Sergejj Bizjaev. He uses the female form as a format for the bizarre. Once again, it is a young model. I go on about this because of the obvious objectifying of the female form. Or perhaps that is necessary if you are going to play. I like his work. But I’m not sure it is a comfortable response.
Faith Ringgold has this emotional attachment to the street. To life outside herself. Not introspection but joy. She works in quilts. Her quilts are stories, histories of the life she has witnessed. Wonderful stuff.
So much of Jacob Lawrence’s work has to do with work. People at their jobs. An honesty and dignity that is missed in news headlines regarding African Americans. Lawrence’s work is filled with stories. His colours are flat and bright. High energy.
The basis for a lot of collage work is humor. The pictures are like jokes. Twists of irony. Deborah Stevenson has a zany personality. Visually. We’ve never met personally. Like alone.
The attraction of celebrity. Luiz Dourado’s collages of the famous are both beautifully rendered and perplexing. They are simple but difficult to understand. I don’t always get them. I imagined to myself how interesting they would be if they were images of say… Victor Genova. Victor is well known, loved, and respected amongst his friends and colleagues in Canada. But outside the country? Would his image have any impact inside Dourado’s collages? Or is it the cinematic charisma of Robert Redford that makes his collage attractive? I don’t know. Neither does Victor.
Slices of life. Which means that not much has happened. Small stories. Capturing most of those moments in our lives when we’re not doing much to raise our blood pressure. But very beautiful. I love Edward Kaplan’s work.
An interview with Edward Kaplan.
for several days. My puter went down. Crashed. But it is alive again. Alive, I tell you.
Have to upload all my programs. Some of which I’ve thrown out important numbers. Like Photoshop. My poor poor dear photoshop. But I won’t lose faith. Not while there’s one last drop of scotch. Or carrot.
The first time I saw a picture that was a reflection was a photograph that my father took of himself as a reflection in a shop window. He was in England. In the Canadian army. It was the early 1940s. I don’t know what happened to that photo. But ever since I have been attracted to art that has the feel of reflection. That the artist was beside me looking at the image.
On the other hand perhaps it was because of my reading of Plato’s The Cave in The Republic. The allegory of the cave has been a huge factor in my perception of reality. I love Ms. Paleni’s work. You just can’t stop looking at it.
There is in Archibald Motley a tremendous joy. Movement. Dance. Music. Sex. Being young and being alive. What a wonderful experience.
Some of his paintings are uncomfortable. They almost seem like racial stereotypes. But as you explore more of Hayden’s work you can see him as a chronicler, telling the stories of those who lived in the same streets as himself. Like Breughel, Hayden brings out the human everyday lives of common people.
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