Saturday, April 29, 2006
2.5' glass cube, wax, light fixture, plywood, black paint.
This sculpture is much more complicated that it would seem. If you peer into the 1" square "windows," inside you will see a 1' glass cube filled with water, and within that a 6" glass cube filled with stratified dirt, chalk, carbon, and sand. The wax on the exterior cube created an unplanned hall of mirrors effect. The water cube repeats "infinitely." Shamefully, I've no photos of the interior.
When the piece is taken outside in the sunshine, it glows aqua blue, like arctic snow, quite the opposite of its yellow hues when lit from within.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Death Card
Charcoal and pencil on paper. Sketch for painting(?)
I like this mostly. But I am leery of the female looking too "fashiony," or themes of "goddess power" in general. Still, I like her expression. By all rights mythological, that moon should be a crescent. The deer please me. This photo quality does not.
Oil on canvas. Work in progress. Originally I wanted this to be coldly, starkly white. Dry, bone aching cold white. And yet have a sense of nighttime. I am not happy with the dun beigeness - too muddy. But I also really want a white crow, an old crow. The composition is not there yet. I love the white bird, and when I get all those candy jewel insects packed on that plate, I'll be happier. Originally they were meant to be bones. Too obvious.
I promise, I'm not depressed!
Hunting Party - Umatilla Res.
The Very Unstable Chicken
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
The Deli Counter
Another early oil on canvas. This time about my relatives. The theme looks terribly "Children of the Corn," and the girl's frighteningly Neanderthal-ish. Too bad. Again, poor photo - I will defend the composition and actual use of paint - have to get some detail on here. I'm particularly proud of the rendering of the sunflowers.
Anyway, Grant Wright (my not so great-uncle), used to line his children up in their Kansas farmhouse, point his shotgun at them, and threaten to shoot. One day, in a jealous rage, he murdered his wife while out on a picnic, or so I'm told. Then he came home and went after the children. They escaped to the corn fields, where they hid successfully until daddy blew his brains out.
A French ami has suggested I do a series about American Violence.
This is the first oil painting I ever did. The assignment was to do something cubist. I'm sure I cheated a bit.
The story is one from my step-father's family. His aunt, mother of three, in the hospital birthing a fourth. Father home tending to the little ones. A fire starts, and he is passed out drunk in the kitchen. Someone pulls him out, but the children perish.
(photo quality is terrible. i'll fix that soon as i can.)