Thursday, March 5, 2009

actual artwork

Well, here are a couple of crappy things I have done over the last few months. The birdie is something silly I made for a 3-D design class. There's the idea of beginning to take flight, not like a fledgling or anything, just a bird getting ready to take flight. The foil isn't foil, but a super thin, painfully delicate, silver leafing. When air moves over the bird the 'feathers' move. Although, the idea of foil works well in the sense that it is representative of household items which can also represent mother/wife-hood.




















The painting is titled 'Isolation'. You figure it out. I think I like it. The primary colors are a little bright, but they need to be, I think. There are about 10 layers of paint on it. I worked so fast that some of the upper layers were dried before the ones underneath were. My professor noted that one day when she touched it. There's a lot of movement going on except for in that little corner to the bottom left. Everything is moving fast, past those little objects.














The photos suck. The brighter of the two shows the background well, but the color is a little shocking. I think the second one shows the slightly more muted primary colors better.

And here's a picture of Mt. Hood. Thought I would throw something in of the area. It was on a trip up to Portland. I am hoping to get out and take some more photos of the mossy licheny trees before spring comes.
You can barely see it, but I swear it's there. Look reeeeeaaaaal hard.

So my art seems to have suffered over the last few months, if none of you noticed. I guess I might have a few things that work well, look good, but I don't know where those things might be.
Hmmmm, life is interesting.

3 comments:

Stanley said...

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89)

God’s Grandeur


THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Beth Laske-Miller said...

OK, please keep posting stuff! I'm trying to get my lazy butt back in action in the "artistic creation" department. I've readjusted some things at work recently, so I won't be taking as much of my job home with me. Hopefully this will free me up to make sumthin' purty. And when I do, I will post it!

Beth Rosenkoetter said...

Get those creative juices flowing and flowing for you. It is important. Although you do some fantastic work anyway.