Cycling

September 15, 2012

Been thinking about this piece for quite a while. Saw apiece using numerous circle shapes that I liked a lot. As soon as I saw it, I knew that I wanted to do something using an old bicycle wheel (rusty of course). With it I would use lots of circular and elliptical found objects and painted arches. These would  be representative of cyclical patterns in life ... of revisiting our past and our future ... of the connective  nature of all things, whether animate or inanimate. This piece is about our journey ... our cycle ... to our past and to our future. The old bike wheel and the piece off of an old wire reel seemed to provide just the right "vehicle" for the piece.

Jan 25, 2013 - This piece was accepted for the juried competition, Biennial Regional Jurors' Choice Competition, at the Thorne-Sagendorph Art Gallery at Keene State College in Keene, NH. The reception was held on Jan 24 and the show ran january 25 - March 7, 2013.

Ideas for Deb

Deb,

Thought about your sugarhouse project that we talked about the other night. A lot depends on size of the space as to what might work best. Here are a few ideas that you might consider.


You mentioned the idea of a window. I lean toward something that is hung on the space rather than painted on it.I like something that stand out from the wall for more of a 3-D look. One example, is an actual window that has been  painted. I have one in the barn with daylillies. Not sure if an actual window is large enough for the space.





Another possibility would be some type of sculpture. Most of the sculptures that I have are clearly to small for the space. I do have one called "Voyage on the River Styx" that I believe would be large enough. It is a driftwood and found object piece.




I also thought about a grouping on the wall.  A grouping should fill the space adequately.  Here is one I have on my barn as an example.



Was working on a piece this weekend called "Cycling" which uses circles, concentric circles, a bicycle wheel, etc. to explore that idea of the nature of life cycles.  This is is not quite finished, but it is an example of a piece that also should be large enough for the area.  Not a great pix because it is not hung yet.




Lastly, I considered a sunflower pix like you talked about. I had a barn board piece that I could redo, so I decided to do some painting today. I still need to do some finishing touches on this one, but it is large and uses a particularly bright palette given the nature of the invented flowers.




Not sure if any of these are what you are looking for or if they appeal to you. They may, however, give you some ideas as to what type of things best meets your need.

bruce

Artist Statement 2009

Every so often, I submit an application to display my work in a show. It's like shooting dice. Either your work is what the curator is looking for, or not. You can't be thin-skinned about it ... especially if you aren't hot stuff in the art world. Sometimes I leave my paintings in porta-potties. That should tip you off on the hot stuff scale for me. Nevertheless. I was accepted for a local show. I kept my expectations at success-generating levels. That is, anything else is gravy.

Game on. Must have an artist statement ... in case they ask ... it's what you do. Kinda like the tiger through the burning hoop. It's not that bad. Periodically, I need to revisit this task. It's about connecting what I do with language. I don't fully believe art is just what you see in a piece. I put something there. I'd like you to see that as well. There's more. There is a certain expectation of style. Artspeak. Game on. The statement is never done. It changes. So do I. The artist statement for the August show is below:

Artist’s Statement:

Most recently, I have been working on sculptures that incorporate a mixture of both natural and found objects. Typically, my pieces are composed of some combination of local stone, barn board, driftwood, rusted metal objects or other found items. When I create a piece, there is often an underlying theme, which fuels my imagination, but which may, or may not, be apparent to the viewer. I am equally influenced by the complexities of the human spirit. Just as the multiplicity of layers of our personal experiences create that unique compilation we call “self”, I frequently utilize a similar layering effect within my work. I find that I am emotionally drawn to contrast and contradiction in a piece of artwork. Contrast and contradiction in a piece is like uncovering a hidden treasure … it’s like an unexpected conversation. These conversations are the essence of what I do.

