Small Works: A Historical Potpourri
Impossible fertility. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 16”, 1995.
Free fall. Acrylic on paper, 11 x 14”, 2006.
free fall
must be those Western ways.
muddy feet always seem a measure of rightness.
laboring to be earth bound with a goal-directed eye.
straight and narrow.
more rightly. and lately. my sense of self is held in a place of unremitting movement and light.
free fall.
truth be it, I want it all to stop, I want to feel those muddy toes.
and the weight of my body pressing on earth.
free fall.
uncertainty and change are becoming familiar touchstones.
learning to breath. learning to breath?
inhale. exhale. inhale more deeply. inhale. returning to myself.
exhale. letting go threads of fear. inhale. exhale.
am not sure that I can come to know myself through the movement of air rather than through the makings of mud.
feels more like a push off a canyon ledge
as I struggle to touch the edges of the page.
groundless.
in the moment.
alive.
must be those Eastern ways.
Slinky. Acrylic on paper and wall, 20 x 28”, 2007.
Slinky
Slinkies. you know. those metal wire toys from way back.? actually have seen those recently in the toy stores. they're those cylindrical hoops of thin, gray metal. piled and connected. could hold a slinky in one palm. but the idea was to shift the weight of the pile from hand to hand, each hand shifting position, never letting go of that end of the slinky, while hoops arched. was like holding movement. back and forth. back and forth. mesmerizing. so much resiliency in those bundles. always returning to a certain resting state, with slices of metal circles perfectly piled. perfectly aligned.
felt good in the hand. reliable. sure.
they could even walk down stairs. unerring rhythm. one end after the other. almost intimidating. like the baton man you see leading a marching parade.
sometimes I would pull on the thing. like really pull. sometimes so hard and so far that when I finally released the thing, it just was never the same. never returned to that perfect resting state. My slinky had turned into a pile of unrelated hoops. gaps and mismatching in the form. something had definitely changed. something basic.
And I begin to wonder just how far and how long anything or anyone can one be pulled 'til dangerous lines are crossed? How far is the pull until all that remains is the question, "Who am I?"
Conception. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Risking exposure. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Impossible deeds. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Knot. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Dividing line. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Lands. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Misaligned bones. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Gut knowing. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
Fanny birds. Oil stick on paper, 14 x 11”, 2006.
The bird. Oil stick, charcoal and graphite on paper, 24 x 36”, 2000.
Blackbird begins to fly. Acrylic, charcoal and graphite on paper, 48 x 96”, 2000.
Blackbird finds her way. Acrylic, charcoal and oil stick on paper, 24 x 36”, 2000.
Soft threads. Oil stick and charcoal on paper, 24 x 36”, 2000.
Healing wing. Graphite, oil stick, and charcoal on paper, 24 x 36 “, 2000.
Sticks and bones. Graphite, oil stick and charcoal on paper, 24 x 36”, 2000.
Sensual being. Acrylic on wood, 14 x 12”, 2000.
Hand and hoop. Acrylic on wood, 12 x 12”, 2000.
French kiss. Acrylic on wood, 15 x 15”, 2000.
This girl is a woman now. Acrylic on wood, 15 x 15’, 2000.
Fading heads. Woodcut print on paper, 16 x 28”, 1987.
Shaken. Monoprint on paper. 24 x 18”, 1987.
Suspended. Monoprint on paper, 18 x 28”, 1987.
Cloudy. Monoprint, 24 x 24”,1987.
Fading man. Monoprint on paper, 11 x 24”, 1987.
Mother and Child. Graphite on paper, 22 x 28”, 1980.
Newborn. Graphite on paper, 22 x 26”, 1980.