So the abalone kintsugi project is at the San Jose Museum of Art for the next six months, part of a show called “Your Mind, This Moment” curated by Susan Krane.
The piece is out on a porch, off of the second floor gallery. It will be out in the rain and the sun and the fog. I love the idea of it being back in the elements, such as they are. Rich Karson built the ideal redwood table for it, and carved some redwood supports that curve perfectly along the inside of the shell.
I’m taking a break for now, while I focus on a new work for an upcoming show at Hosfelt Gallery, but eventually I’ll get back to fixing broken abalone. It will be interesting to see how the pieces I make in my studio will meld onto this initial shellopolis once it comes home from the museum. In the meantime, I love this spot as its first adventure out into the world. I realized it’s also the perfect test to see if I can keep it outside, in case it eventually bursts the seams of my studio.
the news makes me want to curl up in a shell.
top dollar or bargain basement?
and this little ad seems so wrong. cheaper than a candy bar. cheaper than a cup of coffee. cheaper than a pair of sox, three first class stamps, or a pack of gum.
I’m working on a new piece about tide pools, or about whatever it is that tide pools are about. In any case, I need lots of footage of tide pools and of tides, coming and going. Yesterday, the shoot was mainly just dealing with technical issues. I walked along a good stretch of shore at Salt Point, looking for suitable locations and after two hours of being knee deep in the icy Pacific, I was ready to leave. I packed up my gear and stood up to leave… and looked over my shoulder at the next rocky pool behind me. There was an anemone, larger than my head, easily the biggest anemone I’d ever seen. Thinking back to the post about the captive anemone, this must have been an ancient individual. I returned today to spend some time with it. Beautiful.
four of the Collisions
This small stretch of coastal Pacific is part of the Greater Farallones National Marine Sanctuary, and according to the NOAA (National Oceanic & Atmospheric Association), this part of the Pacific experiences three seasons, rather than the four seasons of nearby terrestrial life. They are, with short descriptions: Continue reading
I’ve been working on this piece since late summer, in short bursts in between other things. The pieces were small, at first. They kept curling in on themselves, the curve of the shell quickly resolving into abalone-sized abalone. And the Japanese enamels traditionally used in kintsugi kept giving me crazy rashes identical to poison oak. I kept pushing against the natural inclination of the shell to curl into a finished form. I wasn’t sure how big I wanted the final piece to me, but I knew I wanted it to grow monstrous. Continue reading
At the end of “The Ocean at Home: An Illustrated History of the Aquarium” the author Bernd Brunner admits to trouble in paradise, and offers this quote from the son of Phillip Henry Gosse, writing about his father in 1907. Gosse was a popularizer of the aquarium in the mid to late 19th century, and his books and lectures contributed to a craze in home aquariums. This led, of course, to a massive plundering of sea life from seashores around the world. Continue reading
I’m not sure what this is. It’s about four inches square, and was on a massive piece of driftwood on the rocky beach at Gerstle Cove, Salt Point. It looks a bit like leftovers, shells from a number of meals. With the exception of the large crab shell at center right, all of the pieces are strangely similar in size. A series of lunches? Purging? Le petit dejeuner? It looks like mostly … and bits of crab shell, too consistent to be random. I like it best as a painting, as pure composition.
I’ve been reading The Ocean at Home: an Illustrated History of the Aquarium by Brend Brunner. It was a gift from Marcia Tanner back in 2006, and I’m just getting around to reading it, but it’s perfect timing.
Like nearly all texts about science history, there’s an undercurrent of the macabre. On page 26 there’s a story about Scottish scientist Sir John Dalyell who, in 1827, brought a captive anemone (Actinia equina) home from North Berwick and essentially kept it as an experimental pet in his home aquarium. He fed it “pieces of mussels and oysters,” so these must have been dead already, and he changed the water in the aquarium daily, supposedly.
D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson (On Growth and Form) wrote about this anemone in his book Science and the Classics. Apparently, this anemone outlived Dalyell by a couple of decades, passing away in 1887 at the age of sixty. Continue reading
photo: Don McCullough. Foundation for nuclear power plant once planned for Bodega Bay.
This passage is from Caterpillage by Henry Berger, and seems apropos for a fermenting administration that threatens to destroy our fragile coast in the search for oil and more.
“Pleonexia means not only ‘having more’ (a literal translation) but wanting to have more – wanting to be bigger, better, superior. It means never having enough because you aspire to total and immortal self-sufficiency, even if that involves draining the rest of the world of power, wealth, pleasure, and being. But there’s also a more defensive side to pleonexia in a society whose members are aware of competing with each other: pleonexia involves wanting to take from another before another takes from you.
… The shadow of pleonexia or vanitas that falls across the embarrassment of riches … has the form of an enormous, incessantly munching caterpillar.”