam my world, in a decaying
mid-century Cleveland, Ohio. I am more comfortable with things
emptying out and fading. Maybe we need our secrets, real and imagined, with all
our ever-present communication. Although I was born in 1956, my cognition
begins with my Granny Bole, born in 1881. She shared her life stories with me. Her
antiques, trove of early family photographs, trunks of rotting clothing and
finger bowls had a profound impact on me. This joins and collides with the span
of my decades, mixed with sardonic visions for a frightening future. Michael
Lesy’s book </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wisconsin_Death_Trip"><i><span style="line-height: 120%;">Wisconsin DeathTrip</span></i></a><span style="line-height: 120%;"> remains a
clarifying voice for me when considering issues around this concept. Lesy uncovered
a collection of Victorian glass plates in the Wisconsin Historical Society made
by a small town's photographer. What fascinates me about the vernacular images
is that they sat in a box for roughly the span of a human lifetime and that
what once was average and everyday had become singular and provocative.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 120%;"><a href="http://maryjobole.com/"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>artist link </b></span></a></span></span></span></div>
</div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-77080592666015082402013-11-15T11:00:00.000-08:002013-11-15T11:17:16.091-08:00ABH Traveler #1: Arthur Dove<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9I5qAgkks-_dJF3oE-OMxQWqjcAI-0Djd6sy-3-296C6d9sXbBWXSZETVRgFum3IQoe3Gwus2chIis04p5I1zbOcuAKBBali5VeWTkonmAzCg7tdse_yia_vqHybxxvCFRgFMWpwDGs/s1600/dove2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9I5qAgkks-_dJF3oE-OMxQWqjcAI-0Djd6sy-3-296C6d9sXbBWXSZETVRgFum3IQoe3Gwus2chIis04p5I1zbOcuAKBBali5VeWTkonmAzCg7tdse_yia_vqHybxxvCFRgFMWpwDGs/s640/dove2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman 12;">Arthur Dove, <i>Me and the Moon</i>, 1937. Wax emulsion on canvas, 18 x 26 in. Washington, D.C., Phillips Collection. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-84488583801655355662013-11-10T20:06:00.001-08:002013-11-11T22:50:28.419-08:00ABH #1/Cynthia Hartling<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHy_ryGq5ujYW_33NVK0V7lYZxAEViUD_4A0imrFlhcn3ZAKoiloUkBaOs534Zw08fPICFCwSkLU26yyBqSDVWjcxBCdT6TTChitzRP_3fRftvrYhytWxlPeDnLQQ6iT0mK3WvVJ8x2g/s1600/abh_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="585" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHy_ryGq5ujYW_33NVK0V7lYZxAEViUD_4A0imrFlhcn3ZAKoiloUkBaOs534Zw08fPICFCwSkLU26yyBqSDVWjcxBCdT6TTChitzRP_3fRftvrYhytWxlPeDnLQQ6iT0mK3WvVJ8x2g/s640/abh_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Wyoming
Series, oil on linen, 24” x 26”, c. 2013</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Indian Time, (no time like now), pressed heat, liquid matter smoothed over<br />oblong clouds of pink
flesh toned, squeezed, flattened orange
meets
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">space that separates, silence in the in-between places-some other place </span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">the shape of form, where
It takes me, to get at, pare down red-handed</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">linen skin raw earth-to
not know </span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Desire: the hoi polloi
strangeness of it all </span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">to squander, disperse,
forget, wander about</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">tell-tale Heart, now you
really let go……</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">in the wide open-</span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"> directionless</span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.cynthiahartling.com/">artist link</a></b></span> </span></div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-67198378621659296482013-11-09T10:36:00.000-08:002013-11-26T09:51:12.120-08:00Where is the “here” than which it would be preferable to be anywhere but?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart
with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they
flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights;
where I woke sobbing for joy.” -- <b>Emily Brontë, “Wuthering Heights.”</b></span></span></div>
pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552050574081245692.post-28289105450027613852013-10-16T10:19:00.001-07:002013-10-16T10:22:08.586-07:00<span style="background-color: blue;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">COMING SOON!</span></span></b></span>pwenyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14232935064735516034noreply@blogger.com0