Entwined

...and then there are very large examples of fiber art.

Comments

[Teresa]

Oh yes! Look at that. I think I know where it is.

Lovely.

T.

[Kim]

That's really kind of beautiful in a spare, austere way.

[Bill]

More with the amazing drenching color, which no artist could afford to buy! Thanks to the effects of your work, last's night's two hour drive in the rain was transformed as my eyes collected vibrantly colored reflections on the wet pavement. I'd never been moved by their beauty - can you imagine? I do believe you are training my eye, awaking my response to color.

The color notes you have been sounding in these pages have had such affective power. In the way that shadows move across a hillside, I have felt piquancy, sublimity, had my heart lightly wrenched. As with your earlier polled trunk, the umber of your vines radiates passionately out of their depthless silhouettes. There's a visceral pull between gravity bound heft and rising color. As well, there's a dialog of dominance and submission, though the vine blocks light, is also suffers to be lit by it. There is a vibrato in the wail of something twice perceived, once by touch and once by sight.

The triad of verdigris, umber and that color that energizes the ends of the vine is entirely something different. It's airy, spiced and slightly acid, and it somehow makes me remember lawn tumbling. It works against the buff stone wall like an enzyme, pulling its neutral constituents to the polarities of red, green and blue. My chest houses the queer feeling of floating as an acidulous cloud blanketing a stone.

Maybe these sorts of feelings shouldn't be described. The more I write, the longer gone the ephemeral feelings and the bigger the pile of dead letters. I'd throw this away, but I want you to know I was here, having something come over me as I looked on.

[Beth]

Hi Teresa - maybe you do...hard to imagine there are two of these in Montreal.

Kim, yes, I think so too, and I'm kind of into austere at the moment.

Hi Bill, yes, it's almost impossible to write about the feelings engendered by visual sensations, or music, but it's fascinating to try, and I thank you for it. To have anyone look so closely and explain what it meant to them to do so, both at the time and later, means a great deal to me and I do understand because sensory impressions affect me a lot too and yet most often refuse to be put into coherent words.

[Mouse]

There are two ways of seeing this.
The one, a kind of mutual support system
The other a strangling
Depending on one's mood and outlook

This morning I see the former
Thank goodness

[Jean]

What a fab photo! Thanks for sharing this - I just adore it.

[Bill]

Beth, I suppose you know the famous Kandisky story: One evening Kandinsky returned to his studio in twilight. Against his easel stood a marvelous painting, full of brilliant forms and enchanting colors. Who could have made it? Looking closely, he realized it was one of his own landscapes, which had fallen on its side. 'Now I know for certain,' he wrote in great excitement, 'that the object spoiled my pictures.' I think Kandinsky might be jealous of you. He had to toss his objects. You have kept them and they haven't spoiled your pictures.