studio siblings

My brother and I are studiomates. We work in an old, dusty, leaky warehouse we affectionately call Orange Blossom Studios. The building was once upon a time a Coke-a-Cola bottling factory, and then a dry cleaners and perhaps even a machine shop, but has held artists now for over two-and-half decades, if not longer. In fact, until recently, it housed the work of my sculpture professor from my bachelor program, still houses one of my other sculpture teachers, and now houses Cindy, my recent showmate, along with a couple other sculptors and ceramicists. 

For years I worked out of a tiny -and the only- bedroom in our apartment. When the opportunity to move in with another artist in January of 2011, I felt I could finally breathe. Suddenly I had multiple workstations and could move nearly seamlessly between them to accommodate different series and stages of work. A space to hang up work and live with it a little while could happen and significantly I was away from the seductive glow of my computer. It gave me a sense of freedom and renewed purpose. Much of my productivity over the last year is thanks to it.  

Part of the benefit was having the company of a few other artists, even if our only interaction during the week was the call across the echoing space to say hello, or seeing the ever shifting landscapes of each other's desks. This sustained me somehow. Knowing others were Here.At.Work.Producing.Art meant I was pushed, or more accurately inspired, to stretch my hours even when the work wasn't coming easily or involved mind-numbingly boring sanding. Even the dusty materials and sculptural skeletons of my prior teachers held in storage seemed like they were were there as reminders of where I was headed. 

Later, there was a brief time where I was the only other working artist there and my pace seemed to slow, the space felt not only dusty, but somehow stale.

When Colin expressed interest in sharing my studio (and splitting rent), I jumped. He moved in shortly after and it's been a natural transition for both of us. His work seemed to almost immediately take on a particular focus and I find myself energized by the company of his work. Sharing a studio with him is lovely in a way my childhood-self wouldn't have appreciated, but it warms me to have my brother working there so much even when our studio schedules don't often synchronize.

one of the rare occasions we've ended up working at the same time

He's been working two series of work I'm rather excited about, Unmind and a long term series of Portraits of his friend Nic Bravo which he introduces here.

Colin Curry. Nic #3. oil on canvas. 16"x20". 2011

In a rather sweet turn of events, we were both accepted into a show this month, Below the Belt, presented by a new arts organization here in Gainesville. It's Colin's first serious exhibition and the work he made for it is ambitious. I couldn't be more pleased.

Colin Curry. Suspension. oil on panel. 72"x80". 2011

framed

at last.

After hanging above our bed by binder clips for nearly a year, this work may have feared it was never getting a proper frame. I like bare paper very much for its tactility, and the sculptural objecthood of a sheet of paper seems much more accessible when not under glass. In addition, the I-wanna-touch-everything-in-museums part of me takes a perverse enjoyment in leaving art bare and ready for careful caresses. This week I finally caved, in part to see how it would change under glass and to explore how I might keep the feel of drawing-as-artifact.

Over the last couple of days I worked out how to float it on matboard using tabs and put in custom half-inch spacers between the work and the glass. Overall I'm very happy with the look, though part of me still wants to forgo the glass and the resulting glare. One of the other permutations I'd explore in the future is making a still deeper frame and including the little skein of wool made in the creation of this work on a shelf inside, maybe stitched in place to prevent it traveling around inside the frame.

Despite my initial obstinacy at the use of frames my mind is whirring with ways I could use them in future work, and fully integrate them into the concept from start to finish.

glimpse

The summer is swiftly passing, tiny breaths of cool air waft through the veil of the seasons as Fall peeks out and prepares for Act III.

There is much to show and say, but from midst of it I am having trouble giving it substance here. Here's a studio snippet taken just before rearranging the wall to make space for the new.

There's a project in the works, you'll soon see.

silvered mask

Functional, beautiful tools should not be underestimated. Particularly those one might wear for an extended period of time. My respirator mask for example:
Primed and silver leafed. Hopefully it will tarnish a little with use and age, but if it doesn't, a layer of paint to relax the shininess should do the trick.

Idea shamelessly stolen from my brother, his has gold leaf.

