Elaine Haby’s Favorites

New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
It'll come as no surprise when I tell you that I still have my head buried working on the handcolouring and binding element of five (of the ten) editions of A Flight of Twelve Southern Hemisphere Birds, and as the launch at the library draws nearer, I grow more excited and nervous. I hope those of you nearby can come along to the launch and see with your own eyes the parrots and swifts I've been labouring over. In my focus, I've yet to share with you Gracia's two brilliant written responses to The Australian Ballet's two-act ballet La Sylphide performed alongside the one-act Paquita, and Alexei Ratmansky's world premiere of the dreamy Cinderella. First things first, here, Gracia takes you to a woodland glade: La Sylphide (1836), with Paquita (1847) (for Fjord Review) Seeing this work recently performed by The Australian Ballet as a double bill with Marius Petipa’s Paquita serving as an irresistible 19th-century classicism appetiser, is like discovering a much sort after time machine. Both works feel so of their time that to see them is to feel transported to a theatre in the 1800s. This sensation comes from the choreography, from the way it uses the body, what it asks of the body, and from the emphasis upon the rapid feet movements in La Sylphide, a two act ballet synonymous with putting the dancers en pointe without the aid of overhead wires and ‘flying machines’. In La Sylphide we see memory of the first sylph Marie Taglioni, who, as Artistic Director David McAllister explained “used her incredible ability to balance on her toes for the first time in this work. The illusion of barely touching the floor, hovering on the tips of her toes, gave Taglioni a weightlessness that removed her from the earthly realm and enabled her to inhabit the role of the woodland fairy she portrayed. What Taglioni began has now evolved into a technique employed by every ballerina.” In seeing these two works, though particularly La Sylphide, I am keenly aware that a ballet can be both timeless and of its time. This for me is part of its beauty. It is beautifully of its time. It shows us clearly what ballet was at that exact period. And in showing us what ballet was in 1836, it shows us evolution of technique and style. This production of La Sylphide has been handed down by Danish ballet masters since its 1836 debut appearance thereby making it a close-to authentic and pure work, and whilst not the same version as performed by Taglioni, in Erik Bruhn’s choreography after Bournonville I like to imagine we are seeing close to what audiences saw centuries ago. In Paquita it is easy to imagine the audience in rapturous applause as legs fly so high they could detach, and hands give impression of pushing against the resistance of water, for this work, now more commonly performed as the one-act marriage scene between Paquita and the French nobleman whose life she has saved, is a work chiefly about impressive technique over narrative. Revised by Petipa, our Paquita remains our Spanish gypsy who discovers that she is of noble blood and thus able to marry her beloved Lucien, but what holds is the detailed classicism and Spanish-styled épaulement that seeks to convey aristocratic elegance. It is this that most evokes the period and thus delights. Audiences on the two nights’ I attended, and the full dress rehearsal too, delighted in those keenly awaited 32 fouettés executed to timed perfection as much, I can only imagine, as they did many, many performances ago. Both timeless and of its time. The landscape paintings of Théodore Gericault and John Constable, for example, embody the Romantic sensibility and as such show us today how they viewed the world. Nature is dramatic, and there is a terrific sense of melancholic reverie. Romanticism, in rejection of Enlightenment’s values placed upon reason and order, is, as Charles Baudelaire wrote in 1846, “a way of feeling”. And it is this “way of feeling” twinned with Bournonville’s lightness and beauty that sees us transported to liminal space between reality and dream, from farmhouse to cauldron-side and later woodland glade all by second act of La Sylphide. Nature is a great muse, and just like those dramatic paintings, it is not always the good hero who wins. There is heartache at the core of Romanticism, and one of the air and one of the earth cannot live together. And there is the grotesque, too, in Madge, the old fortuneteller serving as dramatic counter to ethereal and ultimately unattainable