"Tree Scene 94C" by Hajime Namiki

The tree is still bare
But the sky is in bloom.

"Tornado" by Hajime Namiki

Everything goes round and round, a long path, a slender serpent. Sharp spikes along the back like thorns on a rosebush. Scales, more like sequins than armor. I am too enamored by his beauty to be afraid. Besides, he's smiling and about to toss a ball.

Blue and gold, so regal and rare, with just a bit of red. But is this all the view I'm given? So limited, like looking at a sunset through a keyhole.

Highlights from Baren Exchange #67 (Part 3 of 3)

Check out post 1/3 about Baren Print Exchange #67 here, and post 2/3 here. 

This untitled woodcut is by Lisa Toth. 

Hello, my friend  
I see we both bow to see the 
Upsidedown world  

Highlights from Baren Exchange #67 (Part 2 of 3)

Check out my first post highlighting prints from Baren Print Exchange #67 here. 

I knew right away that I had to feature these two prints together in the same post, but it's hard to articulate exactly why that is. They both evoke a calm and comforting effect on me while, oddly enough, simutaneously causing me to imagine myself as a rat in a maze. 

The first print featured here is "Natator Scene" by Achim Nicklis.

We're at the center of the universe, and everything has its place, and all the pieces fit together nice and neat, except it doesn't, not really, not exactly, and then we see the ripples, feel the flow, and hear a quiet but constant hum. We notice the imperfections in the lines and move a little more carefully, and after a few moments take in the startling realization that we will never be in this spot ever again, as it is fading away even as we float here watching and wondering. 

The second print featured here is "Start Somewhere" by Brad Ladwig.

The real path is not linear. Some of these walls are solid, but others will crumble if we only put some effort into knocking them down. 

Highlights from Baren Exchange #67 (Part 1 of 3)

I am very excited to have received the prints from Baren Print Exchange #67. So much so that I'm going to devote three posts to highlighting some of my favorites.

The above print is "Moondog" by Joseph Taylor, and the below print is "Fish Follies" by Anne van Oppen.

Both here and there, we focus on a creature. In one instance it is a dog, honed in on by one-point perspective, nightime isolation, and a spotlight cast by the moon. The light falls from behind the dog, and so casts a dark shadow that bleeds into the frame. I am particularly captivated by the misty, dark grey in the corner that seems even more ominous and likely to swallow him up than the pitch-black structures. The dog himself is in the moment, lapping up water or eating out of a dish. Maybe the dish has been kindly put out for him, or maybe it is merely a found object, such as the lid of a trash can. Under the raining heavens, he satisfies a most basic yearning.


In the second scene, the creature in question is a fish. She, too, eagerly consumes (in this case, a smaller fish) under a heavenly body (this time a bright and cheerful sun) and textured sky. She, too, is diminished by a man-made structure, though it is at a distance and the boat's passenger seems to celebrate her feast.

Fibonacci Numbers and Spirals

4" x 4" (image)
4-color reduction woodcut
Edition of 7 on various types and size sheets of white paper

As I made this latest ammonite print I thought, This is the last one. I've done enough of them, and there's no where else I want to go with it. 

But after it was finished, I felt somewhat differently - like I'm giving up on a quest. I've been making prints of ammonites for about a year and a half now, and I feel that this whole time I've been grasping to get hold of certain things, some of which I've found, but others which I've yet to discover.

The problem is that I question whether mathematically intriguing and aesthetically captivating spirals found in the impressions of once flourishing creatures that went extinct millions of years ago is a combination of thoughts so mind-blowing in-of-itself that I'm just being silly trying to capture something about it in art. This is the reason I never paint sunsets; they are so awe-inspiring to experience in reality, what the hell would I do with that in art?

Argh, what to do? Think on it some more, I suppose. Better yet, get back to work on my picture book "The Nautilus and the Ammonite." In completing that project, maybe I will figure out whether and how I might continue this related body of work.

Student Collographs with Cubes

These are a couple collographs made by two students enrolled in my 2D Mixed Media after school class for 3rd-6th graders at the University City Arts League. They used cardboard, craft foam, bubble wrap, yarn, Popsicle sticks and toothpicks.

One of the kids in the class has included cubes in almost every work of art he makes and he's apparently influenced the others. Ironically, for this project that kid didn't feature any cubes in his print.