Hanging Stones

After returning from a field trip to the ruins at Madame Sherrie’s, a special needs student approached me in the BAMS office and announced that he had found one of my hanging stones while on his hike. I questioned him as to how he could be so sure. He replied, “It was a stone about the size of my hand. It had a bead on top and a small coil of [copper} wire on the side. Yeah, and a feather. That’s your signature!”

For the past 6-8 years, I have been leaving my Rock River Stones as evidence of my wandering. With a few minor variations thrown in to satisfy momentary urges, the student was right about the design. I have always thought the Rock River in Williamsville to have a unique and diverse selection of stones. I selected several that appealed to me and made sculptures to hang in the trees in my yard. Soon after, I made smaller, more portable, versions which I began to take with me when I was hiking.

I suppose that leaving the stones is a little like geo-caching, but the stones are not hidden. I select trails that I particularly enjoy and, believe it or not, take considerable time in selecting just the right spot to actually hang the stone. I like a stone with a view! Later on, I extended the activity and starting carrying stones with me on trips Anne and I took. The process seems to take on a life of its own. So much so that I have hung close to 90 stones so far in 12 states and 10 different countries.

One of the first places I chose to hang a stone was at Kilburn Pond in NH. The area around the pond is gorgeous, and I had chosen a swimming area with a huge boulder and a large evergreen whose low hanging branches hung near the water. It was actually somewhat weird. I was selecting the exact spot to place the stone and suddenly realized that there was already something hanging in the spot I was looking at. It was a small set of oriental bells. I did an exchange ( the bells are still hanging next to the Rock River in my yard). About two weeks later I went back to the spot. My stone was gone and in its place was a small star sculpture. I hung another stone beside it. Another two weeks passed and I went back. This time both sculptures had disappeared. I still wonder “who” to this day.

The question arises as to why. I think about who might happen upon my stone. What would they think? Would they be surprised … offended … curious? The note on the stone invites them to move it if they wish. Would they take it down to take home … to move to another spot … to throw away … or leave it for others to find? I imagine all kinds of reactions. I imagine all kinds of people that might happen along. It is a fantasy thing for me. Hunkering down with a good fantasy has always been comfortable for me.

It’s not all about fantasy and wondering. I got a letter from a man in Hinsdale, NH, who found a stone atop Mt. Wantasticutt. He indicated that he goes there to commune with God and nature and the stone interfered with his peaceful meditation. He took the stone away. I wanted to ask if the radio tower close by interfered as well. Another letter from a man in Hinsdale indicated that he found a stone in his son’s room. His son had found the stone in Pisquah Forest and had relocated it to his room. His plan was to keep the stone to remind him of his son at college.

Anne and I often go to Ogunquit, ME and walk the Marginal Way overlooking the ocean. I have hung stones there on two separate occasions. A teacher at school told me he had been walking there as well, and that he and his daughter saw the stone and recognized it to me mine. On other occasions, he and his track team members added new feathers to the sculpture. I received a letter from a group of women vacationing nearby. They found a stone, took pictures of it, and mailed me a thank-you note for the experience. An artist from southern Maine wrote me that he had seen the stone and might drop by my house sometime to visit my studio. Yet another letter announced that the stone had been found' and it was killing the trees' and what if everyone hung stuff like that, and that I should never do it again. It was signed “The People of Ogunquit”.

While in the area Anne and I visited Mount Agamenticus, and I hung a stone on one of the trails near the summit. I received a letter about a year later. A park ranger had found the stone. It was a really nice note explaining the “nothing left behind” protocol for state parks. The letter indicated that the stone had been moved to a display area. I gather it is being used as an example of what not to do. I can never go back there … the shame … the shame.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I continue to ignore the volumes of hate mail and just keep hanging those demonic stones. One made it to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Two were hung in the gardens in front of The Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Tucked back on an isolated trail in the Madame Sun Yat Sen Gardens is one. They are in Brussels, Montreal, Madrid, Toledo (Spain), Venice, Florence, Shanghai and Quito. I gifted one to Erkon, the carpet salesman from whom we purchased our rugs in Istanbul. In each of my three homestays in China, hanging stones were part of my gift exchange. I asked a wonderful man who took us to visit the indigenous childrens’ pre-school program outside Lasso, Ecuador to accept one to hang at his organic farm. And in April, who knows … there just might be stones in London or Wales or Iceland.