sylphs. Having cursed James as she is thrown out from the farmhouse for declaring that it will be his rival Gurn who will marry his intended Effie, there can be little doubt how this will end. James will end up with neither the supernatural sylph whom he is enamored of nor his fiancée Effie. A man divided between two loves, between two worlds, it is this very state of unrest and duality that we so closely associate with the Romantic period. For me this ballet is about the sad duality between the body and the soul, between reality and the unknown realm of dreams and ideas, and what it means to be human. Click here to read the whole piece. And now, let us join Cinderella in a surrealist landscape: Alexei Ratmansky's Cinderella (for Fjord Review) Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Sergei Prokofiev’s beautifully eerie time keeping score. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. A row of conical hedges transform with one rotation into metronomes. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. A dancer’s leg strikes twelve, over and over. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. A leg can swing like a pendulum, oscillating back and forth from a central point. A body has become a clock, proving Salvador Dali true: "every portrait can be transformed into living room furniture", and thus Mae West’s lips become a sofa on which to sit. The body can become an object and an object can become a body. Time and transformation are the threads that bind this new production of The Australian Ballet’s Cinderella together. True to the score, Alexei Ratmansky’s choreography coupled with Jérôme Kaplan’s costume and set design revels in this glorious sense of time being measured, and the optical illusion of surrealism whose transformative powers delight in catching you in their illusion, thus making this fairytale complete. The passing of time, it is in the orbit of the planets that spin clockwise and anticlockwise. There flies Mars, Neptune, and Venus! It is in the apparent suspension of time that sees dancers appear weightless. Indeed, as the Celestial Bodies fly Cinderella through the solar system, she appears to defy gravity. So at ease, her suspended form calls to mind Dali’s The Sleep (1937). The very marking of time, it is the chase the orchestra perform with alacrity and apparent delight. One moment an almost demonic gallop, the next a lyrical sweep to rival the swirl of costume. It is a score perhaps not as well known as Romeo and Juliet (but it should be) and it is one that has a beautiful quality of measuring, keeping, and altering time from the moment it commences. You begin to almost see the notes leaping up from the orchestra pit and taking over the theatre. Ratmansky’s Cinderella evokes the overwhelming sensation that this is what ballet sounds like and what Prokofiev’s music looks like. Cinderella is a beautiful collision of opposites. The grotesque plays opposite the romance of the fairytale with the happy ending we are assured of from the outset, with or without the transportation conjuring feats performed by mice and pumpkins. There can be little doubt that to bite into one of the stepsisters or the stepmother would be fatal: "sugary on the outside and venomous inside." Comedy plays opposite heartache, and real time plays opposite suspended time. It combines the timeless with the ephemeral, and the classic with the modern with all the ease of a Georgio de Chirico painting. With its ambiguous spatiality and the power to free objects from their normal contexts, the surrealist’s landscape of the unknown seems an ideal landscape in which to place Cinderella. If you are going to explore the dream, longing (both romantic and familial), and by that reasoning, the fairytale, who better to have as guide than the surrealists? Celebrating the laws of chance and a sense of different layers has the effect of hand in glove that one wonders why you’ve not earlier seen Cinderella in surreal setting such as this. From René Magritte we have the frame within a frame within a frame of the staging that works so cleverly to alter the audience’s sense of space and time. And we also have the suggestion of conflict between the hidden and the visible that runs through much of Magritte’s work echoed at the close of act II when the Prince cannot 'see' Cinderella for her rags. There but not there, I doubt I have ever been more moved by an act’s close, such is this production’s understanding of the power of drama and story telling. The story told through lengthy mime—gone. In