Williamsburg, Brooklyn with ravivora. Summer 2014.
(Source: Dave Krugman, @dave.krugman on Instagram.)
Diggin this dudes work. I think my dad might be trying to set me up with him… Hahaha not mad about it.
Rafael casal. Aka the fucking man.
Nantucket round 1
that craigslist love story...
I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.
I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.
You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you’re looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.
Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you – maybe pretend I didn’t know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, “Hot day.” It all seemed so stupid.
At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it – a biography of Lyndon Johnson – but I noticed you never once turned a page.
My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn’t get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.
I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.
Still I said nothing.
We took the train all the way back down – down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through midtown, from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under SoHo and Chinatown, up across the bridge back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheepshead Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something.
Still I said nothing.
And so we went back up.
Up and down the Q line, over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sun set over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines: I’ll talk to her before Newkirk; I’ll talk to her before Canal. Still I remained silent.
For months we sat on the train saying nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out of singles. When the train went above ground I’d get text messages and voicemails (“Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”) until my phone ran out of battery.
I’ll talk to her before daybreak; I’ll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now, now that we’ve passed this same station for the hundredth time? Maybe if I could go back to the first time the Q switched over to the local R line for the weekend, I could have said, “Well, this is inconvenient,” but I couldn’t very well say it now, could I? I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed – why hadn’t I said “Bless You”? That tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation, but here in stupid silence still we sat.
There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train, and even then I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She’s reading her book, I thought, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus and we’d immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, holding hands, and we’d both think: Young Love.
For sixty years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other. I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the contours of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you’d glanced at a neighbor’s newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific, or just the general passage of time, so unnoticeable until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine, but it felt too familiar; I stayed glued to my seat.
One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensboro Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up, you hadn’t done it in sixty years. Holding onto the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you, but rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost-conversations I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.
It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to reenter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. Nothing would be said. Nothing would need to be said.
When the train returned to Queensboro Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.
But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.
I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square, at which point I got off and transferred to the L.
The Last Poem I Write Before Entering An Intensive In-Patient Rehab Program For Alcohlism and Substance Abuse
Just so you know, I hate this poetry shit
the way a fisherman hates a false snag on the line.
I hate this petty, pouty, private, public confession-performance, this howl
to be scrutinized, just so you know.
Just so you know, Komunyakaa is over my head,
and I only really like the idea of…
With his series ‘American Asylums’, photographer Jeremy Harris takes a look at the derelict architecture of abandoned mental hospitals. The images highlight the sometimes bizarre structures that were built as a form of therapy – serving as a reminder of the thousands of individuals who lived in these places, some for the majority of their lives. Scattered around the East Coast and New England, these sites have been ignored, forgotten, or destroyed.
Residents of Liverpool, England must have been surprised and confused when, last month, as the evening set in, the shutters of an old derelict building autonomously opened, emanating a bluish glow onto the street. What was revealed behind the old garage door was a space completely taken over by a large fish tank filled with jellyfish peacefully floating and hovering in the gentle blue water.
This secret magical window, which only opens at night is, in fact, a large-scale, site-specific art installation by the artist duo Walter Hugo & Zoniel. “The psychedelic display is intended to have a discordant presence within the building and to intrigue those in the surrounding area,” says Gazelli Art House, who are not only supporting the project but are live-streaming a video from within the tank and into their gallery space in London some 200 miles away. The projection is viewable both from within the gallery but also from the street outside, creating a virtual corridor between the two cities.
The project, which is titled “The Physical Possibility of Inspiring Imagination in the Mind of Somebody Living” is up until July 27, 2014 at 53 High Park Street in Liverpool. You can also purchase digital versions of the artworkright here. (via designboom)
were being the key word.
remember this feeling, Zoe. you earned it.
these are gorgeous.
Beijing-based artist Ren Ri bases his work around the relationship between humans and nature. This thinking has led him to an unconventional collaborator in his fascinating set of sculptures - honeybees. Ri choose to work with the insects and their wax, although it’s not the easiest medium to use because it’s unstable and can change shape and temperature. But, that’s the gamble that Ri takes, and it complements the fact that he bases his work around the element of chance.
The artist first began beekeeping in 2008 and two years later felt that his knowledge of it was enough to start working on Yuansu I: The Origin of Geometry, which is a collection of maps made in beeswax. Yuansu II is a continuation on this theme, and sculptures are embedded in transparent plastic polyhedrons. In order to induce the insects to create symmetrical wax sculptures, the queen bee is kept at the center of the geometric space. This causes the bees to gather and start building around the center. Every seven days Ri changed the gravity of the developing honeycomb by rotating the box on a different side, determined by a throw of dice.