The Flip Flop Sculpture

The flip flop sculpture. There is more to it than meets the eye. More to it than beauty is in the eye of the beholder. “In a pig’s eye” you say! You decide.

The summer was gone and fall was rapidly making its exit. I was still working the in the barn, but I knew my time was limited. Soon the temperatures would plummet and it would be too cold to work … the glue solidities … the paint freezes … the nails are too frigid to handle … working in gloves is ridiculous. But most of all, I can’t see what I am doing for my frozen breath. I was finishing up a few last pieces, which was getting increasingly difficult. No, I was not having a creative block. I was running out of driftwood. My stockpile was diminished. I rubbed my crystal ball. Jupiter was on its last leg, or in the cusp, or some other seer saying. I rubbed more … the ball was white. In my best Jean Dixon voice, I exclaimed, “Soon the driftwood will be covered with snow … until spring”. I said this to myself and only I heard it. But, I would not lie about such a thing.

I hiked in to my driftwood source. It is like a driftwood graveyard. When driftwood realizes that it is near death, it heads for the driftwood graveyard. I can never reveal the location. The driftwood hunters would steal it all. Were I to tell, Tarzan would tear me to shreds. If I told you, I would have to kill you. Don’t try to follow me! Just follow what I say.

I was looking for a big haul. Had my backpack basket. Had the army duffle bag. Had the handcart. Picking were good. But something was bothering me. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally! It was the flip flops. They were everywhere. They were there waiting for me, but I didn’t know why. Regardless, I gathered them up … filled the basket … and more. There was more to it than meets the eye. Something was missing. I took them home. Revelation comes in its own time.

I emptied the basket and started to strip them of their thongs. Sounds kinky, but it wasn’t. I knew what I would do for the sculpture. I sorted them by left and right and by color. There was more to it than meets the eye … but I could not see it. I remembered the crystal ball, but it was white. I turned up the music. I sat and stared at the piece. Nothing came to me. I glanced to the side at my sorted piles. It came to me. Like and aside. There was not a left AND right. No two flip flops matched.

It took a moment to catch my breath! I had to be methodical. I had to be CSIesque. I closed my eyes. Gestalt! I see it now. The crystal ball is white, but I am clear. There were no matches. Stay with me. There were either rights or lefts. Stay with me. Ankle bone connected to the leg bone. Stay with me. There was only one leg. Stay with me. The lost flip flops floated down the river and were deposited along with driftwood. Stayyyy with me. Somewhere up river, one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers congregated in massive numbers. Clumsy, careless one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers, most of whom had lost his/her flip flop. His/her only flip flop. I had found the one-legged flip flop graveyard.

I love the sculpture. It has a story. Anne took one look and hates it. Maybe if she knew the story, she would feel different. I put it up on the barn. Sometimes I see cars slow down and stare. I wonder how many legs they have.

I cannot tell you where the flip flop graveyard is. If I did, I would have to kill you.

Rock RIver Artists Open Studio - Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm

One of the things that I like most about our Open Studio tour is the array of interesting visitors that attend. I am sure that every studio gets its share of characters. For me, the most memorable was a mother, her daughter and a friend. To start with, the little girl looked like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.  She was neatly attired in attractive shorts and top and sported an old-style straw hat complete with ribbon on the back. She appeared somewhat rigid, almost at attention, as she wandered around the studio with her mother. It was clear that she had been prompted as to the proper demeanor that was expected in an art studio. She carefully examined different pieces and purposefully asked surprisingly appropriate questions about each piece for an eight or nine year old girl.

