Sarah’s parents have been in town all week, so the dearth of posts has been replaced by a plethora of photographs. The trick will be to upload them all in a timely fashion. Although they are with Sarah in Birmingham for a coupla days (perhaps my fine art post has some context now), they don’t have to go back to MN until the end of this week. Pictures will probably be up by the weekend. In the meantime, check out their blog for a few more pictorial offerings.

Caspar David Friedrich, Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer, 1818

Jean Arp (Hans Arp). (French, born Germany (Alsace). 1886-1966). Collage with Squares Arranged According to the Laws of Chance. (1916-17). Torn-and-pasted paper on blue-gray paper, 19 1/8 x 13 5/8″ (48.5 x 34.6 cm).

But when great and ingenious artists behold their so inept performances, not undeservedly do they ridicule the blindness of such men; since sane judgment abhors nothing so much as a picture perpetrated with no technical knowledge, although with plenty of care and diligence. Now the sole reason why painters of this sort are not aware of their own error is that they have not learnt Geometry, without which no one can either be or become an absolute artist; but the blame for this should be laid upon their masters, who are themselves ignorant of this art.

-Albrecht Duerer, The Art of Measurement. 1525.

New Evelyn photos up in the photo gallery.

Title: Touch Me, My Gargoyle Heart…
Artist: Carol Bomer
Date: 2005
Medium: Charcoal/Graphite
Dimensions: 30×36 in
Creation Place: Deep South

Sunday Service at the Home for the Incurables

Idiots
Misfits
Drooling fools
And spastics:

Forgive my wretched poise
and tidy clothes
and manners acquired
from much church
and so little rubbing
into your palsy and piss
and men asleep from birth
living in cribs.

Undo
me
dear
incurables singing
“My Jesus” in slapstick,
your hands with minds
of their own
shaking praise.

Moving in your midst
a tender light,
a love unkempt

And blind waits on you
singly, touching
each ragged grief, each

Buried rage and sings
your circus hymns
with reverence,
as one who well knows
the pograms of fools.

Touch me, my gargoyle
heart, and make
me
crow.

By Suzanne Clark