Category: landscape

  • The fullness of the earth

    The fullness of the earth made her well.

    The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store: A Novel, James McBride

    AG2024AG2024AG2024_1089181aaa
  • AG2022_2110497a

    AG2022_2110497a

    Serra’s career remains marked by the controversy surrounding Tilted Arc (1981). Since its dismantling by the authorities in 1989 following a lengthy court battle, Tilted Arc has become the defining instance of site specificity, the example given of this category in seminar rooms and art history lectures across the West. But in mentioning this work it is also worth noting its difficulty. Too frequently site specificity is envisaged as artworks made and almost tidily housed in a particular spatial context, akin to how a hand may perfectly fit a tailor-made glove. Tilted Arc was more obdurate and antagonistic than that; it worked to barricade, divide and unsettle an urban space that was ostensibly ‘public’. The trial unintentionally had the consequence of highlighting the intersubjective difficulties site-specific artworks might expose and bear witness to.

    Matthew Bowman 28 March 2024 artreview.com

  • PXL_20240327_183506136 transposes and upends

    PXL_20240327_183506136

    No by Anne Boyer (2017)

    “History is full of people who just didn’t.  They said no thank you, turned away, ran away

    […]

    Of all the poems of no, Venezuelan poet Miguel James’s Against the Police, as translated by Guillermo Parra, refuses most elegantly

    […]

    It’s stealthy, portable, and unslouching. It presides over the logic of my art, and even when it is uttered erringly there is something admirable in its articulation. But even the greatest refusialists of the poets might be a somewhat ironic deployers of that refusal, for what is refused often amplifies what is not. The no of a poet is so often a yes in the carapace of no.  The no of a poet is sometimes but rarely a no to a poem itself, but more usually a no to all dismal aggregations and landscapes outside of the poem.  It’s a no to chemical banalities and wars, a no to employment and legalisms, a no to the wretched arrangements of history and the tattered and Bannon-laminated earth.

    […]

    Transpositions and upendings refuse and then reorder the world.

    […]

    There is a lot of meaning-space inside a “no” spoken in the tremendous logic of a refused order of the world. Poetry’s no can protect a potential yes—or more precisely, poetry’s no is the one that can protect the hell yeah, or every hell yeah’s multiple variations. In this way, a poem against the police is also and always a guardian of love for the world.

  • AG2024_1100047a

    AG2024_1100047a

    Onomatopoeia: Animal Sounds

    baagoat / sheep
    buzzinsects like bees, mosquitoes, or flies
    chirpbird
    chirpcrickets
    cluckchicken
    cock-a-doodle-doorooster
    gobbleturkey
    hisssnake
    hootowl
    meowcat
    moocow
    neighhorse’s sound
    oinkpig
    quackduck
    ribbitfrog
    roarlion
    woof / bow-wowa sound of a dog’s bark
  • AG2024_1088633a

    AG2024_1088633a

    And the lost lore of mournful lands
         It knows alone and guards too well. 

    The Giant Cactus of Arizona, Harriet Monroe

  • AG2024_1088541a or somewhere else

    AG2024_1088541a

    “… gone somewhere else, beyond the frame, which is a place that we, viewing this image, cannot know, but guess, …”

    The Grain, Chad Bennett

  • All that is submerged, encased

    I have known only my own shallows—
    Safe, plumbed places,
    Where I was wont to preen myself.

    But for the abyss
    I wanted a plank beneath
    And horizons…

    I was afraid of the silence
    And the slipping toe-hold…

    Oh, could I now dive
    Into the unexplored deeps of me—
    Delve and bring up and give
    All that is submerged, encased, unfolded,
    That is yet the best
    .

    Submerged, Lola Ridge


    my quest, to know myself. 
    To chart and compass this unfathomed sea, 
    Myself must plumb the boundless universe.

    Quest, Carrie Williams Clifford


    Eden in Post

  • AG2022_2040228a or the void does not beckon as it used to

    AG2022_2040228a

    Sustained by poetry, fed anew
    by its fires
    to return from madness,
    the void does not beckon as it used to.

    Littered with syllables, the road does not loom
    as a chasm. The hand of strangers on other
    doors does not hurt, the breath of gods

    does not desert, but looms large
    as a dream, a prairie within our dream,
    to which we return, when we need to.

    Oh blessed plain, oh pointed chasm.

    II Alone, John Wieners