some things that came up (and some that didn’t)
erasure poetry
“Blanked verse: the power of erasure poetry”
Poets have been constructing new work by selectively redacting others’ texts for decades, but Instagram and our political moment have spotlit this startling technique
Carol Rumens. The Guardian (12 November 2021)
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2021/nov/12/blanked-verse-the-power-of-erasure-poetry
pleating
“Kyriacos Hadjikyriacou, Pleater”
Spitalfields Life (November 9, 2021)
https://spitalfieldslife.com/2021/11/09/kyriacos-hadjikyriacou-pleater-x/
Rosamanda Pleaters (more, linked within essay)
Pleating is his imaginative world. ‘This one is stars on one side and squares on the other,’ he explained unrolling an elaborately folded piece of cardboard that quivered as if it had a life of its own. ‘I call it ‘Crown Pleat,” he confided to me in a proud conspiratorial whisper. ‘I have never used it yet.’ Kyri finds inspiration for new designs in pantiles, scallop shells and hieroglyphics.... ¶ ...He may serve the capricious world of fashion, but his is the realm of geometry and chemistry. Cardboard, sticks and string are his tools, and steam is the alchemical essence that enables him to work his sorcery upon the cloth, subjecting it to his desire.
“I think with my hands.”
We (or some of us) read two chapters, or essays, in Maya Lin her Boundaries (2000), being “About the Work” and “On Making.”
My purpose in assigning the reading, which I probably should have one several weeks ago, was to see how one artist/designer articulates their process, and the role of making and language (writing, titling) in that process.
“I do not think that we can fully understand how one makes a specific mark upon a page—at some point one has to trust one’s eye, one’s intuition. ¶ My creative process balances analytic study, based very much on research, with, in the end, a purely intuited gesture. It is almost as if after months of thinking I shut that part of my brain down... ¶ But no matter how often I have gone through this process, I am never sure when I am going to find the form. Or, more accurately, when the form is going to find me.” (pages 3:10 and 3:11)
Melissa’s “angry” collage (triggered by inexact cuts, etc.) brought Frank Stella’s ungeometric wall pieces to mind.
A detail of “‘At Sainte Luce!’ [Hoango] [Q#1]” (1998). Credit...2015 Frank Stella/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York; Hiroko Masuike/The New York Times
illustrating Roberta Smith, “Tracking Frank Stella’s Restless Migrations (From Painting and Beyond),” The New York Times (October 29, 2015)
The flat color graphics, in the new work presented, brought earlier work by Tom Wesselmann and some of the non-information graphic work of Ladislav Sutnar to mind.
and John Chamberlain (realize this only later) —
“Curator Susan Davidson discusses sculptor John Chamberlain’s exploration of diverse materials, ability to work in any scale, and distinct collagist technique” here:
https://youtu.be/ilkFojMgaH4
See also the typographic work of Robert Massin, in particular The Bald Soprano (1965).
Will’s photographs (of his houses, in situ), and particularly those in cemetery and/or with multiple layers, brought to mind the work of lithographer Peter Milton. John mentioned Milton’s series “The Jolly Corner” (named after the Henry James story that was its prompt), and other instances in which the work is tethered to a single story. Let the house write its own (poetic) story.
Hilma af Klint came up in discussion of Andrea’s work. Lots online, including the Guggenheim exhibit, wikipedia, and this Guardian review of an exhibit in London, Hilma af Klint, a painter possessed.
Eileen’s photographs work well in relationship with each other — as pairs, in various sequences, as two-sided objects, and in relationship with words or phrases (and not necessarily profound phrases, at that). In several photos shown on Tuesday, small elements of red stood out and visually rhymed with each other. John thought of isolated, intense patches of color in the paintings of Thomas Eakins, including
Professor Henry A. Rowland (1897) and
Elizabeth at the Piano (1875), both at the Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover.
Jessica’s visualizations of what we've been calling the interior mind of an antique store, continued to transform themselves.
Emily showed redacted scans (printouts) of her journal writing. She contemplates manually typing out the entirety of these pages, and then blacking out the passages she has redacted by hand. John wondered why not just type the non-redacted passages, either precisely or nearly at their original locations on the pages, or deployed in some other way. He also wondered about the marker bleed-through to the other side of the redacted pages, that something might be done with, the objective being transformation of the original material.
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