“I have a cozy studio that I slowly put together over time. I love the smell of it, too—I think all of the accumulated art products have created the distinct smell. My studio smells like paper to me.”
These pieces by @ingrid_elzinga and @mattchalk make me very happy.
For me, the dream is finding a perfectly fitting denim jumpsuit and make it my uniform a la Tom Robbins’ character Sissy Hankshaw in Even Cowgirls Get The Blues.
I see much of my work as blocks of text that are made up of sentences, which are made up of words, and each of those words and sentences and blocks of text are modular—I can move them around as I see fit.
I spent an afternoon at the Guggenheim with Swedish artist Hilma af Klint’s abstract, spiritual collection, one she began creating in 1906.
I have been calling it the shell of my book, but when I say the word shell I don’t mean an eggshell, where everything is neat, suspended, and contained within a thin, fragile layer, I mean the other kind of shell. A conch or maybe a broken piece of coral, where the elements can flow in one way and flow out another.
Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 by Marcel Duchamp
Excerpt written by sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska
he asked me to think about “where the status quo is broken”. Then I was assigned the poet Gregory Pardlo’s memoir, Air Traffic
