stained (painted)

I love a dress that's part bag, part scarf, part paint-spill-AB EX-camo.

1 and 2

letter

A letter of complaint between brothers

The texts on the tablets, written in the Old Assyrian
dialect of Akkadian, describe the Assyrians bringing
textiles and tin to Anatolia on the backs of donkeys,
and trading it with the locals for silver and gold.
This letter is from Ashur-malik to his brother
Ashur-idi complaining that, although winter has already
come, he and his family have been left in Ashur without
food, clothes or fuel. Lack of space obliged him to
finish his letter on a small supplementary tablet.
Often, as in this case, the tablet was encased in a clay envelope.

1900 BC

from here

(thanks,JC)

envelope

via +

Halsey Hathaway

parting curtains, voids

here

(gallery tip tbtod)

Sebastiaan Bremer

photographic hybrids, mark-making, decadence

here

in formation

A little something in the works:
pots marching.

Charles Traub

70s shabby glam

here

on multiples

These images of of Priscilla Mouritzen's ceramics
over on aapc reminded me of this quote
from good old Eva, a remark that is not always true,
but sometimes really is, as in the case of Priscilla.

Cindy Nemser to Eva Hesse: Why do you repeat a form over and over?

Eva Hesse: Because it exaggerates. If something is meaningful,
maybe it is more meaningful said ten times.
It's not just an aesthetic choice. If something
is absurd, it's much more greatly exaggerated,
absurd, if it is repeated.

found in this

Talia Chetrit

quiet, everyday world-flipping drama

here

(crushed) box

John Chamberlain,
one antecendent to current made-rubble.

here

boxes (blue)

country mouse, town mouse, again

box

here

hands and feet

The focus of these works on the sufferings
of Christ's passion, he insisted,
emerged from analogous trials of his own:
"I painted ikons bleeding from every stroke,
without mechanical distortions," he wrote to
his early patron George Lester. "Unlike the
dispassionate distortions of cubism, each
stroke becomes a raw nerve. My Man of Sorrow
is paralyzed in divine agony, unable to explode
into some cheap Ism. This creates an almost
unbearable tension. I am a Modernist dying of Modernism.

Robert Smithson, April 1961

from this

Peter Davis

here

Jane Wilbraham

here

Marcelyn McNeil

here and here

Tadashi Ito (pots)

here

Tadashi Ito (workspace)

here

Chris Killip

public space

here

(dinner) bell

We grew up in a big old house in New England, a veritable brood.
Instead of yelling into the void of the house,
my mom would ring a dinner bell to summon us all to dinner,
a big cast iron one that never quite suited her.
Carl's bells would have been a more appropriate
match for her sensibilities, suggesting mealtime with panache.

Carl Aubock bells at the perfect Everyday Needs.

(found via The Selby)