Now: Here: This October 21, 2005

(scroll right to walk through the exhibition)


Sky Pape
Inwood, New York City

untitled (CD cases)
digital photo

The struggle between progress and resistance lead me to revisit a lesson a friend attributed to her mother: "She taught me that if we find our feet won't step out onto the path before us, we might consider it's our turn to learn to fly."

Peter Ferko
Washington Heights, New York City

intelligent design
digital photograph

Unlike me, the universe appears relatively comfortable with design via chaos; physically this appears as haphazardness of objects within it: meteors in space, trees in the forest, rocks in a stream, freckles on a face.
Despite this "abstract expressionist" approach, there are intricately patterned, often symetrical, individual components within it.

The art spark hour caught me in this forest of a graphic design studio, where I noticed the beautiful components I am collecting on my desk. (humble thanks to Gabriel Orozco, whose show invite serves as a life-imitates-art nexus).

New York City

Chicken or the Egg

Was she so loved because her eyes were so beautiful or were her eyes so beautiful because she was so loved?
- Anzia Yezierska

Karien Vandekerkhove
Gent, Flanders, Belgium

there is 
digital photograph


Misha Dontsov
New York City

digital image

I drink green tea from our office's pantry. All the time. I had a nightmare recently, my woman-boss, a hefty tall gal in her late fifties, calls me into her office. She closes a door behind her and shows me to a chair. She says: "All I see you doing is drinking tea, he? And I notice that you take the hour-long lunches while putting down thirty minutes in your time sheets. Your jeans are not ironed, I see creases. You smell. Get some deodorant. How is your workload, are you catching up?" I wake up in a cold sweat.
I rummage through the teabags in a glass jar. The flavored stuff tastes awful. Orange and spice. I am looking for plain green tea. I find Earl Grey instead. Oh boy, that will give me a stomachache, I bet. Nice stuff though.
She is dressed in all black. A cute Asian girl. I am trying to concentrate on work, but she is sitting on my lap, first facing me, then turning around. In your dreams, in your dreams. I am trying to concentrate on work, for goodness sake. She is changing a printer toner now, her jeans are very low cut, I see her from my desk. Oh no, I see the tiny flowers on her panties. I think it's some kind of stringy thingy. I am trying to look unconcerned. She puts her arms around my neck, tilting her face: how was your day, honey? Do you want to see a movie tonight? I think I am in love.
I found one last tea bag of green tea at the very bottom of the jar. Someone left some honey-based sweetener by the water heater. Mexican stuff, sugarless. I open a sticky plastic flip top. I pour it my mug, a lot. Nice stuff. Quickly, put it back and pour hot water, so nobody sees that I had almost half of a cup of the sweetener. Nice stuff.
How was your day honey? Do you want to smell my hair? I bought a new shampoo. I think I am in love.

Nick Holliday
Great Barrington, Massachusetts

Resolution C

I'm thinking about grief, and the strange, unknowable depths of love.

Erin Hiser
Washington Heights, New York City

These Are Only Miles
gouache and water-soluble crayon on paper,
3 1/2" x 11"

My work often deals with ideas of community, family, the emotional construction of a home. As I am new to New York, this week I have been thinking continuously about the places from where I draw my strength, where I find support, especially in a new environment among so many strangers.

This painting is for Joe, whose birthday coincided with the painting's inception, and who was once a stranger to me.

Joel Adas
Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Mirror between Two Doors
pencil on paper, 4"x8"

I've been doing these quick studies of different interior views of the apartment I'm living in. As I draw, I find myself making quick choices: leave something out, add something that isn't there. They become something other than what they started as.

Tim Folzenlogen
Washington Heights, New York City

untitled comic strip
pencil drawings

click here to read the strip
(This is a serial strip that continues from previous weeks)

Rosa Naparstek
Washington Heights, New York City

Coming Home
digital collage

In dialogue: Tim Wendy Peter and

How do we  become who we are?
How did I become who I am?
What taxonomy placed me here
in my corner of the universe
filled with juxtaposition I am now
unafraid to call art? Naming
myself finally not doctor lawyer
Indian Chief but other,
legislator of the world".  
Having marched through
every pathway begging
to find out from professor
therapist psychic lover "who
am I" killing myself to know
the pain of the world
to justify living
knowing more than my mind
could assemble or give
all the while gathering the lost
thrown away penumbra of
our lives unquestioningly placing
this with that: child's play. Never
having been one at an early age
will I now let them describe me proscribe me imbibe me
limit form or being to this or that or this or that only? Baloney!
I love the streets galleries museums happenings trappings
mappings. We are the causation incubation reverberation agitation
constellation ultimate installation (listening to Dylan too long)
this is not Pippa's song, god's not in his heaven,
all's not right with the world, but when I stand in my room
surrounded grounded unconfounded by who I am:
I AM THAT I AM  ready to make the world anew with you
Thank you.


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