Monday, September 17, 2007

wrapped silverware

Tonight after dinner with mom I wrapped a sterling silver serving spoon and four forks with gorgeous red yarn.

After showing her the work for the Strangers show, and telling her of the nexus of that piece, I got her to pull down three large plastic storage bags filled with yarn from the top of her closet. I chose the red fluffy kind, for no apparent reason. I mean, of course the fur teacup comes to mind, as well as Cristo and Jean Claude, but really...

My memories of holding yarn for my mom when I was younger come back in a faded way. There is a picture of mine on the wall of sketches I did 10 years ago about the subject. Yarn and knitting has always been around me because my mother has always knitted. Knitting needles, skeins of yarn everywhere, pattern books...

And of course silverware (because this spoon was so beautiful!) and silverware and silverware and bowls and cups and glasses and plates and linens and pillowcases and vases and typewriters and children's books and old toys and everything else stored away in my old room and in the crevices of the closets.

So since my studio is now shared space, and my home is a very shared space, my works today have been wrapped silverware. Four forks and a serving spoon.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

taken from sensorium

Some thoughts after artSafari, some questions for the group:

What can be considered an empathetic mark? How can one combine the subtley and nuance of pain, confrontation, beauty and anger in one's work?

My heart felt overwhelmed by the safari for many reasons, and now being back in the New York, and feeling more often than not underwhelmed, I wonder about continuity, threads or histories of mark making, and am anxious to experience more of what I resonated with especially at the Documenta.

In addition to the work, the group dynamics (always interesting to notice) were incredible. I felt more reciprocity of ideas, sharing of experiences, and a general sense of openness that was refreshing. It is very interesting to continue a practice that has no name, isn't funded by any institution, and only happens when we all agree to participate. No location, no...thing. For something as indescrible as whatever it is I think the workshops are, on this trip in particular it felt like an invisible life preserver in the sea of art and art and art and more art.

The directions of the Biennale and the Documenta were so interesting to being very North American-based (in my opinion), and the other being decidedly non-North-American focused. I experienced a real sense of place coming out of the Neue Gallery (sp?) after spending the entire second day there, and sitting on the front steps, realizing
I was in arrogance and annoyance of not having the show spelled out for me in English caught up with me on those steps, and I felt humbled by actually having to work for my understanding of the artwork presented. Imagine that!

I was also taken by how much the audience did work to understand the show, how there was a real participatory aspect not visible at the Biennale. Those around me during long videos stayed throughout the whole video, no one was really loud or obnoxious or rude about the work, I didnt' see any desecration of any work (or of any gallery or museum for that matter). It created a more neutral ground on which to see and receive the work.

Which is why, now, for me, with the onslaught of all New York City has to offer this Fall season, I am both overwhelmed and underwhelmed by what, in my opinion, is highlighted here and what is not valued so much. All the grit and soul of the city I grew up in is being replaced by floor-to-ceiling glass windows on 44-story luxury residential towers. The space for independent art making is becoming smaller and smaller..

It makes me wonder about mark making, the memory, the remembered. Both in a micro and macro lens (the electron microscope and the universe)...If everything around me is getting covered up, where can a memory of a space exist? The video by Kanwar comes to mind of a space holding the story holding the history.

What can those marks look like? Healed scars, literally on the skin? Erosion, gleening? I'm curious to open this up in this space because, like I said, I felt so much of an opening on the artSafari it inspired me to open this up here.

Angela Rose

calm after storm

I think it's been my practice to build up the storm around me, like a tornado of movement, emotion, passion, and indecision, and then like popped and deflating balloon I often settle in, ground out, breathe.

My practice is just fine. I think I think too much about the HOW which stops the actual making of the work. The thinking of the work stops with the cut off of breath. Hyper anxiety flushes out rational thought and calm, tai-chi- like pushing through the world.

I printed out my piece for the Through The Eyes of Strangers show yesterday with a photographer friend. It's been a great practice to collaborate with professionals to document both recent and past work.

The flurry of thinking I'm not worth all that is coming to me is slightly passed. Past.

Thinking about painting a lot lately actually...haven't completed a painting in over 6 months. Very much intruiged as always by Keifer's work as well as Tapies.
What is an empathetic mark?
I am still drawn to the enigma of a beautiful and angry mark, the combination of masculine and feminine together on one large surface. But, admittedly, fear has kept me from making the paintings I dream of making. That, and lack of space now that my studio is currently an office as well.
How can I work with
the memory
the remembered
the left behind
the cultivated

Very interested in the projected vs. the actual. I think the pieces for the TTEOS show reflect my curiosity of word/image associations, taking things commonly accepted by the society I know and making them strange. I am on the outskirts of the kitchen just waiting to make my mark. It's happening I just have to keep on making the work

The work in forms the work informs the work informs the work

Tuesday, September 4, 2007


everything is going GREAT and all i feel like doing is throwing up and passing out.
my mind is racing a mile a minute, my heart is pounding. there is so much that needs to be done, but so much that has already gone very very right for me i'm not used to it.
not used to having things WORK OUT for me. after working so so hard, things are working out...all at the same time, all wonderfully.
so of course my shoulders are at my ears
i'm so worried about money
i'm concerned about the nature of my work, where my trajectory can lead fear of fear and lack of follow through plague me now that i'm living at home and am surrounded by fear and lethargy on a more daily basis.
i feel claustrophobic...husband moved into studio, we moved into my parents' apartment, i live, work, breathe, eat, etc. with at least one member of my family. my work is suffering because i don't have any alone time.
art on the move.
figuring out solutions
remembering to be inspired and motivated and positive and creative
tense like a rock between my shoulders
i feel like a leach i feel like i'm not carrying my own weight for some reason.
but everything is going RIGHT.
what is really the root of this insecurity?

Monday, September 3, 2007

no separation

Thought about moving, "home", travel:
-Went to Documenta, Biennale, and Munster on the artSafari. Amazingly refreshing to see all that art!
However, the timing couldn't have been worse: we sold our apartment in Queens and had to move out 10 days after I returned from my trip.
-So after practically quitting my spa job (realizing of course I have to commit 100% to my studio practice), travelling to Italy and Germany, I came back to New York with no money and a house and studio to move.
Turu and I worked non-stop for 8 days straight, getting everything out. We hired a storage space blocks from my studio to pile everything in; he moved his office into my studio, along with all our plants, which feels bigger and smaller at the same time, and we moved back into my parents' apartment which for better or worse was our only option. we work, live, sleep, eat, and breathe and bathe and everything else together. Our studios are together and we live with my parents. I'm documenting everything because the experience is too surreal not to.

That was all the week I got home.
The second week, last week, I started work at the US Open working on the female tennis players at Arthur Ashe stadium. It was an incredible opportunity to work on amazingly talented and professional athletes. Made me re-think entirely my own body of work about the ten foot pole.

I don't live in my house anymore. I feel like a nomad.

Everything is actually going GREAT, but last week on Thursday I had a major's interesting when everything starts going right after working so hard to get somehow feels like I don't deserve it or I feel guilty for actually getting what I want. That passed but it took its toll.

We camped this weekend on our friends' mountain north of the catskills. I feel re-inspired to continue again. I'm getting my work shot and sent out to the "Through the Eyes of Strangers" show tomorrow. Onward and upward but wow what close quarters I now share with my family.