its place, a body to speak, and speak it does in the lead up to midnight replete with its twelve chimes. In hearing the orchestra play the Waltz-Coda at the end of act II, I am generally confused as to just who is moving: the characters on stage or the whole theatre? Come Midnight hedges-cum-metronomes glide, encircle and ensnare, and Cinderella and the Prince run circles, and the audience, too—we are moving aren’t we? I am reminded of Prokofiev’s own words in describing the sense of confused, fused fantastical movement when at a young age he saw Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty at the Bolshoi Theatre: "...but when they, that is the cast in Sleeping Beauty, where moving along in a boat whilst the stage set moved toward them, your gaze, after having being glued to the spectacle for a time, involuntarily shifted and you looked around and it seemed that the theatre was also moving until finally you couldn’t tell whether it was the stage or the theatre or your own head that was moving." Click here to read the whole piece (replete with endnotes, if you're curious). Rereading these words, I cannot wait for The Australian Ballet's 2014 season. Continue »
New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
As Gracia recently posted, you've only a handful of days remaining to catch our exhibition with Stephen Wickham at Geelong Gallery. My birds have held their position on the gallery wall for as long as they can, barely moving a muscle or a feather, and it is time to take it all down on Monday. So I hope that you can make it to the gallery before then to see Gracia's 464 postcard collages and swim through Stephen's from Rock bottom, but beautiful by way of Tangles and charms fallen into the life lost to Plasma and lapis skies. Skates on, troops. You've only three days. We'll be sorry to pack this up, but we're also looking forward to making new work. And what fun we've had these past few weeks. Thank-you. Gracia Haby, Louise Jennison, Stephen Wickham All breathing in heaven Until Sunday 13th of October, 2013 Geelong region artists program Geelong Gallery, Little Malop Street, Geelong (Geelong Gallery's recent e-newsletter featuring Gracia's Wet whiskers drying postcard collage on the cover of October's Art Almanac. Click to enlarge.) Continue »
New Post
Blog: Dear You
Image
Dear you, Sometimes I take great delight in small moments of everyday rebellion. I like to walk out of public restrooms with my paws unwashed much to the horror of the mothers nearby who are in the process of showing their children how to clean their hands properly. I like to shake my fallen hairs onto the neat person sitting beside on the tram. And I like to cross the road on the red man to the obvious displeasure of dog owners and parents trying to teach their canines and children a little road safety awareness. Such things may be small but the pleasure I derive from going against the norm and not being ‘conventional’ and ‘acceptable’ and ‘proper’, the pleasure it is huge. So long as no harm comes, I am content with this. It is one of the great joys of spring. Yours, unruly, but not all bad, X (Postcard collage title: Mr Breton sends spring wishes.) Continue »
New Post
Image
{One} {Two} {Three} {Four} {Five} {Six} {Seven} {Eight} {Nine} This is how recent days have looked, in part. These recent instagram captures tell of one tiny part of a morning, an afternoon, a day, a week. They don’t tell the whole, but they give you an idea, sort of. They are as true as they are misleading, and I think that is what I like about them best of all. They are misleading not because they didn’t happen, for they did, but rather because in them you don’t see that which happened before and that which followed. You see but a fragment. In the photo of Olive with her tile-matching ears, you don’t see the kitty litter crystals on the laundry floor waiting, wanting, needing to be swept up. Out of frame, behind Omar in the sun, giant piles of recently washed and folded clothing that will never make it to the cupboard before next worn. Instead, as they have always done, these clothing towers will stay in their makeshift place and we will awkwardly step around them to get to the computer. And once at the computer, dressed still in pajamas, we will check emails, send invitations, post invoices, grateful that what is behind the screen is not visible as we do so. And in the photo of the row of alumni courtyard blossom blooms you perhaps don’t get a sense that this was a space passed through quickly on the way to sit at a desk at