With her mother in the background, she very formally introduced herself to me and asked if she would be permitted to take photos in the studio. She asked me to pose with her with one of the stranger sculptures there. I learned that her mother had given her $100.00 to spend on art during the tour. I was intrigued with the fact that the mother was purposefully teaching her daughter how to handle herself in what was clearly a new situation for the girl. How cool!

I had moved on to speak with another visitor when the little girl walked up to me and said, “Excuse me sir. I would like to make a purchase.” I asked her which piece she was interested in and she pointed to a small sculpture. The girl had asked me earlier what the piece was and I had replied that I did not really know, but it had always reminded me of a rooster. I went on to explain that it was one of a group of pieces that I had done called “Fences” in which I explored the intent of fences … are they to keep things out … or to keep things in? Anyway, it was the piece she wanted.

As I wrapped the piece for the girl, I asked, “So, what does the piece look like to you? What made you choose it”? I was speechless at her reply. She informed me that the piece looked like her dad’s torn rotator cuff and that she was getting it for a present for him during his recovery from surgery.

Finally, I have found the niche that I sought. I thought the artwork that I hung in porta-potties was my destiny … but not anymore. Injury art is my calling. Ideas are already swirling around in my brain about future pieces … the psoriasis of the liver series … the broken pelvis sculpture … and constipation – my dark years.

I am an artist. I have a destiny.

Rock River Artists Open Studio - The Barbie Center

I can’t explain the fascination, if fascination is the right word, with Barbie. I cannot help but poke fun at the concept and why this would be the example to present to children escapes me. It must be the “oh so perfect” rich girl image that I imagine. Good for me, because sarcasm is right up my alley. And at the end of that alley, tucked neatly away in the corner behind the trash can is my imagination. I strongly disagree with those who imply that imagination is bizarre. My imagination leads me down a serpentine path to be sure … but one based on pure logic. At least, that is how I imagine it.

Nevertheless, the net result is a special section of my open studio devoted to Barbie creations. I set it up like a shadowbox. You know how Barbie loves pink. The black background should be perfect for her pink accessories.

Finding enough Barbie’s to do the pieces justice was a difficult task and required a great deal of thought and flea market bargaining . In the end, I acquired a box of Barbie’s for a reasonable price. By that, I mean cheap. I started with a piece I call “the Barbie Bouquet”. The first version contrasted the deep greens of the evergreen boughs with the golden Barbie locks. For the open studio, I redid the piece using bare branches in order to make Barbie the centerpiece of the work … and the perfect centerpiece for any table.

Several weeks ago, my boss gave me a pink box with a see-through plastic window that she thought I might be able to use. I thought immediately of Barbie. The shape and window on the box reminded me of old footage of a Houdini trick in which he was place in a box with limited air, chained shut, and lowered into a river to drown, give out of air, or escape. Hence, Houdini Barbie. With a few minor adjustment to her legs (chop, chop) she fit the box perfectly. I tied her hands. Given the oxygen situation, I decided a blue face was most appropriate. The box was wired shut and locked. Houdini Barbie.

I had another box in the barn. I thought about for a Barbie project months ago. It was in the shape of a coffin and had been used at school to pass around a stuffed squirrel to scare new teachers. The squirrel deteriorated and I got the coffin. I envisioned Barbie peacefully in state in the coffin and I thought … Dracula Barbie. Dracula always rests in his natural earth from Transylvania. Natural soil for Barbie would have to be pink … an easy fix. A quick trip to JoAnn's Fabrics in Keene and I had black, glossy material for the cape. Paint the top of the coffin pink … add some fangs … and Dracula Barbie was ready for the show.

I confess the next two pieces were not my idea. I saw them in a store window in Quebec City. One was canned Barbie parts … like heads, or arms, or legs. I made my version using antique canning jars with the wire tops. I added dried hot peppers to each jar (because Barbie is so hot and spicy) and called my creation Pickled Barbie. The second piece I saw involved Barbie and an old meat grinder. Input Barbie heads to the grinder and outcome fur. I assumed the fur was fox since Barbie is so foxy. In my version, the output was golden thread. I called the piece “Meatgrinder Barbie.

