Separated at Birth

One of my favorite DC area sculptors is Adam Bradley. For years and years, even as a student at GMU, Bradley has been recycling junk and found objects and creating intelligent allegorical and narrative sculptures from them. He was doing "green art" without realizing it. See his work here.

One of my least favorite airports is the Philadelphia Airport, which essentially has been stuck in the 1970s for three decades. While at the airport, I spotted the below Honda ad:



Which looks suspiciously close to the well-known "Skirt" sculpture by Bradley shown below:

Curious

The Philly Inquirer's art critic Edward J. Sozanski has a curious statement in his recent review of "Kiefer, Polke, Richter" at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Sozanski writes:

"One doesn't hear much about Kiefer these days, or Sigmar Polke, Gerhard Richter, A.R. Penck, Georg Baselitz, Jorge Immendorf, or any of the other so-called neo-expressionists. While their moment dominated a good portion of the 1980s, an especially vigorous decade for new art, it's long past."

Mmmm... that's news to me.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

By Kris Kristofferson

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

Senior Artists Initiative

Via artblog I've learned about the Senior Artists Initiative (SAI).

The purpose of the Senior Artists Initiative (SAI) is to assist senior artists in understanding the need for, and process involved in, organizing their life's work, and to develop programs that provide recognition for senior artists.

Details here.

Oz

When this opportunity presented itself, I dug around for some doodles that I had done in the late 70s from a series that I titled "Unknown Events in the Wizard of Oz saga," back when all that I really wanted to be was a cartoonist.

"The last thing that the Wicked Witch of the West said was 'Aw... shit!'"

"How Dorothy Gale really killed the Wicked Witch of the East"
Just for fun I'm going to enter them in the competition, although I doubt that they'll get in - not sure how Ozfreaks' sense of humor is...

Trashball

As I mentioned quite a while back, Chris Goodwin started a blog called Trashball! that documents some of the stuff that he finds (much of it in his PT job driving a dump truck).

He's got some really cool stuff online now. Check it out at Trashball!

Pool Woes II

I told you before about our pool woes, and your lack of feeling sorry has been duly noted (yeah, yeah, Campello, I feel bad for your pool problems as I bake in my apartment, buddy...).

Maybe these pics, which are directly proportional to the state of my savings account, will make you feel my pain.