RMIT where I quietly draw up feedback to painting students studying via distance, occasionally typing in rhythm to the photocopier machine’s purr-hum. Nor, for that matter, do you get a sense that the view of the yellow staircase through the bars is actually the view though the open window in the toilets. But, perhaps the beauty of any image is that it lets you make up your own story from the setting provided and that this doesn’t matter if it is correct. And some of the time, you’ll even be correct. It is the stuff of terrific joy to receive presents of paper ephemera from Helsinki and Cambridge (thank-you Olivia xo), and it is endearing to see Perce make himself comfortable in the basket of One-Gear-Louise’s brand new bike. It is exciting to receive a generous swathe of Liberty upholstery fabric for two balloon chairs and to think of what you can use the remainder for. This is, in short, the best bits, visually. Nine, plus a horse. + Philip Pullman, How children's books thrived under Stalin (the guardian) + Gary Pearce, Fight for the inner north (0verland literary journal) + My zine, A Catalogue of Bodies, in the hands of others + The happy recipient of a beautiful hand-knitted cowl (thanks Mum xo) Continue »
New Post
Image
Some days dawn chilly and cloudy and cold, only to heat up; by mid-afternoon the sun blares and glares, glinting and golden at its low, desperate-seeming angle. On the river, where we lounged with neighbors and kids all Sunday afternoon,... Continue »
New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
When I am not working on the hand-colouring of 120 birds as part of my forthcoming artists' book A Flight of Twelve Southern Hemisphere Birds, the companion to my unique state artists' book, I can sometimes* be found out and about with Percy and friends, soaking up Spring. Colouring in the beaks of the Antarctic Tern (Sterna vittata), the molluscs that ring the Red Knot (Calidris canutus), and the yellow hued wasps that dance around the Crested Jay (Platylophus galericulatus) is proving enjoyable work thus far, but sometimes a short break for the eyes is needed. In The Royal Botanical Gardens, a (not my team) Collingwood football was found, much to Percy's delight, and we all got to stretch muscles previously forgotten about. * I say 'sometimes', but it is more rare than this. Most of the time I am working towards finishing this edition of ten, and 120 birds will not colour themselves. And finally, Percy sings Happy Birthday to G. Kind of. Continue »
New Post
Image
{Sunk long time in trance.} Because sometimes the very best thing you can do when feeling yourself spread too thin is to add something else to the list of things of to do and things to mend, I am puttying, sanding, sugar-soaping, and repainting the bathroom with Louise. It has, this additional task, worked wonders in the Great Business of Getting Things Done. It has served like a painter’s medium to extend the paint’s fluidity and coverage, prompting me to think that perhaps it had all been a question of readdressing the balance of things. One cannot be too much in the head. The body and its marvellous muscles need their workout too. And so, with gap filler in hand, we continue to plug holes in the bathroom where the garden tries to break through and wave green hand. We fix dodgy electrics in the last of the day's light before heading back to the task of new collage works (on my plate) and the hand-colouring of some 120 birds (on Louise’s plate). We scrub, polish, and scrape, all to the supposed delight of the pets. They inspect the work, gingerly. Sensory alert! Sniff, sniff, sniff. What’s this new earthen scent you’ve uncovered? Back to the brilliant toil. (And see you in Melbourne soon, Hila.) {A strange and silent place.} {The Birmingham Freeze.} {The Veracruz Tiptoe.} {A strange kind of winter palace.} + Thank-you to all of you who have taken the time to go and see All breathing in heaven at Geelong Gallery. It has been so encouraging to receive your emails about the exhibition, and I am most grateful to those of you who have also sent me a few postcards from their own collection too. I have a new series of collages in mind and this has given me a great spark. An abundances of thanks to you, you brilliant and kind and curious souls. + Poles apart. Tickets for The Australian Ballet and Opera Australia for 2014 finalised. Ten delights await! + A teasing look at The Australian Ballet's 2014 season I am looking forward to sharing with you my post on La Sylphide and Paquita once published, until then, sneak into the rehearsal room of Cinderella: {Cinderella: Episode #2: in the rehearsal room} Continue »
