Now: Here: This October 27, 2006
(scroll right to walk through the exhibition)
Stephen Beveridge
Washington Heights, New York City
After Brice
pen on paper
I was thinking about how I like to make up rules and then break them for kicks.
Sky Pape
Inwood , New York City
Migration
photograph
I’m not at the studio in spite of my wishes. Well, I’m not in Rome either, so I’ll make the best of it. The Oxalis on the windowsill reminded me of the monarchs making their long journey to Mexico, and philosophical musings of the profound potential effects of the flap of a butterfly’s wings.
Jason Laning
Brooklyn, New York
National Day of Prayer
mixed media
My answer to "What is the most important thing on my mind right now?":
...sleep deprivation, water boarding, electric shocks, physical assaults,
suspension from hooks, threats with dogs, sexual humiliation...
Peter Ferko
Washington Heights, New York City
self-portrait
photograph
I am looking forward to electing a Democratic Congress and, possibly, Senate.
I am wondering why Nancy Pelosi would feel bad becoming the first woman president by impeaching a criminal president and vice president.
I am wondering why power corrupts so completely and why the quest for it turns great men and women to jelly.
I am wondering if we can frame a new society based on compassion for people instead of on the profit of artificial constructs.
I am hoping the old adage is true: You can't fool all of the people all of the time.
Pamela Flynn
Freehold, New Jersey
memorial
mixed media
Two sturdy, young bushes died. No amount of water or fertilizer will
bring them back to life.
They are dead.
Claire Adas
Lambertville, New Jersey
Walking
digital video
In between carefully framing several shots for my now here this submission, I accidentally left the camera running as I walked. It looks chaotic at first, but as I watched patterns emerged that interest me because they're totally unintentional.
Anthony Gonzalez
Washington Heights, New York City
untitled
pen and ink
My daughter has some sort of mild virus that our pediatrician says is currently going around. One of the symptoms is rather pronounced red welts on her skin if she scratches or rubs/bumps hard against something. Just to amuse herself she gently scratched the shape of a large heart on her forearm and then called me over to witness the skin turn red as the outline embossed itself.
PP
New York City
Between Point A and Point B
photographs (slide show)
Escorting tourists is a good thing for this New Yorker. Otherwise a decade could go by before I made it into the Cupcake Cafe to just look around.
Nick Holliday
Great Barrington, Massachussets
moticos #1030
collage
Misha Dontsov
New York City
My Sweet Japanese Doll
computer genearted art
It is said in the place where I live the soil is made of our people. People who toiled, sweat, cried, and screamed all bled into the ground and made us who we are today.
"Where did you get those shoes?" he asked me.
One man stumbled towards me as if under a drunken afternoon spell. His mouth hung open, saliva pouring down. When he came beside me he spat into both my eyes and I screamed, falling to the grass beneath my feet. I saw black and smelled drool and could not open my eyes.
As the cinnamon fell on my eyelids I felt a burden shift onto my shoulders.
I could not open my eyes but could tell my knees were sunk halfway into
the weak soil. I heard the old woman exhaust her laughter into my ears,
filling them with tones of mockery and deceit.
I told myself not to look back, don't look back. I looked down at my feet
and watched them as they carried me away, slowly, slowly, farther and
farther away from my home. They trudged onward like the two front paws
of a sad, whimpering puppy who's been left in the cold for a night. I
did not turn back once, I kept my head forward, my eyes down, knowing
my journey away from home had begun.
I pulled the needle out of where it would cause harm, and happy that I did so.
The mists grew heavy. When I stretched my arm out I could not see past my hand, but it did not matter. When I closed my eyes my feet moved along with the rhythm of the mountain and its soils. Faster and faster I could almost feel myself fly.
As I fought blindly as callow youths do, a white bird flew by my side and attached a feather to my bleeding wounds. They began to heal instantaneously.
When he placed his hand upon me he let out a great cry and then vanished
into the earth.
As I felt the creature take me into her jaws I saw my father come, from
behind a tree. From thirty feet away he shot the creature and the jaws
fell lose, emptying me onto the floor. The skin on my chest had impressions
of teeth marks, but no blood appeared.
My lying brothers cried when they were forced to walk on the ground without their leather bottomed shoes. I watched as they, like my father had once, were swallowed by the ground and mouths hungry for stinking flesh.
As the soil on me continued to turn into gold, the ground of our garden sprouted trees, fruits, and vegetables. My family and I stared in a daze as we watched our land grow rich and the people of the soil draw away.
end of exhibit
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