5.31.2011

stained (painted)




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

1 and 2

5.30.2011

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)

5.25.2011

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

5.23.2011

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



5.18.2011

(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)