Don’t blame me for the next two pieces. Blame Charlton Heston. You may or may not know that Charlton Heston has invaded my dreams and is intentionally trying to make my life miserable with his clinched-teeth maniacal grin. I thought I had seen the last of him until the other night … 3:00 AM to be exact. He slipped unseen through the backdoor of my dream world and secretly eased a thought into my head. I had been thinking about what one does with leftover Barbie parts. Pull off a head and then what. I want to give credit where credit is due … even to my nemesis CH. In the movie that CH did about a futuristic, over-populated world struggling to feed the hoards, two wafer-like soy cakes were developed and feed to the people. The protein cake was called soylent green. The snoopy policeman in the movie (CH) discovered the secret … soylent green was made from reprocessed body parts and fed to the people. The perfect solution was those leftover body parts … Soylent Green Barbie.

The last piece in the series is also a result of the extra parts I had on hand. Again, what so you use them for.  I thought about how we use our DNA to clone man-make versions of ourselves. Well, sheep for now mostly. I created a new cloned version of Barbie. Done on a pure white background (hospital sanitary conditions for this procedure), I created the Cloned Barbie from those leftovers.

For now, I am done with Barbie creations … but you never know … I still have to sleep at night.

60 to Life

Within each of us, there exists a personal cell ... perhaps, a personal hell. Cell or hell, it is there that we retreat ... it is there that we make our last stand. We enter via a long and circuitous path ... traversed at a slow meander ... or in a single step. We carry our cells with us at all times ... to be ready in an instant. Once inside, all that we are, or ever have been, gone.Loved ones search for us in vain. Their efforts yield no more than worn, battered shells, familiar only in their appearances. But, we are gone!

An instant ... a recognized name ... a fleeing peek through the bars ... maybe ... but, we are gone!

Snow Circles

I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)I have an affinity for circles … like a moth to a flame. Every now and them it comes out. Like when I am thinking about what things mean, or who I am … stuff like that.

I enjoy pop psychology and took one of those quickie tests. In the test, you chose a shape that appealed to you and from that it projected what kind of person tended to choose your shape. I chose a circle.

Done another way, Strength Deployment Inventory, I come out blue. It's like the color version of a circle. It's like an embracing thing … encircling arms … let me help you and take care of you. It could be me. Well, I might be a grumpy version.

Cart or horse? Egg or chicken? Tattoo or snow circle? I don’t know which came first. What I do know is that the first time that I snowshoed a series of circles in the snow, I was hooked.

And I know that when I was thinking about a tattoo design for my leg, I started drawing and the result was a concentric circle design. When I look at either, tattoo or snow circle, I am inexplicably drawn to the shapes.

I guess you could say that I had found myself.

I do believe that shapes affect people in different ways. I consider myself to a big picture person. I need to see the links to the whole and how things work together. I feel a sense of polarity I feel when I look at other shapes. But, I always come back to the circle ... like a lemming ... like a bad penny ...

But, isn't that, in essense, what a circle does?

(I always maintain a version of a circle in my yard for the winter. I look forward to the first snow when I can construct it.)

(I managed to get to Kilborn Pond in NH before many people had had a chance to showshoe in. I left this for them to find.)

(I did this one in the large field beside my property. I loved how it looked in the early morning hours in a full sun. If you circled in to the middle and then back out, it was one mile.)

(I got up at 4:00AM one morning before school to sneak in to the tennis courts and leave this for the students to discover when they looked out of the second story window.)

(Sometimes, I like to add inverted icicles to make it look like the entry to a castle.)

(I left this one along the Williamsville town trail. Wonder what someone thinks when they find it?)

(I left this one in George and Joan's field. They snowshoe here and would stumble upon it.)

(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)(Sometimes the pressure of making circles is just too great ... and then ... I rest!)