helena kvartström

I have to confess that I am at least minimally biased towards immigrant artists. Somehow, I think there is some connected line of thinking between most of them, at least from what I've been able to gather, and I share that sentiment. It seems to consist of 1/3rd longing, 1/3 realization of the universailty of mundane experiance, and the rest, I suppose, is personal. Kvartström is an immigrant, born in Sweden, who has grown up in America, lived in England and presently resides in Toronto.ca. Her work is very affectionate but her photographs, although exectued with a definite sense of whimsy , are 'normal'. (And there are fewer things that excite me as much as 'normal')

D a v i d___H l y n s k y

"His 1970s photography was primarily concerned with objects of the everyday, highlighting the banal by the sheer obsession of his careful photographic technique in series such as Salvage (1981)." "The 1990 series, Windows through the Curtain, consists of photographs capturing the artist’s reaction to communist Poland and the former Czechoslovakia, where "my most powerful sensation was that these streets were somehow more 'real' than I had imagined. East Bloc citizens were largely occupied by the same routines as my neighbours at home: eating, working and maintaining relationships" (1990)." (The last paragraph is not relating to this particular body of work, I don't think, rather it speaks to things I've really been married to.) You can read more about him as well as see his work here. Or check out the broad website which features various Canadian artists of European origin.

-Izabel

a few more shots

more eye candy, or eye beef jerky depending on your taste

When I shop for pants, I always try the suckers on. Sometimes I immediately like them and sometimes I don't. The true test is the next 60 seconds in front of the mirror. Sometimes what I loved immediately becomes less than spectacular in that minute, and sometimes a pair that I wasn't sold on grows on me. That is how I make my decisions about pants, and usually how I make my decisions about art. Here's a broad who grew on me very much like my aptetite for goat cheese. The photographs are a little dramatic, a little over the top, but in the end, they are great and fun and bored and exploratory. Check them out. http://www.dididuc.com/Autoportraits/galerie.html

on my mind

Recently, I've been really considering finding a prison pen-pal. I'm considering this guy Any suggestions?

-i.

J o a c h i m K o e s t e r

You would think that the internet has information on bloody everything. I guess it is something I take for granted, because I can't seem to find anything besides a few loose images and vague statements about this guy, and I would really like to.

t h r e e___ photographs

1,2&3/10

So this is the last time I post the progress of the installation. The first panel, along with a barebone statement of intent can be found here. I realize how bloody redundant this is getting. so I will quit posting until I have finished photographs of the realization of this thing in 3D. The previous two panels were actually finished at the end of April. Just yesterday I finished the third one and, quite frankly, I feel like patting myself on the back or, if that proves logistically difficult, buying myself a beer.

Cheers

-i.

back to business

tim carpenter.
I venture to say that he is one of my favorites. His website, however, is currently out of comission. As soon as his site is up and running (or IF his site is ever up and running) I will certainly post it among the links.
In the meantime, here is a link which features some of his photographs, but it is a bit of a downer because the choices are hardly the highlights, in my opinion.
http://www.jenbekman.com/tcarpenter/index.html
Cheers.
-i.

Americana, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Once again I find myself with my ass planted on the seat for “Confession Time”. It's hard to write these things with any sense of decency. You just always feel like an asshole, that fact is universal. In other words, you have to come to terms with being a young, irrational nimrod and hope that you can skate by on your apologies and retractions.

My situation, the one that requires apologies and retractions, is rooted in the hatred of American culture. You see, at fourteen, I hated my parents. By eighteen I acquired considerably meatier enemies, namely American government and American culture. I hated the media, the suburbs, the cars, the lawns, children, schools, American flags. For all intents and purposes, I hated pugs and butterflies, and most definitely SUV's. And although I still have plenty of reservations about the sports utility vehicle for people who are not interested in sports or utilities (or vehicles), somehow, the American flags, schools, children, lawns and general details began to fascinate me much more than I ever thought possible. They did so not because of their idealized form, but because of their absolutely average, tired, pissed off, rusted or hillariously mad existence. After spending at least two hours looking through the found photograph website I realized that I, a Polish immigrant to the States who felt neither Polish nor American and who somehow felt pressure to reject this country, really liked front lawn American flag displays, and those front porch ducks that people dress in team jerseys.

I realized that my pessimism was slowly being replaced by fascination, and that my elitism was slowly replaced by curious inclusiveness.

“Motherfucker!” i thought, “I have completely lost my edge!”

It is true. I have.

But I have to confess, once you give up the edges you realize the extent of the flattland.

L,

-i.