The Gravity of Color

The Gravity of Color

The Gravity of Color, New Britain, 2008. Lisa Hoke (b. 1952). Plastic and paper cups, paint and hardware. Stephen B. Lawrence Fund and the Edwin Austin Abbey Mural Fund of the National Academy of Design

Lisa Hoke’s idea of using “found” materials for her work is both an intriguing and unique concept. However, many people question its stance as “fine art.” Isn’t one of the main componenets of contemporary art the idea of pusing the boundaries? Can already machine-processed items be seen as art? Or is fine art restricted to painting, drawing, and sculpture?

When an artist reuses items in order to achieve a higher purpose in art, the final work is often captivating in a way that a two dimensional painting cannot be. Finding repeating patterns-like those in Hoke’s work-in installation and sculptural art links us not only to the material world, but also to the cellular processes of nature. Every piece has a function that helps with the biology of the overall system. There is something organic and fresh about it that makes this type of art fascinating.

ANTIQUE GRAVITY PICTURES

ANTIQUE GRAVITY PICTURES

ANTIQUE GRAVITY PICTURES

ANTIQUE GRAVITY PICTURES


ANTIQUE GRAVITY PICTURES

BEST GRAVITY ART PICTURES

Friday Favorite Photo: Garage door

This photo was taken in the fall of 1999. This was the door to the garage of the house I grew up in. I took a lot of photos - with my film camera - of the house that fall. It was just before I let the city buy it and tear it down.

Left or right ?

I was a passenger in my daughter-in-law's car on our way to a park recently when she asked, "Is it on the left?"

"Yes." I replied. But as she switched lanes I realized I was wrong; I hadn't consulted my wrist.

I have a scar on the inside of my right wrist that tells me which is my right hand, and therefore which way is right. I apologized to my DIL and explained what was going on. "You don't know your right from your left?" she asked (sounding just a tad judgemental.) And I had to say yes, it's true, much to my shame and dismay.

Just as some people make a writing motion to remember which is their right hand, I depend on my scar.

I got the scar when I was seven and accidentally put my hand through a pane of glass. And because of my early dependence upon it, I never learned right from left. If someone asks me which way to go I just reflexively flip my wrist and look at the scar.

I related this quirk to a friend a while back and she said, "But don't you have a sense of the right side of your body, and the left side of your body?"

I'd never thought of it like that.

I'd always thought of right and left as being something "out there." Not as something that was a part of me.

So, in order to be better at telling left from right I've been looking down at myself lately and consciously thinking "here is my right" and "here is my left." I've been trying to get this idea ingrained in my sense of what's what. And it has been helping; I'm much better at telling right from left than I used to be, except when the pressure is on.

It's just like math anxiety - which makes me unable to add 2 plus 2 if I'm under pressure to do so, or if someone is looking at me expectantly. My brain just refuses to concentrate in a situation like that. It's too busy thinking "Math - accckkkkkk!" to actually do any math.

Same goes for right and left. If I'm nervous or on the spot I'll get flummoxed. There have been times when I've consulted my wrist and still couldn't tell right from left because I was too distracted with embarassment to remember which hand the scar was on!

I spent a lot of time in community theater and always had a hard time knowing stage right from stage left. When I directed I had to keep a chart in front of me - a fact I kept hidden. My shameful little secret.

How do you tell right from left? Is it something you just never have to think about, or do you have some little reminder? How did you learn it as a kid? This must have been something I missed out on.

Factory Girl

I just recently read the tragic life story of Edie Sedgwick.

Told entirely by the recollections of those who knew her, Edie - American Girl, published in 1982, is a fascinating, though sad, portrait of the "swinging" 60s.

Aristrocratic and vivacious, Edie was the "it girl" of the 60s, photographed for Vogue and Life. She became Andy Warhol's companion and star of his underground movies.

She was also the subject of some of Bob Dylan's songs.

"People'd call, say, 'beware doll, you're bound to fall.' You thought they were all kiddin' you"

It's sad to read about Edie's drug abuse and emotional instability. What a shame and what a waste.

She was ruined by wealth and drugs and 15 minutes of fame. And when her 15 minutes were over there was no one to help her, or care for her - not her family, not a doctor, not a lover or a friend, and not even Warhol, who later claimed he hardly knew her.



Poor Edie. She died of an overdose at the age of 28. Her story is tragic, but it's a mesmerizing account of an extraordinary time.

The best show on television

The final episode of the fourth season of Mad Men will air tomorrow night and I'm already missing it. It's so unfair that television "seasons" are so short these days. Especially for shows as good as Mad Men. And especially for a season as good as this one has been.

Mad Men proves how good television can be. Not only are the vintage sets, costumes, and props a treat, but the characters are compelling and the writing is top-notch. There were two episodes this season that just awed me with their brilliance - the one all about Peggy and Don, and the one all about the women.

Watching the show you just know that some of the character's lives can't possibly turn out well, but you root for them anyway. You hope for them. And it's fun to know what's just around the corner for all of them, perched as they are in the middle of the 1960s. It might be called Mad Men, but the show has a lot to say about the lives of women in that time period, too.

Here's a cool little music video I found. It's a mash up of the Mad Men theme and "Nature Boy" (a song made famous by Nat King Cole.)