Unshown Series

Sitting in my studio, I'm surrounded by the products of practice. I have shelves erupting with documentation, the magazines--books I've had work in, sketches, stillborns, all the objects I reference and pull energy from (what Heather jokingly refers to as Inspirational Ephemera). Old work resides close as well, though only the small stuff (filing cabinet friendly). The canvases and screens retired to my parents' years ago.

I often debate which of these iced ideas might now be appropriate for this audience. Which have just been waiting for the right venue to become functional mini-works. Which deserve to be seen, need to be shared. Which polish another facet on this gem I've been chipping away at here.

The majority remain dusty, and determining which should is a task shackled to considerable responsibility. The series that follow have always stirred particular reluctance (each for disparate reason) but also begged to be considered.

Today I've hung them on the wall.

Imaginary Animals

Rarely one to applaud whimsy, I've always been somewhat embarrassed by my lighter work (a category in which my imaginary animals fall squarely). Drawn between 2001 and 2003 on found bits of paper (in found bits of time), each provided me with a moment of spacey escape. Nothing more.

Still, I've always found that they attract an audience, that their easiness calls company. So, I present 21 freely-associated species (in approximate chronological order), stretching outside the cardboard mailer that's housed them now for years.

Open - Bocoln and Subledont
Grozot
Gleopid
Climak
Mitzpole
Mono-Rhombluff
No-Ehta
Plebil
Loop Ghempo
Cimlikan Cloud Eaters
Blue-Nailed Slomitharn
Thwagutark
Cehix and Reltdaen
Spectral Pyndlop
Drumblixth
Three Fish - Mahmarnt, Bundlop, Soft Permiliot
Crested Quarelke
Close - Pen Testing and Pomeranc's Digits

Also viewable as a Flickr set.

September 11th, 2001

The motivations behind my hesitation here should be pretty obvious. I'm no victim photographer. I love this city, and hate myself for shooting her while she's down. But I couldn't help myself; we were witnessing history and we knew it. It felt simultaneously right and wrong to snap away.

Until now, I kept the photos that follow, binder-clipped and deep within a cold steel drawer, only brought out for fellow New Yorkers who couldn't help themselves. For a while, I've thought that the catharsis they can provide the viewer is something one must share. That suspicion was laid plain a few weeks ago by Raymi; someone I didn't know then, but was on her roof on the rim of Brooklyn, just as I was, soaking it all in. Seeing her post her pictures (thousands have their own) made me realize, it's time I did too. Sometimes it's best to let open wounds breathe.

Photograph 1
Photograph 2
Photograph 3
Photograph 4
Photograph 5
Photograph 6
Photograph 7
Photograph 8
Photograph 9
Photograph 10
Photograph 11
Photograph 12

Also viewable as a Flickr set.