New Post
Image
{Hand-coloured lithograhic print depicting Marie Taglioni in La Sylphide (Souvenir d'adieu, No. 3) by Edward Morton after a drawing by A. E. Chalon, in the collection of the V&A.} Many things constitute a treat, but perhaps, for me, one of the greatest treats is that of seeing something in preview to opening. The very phrase behind-the-scenes, for me, is imbued with secrecy, rareness, and thrill. It cannot be anything other than this, a pleasure bound to privilege and a privilege bound to pleasure, to see an artwork in any stage of progress from germ of idea to final alterations. It carries a unique excitement all of its own that comes chiefly, I suspect, from being allowed to see a part of the process before the varnish has set and all is fixed. A composition in its still fluid stage being mapped out. A drawing near-to complete aside for tonal adjustments to be made in the area of the foreground. An exhibition being installed in the gallery before tools are packed away and lighting adjusted. A written draft of raw ideas, sections crossed out and reworked in the margin. A full dress rehearsal in the theatre on the evening before opening night. The unguarded moment perhaps here, for me, the link, and I am reminded of Philippe Béziat’s film Becoming Traviata which allows you to see up close the physical and emotional demands of the rehearsal process. A private moment made public. Who would refuse a peep at this? Who could say no to such an electrically charged thrill? Not me. And so it was that last night I found myself at the State Theatre with Louise delighting in the unattainable and otherworldly, at The Australian Ballet’s full dress rehearsal of Marius Petipa’s Paquita and Erik Bruhn after August Bournoville’s two-act work La Sylphide. The orchestra in the pit wears not their standard black attire and I enjoy being able to see them in their array of coloured tops, no need yet to disappear into dark cavern. A couple of slightly faster tempo requests are made, lost to my untrained ear, and through James’ farmhouse window, a technician not a sylph can for briefest moment be seen. These brief episodes made for the cherry top to the evening and it was strange to think that only hours earlier I sat in the dentists’ chair for the second time this week with my mouth opened wide and my eyes clamped shut. But for rehearsal’s duration, I forgot about my teeth that earlier felt as though they’d been knocked out and in their place tiny hot coals placed. A beautiful distraction if ever there was! Like our young Scottish farmer, I was permitted to inhabit a charmed other world in which I being of the earth cannot long stay. And like all treats, I was left that curious meld of sated yet wanting more and I cannot wait to see this work (twice) next week. Kilts, woodland sylphs, tutus, and longing, carry me quickly, days, to the romance of it all. La Sylphide opens tonight, float along and see. I am looking forward to writing about these works in detail, and hope, as always, that you can get to see these performances I share with your own eyes too. {Marie Taglioni in the title role of the ballet La Sylphide, Paris, 1832, lithograph from Harry Beard Collection, V&A.} {Published in 1860, when Taglioni was teaching at the Paris Opera, this hand-coloured lithographic print is a copy of an 1830 image, given by Dame Marie Rambert to the V&A collection.} In Marie Taglioni, the ballerina who created the role of the sylph, those elements fused to create an indelible impression of magic, mystery and ethereal loveliness. (La Syl-fever by Caitlyn Lehmann, Behind Ballet) {Achille Jacques Jean Marie Devéria lithographic print by Cattier, published by Goupil & Vibert in the 1830s, given by Dame Marie Rambert to the V&A collection.} {Marie Taglioni in La Sylphide (Souvenir d'adieu, No. 1) by Chalon, published 8th of September, 1845} La Sylphide remains popular for more than its history and style. With its supernatural themes and its tragic hero seeking escape from the mundane world through his dreams, La Sylphide encapsulates the Romantic fixation with the restless outsider who cannot find a spiritual home in the modern world. The ghostly whiteness of the sylph, coupled with the dark irrationality of the hero’s desires, creates a Romantic world delicately balanced between light and dark, natural and supernatural. (Styling La Sylphide by Hila Shachar, Behind Ballet) {Madlle Fanny Cerito (sic) hand-coloured lithographic print by John Deffett Francis printed by Dickinson Brothers, 20th of April 1846, in the collection of the V&A.} + La Sylphide, Ellen Price, filmed 1906 + La Sylphide in the studio, 2013 Continue »
