New written piece

After a long break, I happy to post the short piece The Cave of the Prophet. Here is a preview:

The Cave of Hira

“That such a coexistance is possible however does not reveal itself through an overcoming of the natural law we had perceived as absolute, but rather through a realization of the subjective nature of its delineation. The basis of their truth was built upon an alter of straw, but the overcoming of it is not accomplished by either burning or further building, but rather by seeing something else altogether: that the idol was built from our own hands, and that the manifest truth require neither alters, nor scaffolding.”

You can read the full piece here.

Sin

I’m excited to be showing at four openings this month. Especially fun, I’ll be part of two different group shows focusing on different aspects of the concept of sin. Here is the summery:

-A solo show at Float On as part of their visual arts program
Sin? at Art at the Cave
The Seven Deadly Sins and the Lovers Eye at Splendorporium
First Friday Open Studios at East Creative Collective

Its going to be a busy month next month as well as I work on an new environmental piece to be part of the For the Seventh Generation. A collaborative eco-mural for the Elizabeth Jones Art Center.

500 Seasons

Pieces from my “Seasons” series shown and sold at the Big 500 show

“Spring”
This piece is the first of a four part series on growth and collapse. It covers the emergence of civilization and equilibrium in the natural world.

“Summer”
This piece is the second of a four part series on growth and collapse. It covers the growth of civilization and the withering of the natural world.

“Fall”
This piece is the third of a four part series on growth and collapse. It covers the collapse of civilization and disappearance of the natural world.

“Winter”
This piece is the fourth of a four part series on growth and collapse. It covers the disappearance of civilization and reemergence of the natural world.

Night Visions and First Friday

It’s been an exciting few months!

  • I’m excited to announce that my piece Hati Hróðvitnisson has one second place at the annual NightVisions show at the Coconino Center for the Arts!
  • I’ve taken over organizing the First Friday Art Walk in Portland. Myself and the other organizer Sara, are excited for the future of the Art Walk. Check it out at FirstFridayPDX.org.
  • New paintings! Included is the first “postcard painting.” If you’d like one they are available for commission here.

Akko II – Art Knows No Borders Blog 11/11

Unknown date

In Akko I find the places of my dreams, winding corridors, and open expanses, naked stones and presences that I partially recall, half-remembered, half imagined. We sleep that first night beneath the stars, high above the city on decayed walls, awkwardly huddled. She sleeps in an new sleeping bag, layered above an inflatable, sleeping pad, and her childhood pillow. I lay beside her on the ground, among the weeds and stones, covered, mostly symbolically, in her large, purple travel towel. It carries the fresh smells of the first flowers of spring.

She is young, pretty, stubborn, German, and deeply open. Come across the sky to this desolate place for some private reason, unknown perhaps even to her, this is her first great adventure. We meet as I am tieing a bandage around my ruined and blistered feet, stained in iodine. Despite a spattering of eastern Europeans, and the odd American, the hostel has been conquered by Germans. Here neither English nor Hebrew is the common language, but the dark guttural tones of central Europe abound. And in her inexhaustible pursuit of electronic dance and synthetic drugs, she is not alone.

The rhythms of Tel Aviv are seductive, and the truths, history, and lifeblood of this dry land are quickly drowned out by the cascading rhythms and delirium of the hot night. Is the connection so easily accounted for by the economics of international air travel, or is there something darker in this link? If the restless ghosts of Polish forests and abandoned cattle cars still so profoundly haunt this modern country, what then of the grandchildren of the perpetrators? What stains of the collective soul draw them here, into the Judean wastes of history?

Inside her exhausted heart; too open, too abused by cocaine and MDMA, too innocent and well-intentioned for these cold expanses of conflict and suffering, my companion nurtures deep reserves of Christian faith. Though she revels in the hedonistic extremes of Tel Aviv, the ancient names of Galilee and Nazareth draw out something perhaps not altogether disconnected. Her ecstatic descriptions of the drug and exhaustion fueled unity of dance are almost religious in their undertones. And most significantly, she carries with her sacred treasures; the written prayers and notes of loved ones. The scraps, are not destined for any monastic house or church however, she will deliver them instead into the yawning cracks of the Western Wall.

-Alex

Akko I – Art Knows No Borders Blog 10/11

Unknown date

There is a carefully delineated path, hung with delicate balance among the stars where all things are possible, where the aligned mischief of uncertainty is overcome by a perfect amalgamation of steps. A philosophers stone for every undoing, where the patron saint of lost causes, despite tragic apotheosis, at last escapes the manifest reality of the true constellations, hard and cold in their insistence of predestined failure.

When we mark our course by such an ephemeral north star, we must not be surprised when the way points at last evaporate before us, and we are left to reckon our folly instead by the unchecked onrush of the ground. Guided falsely, how could we ever follow such narrow perfection along the shrinking curve of a descending horizon. The true reality that confronts us is coldly probabilistic, and faced with the collapsing weight of the past, the quickened band of transcendental flight is unreachable in its physicality, made all the worse by its own receding tangibility.

The gentle pressure of a finger and a single bullet capable of rupturing the tendons of unreckonable struggle; as if the smallest blotting of the sun might destroy the endless eons of checked expansion marked in struggle against gravity.

-Alex