August
14
(photo: Farming in Nevada, credit: Michael Eckblad)
(Wall Flower No.1 by Norman Mooney, photo: Candice Heberer)
Bring to Light
This past weekend, Michael and I attended Bring to Light, New York City’s first Nuit Blanche festival. It’s a one-night gathering of artists, performers and musicians that starts at dusk and goes all night. Having been lucky enough to attend similar events in both Toronto and Tel Aviv, I was pretty excited to find out that this festival was taking place in my own backyard, Greenpoint.
Initially, I was a little underwhelmed and even slightly disappointed with the limited scale and breadth of the event, but as I made my way through the streets, I stumbled upon a few pieces that piqued my interest and gave me food for thought in the days after.
The photo above highlights one of the works I was particularly fond of that night. A new work, Wall Flower No.1 by Norman Mooney. His exhibited work included both wall and free-standing sculptures made of cast aluminum and/or resin of various bright colors, as well as large scale carbon drawings on paper. I was personally drawn to the wall sculptures; I like the play between 2D and 3D that is created depending on your distance and angle to the piece. From a distance and straight-on perspective, the sculptures appear as pristine large-scale drawings or paintings of color bursts that appear soft and feel somewhat reserved, but moving to the side or getting closer you are confronted with sharp protruding spikes, which in contrast are loud and imposing. I’m intrigued by the simplicity of form and color and its ability to incorporate such different feelings.
Another piece that I enjoyed (better seen in person) was a light projection by artist Ryan Uzilevsky of Light Harvest. Using a seven-story building as his backdrop, he projected a 6x3 grid of rectangles which fit nicely into the exterior facade and gave the illusion that you were looking into the interior. I’ve heard the content was changing all night, but the loop that I witnessed filtered through a variety of geometric compositions that reminded me of Bauhaus architectural drawings and light value studies. It was minimal, clean and gave new depth to the side of the building.
All in all, I think the night was a good foundation for growth and I’ll be looking forward to next year. In addition, I was happy to see families and kids in attendance. I appreciate events that, whether a goal or not, help to create a more comfortable and approachable venue to view and appreciate art.
Running in NYC
(Runner unknown; photo: Candice Heberer)
In just nine short weeks I’ll be running the Philadelphia Marathon, and this photo marks the halfway point of my training. It’s my first and I’m not gonna lie, it aint always easy — but I like it because I like hard work.
I also like that I’m not the only one passing up beer for water; a few weeks ago, I was pleasantly surprised when Jon decided to join me on this journey. For better or worse, we’re sweating it out on the streets of NYC.
The Importance of Standing in a Field
At the beginning of May, I took a trip to rural Wisconsin to visit Jon at the house he’d rented to do some recording for an album he’s working on. I had just moved out of my apartment of two years in Northeast Minneapolis, and had left my full-time job a month earlier. We were both considering our upcoming move to New York City, and mulling over what exactly that would mean.
So, we took a walk. It was a beautiful day, and we decided to walk toward the marsh, following the lakeshore. At the edge of the marsh there was a small creek with a wooden plank bridge over it. As we crossed the bridge there was a sense of demarcation, as if it separated two realms.
Jon and I continued along the winding path until we found ourselves in a clearing, surrounded by marshy grass and a few clusters of trees. In the center of the clearing was a giant, gnarled oak. The oak stood ominous, beckoning anything and everything nearby to rest under its shadow. I noticed that it was dome-shaped, as if through years of standing alone — at the mercy of the winds — it had curled into itself. Indeed, many of the lower branches extended down so that you could practically shake its hand. Another low-lying branch had spikes jutting out, as if for protection against intruders.
We circled the oak and talked about it. I mentioned my observation about the tree’s shape to Jon, and we compared it to the nearby clusters of trees. Jon tried to determine what kind of tree it was, settling on white oak. We were both thinking about moving to The City, and what we would be missing.
Jon: —Wouldn’t it be great if you planted a tree like this, and were able to watch it grow? —Yeah … how tall can a tree get in 25 years do you think? —I think oaks tend to grow about three feet per year. —So, 75 feet? —Hmm, well, maybe smaller.
The question bubbling under the surface was this: Is it worth it to move to a large metropolis? Is it necessary? Is it worth the inevitable disconnection with the natural world? There’s been quite bit of progress lately with bringing the natural world into the city — green roofs, urban agriculture, aquaculture, etc. — and this is all very exciting of course. But it doesn’t allow for the experience of being in an open field, of watching wind patterns on the lake, of taking a walk and coming to rest under a giant wind-blown oak.
We moved on and continued our discussion. Jon: —What if we could just set it up so that we could periodically come back here when we have something to work on? Definitely something I could get behind, if we could make it work.
But is living in the city even necessary, why not just work remotely all the time? I tend to think there is an advantage to being one of many people in such a small place. A higher metabolic rate, with potential for kinds of stimulation and cross-pollination that don’t exist in the wide-open expanses.
Jon understands this idea, but I don’t think he feels it as strongly himself. He wants to watch trees grow. I understand that idea as well.
—Andy