These beautifully-peculiar sculptures are the result of what happens when man and nature work together in harmony.
One Day is a unique series of landscapes in which Japanese photographer Ken Kitano uses long exposures to capture sunrise to sunset throughout the course of one single day. The simple landscapes allow viewers to experience many hours of a single place in one still shot.
While the majority of the world remains fixed, Kitano captures the essence of each place through ghostly forms and blurred lighting, as long streaks across the sky evoke a sense of otherworldliness. Through the work, he intends to generate a strong awareness of the earth and all of its greatness. As we concentrate on the curious path of light and the intense atmosphere, the images quickly remind viewers that we are merely a small part of a much larger universe.
The conceptual series invokes a memory of significant locations ranging from “the day-to-day to the historical, including urban streetscapes, ground zeroes of bomb blasts, islands of convalescence for leprosy patients, and old battlegrounds in Okinawa.”
these are scary but fucking incredible. kind of obsessed with the juxtaposition of how sexual these paintings are of the body.
If you can manage to stare at these paintings by artist Fábio Magalhães long enough not to feel a bit queasy, then you will be able to appreciate the immense skill and detail that these works possess. And while the body horror content is shocking at first, it does have a purpose: Magalhães is exploring important themes such as animal cruelty through this photo-realist painting method.
holy pencil drawings.
Monica Lee has been a digital artist for 12 years, and she has finally decided to pursue her dream job as an illustrator. She effortlessly pencils complex portraits of freckled girls and guys, many of these art pieces taking 3 to 4 weeks to finish. Some of her drawings are based on pictures by other artists; for example, the girl with glasses by Marteline Nystad. Lee mentions to me her admiration for photography, and that her father works in this field. “I grew up appreciating the value of photographs. That’s why I prefer the photo-realist style compared to other styles. And recently, I came across the work of Dirk Dzimirsky and Paul Cadden. Their realism works with just graphite pencils totally blew me away! And I want to be able to do that.”
Artist Rogan Brown (previously) just completed work on his latest paper artwork titled Outbreak, a piece he describes as an exploration “of the microbiological sublime.” Over four months in the making, the work depicts an array of interconnected sculptures—entirely hand cut from paper—based on the smallest structures found within the human body: cells, microbes, pathogens, and neurons. Outbreak represents nearly four months of tedious planning, cutting and assembly. He shares about his process:
I am inspired in part by the tradition of scientific drawing and model making, and particularly the work of artist-scientists such as Ernst Haeckel. But although my approach involves careful observation and detailed “scientific” preparatory drawings, these are always superseded by the work of the imagination; everything has to be refracted through the prism of the imagination, estranged and in some way transformed.
You can see more details over in his portfolio.
We’ve seen no shortage of projects using layers of glass to simulate bodies of water the last few days. First we had glass sculptures by Ben Young, followed by several amazing river and lake tables Greg Klassen. Now we have designer Christopher Duff of Duffy London who has released concept images of the Abyss Table, a carefully layered table made from sculpted Perspex and wood that creates a geographic cross-section of the ocean. The tables will be limited to a series of 25 and are available for purchase here.
It should be noted that these are digital renderings of what the final piece should look like, it will be great to see photos of the actual tables once they are built. You can see a few more renderings on their Facebook page. (viadesignboom)
Holy shitballs.
As a quick follow-up to our video from Keith Skretch yesterday, here’s a similar concept from two years ago byLaurin Döpfner who used an industrial sander to grind down logs, electronics, and even a skull in thin layers which he then photographed to create this amazing stop motion video. Each object is comprised of about 100 different photos, a process I can only image was extremely labor intensive.
This will be trending on /r/ThingsCutInHalfPorn/ by the end of the day if it hasn’t already. While you’re at it see also @HalfPics, and for the not so faint of heart there’s the Visible Human Project. (via Jason Sondhi)
Lina Scheynius
Light and body combine, bright corpuscles defining muscles and impacting on hard bone; the quaint curve of the human, perfect even when flawed, the quaint curve of human emotion perfect and flawed, love and belief, desire and delight, calm and comfort—Lina Scheynius casts through the bodies she elegantly captures to show us these things and to connect us with them in ourselves.