Posts Tagged ‘ scale ’

Time Intensive | FOP

bask in the light

and open medium

of time.

-from The Mastheads, 10.13.002107

Source: Time Intensive | FOP

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Radioactive Art in Fukushima | “Don’t Follow the Wind” – YouTube

How Poetry Survives by Charles Bernstein | The Baffler

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http://www.thebaffler.com/salvos/how-poetry-survives

Project Weightless / Women for Change at the University of Hartford

Project Weightless at the University of Hartford
Smashing scales to destroy BMI by Shannon Irish

En Vogue: A Relief, by Amy King / LEVELER

En Vogue: A Relief


 

Endless chiseled experiments in cookery

ask of the omelet made with human hair

to dye tapioca the same shade as caviar.

Wilding women in Mexico pass mirrors unnoticed.

“You shouldn’t need to fake it,” erases in paint

the woman with horse hair hovering

within the hem of her invisible cloak.  She is framed

amid the puns, the names and vases of tequila

by children frequenting a house

with animals playing about on the carpet.

God my guts keep bellowing, she seizes.

Yes, let’s, said the sound of creation’s

birds taking place in the fleshly room found

in the same home of the hem on the skirt

of a female figure painted by birds on the wall

that beheld her fresco.  They came to life on paper

and flew through the window and out.

Their images still go there to express

a woman’s indiscretion.  Shadows

of a lonely woman

of a lovely woman

trap passersby in the Geranium Estate’s highest tower

left to care alone for cageling moons, each to each.

Maternity therein blossoms a landscape

mummified before them.  As a debutante she stood

lounging up at the light that falls behind the lines

soldiering men who shoot pellets into abdomens.

She fashions fallout long before it’s fashionable

to defend.  With photographs of dolls, the Leonardos pose

in their grins.  Their architecture rises, closes in the story

of humans called legendmythahistory.   The cuts crawl

deep with their oldest friends, inebriated

by the flailing ages of death gases.

The grass lies down, quietly feral.

With faces cracked in the fractured pavement,

the future’s flower towered beneath the glass of their feet,

appearing only in reflection’s post-mortem concrete.

Which is to say, the cracks made way for the moon’s silhouette,

her skirts to rustle seed bearers out, the nether regions

of those with no whistle, no war, no house but a home

where they buried it.  The women would look up

from the rapes to cull the pennies called sparrows.

The beasts of midnight held party to the pieces of blasts

apart and sunk them to fallow ground, the small deaths

to wallow in.   The country of birth befriended her face

to say adios as always.  Life, the fear of living, begins in the soil

of a deaf public protracted from tomorrow.

Thus the Madonna’s Bedtime Story

remotely soups with buttery sky pulled in by her shades

from the world’s largest orb in progress.

In the paint off canvas, they stood apart from

les femmes enfants and muses who stir with ladles.  Fin.

Amy King
Leveler / levelheaded 

Magdalena Abakanowicz

 

Magdalena Abakanowicz.

Monumental Color – Artist Ethan Boisvert’s “Spicy City” at City Hall, Hartford, CT

Ethan Boisvert's painting "Spicy City" at City Hall, Hartford, CT (Daren K. Boisvert photo)

In the eighties I made many visits to Hartford’s Municipal Building, or City Hall, and grew to love the exterior and interior magnificence of the grand three-story building. Its architecture is styled after the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, and it was perfectly scaled for the site it would occupy when it opened in 1915. Downtown Hartford is small. This building possesses the majesty of the form and materials, yet, like the city’s downtown area, it presents itself in a compact kind of way, opening to passers-by and visitors like a Fabergé egg.

Now the final piece has been added to this glass, granite, brass, and atriumed egg with the interior installation of artist, Ethan Boisvert’s monumental painting of downtown Hartford, Spicy City. The painting ribbons by iconic monuments and places of the little city — the State Capitol Building with its gold-leafed dome; the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, oldest public museum in the United States; the Samuel Colt Building; the Phoenix Insurance Company’s  “boat” building; the Soldier’s Arch; even whimsical sketches of cars here and there — with such boisterous, comic love of color, line and shape that the entire scene comes alive, bustling, jostling, humming. The municipal grey insurance city, like a geode cracked open, spills out its vivid carmine, turquoise, amethyst, sapphire, topaz jewels. This is just what Hartford and its Municipal Building needed — not just another decorative splash of color but real art made from the inside out somatic imagination of a talented artist with a draftsman’s knowledge and ability to draw, and an intimate, sense for and knowledge of color and scale. And, Ethan Boisvert is Hartford’s own. If the City has not yet purchased the painting, I think it’s time, to recognize the synergy between this work of art and the symbol of the city it uplifts. That’s it – it uplifts us. ~ yours truly, df

Boisvert’s Spicy City will be on view at City Hall for a month and there will be an opening on First Thursday, November 3,  from 6 to 8 p.m. when CONNetic Dance will perform a short preview for this season’s “Nutcracker Suite & Spicy.”