New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
I was delighted to come across this recent post by Ramona Barry, one brilliant half of handmadelife shared with the equally brilliant Beck Jobson. SHOW OF THE WEEK: Take Flight Two of our favourite artists/collaborators have been so so very busy this past few months. Gracia Haby and Louise Jennison have achieved what would be impossible for us — have work ready for a new show and go to over 40 films at the recent Melbourne Film Festival. Do they ever sleep? Geelong Gallery plays host to their latest show All breathing in heaven which continues their exploration of both animal and human worlds and where they intersect. Through the time honoured traditions of collage and drawing these two magical makers have created a world of their own that is totally beguiling. The ladies of hml are big fans, having bought journals, zines, prints and collages in the past so we cant wait for the road trip. How amazing to see so much of their work on display. We often joke that in some parallel universe we would be as talented, intelligent and beautiful as these two and produce work as seductive. We will have content ourselves with being fans and collectors. Ramona Barry handmadelife 20th August, 2013 Thank-you, Ramona and Beck, "makers, collectors and fine purveyors of all that is crafty", for the handsome compliments you have paid us. We think you two are "talented, intelligent and beautiful" too, and we both blushed ear-to-ear upon reading the above. See you in the MIFF 2014 queue to swap tales of films seen and films to come, if not before that. Perhaps we'll bump into you at the Gallery. Double checking all 464 postcard collages are behaving themselves. All works holding their position, & an artists' book with a Plush-capped finch on the cover safely delivered. All in order. One last look. In other images shared recently on instagram, we two chatting on channel 31 about Hooded plovers and honeybee scissors. And in other news recently shared, G and me at The Australian Ballet's dress rehearsal of La Slyphide last night. I cannot wait to see this performance again next week. Continue »
New Post
New Post
Image
Keeping it brief, this Sunday morning post on Father's Day is just to say a huge thank-you to all of Louise and my family and friends and new faces too who made it along to our exhibition opening with Stephen Wickham of All breathing in heaven at Geelong Gallery. Twinned with the 2013 Geelong acquisitive print awards, of which our artists' book As inclination directs is a part of, the opening night passed in a mad whirl. Here, for those who may have missed these quick captures shared on instagram, twitter, and facebook, a nonet of what was, on the last Friday in winter. All breathing in heaven is on until the 13th of October (We three will be giving a floortalk on Sunday the 15th of September at 3pm. Come along, do.) 2013 Geelong acquisitive print awards is on until the 24th of November + Downdload All breathing in heaven 13-page catalogue pdf + SHOW OF THE WEEK: Take flight, handmadelife (Thanks Ramona) + Omar farewells winter + Juan Fontanive's great flying Flipbook Machines Happy Father's Day, Dad. xo Continue »
New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
Yesterday, I was delighted to be able to head back down to Geelong to show my parents Gracia and my work with Stephen Wickham, as well as our artists' book that is being exhibited as part of the 2013 Geelong acquisitive awards. As is tradition, a few blurry gallery snaps were taken. Take yourself along to the grand opening night of both All breathing in heaven and the 2013 Geelong acquisitive awards by way of G's recent post, Thank-you. Thank-you. Thank-you. A nonet of what was., and pop along to the gallery on the 15th of Septemeber at 3pm for our artists talk about Bedlington terriers, memories, postcard finds, and how to draw a bird's eye. All breathing in heaven is on until the 13th of October Downdload All breathing in heaven 13-page catalogue pdf 2013 Geelong acquisitive print awards is on until the 24th of November Nice Work may be over, but you can still comb the archives of August to see thirty-four creative spaces shared. G and I were thrilled to be day 25. This was a really charming project to be involved in, Leah. Thanks Milly Sleeping. Until next time. Continue »
