All the way to Downingtown
For more of these large striped socks that keep the flooding in?
That remind me of the sand snake in the movie Beetleguese.
So, this is the place from the map app on my phone. Things I noticed about this, from looking at these pictures.
Without gps do you have a sense of direction? Which way is north from where you’re at? What is your landmark? The way the street numbers ascend or descend? Yourself? No, something outside yourself. The shore line, the way moss grows on the tree?
In these gps pictures you see the past or present. Now these houses are to be demolished, a chain link rental fence around them, square paper signs on the lower windows. There is a GPS image of it without the fence, a cut green lawn, looks like a nice neighborhood, sunshine and bricks. Maybe there was a flood? I don’t understand how a whole block of large stone and brick houses could be put out like that.
(thinking about road signs)
Just an idea.
Been fascinated by bridges lately. Stone and or arch ones mostly. Those are around here. And hills. And body. These things have a presence.
Oh, and free signs. All started with a free tv with two uneven long amounts of electrical tape to affix the sign. Free signs: usually made with spray paint on wood or black permanent marker on cardboard.
Oh, and lines in the landscape. Powerlines, sign posts, reflectors, signs, cones. I commute alot. So I notice. Are these things supposed to be ignored when looking past them into a sunset in a field, or at a beautiful house? They are warnings, serve a purpose. Seeing them all the time, they become a design element for me and/or something surreal. so bright and if you aren’t reading them, so random. If you are, placed. Depends on how you look at it, what you need, you decide.
Not sure if all these things connect. Will keep thinking through it. Making lists.
Relationships, sex, phrases, “water under the bridge”. In the end I’m left alone with my powerful body that will become frail and die. I am afraid of death. I heard it is possible not to be afraid. Im Not there. I am here still. In this place with stone arch bridges and breasts that are too large and starting a double chin and grey hairs. And you’re not supposed to attach yourself until you’re supposed to attach yourself. To some one. It’s all a decision to tell yourself all these bullshit things. And their decision. You’re left with the bridges you go over and the signs you choose to ignore or automatically read. And your body. And your mind, mulling it over, another saying. Your mind deciding. Phrases like “I love you” can mean anything you want and anything they want.
Connection though. A bridge is a connection. Body, tell me, body language. Word signs…
And how to stop thinking during yoga? About the things that make you sad. Set up some rocks on the mat. Stone archways drishti to look through. Or something that moves. I never know when to stop a composition. Been having trouble with composition. Why does there have to be edges. How about a mandala composition. No top or bottom. How about patchwork random and forever or a repeat pattern. I go on I to infinity. Energy. If you decide to believe that. I just want to put the color and textures together next to each other. I just want a companion. Yoga-yolk (hey, center), yoga-to bring together. Something like that, I heard or saw some where.
Sterling Ruby art
my own work thoughts lately about things in nature/everyday Landscape that we’re not supposed to notice or we are and they’re not supposed to be beautiful, signs are a warning, flourescent..powerlines, road signs, etc are rigid or definite lines drawn over a soft landscape behind the buildings and cars. These lines are only considered if necessary and as a necessary item. I also see them as design. They become design when considered as a part of life, as a part of the whole landscape I am in. And recently I saw the bright magenta stemmed poke berry an invasive weed, so bright, the yellow plastic covering at the bottom of telephone pole lines, cemetery flower bits, faded and blowing around on the ground at the cemetery. The dried and matted, intertwined grass clippings in the fake arrangements in front of a headstone. The shape an antique headstone takes on when it’s bottoms have crumbled to the side. Inside a now rusted iron bar revealed. Two blue wood pillars on an embankment at the end of a driveway surrounded by bushes, in front of a tree, it is missing it’s sign between the poles. A primary blue, these poles are, no doubt the sign inside was white with blue letters or the opposite of that, right? But to just see these two geometric shapes in a backdrop of vegetation is surreal. And also, it demotes something, it is a presentation, but since there is no sign, there are no words to normalize itand it becomes mysterious and therefore anthropromorphic. It could say something…what’s it going to say? What is it’s past? As if it has a personality. Same with a person with a wrinkled face or a tough exterior, a dilapidated building tells a story, shows a past, has mystery. So why be drawn to it? Why celebrate it, study it,…that is why we work. So far, don’t know the answer to that. Or there is no answer. It’s just the way it is. Why do we collect? For comfort or comparison. To tell the story. I’m collecting pictures of free signs. I’m collecting rocks and old bottles and discarded Cemetery flowers and taking photographs of hills. Hills also, have a presence. I grew up playing outside all the time. Watching Art 21, every artist talks about their childhood, realizing it informed their work fascinations. I grew up around strange friends of my father, a junkyard, creeks, 40oz beers wrapped in paper bags, the poetry, gardening, guitar and crying of my mother, the art and humor and food of my grandmothers, the metal shop smell and genuis secret drawing of great grand pop. Another story.
Free signs, a photo series I’ve been doing, another story…
udy Pfaff “I don’t stand back….oh that’s what it looks like?”
I’ve been thinking about this. Why does the composition have to end. Landscape…why does the quilt have to end… doesnt have to have a boarder, a top or bottom, but mine usually has a top. How to get around this or do I need to get around this? Mandala…all I want is sweat and mandala flow. I want what I want. A man to want me and leave me alone…
gel medium photocopy transfer of my landscape and my body pictures I’ve taken. On indigo dyed wood, with graphite, ink and acrylic. And found objects: old fake flower petals from the cemetery, balls of string, broken pottery collected from stream banks, collected rocks,
The landscape images are repeated in a four patch grid, two being mirror images of the other.
I could be thinking about body in landscape, moving through landscape, the mundane, the ugly, the beautiful, centering, cycling-to put words to the visual art. Universal theme. Nothing special. The making and the visual result is the thing, not the ideas. The inspiration is the material, for me. The found objects create nostalgic feelings, or historical, mysterious, body sexual, etc etc. Life.
picture taking goals:
a bridge arch way reflected in water to make a circle
(my pale legs up his darker body but I’m to afraid to ask)
“Free” signs along the side of the road
Corn field lines
Outside waterway pipes with rushing water
A small rock in water surrounded by large dark rocks. Basically darkness into light.
body (Leonardo proportions equal on both sides)
North, South, East, West
Earth, Wind, Fire, Water
touch, smell, sight, hearing
can’t taste without smell!
I am going to be an artist
And you are going to be around me.
You are going to be next to me, to the right of me,
You are going to be in front of me
And you are going to be behind me
On top of me and under me, inside of me