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Sharon Passmore 10-05-2016 08:39 PM

Night & Day

Ann Drysdale 10-21-2016 02:20 PM

You are the one...

Sorry - at first nothing came up and then suddenly - there it was.

I have been worrying about you and your posts because there seems to be no interest in them. I wrote a long explanation of why I (and presumably others) find it hard to say anything sensible in the way of comment on these pieces, but I somehow managed to delete it between here and there. I found the details of "how" you made them interesting because it gave me an idea of how the things would feel (beads and beans and stuff) and even smell (glitter and glue and acrylic paint) but I had no sensible response in terms of the art. In one case I wanted to say that I didn't "like her face" and that sounded so shallow and silly that I could not bring myself to say it. It smelt of yak (remember that post?)

Could we do another poet/painter collaborative challenge? I got a couple of good poems from the last time, plus some interesting discussion on our responses and process.

John Whitworth 10-22-2016 12:17 AM

I like this as it appears here and would probably like it still better if I could see the texture. My daughter has shown me similar paintings (not by her) so there is obviously a tradition. How big is it?

Sharon Passmore 10-23-2016 10:48 AM

John, This is a digital image. It's a combination of two different photographs, one of a tree in the sunlight, turned sideways, and one of a downtown street at night. Aa a digital image it has no texture at all until it's printed and then it will assume the texture of the support it's printed on. I guess I would be leaning towards a linen paper since that paper has a slight grid to it and that would relate nicely to the squares the neon filter created around those night lights. My printer tells me that he can print that at the best quality at 15' x 12.5". It can go smaller of course, but any lager becomes distorted and blurry.

I just caught the typo in my last sentence, but I'm leaving it because it's kinda funny.

Ann, I think I know what you are talking about. It is a bit difficult for people of one art form to slip into discussions of another type. I've been thinking about your idea of having another collaborative challenge. This would be fun and mix it up a little but, at the moment, we just don't have many artists participating at Erato. I was considering starting a thread at the "Art Museum" about a comparison of poetry vs. visual art. I hope you will join in! Maybe it would be fun to crit a poem as if it were a painting and crit a painting (or other visual work) as if it were a poem. Did you know visual art can have "rhyme"?

Ann Drysdale 10-24-2016 03:24 AM

Well, I've always thought of Warhol's four Mickey Mice as a quatrain.

I know in my heart that Ekphrasis is not the only way to cross the divide but in practice others are hard to find.

Is there "One Art"? In her poem of that title, Elizabeth Bishop merely proposes the notion that one of many arts (that of handling loss) is less hard to master than others.

I've been interested in the way that "art" and "science" begin from apparently different places and run parallel in the foreground, but the further you take either discipline the nearer they seem to get and I lust after the meeting/ vanishing point that visual art shows me, making a reality from an optical illusion.

I'd like to do something similar with your art and my art, with visual image and poetry (which, for me, begins in my ears because they are what I "see" with). I get hung up on the inevitably subjective decision between "good" and "bad" which is hopelessly entangled with "like" and "ugh". (Have you been reading the Dylan thread on GT, f'rinstance?)

I am, unfortunately, deficient in the actual language of litcrit, so I couldn't apply it to the visual arts any more than I can to my own.

I'm going to look for the threads where we met and challenged and discussed process. You look too, and between us we'll find them and post links so others might see what we're on about. I am looking round me at the art I've bought because I wanted to live in the light from it and asking why it makes me happy.

Editing in to say I've found the last one we did:

And that, once upon a time, there were regular challenges on D&A but they seem to have been geared to visual responses.

Sharon Passmore 10-24-2016 10:22 PM

How fun it was to re-read that old post. I am sad I can't see Pat's image anymore.

Art and science have always been hand-in-hand, visual art at least. New developments in optics, dyes, printing etc...have always been precursors to new art forms and styles. I love it.

What search terms are you using to find these old threads?

I am formulating a challenge thread in my mind about critiquing a visual artwork as though it were a poem or critiquing a poem as though it were a work of visual art. What do you think of that idea?

Would you consider critiquing "Night & Day" as though it were a poem? Would it be metrical or non-metrical? Does it rhyme? Are there any cliches? In poetry, people discuss imagery, how can that translate when the whole shebang is an image?

Ann Drysdale 10-25-2016 03:20 AM

I'll try to do that, Sharon. Watch this space.

Finding the threads? I clicked on your name, looked at your profile, clicked on your statistics and checked out the threads you've initiated. Et voilà.

Woody Long 10-25-2016 01:42 PM

Sharon & Ann —

I've looked at Night and Day off and on since it was first posted.

There is a kind of rhyme in that Night and Day are juxtaposed in opposition, though interconnected by the lighted filaments.

For me it's somewhat unsettling that Night has conventional up and down orientation and Day is sideways. I've wondered if that's supposed to say something.

I keep wanting them both vertical, though I can see how that would be difficult. Different trees with more horizontal limbs maybe. & a prominent trunk might look like an intrusion.

When I posted the link in Art Museum to Edward Picot's animation of Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, I thought that what Picot had done was a kind of reverse ekphrasis (visual art more or less commenting on a poem). It think his presentation is distinct from illustration of poems, even sequential illustrations as in Dave Morice's Poetry Comics (an example extract here).

The computer allows for the possibility of such things. Maybe there is software somewhere that facilitates it. Otherwise it would be almost impossible for us non-programmers.

Anyway, reading your conversation prompted me to chime in, since I have been musing on this for some time.

— Woody

Sharon Passmore 10-27-2016 10:36 AM

Hi Woody,
I actually don't remember why I turned the trees. It's possible that it was to do with the sizes of the two images, although cropping them to be the same size would not have been a big deal.

I suspect it was that I didn't want the light strings to appear as though they were garlanded in the tree. That would seem a bit cliché to me, like a Christmas decoration. In art, as in poetry, cliché is a no-no. Compare these two images of crying. In one of these the cliché turns it into a cookie tin.:

Where is the line? Is it "show and don't tell" as in poetry? (It's not like many works could stand up to a Picasso, just sayin')

I think I also preferred the light strings to be going the same direction as the branches because that visually rhymes better, having similar shapes and motion. The motion flows across all the segments giving the entire piece a unity.

I remember "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird".
It was wonderful. I would say that it differs from an illustrated poem in that the art assumes equal importance, whereas normally apoem illustration takes a subordinate role.

Why is this reverse ekphrasis and not simply ekphrasis?

My favorite thing about a piece like the blackbird is that it is non-linear. This is a new artform since the computer age. Artists always embrace new technologies.

Ann Drysdale 10-27-2016 12:37 PM

Saw one of those pictures a while back. Wrote this...

She Weeps

He rearranged my face.
He beat it black and blue till it became
A broken benchmark, archetype of grief.

I am a camera. As his great work grew
I froze it carefully in fat quarters
and quilted it together in the dark.

I make his art my art, he makes me his.
Scary, surreal; I declare myself
his muse, his mistress, his amanuensis.

I am a soap-soft baby armadillo
curled in a shell, hard and impregnable.
He is spooning me out with a palette knife

breaking my face, scraping it back together;
making me weep because it is important.
Because women are suffering machines.

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