The Kiss, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
In Bed, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
In Bed The Kiss, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
‘Space Quilt’ by Lanzavecchia + Wai – documenting everything encountered in a normal day
“a humument” by tom phillips (1970)
A Humument: A treated Victorian novel is an altered book by British artist Tom Phillips, first published in 1970. It is a piece of art created over W H Mallock’s 1892 novel A Human Document whose title results from the partial deletion of the original title: A Hum
an document.
Phillips drew, painted, and collaged over the pages, while leaving some of the original text to show through. The final product was a new story with a new protagonist named Bill Toge, whose name appears only when the word “together” or “altogether” appears in Mallock’s original text (…) (wikipedia)browse through the book here: http://www.tomphillips.co.uk/humument/index.html
I want to put poetry in danger and put myself in danger and to write the sort of poetry I would not be ashamed to read to people in danger.
—Mairéad Byrne, BOMB 2010, artwork by Leigh Van Duzer
(Source: bombmagazine)
La Dormeuse by Tarama de Lempicka (1898 - 1980)
Excerpts of “A Triptych (abc)” by Eugenio Dittborn
a. The Running Omelet
4. The author owes his drawings to the straining of human bodies as they traverse great expanses; he owes his drawings to these bodies in the throes of violent physical exercise: these bodies issuing into photographs and abiding there, fixed, because question marks are fixed.
5. The author owes his drawings to observation of the human face in the course of rigorously regimented group occasions: luncheons, athletic performances, weekends at the beach, boxing events, weddings, underwater fishing championships, condolence calls, anniversaries, dance competitions, singing festivals; he owes his drawings to these rituals as shown on television, fables and in published photographs.
9. The author owes his drawings to the complementary and contradictory relationship established by the vertical and the horizontal when they meet, engendering the most fraught and fertile situation in the whole graphic language: perpendicularity and its only begotten son, the dot.
b. Track End
1. The painter owes his works to the human face, unique and generic in its somatic constitution, hunting ground of the photogenic, asymmetric in its hereditary configuration, apt for dismantling and reassembly in the production of dreams.
2. And he owes his works to the dyslexic schematism, stereotyped melancholy, intractable application, documented assembly and lunatic delicacy of the Photorobot and Identikit picture.
7. And he owes his works to the body of the photograph, embalmed in and by the photocopy, repository of photographic remains; he owes his works to the invention of the photocopy of the photograph, an invention that automatically chars, perforates, pales, iodizes, drains, congests, weakens, dehydrates, shrivels, shrinks, stifles, rusts, burns, salinizes, pollutes, tars, frays and erodes the skin of the photographic body, preserving it in destruction.
c. Toolbox
4. I owe my work to the observation of liquid secretions from the human body deposited as spills on fabrics, stains that disrupt, interfere, disarray, dishevel, interrupt and tinge, stains that stain.
5. I owe my work to watery substances, oily substances, spilt on absorbent, woven, dry, opaque canvases, unbleached linen, jute, sail canvas; I owe my work to the uniformly retarded movement of the aforementioned substances once they have penetrated the aforesaid tissues.
7. I owe my work to the use of proverbs, definitions, adages, anthologies, set phrases, litanies, riddles, verses, conundrums, all texts found ready-made in speech and writing which like public photography are common coin, dead stars in movement, commonplaces.
8. I owe my work to the connection and propensity for scenic conjunction between written commonplaces and photographic commonplaces, a connection that by shaking shifts and by breaking taints the over-currency in the commonness of these places.
(from The Archive: Documents of Contemporary Art, edited by Charles Merewether)
#8 When I’ve filled this sketchbook I’ll start
1000reasonsnottostartmakingart:
Of course I have an idea of what sort of work I would make as an artist. I have ideas and I have begun to write them down, more not to forget them then to make them works in their own right.
And I will be pretty excited writing down those ideas. And I will think I cannot wait to start to make these. And I will promise myself to do that. Just after filling this sketchbook completely. And I will fill the book, and usually be in such a rush of ideas that I want to open a new one and continue with new ideas. And the resolution to develop them into actual ‘work’ never manifests itself.
The problem is not with coming up with any ideas. For years now I’ve been filling up notebook after notebook.
But it’s true; ideas are worth only so much (I would not say nothing) without execution.
I’ve thought about declaring the sketches the art, and be done with it. But most ideas are really too sketchy (ha!) drawn to be comprehensible by anyone other than me.
And, more importantly; the sketch was not what I wanted to achieve; they stand for something bigger, grander, more real. Maybe there’s the rub. That I want it (my work) to be perfect. Even though I know it isn’t/ that’s not the point.
