Spaces

Photo of old book pages

In the ellipses between
drops of rain
In the space between pale night’s end
and grey morning

I find you.
I find forgotten things.

Between lines of writing
in the pages of books
yellowing in drawers
and on shelves,
In the leathery slips
between their bindings—

And in the spaces
between the notes of songs
not yet written.
In the dry crack
precipitating the death
of an incandescent bulb,
that moment the knob twists
(an old brass lamp)

I hear whisperings,
stories long forgotten
and faded—
or things confused
with memories or dreams,

hauntings.

I find everything, and
nothing.

In the spaces between
things, now, I find
space.

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Floor plans of a room: art archive

map of a room; layout design
A two-dimensional layout

I’ve no recollection of what these plans / designs were intended for; sketches at least 18 years old. Regardless of their erstwhile infamy, I don’t know what the three screens were about, and don’t know to what room these referred. And what on earth is “Model of Strategy”? It had to be for work (“Time to Market” is a phrase I’d never use otherwise. But there’s a midget!? Or I was just taking the piss.)

At any rate, I’m fond of both the spirit and execution of these sketches.

map of a room; interior design
Now with three dimensions!

 

Studies for paintings: art archive

two sketched portraitsHere are some sketchbook studies from some years ago. Two of these (above right and farther below) turned into oil paintings (working in thin glazes) on wood panels, frames painted to match.

oil painting of an angel

two portrait studies
These two are clearly showing the influence of one Egon Shiele.

In the case of the studies (second set in particular), I believe the finished pieces lost something in the translations; the faces are more expressive in the studies, the light and shadows more dramatic and compelling.

oil painting portrait

 

Ink works: art archive

ink illustration of three friendsApologies! This was meant to post yesterday— the danger of three day weekends; one forgets what day it is.

Anyway, I love this drawing! It’s an illustration that I did (in ink) as a full page for a magazine layout project back in the day. It’s my friends Kelley, Thomas, and Sean (but they were in the cafeteria at Pratt, not a cafe).

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Notes from the archives

drawing_02_dinosaurs
While upstate over the holiday, I did some excavating and archiving of old art* and other things when I could find time. Often late at night, when the house was quiet.  The first night followed time spent watching old super 8 home movies from childhood. A natural progression, and something I’d planned to do this trip.

Time travel.

When I was in college my friends and I didn’t have our own phones, so we’d put sheets of paper on our doors for people to leave notes on. Inevitably some of them became elaborate volleys back-and-forth; sometimes we made random shit just for fun, or to say Hi to stick on each other’s doors.
notes left on my doors in collegeWe also wrote letters through the mail during summers apart because: 1. The cost of  “long distance” calls added up quickly, 2. We were all about visuals (what would delight and impress?),  and 3. The letters were things made just for you, delivered right to your mailbox.colorful envelopesOne thing that physical (analog) v. digital (instant) media has thrown into relief: When you know the recipient will not get your letter for days, and it’s already been days or more since they wrote you, you think about what will still be relevant by the time they read it. This tends to eliminate a majority of small talk.

What I mean is you tend to write about what’s important.

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New year

all-things-sacred
The image above is an odd little thing I wrote when I was 23; I was photographing sketchbooks and other do-dads while I was at the Farm.
There will be more to come, art archive series.
.  .  .

It’s sunny today, a nice gift.
At midnight a new year begins,
everything cyclical.

 

Idylls following a solstice

Red barns in snow
The view from my upstairs window in the morning after new snow

Cold and picturesque, the Farm this week; a winter idyll. The drive upstate was unfettered by traffic or difficulties; highway dark on the eclipsed solstice, save the odd bling-lit freight truck. Not a wink, not a star—no Orion out the passenger window.

Red barns in snow
View of the barn from the pasture
locust trees in snow
The stand of locust trees, perished. My mother says they must come down; I’ll miss those stoic sentinels.
horses in snow running
The stout lads in their winter coats

I went out in the afternoon to say hi to the Dudes. The new horse is still being kept separate until they’ve become reliably friendly, so he was down in a separate pasture. Seneca and Prince were feeling feisty and joined me in running.

horse-badgerNew guy Badger met me, allowed me to say hello, but upon realizing I bore no gifts, sauntered off down the hill to search for what  blanketed grasses he might find beneath the snow.

+  +  +

After dinner I unearthed the super 8 film projector and its tin of reels. Something about the metal box slotted for specific storage reminds me of a world war ammunitions case, but it’s square and gold-colored, so it’s all in my head. Anyway, it arms us with lost moments of the past, the sound of the projector a kind of covering fire in the sentimentally charged dark.

super 8 still of horse and kids
My oldest brother and I displaying a telling interest in the horse kind at Niagara Falls

We made it through ten reels. During set up, I had a stray thought, marveling at how the bulb has lasted us through so many of these viewings. A doomed thought, for after I threaded reel eleven, the bulb didn’t come on. We opened the machine and took the bulb out; filament had finally given out. So the session ended with us researching where to find. They are expensive things, and rightfully so. What a beautiful and intricate thing; and now in low demand. My father is off now to find a replacement.

people at a lake
My mother at the cottage on Silver Lake in some fly green shades