New Post
Image
All is impending doom, as Hila recently described. Doom and gloom. Gloom and doom. Every which way one turns in dispirited lead up to election day. Having already voted earlier today in a crowded Baptist Church in Northcote, I am this evening making like one of Louise's birds and burying my head in the sand. (The view's not bad, under here.) It is the most bird-like I've ever been, I am told. Normally more feline or rodent in mannerism than feathered friend, tonight I am the ostrich. I will focus on the cracking progress Louise's A Year of Southern Hemisphere Birds is making, and the hand-coloured edition of ten that accompany this unique-state artists' book, A Flight of Twelve Southern Hemisphere Birds, too. Launching side-by-side come late October at the Baillieu Library, University of Melbourne, today afforded the chance for show and tell in the library. Owing to the day's downpour, trusty garbage bags made good the carrying of artists' books in state of progress. A gold-lined solander box and precious contents received not one drop. So, here assembled, recent views, from a teddy still lost and awaiting collection in a storefront's window to our reflected readiness to visit to a woodland glade (in the form of The Australian Ballet's La Sylphide, and Paquita at the State Theatre), a Father's Day feast and leisure, and back once more to Geelong Gallery, this time with Louise's parents. And tomorrow I turn 38. This is something of a relief to me as I have spent the year thus far already believing myself to be eight and thirty. Continue »
New Post
Image
I've stolen your blog for a day to say Happy Birthday, dear Gracia, Happy Birthday to you. May the day ahead make you as joyous as this White-plumed Honeyeater (Lichenostomus penicillatus). xolj Continue »
New Post
Image
{A Jungle Grows in all Spaces by Gracia & Louise, especially for Pinknantucket Press, and featuring There'll Be Some Changes Made by Ocie Stockard & The Wanderers (Western Swing Chronicles, vol. 3).} But a peep, a small peep at a collage of moving parts. Louise and I created this work especially for the second volume of Alice's Materiality. For the theme of Time, in broadest sense, A Jungle Grows in all Spaces is our version of all things returning to nature. Broken down into its thirty-plus parts 4cm square, it will in someway feature on printed page, but for more details you will have a little longer to wait. {Collage details held still for a moment.} From the first volume of Materiality, in case you are unfamiliar, The Artists and the Book. Digital and hard copies are available through Pinknantucket's store. + Flip book progression as teaser And, of no direct relation... + Bringing together collage, drawing and photography + Olive transforms herself into a cushion + Charles Dickens, rejecting an invitation from a friend:"‘It is only half an hour’ — ‘It is only an afternoon’ — ‘It is only an evening,’ people say to me over and over again; but they don’t know that it is impossible to command one’s self sometimes to any stipulated and set disposal of five minutes — or that the mere consciousness of an engagement will sometime worry a whole day … Who ever is devoted to an art must be content to deliver himself wholly up to it, and to find his recompense in it. I am grieved if you suspect me of not wanting to see you, but I can’t help it; I must go in my way whether or no.” Continue »
New Post
Blog: ELSEWHERE
Image
Just in case you didn't catch these glimpses on instagram (and shared on twitter and facebook) yesterday, here is a look at how things are coming together for our forthcoming August exhibition, All breathing in heaven, at Geelong Gallery. Mapping out space on the Queen's Birthday long weekend. Working from a floor plan of the Geelong Gallery, a new configuration of postcard collages and my birds is planned in detail. With tape measure, the space is mapped on the floor. Along this line, my birds will fly in a dense formation. With another 40 odd columns still to lay out, things are all falling into allotted space. 443 of G's postcard collages (in part) looks something like this. Adding into the meld, one wombat in Geelong's Botanic Gardens. This collage is Losing feet, losing way. Homes for twenty-eight new postcard collages found and recorded. Continue »
New Post
Image
I like to stay home but sometimes I really like going out. On Friday we had a super-fun time up in north Portland at Tasty 'n' Sons, Spielwerk Toys, Ink and Peat, and Ruby Jewel. We love to eat out.... Continue »
‹ Previous123456789Next ›