"Travail" by Tames Oud

The movement in this composition reminds me of Thomas Benton's landscapes of the American heartland. Though the zebra patterns and simple yet expressive linework remind me that this is something more exotic (and certainly not as romantic or melodramatic as Benton's paintings.) The villagers are in total harmony with their environment. They move in the direction that the trees bend and billow, like smoke. The curves and patterns in their robes match the curves of the rolling land. The roofs of houses, a wheel, and the solid black shape of the sky catch the eye of the viewer more readily than the human beings in this picture. Indeed, we don't even get a glimpse of their faces, as they march steadily away, the tools of their work in hand. Everything moves in an anonymous and fleeting sort of way, as if the whole image is just a memory. A bold, but flickering impression.

1/22/12 Update: This blog post had an error. I had used the title "Village Life." The artist's great nephew emailed me and informed me that the accurate title of this print is "Travail" meaning work.

"Wild Ride"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

When I first conceived of this image, I imagined a sort of surreal balance between the stillness of two floppy, soft toys hanging loose off a wooden horse, and an avalanche of dollies dropping from their galloping steed.

Now what I see is a rhythmic, diagonal, and quiet sort of composition, presented in a calm and cheerful color scheme. I am bored.

I think I need to get a new block and make this image again.

"Flower Child"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

The doll lay on the floor, discarded by some child, a shadow behind her so dramatic that it seemed as if she had sunk into a hole. Streaks like rain wet her lacy, white dress and bonnet. Perhaps instead of a hole in the floor, she is floating through a opening in a wall. An apparition coming in from the storm.

"Ugly"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

Online social networking is a wonderful place to lurk. Bored and looking at photos of an old acquaintance, I found a photograph of her and her boyfriend engaged in a kiss. The image is slightly blurred, the two of them unexpectantly caught in a dark and enclosed space. Her hand clasps his shoulder. He uses one hand to steady himself against a doorway while his other hand, pressed firmly on her back, pulls her closer. Normally I can't stand this woman. Every previous photograph of her face - smiling garishly into the lens, or posing like vixen - had conjured up memories of her arrogant demeanor and nasal tone of voice. And yet, when I looked at this image of tenderness, of genuine affection, my mood softened. In my mind she and he became nothing more than human in the best sense of that word. Looking at this image I felt the love I have deep down for all people. I thought of the lyrics from the Dresdon Dolls song Sing: "Sing for the terrorists, sing for the president, sing!" and how listening to that always brings tears to my eyes. I felt a twinge of shame for my previously ugly thoughts.

"Making The Pierogi" by Chris Doogan

Image posted with the permission of the artist. More about Chris Doogan and his art can be viewed at his website, and a larger version of this print can be viewed here.

This image immediately brought back memories from my childhood. Many of my Polish relatives grew up in and around Cleveland, Ohio. For years, my mother and her siblings made sausage from scratch. I remember her and her sister sitting at a kitchen table cutting up and sorting pounds of meat, fresh from a butcher. Meanwhile, their brothers worked an old meat grinder (which must have weighed a ton) in the basement. The smell of garlic and sounds of pleasant chatter permeated the air.

Such experiences produce a sort of in-the-moment happiness. The sort of happiness which occurs when we're engaged alongside others in a task with a repetitive flow, which also has a clear purpose in mind, and finished product to show for our efforts.

The women here are firmly situated in their task. They form a considerably solid composition: a symmetrical pyramid. Yet the bright, warm colors give a sense of the speed and agility of their hands. The expressive marks heighten that sense of movement, and add a hint of levity to the women's calmly focused expressions. They glow, like a fire. Something is happening here. Something is being created. Though the literal scene is mundane, the characters serene, this is life in its most essential form: movement and reproduction.

"The Chinese Warrior Zhang Heng" by Utagawa Kuniyoshi

The child warrior lifts the leviathan, his skin red hot, and baby fat bulges as he flexes his muscles. His eyes focus hard, with lips pursed as he holds his breath for the task. In the midst of the struggle, chunks of white foam rush to the surface like an upside-down snowstorm. A rushing current forms with the lifting of the great sea-beast. He wriggles forcefully, kicking up waves, but it is of no use.

The beast's opponent is no ordinary child. This is the rise of mankind: a colorful contrast to his surroundings with an ability and motivation to dominate. The red warrior has strength beyond strength. He can go where there is no air to breath, grab hold of what seems far more powerful, and bend it to his will.

"The Kill"

Woodcut (3 color reduction)

4" x 6"(image) 5.5" x 7.5" (paper)

Oil-based inks on Stonehenge paper

Edition of 4

Available for purchase here.

They had eyed each other from opposite ends of the toy box for some time now, one trembling with fear, the other salivating with hunger. Not unlike a mouse thrown into the cage of a snake who is not yet hungry, but will be soon enough.

Bellies rumble, and what must be done, must be done. It should be acknowledged, however, that there is no sport in this sort of kill.