Speaking of beautiful tools, a dust protection accessory of a different sort and origin was made recently by one of my good friends see it here.

a feathered story

My studio, a veritable jungle of fibers and tools, occasionally reveals a restful moment. Here a beginning tangle drawing, linen canvas, a wool bit and a recent experiment in spinning find themselves in close proximity. This little seductive lock of wool has been around for a long while now, and is one of the early seeds that began my whole thread of work. Above it, hangs something quite new, a yarn of folk legend.
Feather and silk handspun together become an artifact of the Crane Wife, an old Japanese tale. The Decemberists first brought this story to me through three songs:

They tell of a poor man wandering through a snow-covered wood, who comes upon a crane with an arrow in its wing. He removes the shaft and with a grateful bow, the bird flies away. He returns to his humble home and a beautiful woman knocks on his door to ask for shelter. She stay,s and they are soon married. After a time of living in poverty with him, she begins to weave cloth to sell in the marketplace, but she weaves in complete solitude with the express wish that no one looks in on her. The cloth she presents to him to sell is of such exquisite quality that it almost seems to glow and the price her husband receives for it exceeds all expectation.

They live in relative wealth for a time until the day comes when their finances run short and she begins her clandestine weaving again. She finishes and he again sells it, but a local merchant offers to commission yet another bolt of cloth which the young man does not refuse. The young woman appears thin and tired, but returns to her loom once again. The villagers by now begin to wonder about her and tease her husband for letting her weave alone with her secrets. He, being curious himself and reckless from the neighbor's prodding, finally disobeys her and looks in her studio. What he sees causes him to gasp, for at the loom is a beautiful crane, plucking her feathers one by one and weaving them into the cloth. When she realizes his transgression, she gives him a long sorrowful look and flies through the window, never to be seen again.

There are, as with most traditional stories, many variations; in most common variation, the crane becomes the adopted daughter of an elderly childless couple, but it is the tale of the wife with her secret and great skill that I prefer. A proper telling of the story eludes me, most have been diluted through summary retellings or children's versions, and I'd like to find a more detailed or more poetic rendering.

This yarn seems like pure air, when thrown it floats down in a light tangle, and as it does I imagine the cloth the Crane Wife presented to the world. This little bit found a home with a weaver who recently took me under her wing and showed me the way to prepare a loom for my own weaving.

Studio Peek

My friend Tim recently let me try out his sweet camera, here are a few of the results:Having such a narrow field of focus combines some of what I love about the ambiguity of the blur with that divine sharpness. Of course this means I now have the urge to upgrade from my trusty point and shoot. Tim also has a sneak peek of my mystery project over at his blog. While you are over there don't miss checking out some of the amazing kites he and Ruth design and make. Hopefully I'll get to photograph both of their studios soon.

studio play

Made this little ceramic spool a number of months ago along with some larger ones. It sat, empty and waiting until this little bit of black thread needed a safe place to stay. Upon winding the thread, the spool became a ring.

The transformation of studio bits, all sketches and beginning ideas, fascinates me, and the cultivation of these happy moments drives me here, to this space, again and again, the moments of "make". From the seeds of studio bits, things planted a year or two ago, I can finally feel a body of work coming forth, something to feed and develop and turn into a show. My spun drawing hangs in our living room above the bed bouying my body and thoughts up in the morning a promise of what may come.
My good friend Ruth, a painter of a different kind of line, recently began a blog; this entry in particular resonates with me as do her thoughts on Art Basel Miami.

Gathered

Still not posting about Penland, but here's a shot of my desk.details noted

Bits and Pieces

Lately I've been spending my time rearranging my new studio. Today I bought boards to put up on the cheap brackets that were there when I moved in. Finally I'm making shelf space for my collections, which have been in boxes for two months, I miss them: the rocks, seed pods, bones, twigs, and bottles, all finds from walks and visits to the Junk Lady on 441. These little delicate things that I surround myself with almost have the value of relics. I pick them up compulsively, always have, my mom used to complain about my toddler pockets filled with fistfuls of dirt mixed in with treasured broken bits of flowers and leaves.

I want natural history museum display files. Where can I find those? Perhaps I could alter mechanic's tool boxes.

Though I've yet to overtly integrate my beloved collections with my artwork, I feel it coming. Before I moved I took a few photographs. I like the scale of these. (I'm not sure what's going on with the digitizing of the image below...bear with me while I work it out).