Sea-Scape/See-Scape: The Art of Yoan Capote

In my random internet wanderings the other day, I happened upon a thumbnail of a work by Yoan Capote, a Cuban artist I hadn't encountered before. The work was Isla (See-Scape), and I was immediately (pun intended) hooked.

Isla (See-Scape) is a seascape realized in oil and, you guessed it, fish hooks. Over 500,000 of them, affixed to the plywood and jute surface of the work over a period of six months in 2010. 

I think we sometimes have immediate positive reactions to works like these simply because they play on our expectations, producing that fizzy mixture of surprise and delight that optical illusions or trompe l'oeil paintings do, regardless of how formulaic or creatively empty they might actually be. But, while we get that surprise/delight cocktail here, I don't think Capote expects that to suffice as the beginning and end of the work, and, indeed, I think that it might simply be the happy byproduct of his work's actual program. On his website, he talks about how "the obsessive process of creation reinforce the meaning of the work, inspired in issues like Isolation, emigration, Collective fantasies and obsessions, etc...". Process becomes prime. The labor of 30 assistants, working shoulder-to-shoulder with materials that are utterly manufactured, whose function is entirely prescribed, to produce a world that is organic, whose possibilities are endless and in flux...this is what is at stake.

Have a look at his site. Other works of Capote's I really appreciated were his Retrato De La Masa (Lote) from 2008 (in which he begins carving stone portraits of strangers on the street, but only ever gets as far as an ear before the block proves too small) and Doubt from 2006 (where two doors--one black and one white--intersect to form a grey area that makes passage impossible).

Navigating the Night

Have a look at this beautiful photo series by Luis Gonzalez Palma, entitled "ARA SOLIS (aquí estoy ante Mi)". I'm absolutely in love.

Wanderlust: Landlocked

Poetry Wednesday

Fire Works

The accident was

that the explosives went off

(they were going to go off, so soon)

and everyone saw the same vision

tangerines on a meager table

I was four

on the right side of the lake I

wasn’t ready.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

The Term

by William Carlos Williams

A rumpled sheet

of brown paper

about the length

and apparent bulk

of a man was

rolling with the

wind slowly over

and over in

the street as

a car drove down

upon it and

crushed it to

the ground. Unlike

a man it rose

again rolling

with the wind over

and over to be as

it was before.

That Time I Went to A Wrestling Event...

Moody loves wrestling, Kelly loves Moody…..Kelly loves wrestling?

Not exactly.

A couple of months ago, I started panicking about what I was going to get Moody for our one-year anniversary. I was resigned to getting him a lovely (but boring) Fossil watch when, BEHOLD, the holy grail of Ticketmaster alerts appeared in my inbox. WWE RAW. Coming to Rochester.

It was fate. Anybody who knows Moody knows that he has more than one strange love in his life: convenient store coffee cake, Jackie Chan movies, Charlotte Gainsbourg, blue soda, me….and professional wrestling.  I splurged and bought two ringside seats, blacking out for a moment on the fact that, with this ticket purchase, I was basically volunteering to go with him.

I’m not going to lie, I had a blast.  Imagine endless beer, a comfy chair, adorable kids running around in floor-skimming t-shirts and sweat bands, and muscly men in what amounts to underwear, jumping around in a well-lit central location. Not to mention the goofy grin on my sweetie’s face. These are all good things.

Definitely glad I didn’t go with the watch.

Don't be fooled by his stoic expression. Moody had a blast.

And I Lost My Heart Over....

This song.

Poetry Wednesday

Dawning

There was a jar of milk on the counter

   when I woke up

(you were close, but I could not see you,

the milk was frothy, and you had poured it)

                all alone

and the quiet door

                and the sound it usually makes

                                getting smaller

I remembered all of my dreams.

A stone house shaken by a

little wind

A woman who looks like my mother

taking her rings off in the

corner.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Excerpts from Your Time Has Come

by Joshua Beckman

A new boat sleeps in that place

each night.

The current there must be mild.

To watch you open

and to know you'll open and close again.

All is flora.

It felt so good 

to get my sunburn,

but now I've got it.

Flying a kite

off his roof--

I'm worried he'll fall.

Wanderlust: Love It Or Leaf It

One Year Down, Many More To Go

I’m finally at the end of my first year of PhD-ing, and here’s what I’ve discovered:

1.) Learning is like growing out your hair. You don’t see it getting any longer, until one day you look at an old photo of yourself and realize it’s down to your knees.

2.) Thirty and forty-year-old PhD students are really just gossip-loving, angst-ridden high schoolers. Who like to talk about mise en abyme and indexicality.

3.) It is no longer permissible to have “glitter” or “Jack Daniels” themed parties. Mad Men dress-up parties and cat birthdays are, however, acceptable.

4.) Sneaky undergrads will come to your office hours and attempt, under the guise of needing help with a paper, to have you write it for them.  At which point you may guiltlessly convince them to give up on their topic and write about phenomificulumpificusousness in Camera Lucida.

5.) There is, apparently, a point at which oversized flannel stops being appropriate class-wear. And it is so, so sad.

Five or six more years to go. Whoaaaa baby.

Poetry Wednesday

Tidal

if I had a sail or row

boat i

would have no need

of other small things but

it would have to be my

own I cannot bear the thought

there are shimmers on the water/ I

cannot name the color

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Credo

by Matthew Rohrer
I believe there is something else

entirely going on but no single
person can ever know it,
so we fall in love.

It could also be true that what we use
everyday to open cans was something
much nobler, that we'll never recognize.

I believe the woman sleeping beside me
doesn't care about what's going on
outside, and her body is warm
with trust
which is a great beginning.

And I Lost My Heart Over....

This song.