When I get out of the 7 train at Grand Central, I am faced with a long stairwell leading up to 42nd St. At the base of the stairwell, I often notice the yellow, hand painted numbers, which demarcate the first flight. Should I catalog all the trees in my yard? All the rocks and sticks too?
Muslims pray at the Kofar Mata central mosque to mark the end of the holy month of Ramadan in Nigeria’s northern city of Kano on September 10, 2010. REUTERS/Akintunde.
Perhaps I will make a piece where I create bundles of clothing, laid out in rows like this. Here is a study I created.
My figure drawing has little improved! Though I did faithfully capture his likeness, in particular his windows peak! Notice he has a heart in his belly. He was an amazing dad. Took me with him to his art studio pretty much whenever I wanted to go. It was an odd and wonderful place, in the middle of an active styrofoam factory that my family owned in Ballston Spa NY.
“Abstract” 1971, Age 6
One of my “Abstracts” as I called them. I probably made this one night at The High Rock bowling lanes in Saratoga Springs, NY. My parents would bring me on league night and I would draw and eat french fries to entertain myself. I feel like I can still smell that place. Leather bowling shoes, floor wax, beer, Crisco and of course the smell of Crayola Crayons.
This is based on a dream I had where I was standing in an earthen pit, a bit deeper than I am tall. Behind me stood my father. Behind him, his father. Behind him, his father. I am lucky to have known them all. I think it was implied in the dream image that the line went on forever and that I was only momentarily at the front. But actually, I do not have children, so I am the end of the line.
I have this fantasy that I will create artificial limbs or tree prosthetics for trees that have been injured. When the tree eventually dies, the artificial limbs would be a poetic reference to what was.