Sunday, January 29, 2012

Youjin Lee, Artist

American Museum of Natural History

The American Museum of Natural History has made available for download historical photographs of its permanent and temporary exhibits. There are photographs of the museum's dinosaur displays and many more of its famous dioramas. All are in black & white. Link here.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Cabinets of Curiosity

A cabinet of curiosities was an encyclopedic collection in Renaissance Europe of types of objects whose categorical boundaries were yet to be defined. They were also known by various names such as Cabinet of Wonder, and in German Kunstkammer ("art-room") or Wunderkammer ("wonder-room"). Modern terminology would categorize the objects included as belonging to natural history (sometimes faked), geology, ethnography, archaeology, religious or historical relics, works of art (including cabinet paintings) and antiquities.

Anatomical teaching model of a pregnant woman, around 1680. Source link here.

Chinese Medicine Dolls. Medicine dolls were used by doctors in ancient China. They were not allowed to touch their modest female patients. The women were given a pointer stick and they showed the doctor where they were hurt by pointing at the medicine doll. Then the doctor would prescribe the correct herbs or medicine to cure her ailment


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Odelae, Artist

 You can find on Etsy.
 Link here
 Also appears on Archaic Youngster. Link here.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Poetry Response, Assignment Guidelines

Construct two, three-dimensional forms that visually communicate your perception of the design elements and principles coherent in the written word. The primary material for both forms is paper. See below for a complete list of materials. Use non-representational imagery. Allow elements and principles to serve as visual metaphors. No symbols or cliches.

Provide an opportunity for students to apply their knowledge of design elements and principles  in accordance with their own personal perception.

Paper, ink (and/or paint, colored pencil, pastel), exacto, scissors, cut matt. Optional, needle and thread, gesso, gel medium. Paper type limited to white copy, white Rives paper (came in your kit) and/or tracing paper (available in the classroom).

Step 1:
Read the poems listed below. Poets are students of Professor Liz Robbins.

Step 2:
Select three poems. Number one being your first choice. I will post a sign up sheet in class. Sign up for your first choice. First come, first serve basis.

Step 3:
Brainstorm session with your poem group. Specific exercises have been developed to assist you with this process.  Details announced in class. Come prepared with a pencil, a sketchbook and an open mind.

Step 4:
Begin construction of your idea.

What to put on your blog:
1. In process pictures.
2. Professional images of the final solution. At least 3, include a detail shot.
3. Artist Statement.

There are six poems to choose from. an even number of students will be working with each poem. If your first choice is not available, be prepared to sign up for your second choice. Sign up sheets in our classroom (posted over the fire extinguisher, near closet door).

Gold Rush by Laney Burrell

Smog veils the city where
stars flower out of concrete
and dreamers come broken,
twirling, and starved

I feel unhinged, separate
from everything but you
We are homesteaders in
a golden state

The mountains, to me,
are a quartz bowl
That fills with tears and
we are underwater — unhoundable

Waltzing with woodwinds,
I try to recreate
this thicket we found

filled with thorns

Korea in Ruins by MJ Jeremiah

I’m only fourteen years old. Japan took over quickly. We moved to a new place. New language. New scenery. New government. New Mom. There was no time to mourn my last one. I am a child. There were other children too, younger than I. Parents aren’t always perfect. They were supposed to protect me. They were supposed to feed me. They were supposed to care. They were supposed to love me. Not make me become a physical shield for my younger siblings so she could not beat them. Not make me become a mom to my younger siblings so they would have one. Not make me currency. Not make me run. I ran so many times I lost count. The pavement recognized the pounding of my feet. I tried so hard. But I could not save them. I could not protect them from her. I’m sorry. I ran for the last time to my last hope for comfort. Seeking out a home. Deception masked my fate until the darkness came. A man came into my room. He locked the door behind him. That night lasted for thirty years. Some say I should run. But where would I run? Who would take me? Is it better to sell my body to machines and toil, filled with hot sweaty darkness and fume-filled smoke, than to sell my body to the hot sweaty darkness of men? Is there a difference?

T.  A P H R O D I T A by Seth McCormick

Pale half-moon partially 
eclipsed by sand: fractured clam shell:
subtle curve 
of marbled toe—I found her 
thus forgotten:
an ancient goddess, her bones 
sun-bleached and hidden 
beneath sea glass and
sea weed
surrounded by 
fossilized limbs of echinoderms
pared radially like rose petals.

I rebuilt her on my nightstand
stacked her ribs 
one upon the other like a ladder
my eyes climb each night
in search of eternity.

Seafoam stream of ejaculate, stunted breath
eyelids half-closed with pleasure: I worship her
and she comes
to me, illustrious, deathless
as a poem
for a moment pale bone made pink
with flesh and blood.

A vision too quickly dissolved 
flaccid in the dark. But limp 
in my hand
it's all I have to cling to.

The Words by Felicia Hunt
rotting in the back of your throat growing in size and intensitybut not in strength.You cannot clear your mind
of his hateful presence.The way he sucks your soul from your bodyand forces you to watchas you dance for him with no control. His puppet.The rotting words build up in your mouthchoking the life from you. Suffocatingbecause you cannot pus the decomposing tissue of those words out. You want to screambut you are a living corpse,a human doll, his plaything.His shadow looming over youand casting you into a bleak pit so darkyou cannot see yourself.He is a leach sucking the blood of life.He is a flea hopping from victim to victim.He is a virus infecting youchoking out the words.

R O M U L U S by Seth McCormick

I was not made for this world. 
Too much the animal,
Too much the human for it.

Feral, like the pig. Hungry.
My hands, dirty from rooting at the ground
Searching for truffles, tremble.

But like the suckling human child: mouth raw, 
Sore from biting at mother crone’s empty breast, 
And bleeding now, it grows slack.

My aging head heavy 
With antlers 
Inching higher hangs low.

My eyes, strained from staring skyward 
In search of god, exhausted, close.

Gatsby, Again by Laney Burrell

My courtyards are teeming with
violent flocks
They use my sugar and leaves,
but not for tea
And someone’s crashed
my yellow car

Ah, but surely they’ve all come to see

separates me
What’s beyond
those dark letters?
I don’t remember

I never leave the hills
because before
I reach the green light,
it turns red.